Autumn in the Vineyard shv-3

by Marina Adair

  “It will get us through until the next payment, which is after the next harvest.”

  “You,” she corrected sitting up. “It will get you to the next harvest. It will set me back four or five years.”

  “No, Ches-ka. I want you to come home. Come home and work with me. By my side. Make this winery what it used to be. We make a great team.” Charles leaned forward and took her hands in his bony ones.

  His touch brought nothing but a deep, resonating sadness and she was surprised that she could feel anything beyond the pain in her chest. She tried to remind herself that he was just trying to save his business, save the family, and that this wasn’t personal. But nothing had ever felt so personal to her before and nothing had ever felt like such a betrayal.

  If she said no, then her grandfather lost everything. If she said yes, she lost everything. But if Charles lost, then so did her aunt, and Luce was the only person in Frankie’s life who had never let her down. Frankie wasn’t about to allow Charles’s pride to destroy someone else’s dreams. She knew all too well what that felt like.

  “Is your buyer Pierce Remington?”

  Charles shook his head.

  “Okay, I’ll give you the win, but be clear, if I find out you are going after Remington, I recant.”

  Charles stood. “Your dad would have been so pr—”

  “Disappointed, Grandpa. He would have been sad and disappointed that I was giving up what I wanted. But let me be clear. You will not get the two acres of grapes. I will sell those to anyone but you in order to pay off Tanner. Ah,” she held up a hand when he looked ready to argue, “that part is not negotiable.”

  Of course, stubborn man that Charles was, he started negotiating. “As long as it isn’t those damn DeLucas.”

  “Grandpa, not too long ago, I would have given up everything, done anything if it meant that I could come home and work with you again.” Although the term “with” applied loosely since it would have been Frankie working “for” Charles. “But now… I’m going to have to decline.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She feared he never would.

  Frankie wouldn’t have either if hadn’t been for Nate. He showed her that love doesn’t have to have attachments, conditions, or the fear of rejection.

  “Because you showed me that Baudouin Vineyards isn’t my home. Not anymore. I love you and you taught me everything I know about wine, but if I go home, things will go back to the way they were and I deserve more than that.” Frankie stood and pressed a gentle kiss on her grandfather’s cheek. “And Luce deserves more than what you’ve done. So I’ll give you my wine, under the condition that you promise to not let Kenneth and Uncle Tom take over. Promise that you’ll be honest with Luce and my brothers, and that you’ll hire someone who cares about the land as much as we do.”

  After a long moment, Charles whispered, “I promise.”

  With a gentle kiss to her cheek, her grandfather slowly made his way toward the door, only instead of opening it he paused. “And Ches-ka, earlier when I said that your father would have been proud, I meant that he would have been proud of the winemaker you’ve become. Proud of the person you’ve grown into. The only disappointment he would have felt over the past years would have been directed at me.”

  And then he walked out, leaving behind a weighted silence.

  Above the sound of her breaking heart, Frankie heard herself explain everything to a surprised and understanding Mrs. Rose. Frankie didn’t remember leaving town hall or walking into Nate’s room. She vaguely remembered sitting in the shag chair, pulling the afghan around her and calling Regan to explain that she wasn’t going to make it to dinner.

  * * *

  ChiChi’s normally formal living room was littered with leaf-rose streamers and green and red balloons gathered to looked like clusters of grapes. A giant cornucopia sat in the middle of the coffee table, overflowing with festive-colored presents while Holly the Harvest Worker, dressed in overalls and a pair of Gabe’s ratty work-boots, pushed around a stroller with a shrieking Baby Sofie inside. Nate couldn’t tell if St. Helena’s Official Harvest Baby was supposed to be a giant grape leaf or a red and yellow starfish.

  “Thanks for taking the time to talk to Alan,” Trey said, leaning back and swirling the deep red liquid around his wineglass. He watched it coat the sides, only to do it again. Which looked ridiculous since he was wearing a harvest tiara made out of leaf-roses—ones that glittered. “You had him so rapped on Opus that at one point I thought the guy was going to open-mouth kiss you.”

