How had things come to such a pass? she wondered miserably. Three months ago, her life had been in perfect, albeit unexciting order. Now it was in a tailspin. Her savings were almost all gone, the money she hoped to make on the sale of her apartment hadn’t yet materialized and she was worried sick, stressed out, heartbroken and completely exhausted. And if all that wasn’t enough, Christmas lay just around the corner and it promised to be the bleakest she’d ever known—which, given her unhappy childhood, was saying a lot.
She had no one to blame but herself for her sorry situation. She’d rushed into accepting a legacy without reading the fine print in her great-uncle’s will, and she’d rushed into an affair with a charismatic stranger without calculating the emotional price she’d have to pay. And the result was a meltdown of gigantic proportion, on a strip of deserted road in a remote corner of British Columbia held in the iron grip of winter.
“You’re looking a bit green around the gills, missy,” Cal announced, when she finally pulled herself together enough to make it home. “The future ain’t looking as bright you thought it was, is it?”
Too worn down to put a brave face on the situation, she said, “I tried to borrow money from the bank, but they turned me down, and if my apartment doesn’t sell soon, Cal, I don’t know how I can keep this place going.”
“What do you mean, ‘you?’ We’re in this together, Arlene, and I’ve got a few dollars stashed away that you can have.”
He almost never called her “Arlene.” That he did so now, and with such rough affection, tipped her over the edge into another flood of tears. “I can’t take your money,” she wailed.
“Don’t see why not. I’ve got no use for it,” he said, practically pushing her into the living room where a fire blazed in the hearth. “As for that place you’ve got down east, somebody’ll buy it, sooner or later, so stop your bawling. It’s upsetting our dogs.”
“Oh, Cal!” She smeared her hands over her face and managed a watery smile. “How will I ever repay you for sticking by me through all this?”
“I’ll tell you how. Get yourself to the clinic in town and tell that half-assed young sprig that calls himself a doctor to give you the once-over. You’re not the weepy kind, missy. It takes more than a bit of a setback to make you cry. Wouldn’t surprise me if your battery’s low, what with the way you’ve been knocking yourself out with this house, and you need a pick-me-up of some sort.”
“You might be right,” she admitted. “I have been feeling a bit run-down, lately. I’ll book an appointment for next week.”
“Right.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked around the room. “Now, where do you want the Christmas tree?”
“I wasn’t planning on having one,” she said, jarred out of her self-pity by the sudden change of subject.
“Too damn bad. I went out and cut one while you were gone this morning. So make up your mind where it goes, or I’ll do it for you.”
“I…suppose in the corner between the windows.”
“Glad you think so because that’s where it’s going anyway. I’ll get started on it while you make us something to eat. I’m so hungry, my stomach’s beginning to think my throat’s been cut.”
At that she actually managed a laugh. “Let me change out of this suit,” she said, heading for the stairs, “then I’ll fix us some soup and a sandwich. But about the tree, Cal, you know we don’t have any decorations or lights for it?”
“That don’t matter as long as it smells right. Anyhow, the idea’s what counts. Families put up Christmas trees, it’s as simple as that.”
He’d never know how his words affected her; how they lifted her spirits. She’d envied other people all her life for the families they took for granted, and learned to guard her heart against the hurt. But Domenico had managed to steal it in a matter of weeks—of days, even. He’d made her aware of all she’d missed, not just passion on a grand scale, but the warmth of belonging.
Well now, after nearly thirty years, she had Cal and she had the greyhounds. Not much by most people’s standards, probably, but they gave her a sense of belonging she’d never before known. Even though the man she missed with an ache that never went away, wasn’t part of the package, they helped make the pain just a little more bearable.
She set up an appointment at the clinic for the following Monday afternoon. Aware that Christmas was just three days away and she’d done nothing to make it special, she decided to dip into her meager savings and go shopping beforehand.
She was ready to leave the house just after eleven, when Ralph McKinley phoned and asked her to stop by his office. Frowning, she said, “I’ve got some time today, if that’s convenient, but I hope it’s not more bad news. I’m not overdrawn on my account, am I?”
“No, no,” he said, sounding positively festive. “Nothing like that. What time’s good for you?”
“I can be there in half an hour.”
“Fine,” he said. “See you then. Oh, and Ms. Russell? I think you’re going to be very pleased with my news.”
Had Great-Uncle Frank left a safe-deposit box full of hundred-dollar bills no one had remembered to tell her about? she wondered, slowing down at the intersection to Main Street and pulling into a parking slot right outside the bank.
“A little brisk out, isn’t it?” Ralph McKinley remarked jovially, greeting her at the door and ushering her into his office. “May I get my assistant to bring you coffee to warm you up, Ms. Russell?”
“No, thank you,” she said. She was off coffee, lately. Not only that, this office held no fond memories for her and she wasn’t sure the butterflies in her stomach could tolerate extra company. Despite his earlier reassurances, she was as nervous now as she had been the first time she sat across the desk from him.
“Then I’ll get straight to the point. You might recall, when you were here last, my mentioning that certain wealthy individuals occasionally choose to back ventures that fall outside the boundaries set by official lending institutions such as ours.”
