Disappointed, he gave a reluctant nod. “You’re a long way from home, and you had quite a shock yesterday when you discovered the full extent of what my father had done. I’m aware you all set your hearts on the place, and it’s been a disappointment for you.”
Ginger scratched at a mark on the table. “A bit.”
“We did all have high hopes that this would be the answer to what was missing from our lives.” Sandi leaned forward, catching his eye. “And we’ve all had it hard, there’s no doubt about it. But I think it’s been hardest on Fred.”
Harder than losing your partner, and then discovering he’d been married the whole time? Or having your ex accuse you of stealing from your company and getting you sacked? Mac stared at her, puzzled. “Do you think so?”
Both girls nodded. “She’s the definition of the word stoic,” Sandi said. “She looked after our mother for years, and never complained. Did she tell you that she didn’t go to university but went out to work so that we could both go?”
“No,” he admitted.
“She gave up so much for us. I feel ashamed now.” Sandi’s cheeks flushed red. “I just didn’t realize at the time. It must have been so hard for her. She missed out on the chance to have a career.”
“She wanted to be a nurse,” Ginger added.
“Really?” Mac could see her in the role, patient and kind. He tried not to dwell on the uniform.
“She never really had the chance to have a decent run at a relationship either,” Sandi said. “She went out with guys occasionally, but they never lasted very long, probably because they weren’t prepared to play second-best to our mother. But she never complained. She gave Mum everything, and then she found out Mum had been lying to us the whole time. It was such a betrayal, especially for Fred, because she can remember Dad. But all three of us missed out on a chance to know our father because of our mother.” Sandi’s voice was bitter. Ginger said nothing, just stared mutely at her hands.
“You’ve all been through a lot,” Mac said gently. “And I’m glad you came to the bay. We’ll do our best to work something out. Fred wants to give it another day for you to think about the B&B and restaurant, and for us to try to come up with a plan. So take your time, and try not to worry.”
“Yes, Dad,” Ginger said.
He gave her a wry look. “I’m just trying to help.”
Her expression softened. “I know.”
“I’m going to find Fred.” He rose and tucked his chair under the table.
“We’ll clean up,” Sandi said. “Take your time.”
Ginger nudged her with her elbow. Sandi nudged her back.
Mac pretended not to have noticed. “Okay, thanks.”
He headed out and crossed the garden, Scully at his heels, looking toward the vineyard to see if he could spot Fred. He thought about how her sisters had nudged each other. They thought that Fred liked him. Well, he liked her too, so that was something. When he remembered how he’d dreaded the girls arriving—had thought there would be screaming and tears and cursing—he couldn’t have wished for a better outcome. The sisters were lovely, Fred especially, and their attitude toward him had been much more than he deserved.
The vineyard glowed in the setting sun, the grapes plump and rich and ready for harvesting, which would begin in the next week or two. The weather had been perfect, dry and warm with just the right amount of rain, so at least it should be a decent vintage.
As he rounded the buildings, he saw her, walking away from him along the edge of the vineyard on the Pacific side. He jogged down to catch her up, Scully bouncing beside him, not considering until he neared her that she might want to be alone.
“Hey,” he said, slowing down when he reached her.
She looked up at him, eyebrows rising. “Hi.”
“I wondered whether you wanted company, then realized when I got here that you probably didn’t. You want me to leave you to it?”
She smiled. “No, that’s okay. I just wanted to stretch my legs.”
He fell into step with her, and they walked in silence for a while, the only sound coming from the German Shepherd as she snuffled amongst the leaves. The ocean glowed a deep russet with gold-topped waves.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Fred said eventually. She took a sip from a glass, and he saw then that she’d brought her wine with her.
“I think so.”
“In his letter, Dad said something about the bay being his place to stand.”
“Turangawaewae?”
“That’s the word—I didn’t realize you pronounced it like that. Too-ranga-why-why,” she repeated. “I didn’t really understand what he meant before, but I feel it here, Mac. I feel as if I belong here. I know it’s probably dramatic and pretentious considering we only set foot here yesterday, but...”