  “I told you, I’m a good closer.” Nate leaned across the couch and, careful not to spill his wine on ChiChi’s cushions, socked Trey in the arm. “And you weren’t so bad either. We did great.” And they had. For the first time in months, Nate and Trey had tag-teamed like old times and it had paid off. Huge.

  And there he was smiling again. Big and stupid. Sitting in a room that looked like a harvest confetti cannon exploded and wearing a party tiara of his own. But he couldn’t help it. Everything about today was smile worthy. They had more hard offers than they had wine, Remington was officially on board for Opus, Frankie had her moment to shine, and man had she shined. Then she had kissed the hell out of him.

  In. Front. Of. Everyone.

  “Did I see you talking to the rep from Stanford Specialty Markets?” Marc asked Gabe.

  “They are looking for a winery to partner with. I guess they want to create their own brand of wine to sell in their stores. Quality for a bargain kind of thing. Sounded interesting.”

  “No way,” Trey said, looking exhausted. “I need at least three years to recover from the last distribution deal we made.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Gabe said, losing all focus when his wife walked into the room. He took his wife’s free hand and tugged her onto his lap. It didn’t take the guy but a second before his hands were around her waist. “What took you so long?”

  Regan paid her husband no attention, instead looking directly at Nate. “Did Frankie call you?”

  “No, why? Is it time for pin the cluster on the vine?” Nate checked his cell for the sixth time in so many minutes. Nope. No text or messages. He had considered giving her a call, but hadn’t wanted to rush her. Tonight was a big night. If she needed two hours to enjoy her moment alone, then he’d give it to her.

  But when he’d left the Cork Crawl to head to ChiChi’s, he had assumed Frankie wouldn’t be far behind. He wanted to drive her, but then Mr. Rose had needed to finalize a few things with Frankie, so Nate had gone ahead. That was two plates of Lexi’s wasabi-gouda fritters, a glass of Red Steel, and a game of twenty questions with Holly ago.

  Apparently, in Holly-land kissing a girl in public meant that he should propose. Nate wondered what kissing Frankie in private should lead to. He thought about all the options and found himself shifting to get comfortable.

  Maybe he should call her. If anything just to hear her voice and tell her again how proud he was. Something he wouldn’t get to do at the party because he knew that it would embarrass her in front of his family. Yeah, he’d call her.

  “No, I was just checking my voicemail,” Regan explained, her usually confident eyes swimming with concern.

  Trey on the other hand looked perplexed and irritated. He held the bottle of Red Steel in his hand and studied the label. A thorough investigation later, his mouth flattened and his head bobbed side to side. Trey for Not bad. After sniffing the cork he poured himself a glass of Frankie’s wine, a gift from Lucinda who was busy in the kitchen with his nonna, and swirled it around. He took a sip and there it was—the how-did-she-do-it look of perplexed ecstasy.

  Trey had been trying to find fault with Red Steel since the crowning, with no luck.

  “There was one from Frankie,” she said and the tone in her voice had Nate setting down his glass.

  “What’d she say?” Nate asked, a sinking feeling settling in his gut as Regan looked over at Lucinda who stood in the doorway. She was
holding onto Mr. Puffins so tight his eyes were slightly bulged. Lucinda’s eyes, on the other hand, were filled with worry.

  “That she regretfully declines tonight’s dinner invite.” Regan managed to look even more concerned than Lucinda. Then she shot a sad look at her husband. “And to see if Gabe would be interested in buying her grapes.”

  “What?” Nate sat forward. Definitely time to give her a ring.

  “Are you serious?” Trey also sat straighter but for a totally different reason.

  “We aren’t buying them, Trey,” Nate growled, then looked back at Lucinda. “Why would she do that?”

  Lucinda stepped forward and for such a solid woman she looked strangely fragile. “Because Charles petitioned the decision, claiming that since Red Steel was partially grown and fully aged on Baudouin land that the wine and the win belonged to him.”

