He started to say something else to me when Cabe stepped in front of me and pulled me behind him. “What are you doing here?” He said in a dark manner, a manner in which I had not heard him speak before, and let’s just say for future reference, never wanted to hear again.
“Oh, this is just perfect. I should have known the great White Knight Cabe Brown would be here to rescue the beautiful, newly wealthy, damsel in distress. How convenient.” This was from Mark, and said in a way I had not heard from him either! And it was NOT nice!
What was happening?
The two males stood straight and tall, with their chests puffed out and shoulders back – Mark still had a hold of momma, but seemed to not realize she was starting to slump – her drunken state was going south quickly .
Momma, not caring one bit that there was a badass standoff happening, and she was smack dab in the middle of it, was only able to focus on the fact that if she didn’t get another drink in her soon, she was going to pass out - started up again, “Look here, I needa comin an sit ‘fore I fall.”
“No,” Cabe stated, “You two leave now and don’t come back.” Then he slammed the door right in their faces.
I heard some muffled yelling, but it seemed to move away from the door pretty quickly.
Cabe turn to me, put his large hand flat against my chest and pushed me backwards into the living room right off the entry. “Hey,” I started and went to move away when he took both my upper arms and gently shook me. “Hush.”
Jumping Jezebels! What was he pissed about now?
“You hush!” I yelled at him, trying unsuccessfully to knock his hands off of me. “I just had my drunken momma show up cussing at me and it seems you know her boyfriend. How is it possible you know her boyfriend from TEXAS?” I finished, still yelling.
“Yes Cabe, I’d like to know the answer to that as well,” Sydney said from behind us. She had been quietly watching all of the going’s on.
“You know Mark, Syd, you just don’t remember – he’s Stan Markin’s cousin, the one who goes after the vines and wineries when the Markins decide they want to buy up. You went up against him seven years ago, the first time they came after Antonio’s Old Vineyards.”
“Oh my God. THAT was Mark Sephos?” She asked and tilted her head like she does when she is thinking about something important. I’d picked up on a couple of her cues the past week.
“Why would someone who lives here, knows this area and winery, be in Texas and become a boyfriend of my mommas?” I asked.
“Why indeed?” Sydney responded.
“This is not fucking good at all.” Cabe said finally releasing my arms. “Let’s sit down and talk this out. This just got a lot more complicated.”
“I’ll put some coffee and water for tea on,” Sydney said, walking away towards the kitchen.
I followed Cabe into the living room as Sydney took off to the kitchen.
“I want you to stop grabbin’ a hold of me,” I said as I sat down on the sofa. My southern accent coming on stronger because I was upset.
Cabe watched me as I sat so I watched him right back.
“I don’t grab you,” He replied clearly offended that I was offended.
“Yes, you do. You grab a hold o’ me, guide me, pull me, and for the most part find any reason to put your hands on me whenever we are together – now you may remember me from my visits when I was young, but I don’t remember you, and where I come from its rude to put your hands on people without their permission.”
I waited for a response, but when none came, I continued on, “We are gonna to be working together. I want to make sure Raquel and Antonio’s memories are kept alive. I know you don’t think much of me, have doubts about me and my abilities, and I really do understand why you would have those doubts. I’ll have to show you and Sydney what I’m capable of, but in the meantime, you’ve got to stop grabbin’ me. Okay?” I was trying to appeal to his sensitive nature, hoping he had one. I hadn’t really seen one yet, but he was Antonio’s good friend and hopefully he would come around sooner rather than later.
Leaning towards me, and after what seemed like an eternity of him staring at me in uncomfortable silence, Cabe asked quietly in his deep voice, “Why don’t you like my hands on you, Isabella?”
“Well, I…” My traitorous body flushed, making me even more uncomfortable. Shit, what was happening here? Was I misreading something?
“Coffee’s on and here is a nice hot cup of tea for you, Bella. What’d I miss?” she asked, looking from Cabe to me and back again.