“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It runs in the blood, resides in the heart. Have you read or seen Gone with the Wind? ‘The land is the only thing in the world worth working for, worth fighting for, worth dying for, because it’s the only thing that lasts.’ Margaret Mitchell understood. People and money and success and failure come and go, but the land is always there.”
Fred’s eyes glistened, and she gave a small laugh and rubbed her nose. “You’re an old romantic at heart, aren’t you?”
“Hey, less of the old.”
She grinned. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two. You?”
“Thirty in a few months. The big three-oh.” She pulled a face.
“It’s not so bad. Think of it as a celebration. In the medieval period, you’d probably be dead by now, after having had fifteen children. You’re thirty! You made it!”
She laughed. “Thanks. I think.”
They walked a little farther in silence.
“So...” he said eventually. “You’re not leaving anyone behind in the U.K.?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “No.”
“I’m surprised.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s sweet of you. But men weren’t exactly climbing over each other to get to me. Not that I wanted them to. I’m going to be a crazy cat lady. An old maid, crocheting and making jam until I pop my clogs.”
“Pop your clogs? I haven’t heard that one.”
“Until I snuff it. Give up the ghost. Kick the bucket. Push up daisies.”
“Shuffle off the mortal coil,” he said.
“Sleep with the fishes.”
“Do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars,” he said.
“Check into the horizontal Hilton,” Fred finished, and they both laughed.
“I always thought I wanted to be buried here,” Mac said. “In the middle of the vines.”
“It would give a nice earthy touch to the Chardonnay.”
“Ha! Yeah.”
She hesitated. “Where’s my father...”
“He was cremated, as per his wishes, and his ashes were scattered at the local crematorium. There’s a plaque there. I’ll take you all to see it, if you like.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything.
They turned the corner at the bottom of the vineyard and started heading back up the hill.
“I like that you don’t mind talking about dying,” she said. “I know that sounds odd, but I’ve never met anyone who has the same... I dunno, pragmatic view, I suppose, as me.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it’s spending so much time outdoors. Working with the vines, it gives you a cyclical view of life. Seeds are planted, they grow, bear fruit, then they die, but death is just a big sleep in nature, isn’t it? A kind of hibernation. That’s how I like to think of it, anyway.” He gestured at the vineyard. “Harry’s still here, somewhere, watching you now. I bet he’s thrilled to see you here.”
“Maybe. It’s a nice thought.” She blew out a long breath, then finished off her glass of wine. “Life’s so short, isn’t it? It’s easy to tiptoe through it, trying not to make waves. I’ve spent my life being a good girl, doing what I thought was
right, and look where it got me. I’m tired of it, Mac. Of doing what other people want me to do. I want to be selfish, for a change. Not to worry about what people are thinking of me.”
“Sounds fair to me.”
She turned to him. “I want to put my dreams first. I don’t know how yet, but I’m determined to make this work, even if I have to put in twelve hours, seven days a week.”
It wouldn’t be enough, but he loved the way her eyes were blazing, filled with a light that he was certain hadn’t been there for a long time. “Then we’ll do it.”
“I mean it. I’m not going without a fight. Ginger, Sandi, and I—we’ve gone through too much, suffered enough. Other people have made our lives a misery, and we’re all tired of it. If we want happiness, we’re going to have to find it ourselves. Nobody’s going to hand it to us on a plate.”
None of the girls would find it easy to trust again. It made him sad, but he could understand why they felt like that. Once again, he felt a flare of anger toward his father, who had selfishly ridden roughshod over these girls’ lives, not thinking about what his destructive behavior was doing to their inheritance, to their spirit, or indeed, to his own son. Fred was right—you made your own happiness in life, and he admired the girls for recognizing that and acting on it.
“Just tell me what you want me to do,” he said, “and I’ll do my best to help.”
