by Teddy Hester
The winery sits on land high enough above the vineyard that I can see workers pruning the vines. They work steadily, quietly, on separate rows, methodically clipping excess leaves off vines so grapes can get the amount of sunlight they need to ripen. I take a swallow of Kabinett, tasting the pride of my family’s endeavors in its quality.
As I watch the field, a worker strips off his shirt. I stare at the glass in my hand. Am I drunk? I don’t remember our workers baring their torsos. I gaze back to the men. Now three are laughing. Playing. And is that English I’m hearing?
Alfred dropped Mick in the vineyard today? He’s put him to work like a field hand. Does Mick even know what he’s doing? Richart, an experienced worker, is working nearby, so I suppose Mick’s being supervised at some level, but he could damage a vine with injudicious snips before anyone could stop him. And those are our hand-tended, organic grape vines for our most special VDP wine. I stand.
Too fast. It makes me woozy, so I sit back down. Mick makes a few snips, talking to two guys in the next row. I’ve never heard our workers laughing while they worked. Richart is smiling, so I guess he’s all right with it. I notice, though, that he stops and wanders between the rows occasionally, checking. But he never interferes or stops the interactions before going back to his own pruning.
Pretty soon the two guys he’s laughing with are bare-chested, too, their shirts tied around their hips, like Mick’s. Suddenly, the vineyard takes on a whole new level of interest for me. Would tourists like this view of the place? I’d better look into whether or not we could be fined for indecency before Mick converts the entire crew.
That makes me laugh. I wish Dieter were here. He’d be scandalized. In fact, I’ve never seen him interact with his crews beyond issuing orders and doling out praise. He’s a good boss, from what I hear, but he’d never think of getting chummy. There’s a difference between being friendly and being friends. Watching Mick charm these guys makes that concept very clear.
His back muscles ripple every time he uses the snips, and my mouth waters. I use a lime straw to stem the flow, and wash it down with another sip of wine. He has no fat roll around his middle. In fact, with his low-rise jeans, only the tight round muscles of his backside keep the pants up. I want to poke a finger into the two, tanned dimples at the base of his spine. When he raises the arm nearest me, pointing at a guy in the next row he’s joking around with, a tuft of dark hair is revealed that oddly makes me clench my legs together.
Desire. This is desire. I desire this man.
Of their own accord, my feet urge my body to stand and move. Before I can think it through, I’m halfway to joining them. Before I can turn and flee back to the winery, Mick’s seen me.
He stops everything he’s doing. Even the grape leaves the guy in the next row tosses over the vines to land on Mick’s head don’t register. His gaze is all for me. Part of me wants to strut with the power he’s giving me. Part of me wants to curl into a little ball of incognito. A voice in the back of my head shouts “good girls don’t” but the devil on my shoulder purrs “you know you want to.”
Satan wins. “You look like you’re having fun. Can I join you?”
The Sternau workers straighten up and get back to work. Mick, though, breaks the ice. “Sure. Hey, Rich, got another pair of snips?”
I’m confused. “Rich?”
Richart crosses to me, a pair of snips extended. “He can’t get the ‘ch’ sound right. So I’m Rich.” He shrugs and grins.
“That’s okay with you?”
“It’s fine.”
I blink. “Okay, Rich. Thanks for the snips.”
“Atta girl,” Mick says under his breath.
His praise makes me bold. “I’m sorry, tell me your names?” I ask the other two workers Mick was laughing with earlier.
They glance at each other, then at Richart. He must signal approval, because one man finally says, “I’m Wilhelm, Ms. von Sternau, and this is Walfrid.”
“Very nice to meet you. I’ve enjoyed watching all of you. Work should always be this fun.”
Mick rolls his eyes as if to say duh. “Willi and Walli have been showing me the ropes. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”
“I agree. Please, don’t let me stop you. Go on.”
Richart has never stopped working, and the other two wander back to their vines, too. Obviously, I’m a problem.
“Party pooper,” Mick says, again quiet enough so only I hear it.