Cabe leaned back and said, “Seems Isabella doesn’t like me touching her.”
Raising her eyebrows at me Sydney said, “Well, that’s got to be a new experience for you Cabe, finally meeting a woman who doesn’t want you touching her.”
“Whatever.” I mumbled, relaxing back with my tea into the comfortable couch.
Sydney sat next to me and said, “Me thinks nefarious acts are afoot.”
“Tell me how y’all know Mark.” I said.
“Mark is related to and part of the Markin Winery and Estate. They have been trying to buy up your uncle’s old vines for years. They are the ones Antonio used to sell the fruit from the old vines. Old Man Markin and Antonio had a great relationship, but when his son Stan took over, Stan and Antonio butted heads, causing Antonio to switch to selling the old vine fruit to Vista Rio Ranch. That turned out to be a good fit and they’d purchased the fruit for the last couple of years. Antonio had seventy-five acres DNA tested at Syd’s insistence, and learned that they were indeed Cinsault Vines. They may well be the oldest Cinsault Vines in the world. This of course brought their value up dramatically, and turned the filler fruit into a highly sought-after vintage vine, increasing the price significantly.” When Cabe finished, he looked at me.
“Are all the grapes…er… fruit already contracted out with the new buyers?” I asked.
“No, your uncle held back ten acres for himself,” Sydney replied. “He wanted to experiment with the wine and see how it would differ in taste between the French oak and American oak barrels.”
“How many tons was he averaging per acre from these vines?” I asked thinking about the research I had completed that afternoon.
“Those vines produced an average of four tons per acre,” Sydney replied, looking at me intensely with her head cocked sideways. Even though the look freaked me out a little bit, I was starting to get used to her watching me this way.
“That’s pretty good for old vines isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes. Typically, six tons per acre is what we look for, so to have one hundred and fifty-year-old vines; still putting out four tons an acre is a testament to Antonio and Rafael’s genius in the vineyard and their devotion to quality over quantity,” Cabe said, getting up and heading to the kitchen for coffee.
Wow. He really did know a lot about the vineyards.
“Okay. Let’s go back to how Mark knows you all and how it’s possible he is now my momma’s boyfriend?”
“My guess is the prick hooked up with your mother in order to gain access to the vineyard. What I can’t figure out is how he was going to do that. Everyone knew your aunt and her sister didn’t get along. How long ago did your mom and Mark start dating?” Cabe asked, as he walked back into the room and handed a steaming cup to Sydney.
“I think it’s been about two months. They were nice and settled in and cozy like, but still in the ‘momma hiding her crazy’ portion of the relationship, so it couldn’t have been any longer than that,” I said, sipping my tea.
“This just doesn’t make sense. Why would the Markin family go after Isabella and her mother, when everyone knows they haven’t even been here for a visit in years?” Sydney asked.
“That’s a very good question. I’m getting the feeling I’d better have the car your aunt and uncle were driving looked at and maybe the bodies examined,” Cabe said.
“What?” I breathed, comprehending what that statement implied.
I laid my head against hers and asked, “When’re the hits gonna quit comin’?”
“I don’t have the answer to that, my beautiful Bella. I’m sorry, I wish I did,” she whispered to me.
“Cabe,” I asked, “do you think my aunt and uncle were killed?”
“I sure fucking hope not. If someone ended them on purpose, that someone is going to pay big - fucking - time.”
“Cabe?” I asked.
When he looked at me, I said, “You say fuck a lot.”
Chapter 7
She Can Cook
After the upsetting discussion the evening my momma showed up and reared her drunken head, things seemed to get into a rhythm.
First, we had events scheduled every evening, with the tasting room open to the public Thursday thru Sunday.