“Yes,” she said, hard-pressed not to tell him to forget the jargon and cut to the chase. “Are you saying someone has expressed an interest in my situation?”
“In fact, yes.” He pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. “The fine print is all here, but what it essentially boils down to is that a private party has offered to finance the restoration of your vineyard far beyond anything the bank could offer, even if it were in a position to lend you the money you need.”
“You also told me that this kind of offer comes at a much higher cost than that charged by the bank.”
“Not in this case, as it happens. The agreement calls for you to do the work, and the investor to provide the funding, in effect becoming a silent partner.”
“Who’ll take my property if I default on repayment.”
“No. The terms of the agreement stipulate two conditions only—an equal share of future profits, and first option to buy out your half of the business at fair market value, should you decide to sell.”
“Why would anyone want it, if the land isn’t part of the deal?”
“Because your lease is good for another ninety years. With the right backing and proper management, there’s a fortune to be made in a tenth of that time. From a purely practical standpoint, the return on a fifty percent share of profits over the long-term far outstrips what an investor could normally expect to make on a standard loan, even allowing for a higher than normal interest rate.”
“It sounds too good to be true. Who is this angel of mercy?”
“No name that would mean anything to you. It’s a numbered company, WMS830090. But I can tell you that the offer is entirely legitimate and aboveboard. Take a moment to look over the contract, Ms. Russell. It’s very straightforward and will, I think, put your mind at ease. Then, if you’re satisfied with what you see and are agreeable, I’ll witness your signature and the money will be transferred into your account immediately.”
“And if I have questi
ons?”
“I’m authorized to answer them. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with one of my tellers.”
Left alone, Arlene took a deep breath and tried to control her trembling hands. If this was a genuine offer, it was also a godsend. But it was Christmas, the season of miracles, and maybe she should be thankful one had come her way, instead of sniffing around like a suspicious bloodhound.
But, Don’t be hasty this time, her common sense cautioned. Read every word twice—on the lines and between them, too. As contracts went, this one might be simple as ABC, but she’d sign nothing until a lawyer had gone over it with a fine-tooth comb.
“I’ll give Greg Lawson a call,” McKinley offered, when she told him her decision. “His office is just across the street. You could go over there right away, if he’s free.”
As it happened, the lawyer was just leaving for lunch and, agreeing to stop by the bank on his way out, showed up within minutes. “I have no problem advising you to accept any of this, Arlene,” he said, after examining the document thoroughly. “My only question is, who signs on behalf of the investor company?”
“I do,” Ralph McKinley said. “I have power of attorney to represent the client.”
The lawyer shrugged. “Then grab a pen and Merry Christmas, Arlene!”
People really couldn’t walk on air. They put one foot in front of the other and very carefully made their way along the icy sidewalk. But Arlene’s spirits soared sky high as she headed home just after four o’clock, with a clean bill of health and a truck full of goodies.
“You had a complete physical less than six months ago, so I don’t see the need for another at this time,” the doctor had said, after checking her heart, her lungs and her blood pressure. “I’ll send blood samples to the lab, just to be on the safe side, but as far as I can tell, there’s not much wrong with you that a restful, relaxed Christmas won’t fix.”
From there, she’d driven to the shopping mall in another, larger town, several miles farther down the highway. Tonight, there’d be wrapped gifts for Cal and the greyhounds, under a tree decorated with strings of colored lights and shiny glass balls.
That evening, when he came in from stacking more firewood on the back porch, she had Cal’s favorite dinner waiting: roast prime rib of beef, mashed potatoes, carrots and gravy, and a bottle of good red wine, with hot apple pie and ice cream for dessert. Plain, honest food, just like him, served in the dining room instead of the kitchen, with candles on the table, and festive paper napkins.
“Pretty fancy,” he declared, eyeing his plate. “We come into money, did we?”
“As a matter of fact, we did,” she replied, and told him about her meeting at the bank.
“Something fishy about this deal, if you ask me,” he rumbled. “Folk don’t give somethin’ without expecting something in return—especially not rich folk! That’s how they made their money in the first place. Mark my words, missy, there’s a catch somewhere. You just ain’t bumped into it yet.”
“If there is, it sneaked past a bank manager and a lawyer. Both Ralph McKinley and Greg Lawson gave their stamp of approval.”
“McKinley’s a sharp cookie,” he admitted grudgingly. “Not much gets by him. And young Lawson’s not so bad, either, considerin’ he a lawyer.”
“Exactly! And it’s not as if I’ve signed away my inheritance.”
“You’ve given some stranger first dibs at buying this place if you decide to sell,” he said darkly.
“I have no intention of selling, if that’s what’s worrying you.” She looked around at the walls newly painted a soft butter-cream; at the sparkling moldings, the gleaming floor. Logs crackled in the fireplace, while outside, fat snowflakes drifted down and batted against the windows like blind white moths. Across the hall, the lights from the Christmas tree threw muted shades of color across the living room. “I love this place, Cal. It’s become my home—and you’re my family.”