  “There is no way that the Wine Commission would uphold that. People lease land, buy grapes, and rent storage all the time. Plus, there is no way Frankie would cave. She needs this.” Nate was already on his feet, gathering his keys and dialing Frankie. It went straight to voicemail. He tried again. Same result.

  “Sit down, Nathaniel,” ChiChi said and he did. It was a command not a request and even though Nate wanted nothing more than to go find Frankie, he took his seat. It wasn’t years of conditioning had him pausing; there was something about the way ChiChi had said it that made breathing, let alone walking difficult.

  Lucinda sat next to him, her bony hands tucked securely around her cat. “Charles is about to lose everything. Everything that my father built all because of this stupid feud and his pride.” She shook her head and Nate could feel the sorrow rolling off her body. “Charles doesn’t know that I know. Stupid man forgets that although I haven’t been as active in the vineyard, I do remember how to read a loan document.”

  “The Santa Ynez property,” Nate guessed.

  Lucinda nodded and Nate heard a murmur of a sniff. Ah shit, if Lucinda was getting teary eyed he needed to find Frankie. Now.

  “Last summer Charles took out a five-year hard money loan using the St. Helena property as collateral. His first balloon payment is due at the end of the year. I think he was hoping that his sales tomorrow would be enough.”

  “He lost half the vines in the fire and didn’t even make the Cork Court,” ChiChi added. “I can’t remember the last time he didn’t make the Cork Court. He must be devastated.”

  “He’ll get over it,” Lucinda said quietly.

  Nate noticed the way the older woman rubbed her cat behind the ears. Gentle and loving, stroking him as though the act provided her with as much comfort as it did the cat. It reminded him of Frankie and Mittens.

  “I’ve got to find Frankie,” Nate said, standing again. He’d heard enough. “I can’t let her do this.”

  “Frankie needs to do what she thinks is right.”

  Nate froze. “Are you willing to stand by and watch her give up everything she has worked for, everything she’s achieved for some selfish son of a bitch who has done nothing but break her heart?”

  “No,” Lucinda said quietly, but there was nothing passive about the look she was leveling him with. “I know my niece and she will bounce back from this. It might take her longer to get to where she needs to be, but she will survive. If Charles loses that property though, and she believes she could have saved it, she will never forgive herself. That is something I’m not willing to stand by and watch.”

  “Well, then.” Nate grabbed his jacket, since it was better than punching a wall. “I guess we need to figure out a way to save the land and Frankie’s dreams, because I’m not going to do nothing while that bastard crushes her world. Again.”

  * * *

  Nate took the front steps three at a time. Frankie still wasn’t answering her phone, Mittens had chewed through the bay windowsill and was working his way through the front door, and Frankie’s bike was parked out front—engine cold. Meaning she’d been there for a while. Alone.

  Son of a bitch, he should have gone looking for her earlier. Two hours is a long-ass time to finalize things.

  “Frankie?” he called as he opened the door.

  He quickly scanned the front room and kitchen. There wasn’t a single light turned on in the entire house. “Honey?”

  That’s when he heard it. A small sob coming from his darkened bedroom. Nate flipped on the light and his heart nearly exploded. Frankie sat on the shag chair, her legs to her chest, and enough wadded up tissues to know that she’d been crying. His Frankie had spent the past few hours alone, crying.

  “Frankie,” he said softly, taking a step forward stopping when she jerked to her feet.

  Rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand did nothing to erase the red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Those eyes made him want to go next door, grab Charles by the neck, and shake him until he admitted what an amazing granddaughter he had. Then shake him some more to put the fear of God into him in case he ever considered using Frankie again.

  “Honey, I heard about…” The words died fast and hard. Frankie took a single step forward and held up her hand. Every thought left his head, and he couldn’t speak past all of the words on the paper staring him down. Words he had written.

  He recognized the eight by eleven piece of paper that was crumpled in her hand, recognized the stubborn tilt of her head, but the one thing he didn’t recognize was the look of utter devastation and defeat on Frankie’s face.