This kept me busy, learning the business and getting myself familiarized with Raquel’s kitchens. Both kitchens were top of the line and almost identical: white cabinetry with stainless steel pulls, on stainless steel counter-tops, top of the line appliances; a stove top with eight industrial burners, four huge convection ovens and an indoor rotisserie. There was a walk-in freezer/cooler, and the gleaming floors were finished in a high gloss deep red wine concrete. Shiny pots and pans hung from racks over the large island. Herbs grew in the vast bay window above the sink. French doors led to a spacious patio, with a table and chairs, overlooking the large full vegetable and herb garden, that was lined with fruit trees.
The kitchens were magnificent and this was the best time so far; I felt the closest to my aunt in her kitchens. It was like I was back baking with her. Every now and again I thought I’d catch a faint whiff of her perfume. I told myself she was there watching over me, so I started talking to her while I was looking through the cabinets for ingredients. It was nice and took me to a place where I could forget for a just a moment all that had happened, all that had been lost, all that I’d lost. If anyone thought it was weird, they kept it to themselves.
I made extra pastry brie and raspberry bites, prime rib single skewers with blue cheese, crab stuffed mushrooms and tiny one bite pecan pies for the tasting room. I took extra care and time and arranged it all on my aunt’s beautiful pewter multi-tiered serving platters. I loved to experiment in the kitchen, and again, I felt close to Raquel doing the thing we always loved to do together. I could literally spend all day and night baking and it would seem like only an hour had passed. I loved it so much. It reminded me of a time when my momma, my aunt and I would all bake together, many, many years ago. Keeping those thoughts in mind, I made up a special “to go” basket with a little bit of everything I was working on. I figured one of the gals and I could run it over to Francesca and her daughters and made a mental note to make extra every time I baked for their family. I hoped it helped even a small amount with everything they were going through.
My momma, thus far, was MIA. She had not called or come by and I was relieved, but also knew this was going to be bad. When she did show up again, it was going to be because she had an army or at least some type of weapon at her back.
Sydney disappeared again. This time she actually took her stuff and left. She left us a note saying she would be back in a few days; this really upset Cabe and he took off as soon as I told him about the note, but wherever he went, he was back pretty quickly and seemed pretty chill…for Cabe anyway.
The third day after Sydney had left, I hadn’t seen much of Cabe; we seemed to have come to some sort of unspoken division of duties: he on the wine and vineyard side and me on the events and baking side – which was weird ‘cause it was exactly like my aunt and uncle had arranged their division of work.
We were preparing for an event for one of the real estate companies, which turned out to be a pretty big conference of about two hundred and fifty people with raffles, music, hosted bar and a silent auction. I decided to dazzle the crowd with a big three-tiered red velvet cake with my aunt’s delicious cream cheese frosting. I was just putting the finishing touches on it when Cabe strolled in, sweaty and dirty; he’d obviously been out in the vineyards.
“I’m starving…whoa…that looks great!” he said, sounding surprised.
“Thank you – I made shaved prime rib sandwiches and put them in the fridge. There are four and I’ve wrapped them up so you could take them to work with you tomorrow as well.” I walked to the fridge and grabbed one of the huge hoagie style sandwiches. “Let me just pop it in the microwave for thirty seconds.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need it heated.”
“It won’t be heated,” I said as I placed it in the microwave and punched in the time. “It will just soften the bread a tiny bit, but make all the difference.” The microwave dinged and I served him his sandwich and a summer shandy grapefruit beer at the large island, where I was finishing up the cake.
He sat down on the bar stool took a big swig of his cold beer and dug into his sandwich. He started chewing, then stopped, looked at me and moaned.
Yes, that’s right! Big tough Macho Man Cabe Brown moaned at the sandwich I’d made him. For some weird reason, this made my stomach as fluttery as a basket of feathers. And my body heated like I was dropped into a sauna. That moan seeped deep into my being.
Great. Just great, I was totally getting a girl crush on Big Man Brown. This wasn’t going to bode well for me if I had to stand up to him about anything concerning Bellini Estates.