He cleared his throat and made a big production of piling potatoes on his fork. “Some family!” he muttered hoarsely. “A wench like you should have a husband and kids, not be making do with a couple of aging dogs and an old fart like me.”
“Not even if I happen to be rather fond of aging dogs and old farts?”
He let out one of his famous cackles. “Watch your mouth, missy, unless you want it washed out with soap.”
Smiling, she sat in silence a while, more at peace than she’d been in weeks. She didn’t delude herself. She knew the road ahead would be hard, that money alone wasn’t enough to bring her vineyard back to life; that it required dedication and commitment and patience.
She knew, too, that the perennial ache of missing Domenico would continue to haunt her in the middle of the night, or make a sneak attack during the day, and that when it did, the pain it brought would leave her breathless. Which was why she was so grateful for times like this, when contentment reigned supreme, even if it was only for a little while.
“We’ve never talked about this before, Cal,” she said, after the meal was cleared away and they sat by the fire in the living room, with the dogs snoozing at their feet, “but how did this place fall into such disrepair?”
“Liquor,” he said bluntly. “Frank always liked his booze, but he really started hitting the bottle about seven years back, when we lost most of the harvest two seasons in a row. Drank himself to death in the end. I love everything to do with growin’ wine grapes, and tried to keep things going, but it’s more than a one-man job and I ain’t as young as I used to be. You want to make a go of it here, Arlene, you’re gonna have to hire extra labor, come spring.”
“I’ll be relying on you to do that. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the man in charge of the vineyard and what you say, goes.”
He shuffled to his feet. “Reckon I can live with that, missy,” he said. “You okay here by yourself for a spell?”
“Of course. It’s been a long day, so I’m going to put my feet up and enjoy the fire and the Christmas tree, and maybe watch a little TV.”
“Then I’ll throw a couple more logs on the fire, and take the dogs for a run before I turn in myself.”
After he’d gone, she went upstairs, took a quick shower and put on a long white nightgown embroidered with rosebuds and forget-me-nots, her warm rose-pink chenille dressing gown and matching slippers. So what if she looked like somebody’s granny? It wasn’t as if she was expecting company.
Scooping up the contract she’d left on the hall table, she returned to the living room and had just settled down in her favorite armchair when the doorbell rang.
Thinking Cal must have accidentally locked himself out at the back, she trudged through the hall and opened the front door.
Sure enough, Cal stood there with the dogs, but they weren’t alone. “Caught this guy snooping around the place,” he said. “Drivin’ the same car as I saw creeping around here yesterday like a fox circling the henhouse. Claims you know him. That so?”
“Yes, I know him,” she said dully. And she knew, too, in a flash of insight as blinding as it was devastating, exactly who her anonymous benefactor was.
“Arlene,” Domenico said, wrapping her in the unforgettable, sexy timbre of his voice. “It’s wonderful to see you again. May I come in?”
Chapter 11
From her expression, he was obviously about as welcome as the bubonic plague, and given the way she’d walked away from him in Paris, he supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything else. But she’d haunted him for weeks now, and he was tired of being on the losing end of a battle he hadn’t a hope of winning. Like it or not, she was in his blood. The time had come to win her over, or exorcise her from his mind and his heart, once and for all.
“May I come in?” he asked again, locking gazes with her.
She gave the merest nod and moved well back, as if afraid that if he touched her, he might contaminate her. She’d lost weight, he noticed. Although the loose robe she wore camouflaged her body, the hollows benea
th her cheekbones were more pronounced, her jaw more sharply defined. She looked drained, exhausted, and he had an overpowering impulse to gather her in his arms and never let her go.
Why hadn’t she taken better care of herself? And why had he waited so long to come to her rescue?
Stamping the snow from his shoes, he stepped inside.
The old man slammed the door shut. “You want me to stick around, missy?” he asked, fixing Domenico in an evil glare.
“It’s not necessary,” she said. “Our visitor won’t be staying long.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen, if you change your mind.”
“Thanks, Cal.”
She waited until he’d disappeared before turning her attention to Domenico again. “Why are you here?”
“Because I couldn’t stay away.”
She curled her lip. “Of course not. What satisfaction is there in conferring favors on someone, if you’re not on hand to wallow in their gratitude? The only surprise is that you waited this long to show up.”
He’d bent down to stroke the dogs who were winding around his legs, begging for affection, but at her words, he abruptly straightened again. “What?”
“Oh, please!” she said scornfully, heading for a room to the right of the front door. “I know you’re my anonymous investor, Domenico. The pity of it is that I didn’t figure it out sooner. It’s not as if your friend Ortensia didn’t warn me.”
He followed her and found himself in a handsome salon illuminated only by the lights on a fragrant Christmas tree and the flames in the tiled hearth leaping up the chimney. “What has Ortensia Costanza to do with any of this?”
“She told me you coveted my land. I didn’t believe her.” Her lovely mouth curved in a bitter smile. “Silly me! I should have remembered you were the one who told me you don’t let anything stand in the way of your going after the things you want.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might want you?”
The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle Page 14