Michael's Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Melinda Curtis

  Blake gave her a sidewise glance, looking just as unhappy as Cori was that they were going to be breakfast companions.

  Picking up the gist of the conversation, Michael’s face scrunched up. “I’m going with Mommy.”

  “Your mom has some work to do,” Blake said evenly.

  “Noooo.” Michael leaped from the bed and ran to Cori, latching on to her jean-clad leg. “I’m going, I’m going,” he wailed.

  “No, you’re not,” Blake said. “You’ll stay here with Jen and Grandma Sophia. If you’re good, I’ll come by later with a surprise for you.”

  “I’m going, I’m going,” Michael repeated.

  “I’m trying to work here,” Jen snapped, unpacking her backpack.

  Crocodile tears spilled from Michael’s eyes as he shook his head. Cori couldn’t leave Michael here like this. One hour with Michael and Jen would be as volatile as Mount St. Helens when it erupted. How restful would that be for Mama?

  Cori capitulated. “Okay, I’ll stay.” It was for the best, anyway, given her contract with Bell-Diva.

  “He’ll be fine,” Blake protested, trying to take Michael’s hand without touching Cori.

  His efforts seemed to upset Michael even more. He dodged Blake by circling Cori’s leg. Blake finally looked at Cori, his expression full of disapproval. No doubt he was cursing her parenting skills again. When he spoke, though, his tone conveyed none of his apparent frustration.

  “I was going to take Michael to McDonald’s for lunch and then to the festival in town. They’ll have face painting, games and ice cream.”

  His offer stopped Michael in his tracks.

  “I thought you had a ton of stuff to do today,” Jen said, studying her brother closely.

  “No problem. Plenty of hours in the day.” Blake smiled at Sophia, but Cori could sense the tension in the set of his shoulders beneath his blue T-shirt.

  Despite his casual demeanor, Cori knew the field manager’s job was endless, not limited to the amount of light in the day. Worse, if Blake did resent Cori for working when he couldn’t, this situation wouldn’t help smooth out the relationship they needed to parent Michael together.

  Cori finally found her voice. “No. I’ll stay.”

  Blake’s gray eyes challenged Cori’s authority, before he knelt down next to Michael, who still held Cori’s leg. The position exposed her to the matching swirls of brown hair on their heads.

  “You want to go to McDonald’s, don’t you?”

  “Is there a playland?” Michael asked cautiously.

  Blake nodded. “Do you want to go or not? Because the only way you’re going is if you stay here while your mom and I go to this meeting. Deal?”

  Michael nodded, and quietly walked over to sit down by the window.

  Blake looked up at Cori expectantly. She supposed this was where he wanted her approval.

  “That’s so out of line.” Cori pushed her hand underneath the hair on her forehead. She wanted Blake and Michael to spend time together, but she didn’t want Blake to bribe him. Darn her son’s stubborn streak.

  “Let’s go. You don’t want to be late, do you?” Blake smiled at her. It was that rare, playful smile that did wicked things to her insides.

  Checking her watch, Cori realized she didn’t have any more time to argue. Blake stood, clearly knowing she’d seen things his way.

  “Only if you promise to behave.” She used her most severe tone.

  “I will, Mommy. I’m a good boy,” Michael said solemnly.

  “I know you are, Peanut. I meant Blake,” Cori flung over her shoulder as she hurried to collect her purse.

  “Halle-stinkin’-lujah,” Jen said. “Finally, I’ll get some peace and quiet.”

  Sophia chuckled, the sound temporarily lifting Cori’s spirits.

  CORI HAD TO BE THE BEST public relations guru Blake had ever seen in action. And the most beautiful. They sat across from each other at a table in the Madrona Manor, the fanciest bed-and-breakfast in the area. The place was bustling with business—the buzz of muted voices mingled with the clink of serviceable china.

  Parked in the power seat at their table, Peter O’Bannon had the blustery temperament of his receding red hair, which he wore in a comb-over. Full of stale, hot air, he kept pushing up his sleeve to reveal a fancy gold watch, until Cori took the bait and complimented him on it.