She gave a firm nod and looked across the vineyard. Her gaze turned briefly wistful, and he thought she might be thinking of her father, and his own words about Harry’s spirit watching over her. Then he saw her chin lift, and knew determination was setting in.
“Let’s go back to the house,” she said. “There’s something I want to do, and you’re the man to do it.”
Chapter Ten
“A WINE TASTING?” SANDI grinned. “Now you’re talking.”
They’d returned to the house, and Fred had announced her suggestion. Ginger and Sandi had just finished washing the dishes, and their eyes lit up.
“What do you think?” Fred asked Mac.
“Now?” he said.
“I want to sample the merchandise.” She lifted her gaze to his and held it.
The corners of his lips curved up. “Whatever the customer wants.”
Her heart banged against her ribs. She mustn’t flirt with him. But it was impossible not to. The guy was so... it was hard to put it into words. He was gorgeous, but that wasn’t the only reason she liked him so much. She’d previously compared him to Tangaroa, the Maori sea god, because of his blue eyes, but now she found herself thinking of him more as a nature deity, like Herne the Hunter or the Green Man. He’d said things about the land and nature that made her shiver. Nobody had ever come close to expressing the way she felt about life. He was a complete stranger, and yet oddly, in the one day since she’d known him, she felt as if he understood her more than her mother, her sisters, or any of her friends had ever done.
“Why don’t we go back to the B&B,” he said. “That way, when we’re done you can just roll down the corridor straight to bed.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” Ginger replied.
“I thought the idea of wine tasting was to spit it out,” Sandi commented.
“It’s entirely up to you whether you want to spit or swallow,” he said.
Ginger snorted and Sandi laughed. Fred raised her eyebrows.
Mac ran a hand through his hair. “You won’t believe me, but actually I was referring to the wine.” When Fred grinned, he gave a rueful smile and just rolled his eyes. “Technically, the true sommelier won’t swallow or else he or she will get drunk every time they go to work. But tonight? I think you’ve earned the right to get a bit tipsy. Come on.”
They all went over to the B&B, and Mac told them to sit in the dining room while he fetched the bottles. Scully stayed with them, as if she’d decided she was one of the girls now.
“That was deliciously cute,” Ginger said when he’d left. “He’s quite gorgeous when he’s not being all dark and broody.”
“He’s devastated by what his father did.” Fred retrieved four wine glasses from the cabinet, placed them on the table, and sat. “Absolutely gutted, and determined to make it up to us.”
“We mustn’t let that go to waste,” Ginger said.
“Ginger,” Sandi scolded. “I don’t care what we’ve both been through—we don’t take advantage of other people like that.”
“Oh, keep your knickers on. I just meant that if he’s offering help, we’d be stupid to ignore it.”
“I’ve already told him that I’m hoping he’ll stick around to advise us,” Fred told them. “I know all three of us find it difficult to trust people now, but let’s face it—if we decide we want to make a go of it here, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Have you made up your mind yet?” Sandi glanced at the door to make sure Mac hadn’t yet returned.
Fred met her gaze. “Have you?”
Sandi shrugged. When they looked at Ginger, she shrugged, too. They all gave low chuckles.
“Tomorrow,” Fred promised. “We’ll sit down at the end of the day, cards on the table, and go through everything.”
They all nodded.
“Do you think Mac’s a typical Kiwi guy?” Ginger asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I wonder if they’re all like him. If so... I think we’re going to have some fun while we’re here.”
Fred opened her mouth to reply, but he walked back in at that moment, so she shut it again.
He was carrying five bottles, and as he set them on the table, Fred saw that he’d brought one of each of the types of grapes they grew at the bay—Chardonnay, Merlot, Syrah, Pinot Gris, and Chambourcin.
He also had a box of chocolates from an intriguingly named shop called Treats to Tempt You, which he laid alongside the bottles. “Help yourself,” he said, taking a seat opposite Fred.
“You are absolutely divine.” Sandi opened the box, pulled one out, and popped it in her mouth.