My head droops, and I stare unseeing, at the snips in my hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I’ll go.”
He stops me with a hand on my forearm. Then he breaks into song as he snips. “Ms. von Sternau had a farm, e-i-e-i-o. And on her farm there were some guys, e-i-e-i-o. They went snip-snip here and snip-snip there, here a snip, there a snip, everywhere a snip-snip. Ms. von Sternau had a farm, e-i-e-i-o.”
I giggle. “Do it again.”
He does. This time with appropriate actions. As subtly as I can, I gauge the others’ reactions. They’re smiling, but not getting involved beyond that. I glance back at Richart. He winks and nods encouragement.
I clear my throat. Have I ever sung in public? “Ms. von Sternau has a farm, e-i-e-i-o. And on this farm, along came Mick, e-i-e-i-o. With a laugh-laugh here and a joke-joke there, here a laugh, there a joke, everywhere a laugh-joke. Ms. von Sternau has a farm, e-i-e-i-o.”
“Excellent!” Mick whoops. “From the top, everybody!”
Somehow, he gets them all to join in, slowly but surely. We even go on to make up a verse for Rich and his praise, Willi and his sass, and after he tosses leaves on all our heads, for Walli and his devilry.
I jerk a thumb in Mick’s direction. “Der ist ja ein Schelm!”
The guys laugh.
“I have the feeling you just called me a name.”
My smile widens, and I wink at the others. “Ja.”
“What did you call me?”
“I believe your word is ‘rascal’.”
“Oh, is that so?” He grabs me with one arm around my shoulders and rubs his knuckles on the top of my head. “Bad angels get noogied!”
Walli and Willi dance around, pointing at Mick. "Rascal, rascal," they sing, trying out their new word. Poor Mick. I'm not sure he'll live this one down. If it weren't for the headache he's giving me with this noogie, I'd almost feel guilty.
This time, Richart saves me. “I think this is a good time to break for lunch.”
Mick takes the snips I’ve been waving around during his attack and jams them with his in the back pocket of his jeans. I look up at him, ready to give him grief, and swallow my words at what I see in his eyes. They're laser-sighted on me. Drinking me in. His head starts to dip.
My heart leaps into my throat. Is he going to kiss me?
His eyes shut tight for a second, and when they open again, they’re back to normal, happy and clear. He tweaks my hair. “You need to get out of the sun, Angel, before it bleaches out those pretty strawberry streaks. Come on.”
Disappointment rushes through me. But I clamp down on that emotion. I have no right to feel it.
We traipse back to the winery, talking and laughing, me a part of this little gang Mick has created. The guys go in through the back door to wash up and get some water and their lunches out of the refrigerator. Mick goes with them, but I walk around to the front entrance and run right into Alfred.
I square my shoulders to face him. This I don’t feel ashamed of. There’s nothing wrong with getting closer to the people who help work our land.
Alfred smiles.
I’m stunned. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything but the merest twitch of his lips. “Are you in pain?” I ask, then gasp at my own effrontery.
He chuckles. “Alles ist gut. Mein Engel.”
He heard Mick call me Angel, and he’s still smiling? “Alles?”
His lips purse as he considers. “What are you going to tell Dieter?”
“Nothing. Because no
thing happened.”
“I heard you go to his room, and I never heard you return to yours. That’s not nothing.”
“You slept upstairs in my house rather than with Birgitte in yours?”
“Ja.”
“Do you do that often?”
“Only when something doesn’t feel right. He was upset last night. Upset people sometimes do things they normally wouldn’t.”
Bless Alfred. Always looking out for me. “He had a nightmare. We talked.”
Alfred studies his boots and nods, chin tucked into his chest. “Sometimes wounded creatures can help each other. But it’s not easy. It takes great care.”
His wise words make me want to weep. I’m glad he knows and understands.
Discussion evidently over, he switches gears. “So, did we order more cheese today?” he asks, holding out his arm to walk me into the winery.
I welcome the shelter of his embrace. “Yes, I spent some money and sold some product.”
“It was a good day, then, Liebling.”
