by Jo McNally
“What do you mean, ‘people talk’? What are they talking about?”
“Oh, never mind that.” Helen checked her watch. “I have to finish those cookies. Come on out to the tasting room later, and—” her eyes went around the cluttered office “—don’t work too hard.”
Whitney held in her laughter at that last comment. Good thing she loved a challenge.
CHAPTER THREE
LUKE WATCHED HELEN rearrange the empty wine glasses on the tasting counter for the third time. It was a bright, sunny Saturday in July. It was perfect boating or picnic weather, which meant it wasn’t a great day for wine tasting. The limo and bus tours were still running throughout the Finger Lakes, but Falls Legend wasn’t a regular stop anymore. That would change this fall, but at this point, they weren’t ready to handle busloads of people.
It broke his heart to see Helen look up at every sound to see if they had a customer. He was relieved she was working her way out of the fog of her depression, but that meant she was fully aware of how slow business was these days.
“It’s the weather, Helen. Beautiful days like today are not our friend. People are off doing other stuff.”
She looked out at the brilliant sunshine and nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right.” Helen nibbled absently at a cookie, then smiled. “But when business picks up this fall, we’ll have some award-winning wines to share, won’t we?”
“Damn right we will. A gold medal winner last winter, two silvers and a bronze.” He held up a bottle of their award-winning pinot noir as if to toast Helen. “We still have the festival competition coming up in September, so hopefully we’ll have even more to brag about.”
“You and Tony had a vision, Luke, and you made it happen. It was quite an investment, but...”
“It will be worth it, Helen. I promise.” His chest tightened as she turned away to dust the sales counter again. He shouldn’t keep making promises, but he couldn’t stand to see her worry. Helen was more of a mother than his own had ever been, and he wasn’t about to let her down.
She and Tony had practically raised him from the time he was a teen. They helped him feed his siblings when his father’s drinking took up the grocery budget. He had to figure out a way to hold on until September, when they’d be back on the official wine trail and buyers would be back on their doorstep. The first vintage they’d bottled from the new stainless steel tanks was sensational, and there was more coming. Falls Legend Winery was poised to make a comeback.
But comebacks weren’t cheap, and the winery was running on fumes. Or at least, it appeared that way. Helen’s recordkeeping was so disorganized that he wasn’t sure what their situation was. His own paychecks had been few and far between. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t any money. Helen had refused all his offers of help with the books, telling him everything was fine. Everything was definitely not fine, but he hadn’t wanted to upset her, so hadn’t pushed. Maybe he should have.
He hadn’t seen Helen’s niece since their tug-of-war on Thursday, but Helen said Whitney was setting up shop in the dining room to “fix things.” Helen had been going on and on about Saint Whitney ever since she’d arrived. Would have been nice if Little Miss Perfect had shown up to help before now. He vaguely remembered seeing her around when he was a teen, a little girl playing on the porch. Helen said she’d visited a few times as an adult, but never for more than a day or two, and it had been years. Would have been nice if she’d bothered to show up for Tony’s funeral. Helen had explained that she was off working in Europe then, but she could have grabbed a flight if she’d really cared. He slid a revolving display of gift bags across the floor to make the cash register more accessible.
What was Whitney’s angle? She’d arrived at the winery like some avenging angel, hostile and practically accusing him outright of stealing from Helen. He wasn’t new to accusations. That’s what happened when your father lived in prison. But how would she know that?
Why had she suddenly decided to show up now? Helen said the visit was a surprise. That Whitney was on some sort of sabbatical from her fancy Chicago job. That didn’t make sense, though. Sabbaticals were usually for studying, weren’t they? How the hell would he know—it had taken him almost five years to finish his associate degree. Luke stepped back and studied the display.
But he had the street smarts, and strong cynicism, of a Rutledge. If Whitney was so indispensable to her bosses, why would they let her take so much time off to help an aunt she hadn’t seen in years? Did she think there was something she could take advantage of here at the winery? Some untapped inheritance from Tony she could get her paws on? He almost laughed out loud. Good luck with that one.
“Well, look at this! Our first customer is my favorite customer!” Helen’s enthusiastic greeting had Luke turning toward the door. But his enthusiasm popped like a soap bubble. Whitney Foster stood there looking around the shop. She was dressed pretty fancy for a Saturday in Rendezvous Falls. The ruby red silky top fluttered over her trim black capris. At least her shoes were more practical than on Thursday—simple leather flats. She smiled at her aunt, and Luke blinked. The woman knew how to work a smile, that’s for sure. And Helen was falling for it, almost preening under her niece’s warm gaze. Whitney quickly shifted into investigator mode.
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, Aunt Helen. Am I really the first customer?” She turned to Luke, her voice taking on a decidedly sharper edge. “Maybe you should be out fixing something instead of standing around doing nothing.”
Something inside Luke snapped.
“Lucky for me, I don’t work for you, lady.” He caught Helen’s quick frown, and dialed it back. “I mean, I don’t work for you, Whitney. Just because you saw me carrying a tool bag the other day...”
“My uncle’s tool bag,” she corrected him. As if he didn’t know. As if Tony hadn’t taught him how to use and care for every hand tool in there.
“Correct. Seeing me carry your uncle’s tool bag does not mean I’m just the handyman.”
She raised her chin and fixed him with a hard glare. “It’s pretty clear this place doesn’t have a handyman at all.”
Helen’s laugh sounded forced. “Okay, back to your own corners, you two! I know you had a little squabble the other day, but there will be no sparring this afternoon.” She looked between him and Whitney, a little furrow appearing between her brows. Her voice dropped, as if talking to herself. “You’re both so important to me...”