  They’d finished eating and exchanging pleasantries, and Blake had the feeling Peter was building up to what he considered the hot questions. Blake gestured for the waitress to refill his coffee cup, hoping the caffeine boost would keep him sharp. He was running on too little sleep.

  “So, you see, Messina Vineyards has always been a family-run winery, with each of us dedicated to it in some way, which probably explains its longevity.”

  Cori spoke smoothly, appearing confident and professional, except for an occasional, haphazard glance exchanged with Blake, in which he could read a hint of discomfort. He couldn’t tell if she was uncomfortable with him after last night’s kiss, or with Peter O’Bannon, who appeared to personify the term “wine snob.”

  Blake’s gaze lingered on Cori’s mouth. That kiss had been something once he’d gotten past his frustration. In it, there was a spark of hope that made him believe he shouldn’t give up on her. Would he have felt this anger and frustration if she’d shown up on his doorstep when she’d learned of their pregnancy and expected him to marry her? No way. He’d have welcomed her back with open, if cautious, arms. So, what was the difference?

  The difference was that she wasn’t offering marriage as part of the parental package. Blake still wanted her to care for him on some level. They had nothing between them but a desire for each other. And desire was empty without friendship, respect and love.

  Blake’s attention reluctantly returned to Peter’s haughty questions.

  “Wouldn’t you say Messina Vineyards has had trouble drawing in younger wine drinkers, say, in their twenties?” Peter’s smile was as slick as oil.

  With a guileless smile, Cori rolled her eyes. “It seems every winery wants to attract those twenty-somethings who think wine is intimidating and who drink beer, instead. Wine Brats was formed by second-and third-generation wine family members in their twenties because they wanted their peers to know what they were missing.”

  “Are you a member?”

  “Of course.”

  Peter turned on Blake. “And how about you?”

  “I am, too.” Only because Mr. Messina had insisted he join. But suddenly, Blake was happy he’d done so, given the way the wine writer asked questions as if he were waiting to spring a trap on Cori and Blake.

  “The fact is,” Cori continued patiently, “wine is more a life-stage beverage. It’s a slower drink that you sip, relax and enjoy, while beer tends to be consumed more like soda, quickly and for refreshment.”

  Peter pursed his lips, jotting something in a little notepad he’d placed on the table. It was hard to tell if Peter was satisfied or frustrated with the way the interview was going. Blake glanced at the notebook, but apparently Peter knew shorthand, since Blake recognized none of the characters on the page.

  Flipping back a few pages, Peter studied his notes before shooting Cori a Cheshire cat grin. “I happened to taste a bottle of Messina Vineyards Chardonnay several years ago and saved my review. Luke and I tasted one of your more recent vintage Chardonnays last night.” Peter sniffed and looked at his notes again. “I must say, I didn’t need to take down anything new. Both wines wove together complex vanilla, ripe pear and forward fruit with citrus notes that lingered.”

  Cori beamed at Peter, seemingly ignoring his attack. “Excellent.”

  Sensing the direction Cori was going, Blake jumped back in the fray. “I can’t tell you how hard we strive for consistent quality in our grapes to deliver consistent quality in our wine. Among other things, we carefully select new rootstock and utilize the same pruning techniques. Barring any major aberrations in the weather, such as the extreme
ly wet year we had from El Nino several years ago, our winemakers can rely on the same level of grape quality year to year.”

  “I’m sure Luke talked in-depth about our wine-making process.” Cori picked up the thread of conversation. “Peter, have you ever invited people over for dinner and been unsure which wine to serve with the food?”

  Peter looked almost horrified that Cori would suggest he was unsure of anything. “I entertain quite often, but I like to experiment with different wines.”

  “We want our wines to be the trusted friends our consumers reach for. There may be some people that want to experiment every day, but they’re outnumbered by those people who drink wine to relax and want a taste they know they’ll enjoy.”

  “Surely you must feel a little stagnant after all this time? The same wine, over and over.”