  “You’re crying.”

  She choked out a mirthless laugh. “Is that something you want to add to your Frankie list? Because there’s room right here in the margins,” she held up the list he’d stupidly made in a moment of frustration and pointed to the middle of the page, between ‘is messy at best, a disaster at worst’ and ‘drinks from the carton.’ “Or even better, at the bottom of this page.” She flipped the paper over. “Right below ‘selfish with her emotions.’ ”

  She wiped angrily at her cheeks again, but the tears fell faster than she could wipe. “Was this your goal all along? A way to get back at me for buying the land? Was this part of your game? Make the…” Her chin started quivering in an attempt to stop the flow of tears, and God, it nearly did him in. “Make the ‘socially awkward’ tomboy fall for you then crush her? Well, congratulations, once again. You win, golden boy.”

  “Frankie,” he said, but knew there weren’t enough words on the planet to make up for the ones he’d so callously scribbled on that page. “When I wrote that list I was angry, trying to sort out my feelings.”

  “Oh, you made your feelings more than clear.” Her chest started trembling and he could hear her struggle to get a breath in past her sobs. “I’m not worth your time or apparently,” she took in a shallow shaky breath, “your love.”

  “That’s not true.”

  But he could tell by the look in her eyes that regardless of what he said, she believed he didn’t love her. Couldn’t love her. “You promised never to lie to me.”

  He stepped forward and took her by the arms. She stiffened but didn’t pull away. “Honey, I’m not lying.”

  “Yes, you are. It says it right here in black and white next to every failing I possess as a woman, person, and partner.” She shoved the paper against his chest, hard enough that he stumbled back. “I might be ‘uninformed in the current political climate’ due to my ‘obsession with NASCAR’ and I might not have graduated from a fancy school like you, but I can read.”

  Nate took the paper and looked down at the last line and felt his chest tighten to the point of pain. He blinked, but when he opened his eyes it was still the same heartbreaking statement staring back at him. The I LOVE FRANKIE in the pros column was scratched out, leaving it only on the cons’ side. Shit, he hadn’t remembered crossing it out.

  She shook her head, sad and slow, so much fucking pain and heartache in her eyes that he felt his own begin to burn. She was slowly falling apart and it was his fault.

  “I could have handled Cha
rles, losing my grapes, everything you wrote on this list. But the last part, I just don’t know how to deal with, because everything else is true so this one must be as well.”

  Frankie was the strongest woman he knew. She’d suffered on the outskirts of her family for a lifetime, bounced back after Charles publically humiliated her, even stood up to Nate and his family without even shedding a tear. And the one person who destroyed her world was him. And he had no idea how to make this right.

  “You know what’s funny? You always say I’m not open with my emotions, that you never know where I stand?” She sniffed. “You want to know?”

  No he didn’t. Not right now. Not when her eyes told him everything and the humiliation he saw there made his chest hollow out. Because for the first time since high school, Nate saw a flash of that girl who believed she was broken, undeserving of love.

  “Right now,” she whispered. “I’m standing in your room with a list detailing every single insecurity about myself that I hate and don’t know how to change without changing me.” A fresh wave of humiliation spilled over her lashes. “I’m feeling like an idiot for believing that this could work between us and thankful that I didn’t tell you today that I was actually in love with you because that would only make this moment all the more awkward.”

  “I don’t care what I wrote. That list is all bullshit, Frankie. Everything there is bullshit. What matters is in here.” He hit his chest. “This matters. We matter. And we can make this work.”

  He reached out to cup her cheek but she turned her face. “No, we can’t. You have twenty, I mean thirty-seven, clearly outlined reasons why we can’t. Love can’t beat logic. I guess not my love, anyway.”

  Nate’s gut clenched to the point of pain. He would have given anything to take back what he’d done. Because seeing her cry was breaking his heart. Watching her grab her helmet and keys and head for the door had his heart exploding out of his chest.

  “Frankie, wait—” he grabbed her hand and she stopped, her shoulders slumped in defeat.