“Sandi’s a chocoholic,” Fred explained.
“And you’re not?” He pointed the box at her.
She shrugged and chose a caramel creme. “Is there a woman in the world who isn’t?”
He smiled and turned the bottles so the labels faced them. “Where do you want to start?”
“We’re in your hands,” Sandi said. “You choose.”
“Okay.” He unscrewed the top from the bottle of Merlot. “This is our crowd pleaser. It has tones of chocolate and cherry, so it’ll go well with the truffles.” He poured a small amount into each glass.
“What’s the difference between a Merlot and a Cabernet Sauvignon?” Fred pulled the nearest glass toward her. She took a deep inhale of the wine and immediately smelled the cherries he’d talked about.
“I brought a color chart.” Mac laid it on the table before them. It featured photos of six glasses of wine, all reds. He tapped the first. “The color is caused by how long the grape skins are allowed to soak in the wine. With a Cab Sav, you can see the color is deeper and richer than the Merlot. The Cab Savs have more tannin, which is that dry sensation in the mouth.”
Fred took a sip. “Mmm. That’s a nice wine.”
“Here’s a story for you,” he said. “Both the Cab Sav and Merlot were born in Bordeaux, in France, on either side of the Gironde river. The left bank was better suited for Cabernet, the right for Merlot. So you can also ask for a left or right bank Bordeaux in a wine shop. That’ll score you some points.”
“I love stories like that,” Ginger said.
Mac ran his tongue across his top lip. “Oh, I’ve plenty more where that came from. Come on, drink up. Let’s compare it to the Syrah.”
Fred finished her Merlot, trying to suppress the shiver that had run through her when he’d licked his lip. Now he knew they weren’t going to be angry with him, he was starting to relax, and she was beginning to realize there was a much more playful guy beneath the reserved fro
nt he’d been projecting.
They compared the spicy Syrah they’d had with dinner to the Merlot, and then tried the Chambourcin.
“It’s a hybrid grape,” Mac explained, “which a lot of winemakers don’t like because they prefer ‘pure’ wine. But it’s resistant to disease, and it’s good for blending—in Australia they use it to add color and depth to Shiraz, for example. Can you taste the black cherry and plum?”
“Um...” Fred sipped it again. “Sort of.”
“I can taste fruit,” Ginger said.
Mac rolled his eyes. “Well if you’re going to work on a vineyard, you’ll have to do better than that. Drink up. Time to try the whites.”
By now, Fred was feeling nicely relaxed, as if she’d been all sharp corners and angles, and someone had come along with sandpaper and filed them off. She had another chocolate while Mac took the glasses off to rinse them, then came back and refilled them from the bottle of Chardonnay.
“Here’s a joke for you,” Mac said as he poured. “A convent’s mother superior called all her nuns together to share some troubling news. She said, ‘My dear sisters, we’ve found a case of Gonorrhea in the convent.’ ‘Thank the Lord,’ one of the nuns said. ‘I was getting sick of Chardonnay.’”
Sandi coughed into her glass, and Ginger and Fred burst out laughing.
“I love it,” Fred said. “I’m going to write that down.”
Mac winked at her and handed her a glass. She took it, feeling a glow inside that she wasn’t entirely sure was due to the wine.
“This is aged for eight months in oak barrels,” he said. “It smells of peaches and tastes of creamy butterscotch.”
“Mmm,” Ginger said. “It’s lovely.”
“I’m not normally a big Chardonnay fan,” Fred said, “but it is nice.”
Mac finished off his glass. “Chardonnay’s a bit of a Marmite wine. People either tend to love it or hate it. I think ours is nicer than the more acidic Chardonnays. You can taste our sub-tropical climate in this wine, I think—it’s the one I’m most proud of.”
Fred could see what he meant—she could certainly taste the peach and citrus notes in it. The lemon reminded her of Mac, with his fresh lemony scent. But then everything was making her think of Mac at the moment.
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