  “Let other wineries take on the role of providing a new taste adventure. There are tens of thousands of wine options available at grocery stores alone and new ones being introduced all the time.” She smiled at Peter. “We believe that no one wants to experiment all the time.”

  Man, she was good. While Peter was occupied with his notebook, Blake grinned encouragingly at Cori. In her returned smile, he saw none of her earlier discomfort. Instead, in that moment, they seemed to share something beyond a child. They shared a bond of mutual respect.

  It wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was a step in the right direction.

  Cori glanced at her watch. “Peter, we need to get started on that tour. I know Blake has an appointment later.”

  With their son.

  Blake stood. “I’ll take care of the check and pull the truck around.” He strode across the room.

  “Blake Austin, what are you doing here?” The words came from another winery’s field manager.

  “Steve.” Blake stopped at his table and shook the older man’s beefy, calloused hand, recognizing his companion, a local tractor salesman. “Dale.”

  “We never see you out this late in the morning,” Steve commented.

  Dale gripped Blake’s hand solidly. “We never see you out, period. Field managers don’t usually brown-nose it with the owners like you do.”

  Blake bristled at the implication that he was different from these men. They had college degrees validating their qualifications, Blake only had the sweat of his efforts. Was he to blame that Salvatore Messina had faith in his abilities to represent the winery as well as manage his vines? All he wanted was to gain the respect of his peers, yet each new success was met with envy rather than the esteem he sought.

  “Is that Cori Sinclair?” Dale asked. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”

  While Blake mumbled a response, someone at the table behind Dale spun at the question and looked in the direction of Dale’s gaze. The man’s appearance screamed success on vacation, from his trim brown hair to his soft, unscarred hands and designer polo shirt.

  “We’re here with a wine writer. Peter O’Bannon. He’s doing a piece on Messina Vineyards.”

  Steve pulled a sour face. “My sympathies.”

  “You know Peter?” Blake asked, keeping one eye on their curious audience, who continued to stare at Cori.

  “Oh yeah. He did a piece on us for the Wine Spectator last year. I hear he’s launching a new wine magazine and sees himself as the next Marvin Shanken.” Steve shook his head. “If you’re taking him on a tour, make sure he gets plenty of pit stops. The man can’t hold a cup of coffee.”

  “CORI SINCLAIR?”

  Cori had been about to follow Peter out the door when she heard her name. She turned to find an attractive, tall, well-dressed man bearing down on her.

  “I’m Abe Monroe from Bell-Diva.”

  Bell-Diva’s new vice president of marketing. Cori’s insides went cold. She’d forgotten that she’d invited him to breakfast this morning, or that she’d originally suggested to Sidney that the Bell-Diva team stay here. She’d assumed they’d canceled the trip when she’d told Sidney first thing yesterday morning that her mother had taken a turn for the worse. She’d also told Sidney she needed at least a week off. She’d turned off her cell phone and packed away her laptop. Mama was more important than any job.

  Belatedly, Cori extended her hand, plastering a smile on her face. “Mr. Monroe, it’s so nice to meet you.”

  He didn’t waste any time on pleasantries, smiles or gestures. Even his handshake was brief. “I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.”

  “I hadn’t planned on being here. My mother—”

  “Yes, how is your mother?” There was no trace of compassion in his voice. In fact, his words were loaded with suspicion and his eyes regarded her harshly.

  Startled, Cori managed to say, “We had a rough day yesterday, but she’s better now. Thank you.”

  “Sidney mentioned you were so upset that you couldn’t leave her side. Imagine my surprise when I find you here with a wine critic, enjoying a Sunday breakfast.”

  She knew she shouldn’t have come. Cori fingered her purse strap. “I apologize, Mr. Monroe. Circumstances—”

  “Were you here on behalf of a winery?”

  “I came as a favor to my brother.”

  “For a winery?” he prompted.

  Cori realized she and Abe Monroe would never be able to work together, even if they hadn’t had this unfortunate experience. He was too domineering.