“How did Mick do?”
“Hopefully he’ll be too tired for nightmares tonight.”
CHAPTER 9
Mick
I don’t know how manly it is to soak in a hot tub of eucalyptus-scented water—by yourself—but it sure feels good to my weary body. Alfred worked me like a fury today. I was never off my feet, and my upper body had a more strenuous workout than I usually get in the gym. It doesn’t help that I’ve been a lazy fuck for the past ten days since the crash.
Ten days. Moon’s been gone that long already. We routinely go longer than that without contact if we’re not working on a contract together, but I always know he’s just a phone call away. Tonight, I stared at his name in my phone and thought about deleting the entry so I wouldn’t be subjected to it every time I want to use the phone. But deleting that entry would mean I’m deleting Moon. Acknowledging he’s not ever going to answer my calls again.
So, I’ll leave his number in my phone, and I’ll hurt a little each time I see it. And maybe someday I’ll be ready to let it go.
Right now, though, I’d better think of something else before I go to bed, or else I’ll be screaming the house down with another nightmare.
My angel was back to her sweet self when she joined us in the vineyard. She had me worried at breakfast. Then Alfred had me too busy to spend juice on worrying. And before I knew it, she was there, in her strawberry blonde ethereal beauty, learning how to make nice with the help. It’s funny; I don’t think she even knew she wanted to until she did it. I was proud of her. She was able to unbend her regal spine enough to have fun, yet her natural bearing kept her from losing anyone’s respect. Women walk a fine line in the working world—I’ve observed it many times—and she navigated it nicely.
I somehow think Dieter wouldn’t like seeing her that way. Pity.
He wasn’t at dinner, so it was just the four of us, like at breakfast. We even ate in the kitchen again. The word “cozy” comes to mind, but I’m not sure manly men use that word, either. What’s happening to me? Am I going soft?
Speaking of that, this is the longest I’ve gone without a woman since about the tenth grade, I think. I’m horny as hell. I see flowers in the field, I think of sex. Snipping vines today made me think of reproduction and propagating the species. Stripping down for this bath…
Oh, hell, Woody’s back.
I might as well take care of him before I drain the tub. I climb out, holding my aching cock, and stand beside the tall vessel. First squeezing the base, my hand slides to the tip, slow and tight, like the first stroke of entering a woman’s body, her pussy needing me to push inside. Open her up. Yeah, like that. Slow and steady. Confident. In control.
My balls feel hot and heavy. My other hand massages them. Rolls them gently. A familiar tingle builds. God, I love this feeling. All pistons firing in sync, engine revving. I pull harder on my shaft, squeezing the tip every time my moist hand glides over it. My buttocks tighten, simulate thrusting, my thighs pressed against the edge of the tub to give me leverage.
I’m close. No more slow strokes. I fist my swollen member hard and jerk fast. Menuett’s body flashes before my closed eyes, her quim the same color as the hair on her head. She fingers herself and moans, and it’s all over for me. My body goes rigid, my breathing and heart rate rocket, and semen erupts in hot, pulsing bursts directed at the tub. I pant as the spasm dissipates, still gently massaging my balls, and I end, going back to long, gentle, soothing strokes. Relieved, if not satisfied.
But now maybe I can sleep. I flip the stop to let the water drain, towel off, and creep to the bed, asleep practically before my head hits the pillow.
*****
“Moon! Buddy! I’ll find you. Hold on!”
I wake myself up with my nightmare, but no angel comes to my aid. This is how it’s going to be from now on. Me, suffering nightmares alone, taking care of myself, getting myself back to sleep. All alone. I can’t expect Menuett or anyone else to help. I just have to deal with it.
So, I lie in a cold sweat until my body and mind relax enough to fall back asleep.
*****
When I get down to breakfast, the other three have already begun the ritual. We greet each other, and Menuett sets my place and pours my coffee before sitting down and accepting the plate Alfred’s served up for her.
Birgitte passes me some leftover strudel. “Did you sleep well?”
“Tolerably, thank you. Did you?”