I busied myself with the cake and transferred it to the decorative wheeled cart I’d found in my aunt’s pantry so it could be easily taken into the event. I could feel Cabe’s eyes on me as I worked and he finished up his sandwich .
The timer for the latest round of brie bites went off, and I moved to take them out of the oven, just as Cabe was heading to the sink. We did that dance where he moved and I moved blocking each other’s way, back and forth until he set his plate down on the counter, placed his hands on my hips and moved us both so we were on the side we needed to be on. I acted like it didn’t send my blood pressure through the roof and hoped he couldn’t hear my heartbeat, ‘cause BOOM BOOM BOOM was loud inside my head.
“That was the best fucking sandwich I’ve ever eaten. What have you got in there?” he asked, as he watched me pull out the brie bites from the oven, hovering over me.
“These are brie bites – I am serving them with these,” I said, lifting the tin, uncovering the prime rib skewers and crab stuffed mushrooms already on their platters.
Before I knew what, he was doing, he reached out and snagged one piece off of each platter and started eating my guests’ food! “Stop that!” I yelled, slapping at his hands.
“Oh My God!” he moaned as he was chewing on the beef and then tossed a mushroom into his mouth. He kept chewing and moaning, and it was making it hard for me to think. It was also making it hard for me to move around, because he was right in my space.
“All right! I will make you a plate for dinner, but you can’t keep eating these! They’re for the paying guests…. stop that!” He snuck an other one of the skewers off and popped it into his mouth, and groaned as he chewed.
This man was a menace! He was going to eat all of my food!
“My God this meat is just melting in my mouth and the flavor is fucking good .” He was staring at me in an intense way while he finished chewing, his eyes never leaving mine he reached around me to grab another brie bite off of the baking sheet and tossed it in his mouth.
“Stop eating all the food!” I said, slapping his hands again. He started laughing, dipped down wrapped his arms around my thighs and picked me up so I was forced to grab his shoulders or tip backwards. I looked down at him.
“Don’t get mad, but your food is better than Raquel’s and I thought she was the best cook I’d ever met,” he said, looking up at me. His beautiful lig
ht gray eyes sparkling.
I wasn’t sure what to do with this Cabe.
“I’m not mad. Maybe you can put me down so I can serve my guests and get paid so we can keep the lights on in this place?”
We watched each other for a few seconds, then he loosened his hold on me just enough to allow my body to slowly slide down his while still maintaining full contact. It was probably the single most erotic thing that had ever happened to me.
I could smell him and feel him as I slowly made my way to the floor. I broke out into a sweat again.
Jumpin’ Jezebels !
I cleared my throat, “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but I have over two hundred guests I need to feed and you’re throwing me off my game.” The front of my body still held firmly to his.
Holding me tighter, he leaned down to whisper, “You’re beautiful; you smell good; you’re smart and you can cook. Someone is going to be very lucky when you decide to let them put his hands on you.”
With that cryptic message, he released me, grabbed a couple more of the beef skewers and left the kitchen.
Did he mean he wanted to be the one to put his hands on me? Or was he saying when some other guy was lucky enough to put their hands on me? I was so confused.
Later that evening, after the food had been served and the cake enjoyed, I was so happy it was a huge success: one of the servers came into the kitchen where I was planning the next events menu, and said a guest was asking to meet me. I’d stayed mostly in the kitchen and hadn’t really had any interaction with our guests.
I took off my apron and headed out to the hall with the server. She took me to a table, where a good-looking dark-haired man rose as we approached, his eyes on me. He looked familiar, so I stretched my hand to him and as he took it, he said, “Hi Isabella! We met when my engine came out for the fire in the vineyard.”
Shaking his hand, I said, “That’s right, Captain Hernandez, right? ”
Still hanging onto my hand, he said, “Yes, but tonight I’m just Steve.”
Murder & Mayhem Page 7