  She lifted her chin. “My family owns a winery, yes. It was the topic of conversation, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “Which means you are in breach of contract, Ms. Sinclair.” He started to turn away, but Cori stopped him.

  “I suppose you would see it that way.” She wouldn’t lose the Bell-Diva account without a fight. She owed Sidney that much. Besides, his attitude galled her.

  Mr. Monroe stepped back toward her, an impatient expression on his face.

  “My mother,” Cori began, blinking back tears, “devoted her entire life to my grandfather’s winery. She’s bedridden, weak and feeling useless. If I can have breakfast with someone, recount a few family stories and generally make this time easier for my family, I will.” She took a deep breath and willed her voice to stay steady. “If you were looking to break your contract with Collins & Co., why didn’t you just do it? You don’t need to dangle Adam Parker in our faces. You don’t need to make needless demands on our time. Just do it. Just do it, Mr. Monroe, and be done with it. I, for one, don’t have time for your games.”

  BLAKE POINTED THE TRUCK toward home after he and Cori dropped Peter O’Bannon at the Madrona Manor. They’d taken him on a tour of the vineyards and winery facilities, given him a case containing twelve different bottles of wine and a souvenir polo shirt from the gift shop. For all his digging about old wine style, Peter didn’t refuse the wine. In fact, he seemed cautiously pleased.

  The ride into town in the morning had felt silent and awkward. The trip to and from Messina Vineyards with Peter had been filled with questions, answers and stories from both Blake and Cori. Now Cori fell silent again. Blake had sensed a change in her mood after breakfast. He’d seen her stop and talk with the interested stranger. A former boyfriend, perhaps?

  “That went well,” Blake commented, wishing he could recapture the friendship they’d once had, the easy camaraderie.

  “There’s no pleasing guys like him,” Cori commented flatly, effectively ending the conversation.

  The silence between them lengthened.

  “Be careful with Michael today. He can be a handful when he doesn’t get the attention he wants.” She added softly, “Things break.”

  “Thanks.” Blake glanced at Cori, surprised at her unexpected piece of advice. Slouched in her seat, she looked up at the skyline, arms crossed over her chest.

  “He must have lots of toys at home to break.” Blake laughed, hoping to take the sting out of his words. He had no idea how Cori coped with Michael. If Cori was saving for a house, would she splurge on toys? Would she toss Michael one when she needed to put in ex
tra hours at home or did she have a baby-sitter she relied on?

  “Jen had more.” Cori released a breath and rested her elbow on the truck’s center console, apparently not offended by his probing.

  His son had fewer toys than Jen had? What else did his son lack? That car Cori was driving was dented, with an interior that was falling apart. The more he learned about Cori and Michael, the more Blake realized they needed him. With just a slight effort, Blake’s hand could clasp hers, showing her his willingness to care again. Would she shake him off or squeeze his fingers in return? Probably she’d reject him, prefering someone exuding success like the guy he’d seen her with this morning.

  “Who was that guy you talked to this morning in the restaurant?” He silently cursed his unending curiosity where Cori was concerned.

  Cori’s arms refolded over her chest. “That was a former client of mine.”

  Relief that the man hadn’t been a former boyfriend allowed Blake to breathe easier. “What a coincidence to see him here.”

  “No.” Cori sounded irritated. “I was supposed to meet him this morning and I canceled at the last minute.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “He was my client up until this morning, when he realized I’d broken the terms of our agreement. I’m not supposed to do any promotional efforts for any other alcohol beverage, including wine and Messina Vineyards.”

  Blake caught a side view of her tight features before returning his attention to the road. “You were fired?”

  “Yes. I was canned.”

  “You weren’t doing anything.” Oops. “I mean, you were awesome, but it wasn’t like you were working or anything.”

  “I was working. Maybe it didn’t look like work, but believe me, PR is not an easy job.” Cori sounded defeated. “I’ve been doing things like this for so long, I can’t remember not doing it. Where do you think I learned how to network and do public relations? I probably started when I was Michael’s age.”