“Ja, I had my Alfred back, so I slept well.”
“Nightmare?” Alfred asks.
“Yes, but it passed quickly.”
A shadow passes over Menuett’s face, but she doesn’t say anything. She smiles at me, though, so there’s no repeat of yesterday’s awkwardness or confusion. I never have found out what that was all about. I’ll ask her today, if we have a moment to ourselves.
I’ve only had a few bites before my phone vibrates. I surreptitiously fish it from my pocket and take a quick look. Nina. I immediately go into panic mode.
“I’m sorry. It’s from Moon’s wife. May I excuse myself?”
Alfred pauses in lifting his mug. “Ja, natürlich.”
I wipe my mouth and drop the napkin back on the table before leaving the room. No sense interrupting their breakfast more than necessary.
“Nina?”
“Mick, is that you? Have I called at a decent hour?”
“I’ll take a call from you anytime, but, yes, it’s 7AM here. Perfect. What’s going on?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice, Mick. I had a bad night.”
Dammit. I hate, hate, hate that she’s going through this. It’s just not right. God damn it. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. You know. There’s nothing anyone can do. Mom and Dad have taken over all the moving arrangements because I can’t decide what cereal to eat for breakfast, much less what to pack, when. They’re also practically raising Monika and Jasper, too, since I spend most of my time around them crying.”
“Have you seen a doctor about it?”
She sniffles into the phone. “Yes. I have a standing appointment every day.”
“Does it help?” I’ve wondered if I should see someone about my nightmares.
“While I’m there, yeah. In fact, the days aren’t too bad. I’m used to Moon being gone in the daytime. But nighttime is still hard.”
“Yeah, I understand, honey. I’m just so damn sorry.”
“No, you don’t need to be. There’s nothing to be sorry for, Mick. Sometimes I just need to talk to somebody who knew and loved him almost as much as I did. I should be the one apologizing. You don’t need me calling you crying. You have enough to deal with.”
“Fuck that, Nina. Call me anytime, for anything.”
“How’s your spleen?”
“I’m sure it’s fine. I haven’t been back to the doctor, but I’ll call and see if he can see me today. Then, if he’ll clear me for flying, I’ll come help you and the ki
ds.”
“It would be wonderful to see you again—I don’t want us to lose touch—but I don’t want to see you if it would be harmful to your recovery. I can’t lose you both.”
Her voice fades into watery snuffles. That funny chest pain is threatening. I rub between my pecs, trying to ease the tension. “I’ll call first thing, see what the doctor says, and call you back later today. Is that all right?”
“Yes, thank you. Don’t worry about the time difference. I won’t be asleep.”
Fuck.
“Love ya, darlin’. Go kiss those babies for me. Talk to you in a few hours.”
“Bye, Mick. Thanks.”
I slip the phone back in my pocket and rejoin breakfast. “I need to get in to see Dr. Fischer today, if possible.”
Menuett’s face shows her concern. “She’s not doing well?”
I shake my head and reach for the coffee. No way solid food’s going down this gullet anytime soon. “She has her folks there, and the kids, so she’s not alone. But she’s not sleeping, she’s barely functioning, and she sees a shrink every day.”
Birgitte clucks, her cheerful face on hold for the moment. “You need to go to her.”
I nod and glance again at Menuett. She’s quiet. Then she nods. “He might be at the hospital already. Give him a call and see. Then, if he can see you, I’ll drive you to Trier.”
*****
Menuett is sipping hot cocoa from a disposable cup when I find her in the hospital waiting room. “What did he say?”
“I’m healing well, no more dizzy spells from hitting my head. He cleared me to fly.”
“When are you leaving?”
“When I get the arrangements made. Will you be able to take me to the airport?”
“Of course.”
She’s back to not meeting my eyes. “Menuett.” I take her hands in mine. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t leave yet if Nina didn’t need me.”
“I know. But you were only here to recuperate. It’s fine.”
I ghost a laugh. “I read someplace that the only scary f-word is when a woman says ‘fine.’”