A touch of color bloomed on Whitney’s cheeks, and she brushed her hair over her shoulder.
“We weren’t sparring, Helen. And we didn’t have a squabble, either. That was just good-natured fun, like today. Right, Luke? I was teasing him about his minimal handyman abilities.” He appreciated her trying to make Helen feel better, but not at his expense. Whitney glanced his way, and her smile had a hint of steel to it. “But then, we all have things we’re not very good at, don’t we?”
The woman somehow managed to push buttons he didn’t even know he had. He usually shrugged off people’s preconceived opinions of him, but she made him want to fight back. “The thing is, I haven’t found your weakness yet, Whitney. I’m at a disadvantage in all this ‘fun’ we’re having. Can you help me out, Helen? Is there anything your niece isn’t good at?”
Helen wasn’t buying their routine for a minute. Her eyes lit up with amusement. “Well, I love her to death, but it’s no secret that she’s not very outdoorsy. When she used to visit, she’d spend more time in the house than out around the vineyards. That’s probably why your paths never crossed. I think it had something to do with a little old snake...”
Whitney’s face paled, highlighting the bright spots of pink still on her cheeks. “Aunt Helen, you’re supposed to be on my side! And by the way, there was nothing little about that snake. I hardly think being spatially aware of dangerous animals is a shortfall. It seems very prudent to me.”
“And what do you consider a ‘tiny percentage’? When it comes to venomous snakes, what risk ratio is acceptable to you?” A small shudder went through her body, and she waved her hand in dismissal. “Never mind. We’re done talking about that. I’m sure you have somewhere else to be, Luke.”
She wasn’t going to get rid of him that easily. He folded his arms on his chest and rocked back on his heels.
“You think the winemaker should be somewhere other than the wine-tasting room? Where would you suggest I...?”
He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth, and she pounced.
“Are you asking me to suggest where you should go? Hmm, let’s see...” She cupped her chin with her hand, tapping her finger on the side of her face. She was sassy, and he liked that a lot more than he should.
Helen giggled. Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh as much as she had in the past few days. “My god, it’s like having a pair of toddlers in the room. Whitney, I know you’re a hot shot at a fancy company in the big city and you’re used to being the boss, but this is a family business. We work as a team, don’t we, Luke?”
Something happened when Helen mentioned Whitney being a “hot shot.” She visibly recoiled at the words, and a shadow flickered across her face.
Helen didn’t seem to notice. “And teams work together. Why don’t you two stop ‘teasing’ each other—” Helen made air quotes with her fingers “—and make peace with a handshake?”
Whitney opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut and flashed that smile of hers at Helen. She extended her hand toward Luke and he took it. An unexpected hum of...something...buzzed under his skin at the first touch. Her fingers wrapped around his and she did a quick, professional handshake, as if she was eager to get it over with.
But Luke, now enjoying her discomfort, held on longer. Just to see what would happen. She gave a little tug, but he didn’t release her. There was a determined, confident gleam in her eyes. You’re not going to rattle me that easily, her expression said.
He gave her hand a quick squeeze. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message of his own. Bring it on, I can take you.
Luke wasn’t sure how long their silent wrestling match lasted before Helen broke the moment.
“Well, that was good for a start, I guess. Luke, why don’t you take Whitney on a tour... Luke?”
He blinked away and reluctantly released Whitney’s hand, conceding the stalemate. For now.
“A tour? Um, yeah...”
Whitney waved off the offer. “Don’t bother. I know where everything is. I used to crawl around on the wine barrel racks during the summers, remember?”
Helen winked at Luke. “Oh, I think you’ll find things have changed, honey. Let Luke show you around so you have a better understanding of the business before you start working on the ledgers. Then come back here and have a glass of wine with me so I can at least say I poured one sample today.”
* * *
WHITNEY FOLLOWED LUKE OUTDOORS, unable to come up with a plausible reason to refuse. She hurried to catch up with Luke’s long strides as he marched toward the wine barn. At least he didn’t look like a vagrant today, wearing relatively unwrinkled chinos and a dark green Falls Legend Winery polo shirt. His dog appeared out of nowhere, and was happily jogging at his side, ignoring Whitney completely. She wondered if Luke had taught the dog that trick. Whitney had to scamper again to keep up with him. He didn’t want to be doing this any more than she did.
“Look, I didn’t want to upset my aunt by arguing, but a tour isn’t...”
He got to the barn and turned to face her, his hand gripping the handle of the door. “Helen wants you to have a tour, so you’ll get a tour.” His lips pressed flat. “Helen wants us to get along, so we’ll get along. At least when she’s around.”
“What does that mean?”
He looked at her as if she was asking if the moon was made of cheese. “It means when Helen is around, you and I will play nice. When Helen’s not around, there’s no need to pretend to be friends.”
“What—we’re enemies?”
He gave a harsh laugh. “That would require me to give a damn about what you’re doing here, and I don’t. You keep yourself busy in the house, and I’ll take care of the wine making. Our paths won’t cross much, and when they do, we’ll smile for Helen’s sake and keep on moving.”
Without waiting for a response, he yanked the sliding barn door open. This was not the fermentation barn she remembered. Instead of a cool, dark place with wooden racks of oak barrels stacked to the rafters, the barn was now bright, shining and open. The polished cement floors gleamed, but nowhere near as much as the huge stainless steel tanks which had replaced the barrels. Pipes and hoses and electronic panels gave the barn a futuristic feel, so different from the pungent atmosphere created by the old oak barrels.
“What is all this? Where’s the wine?”
Luke nodded at the nearest steel tank. “The wine’s in there.” She stepped inside, and he followed, standing close enough behind her to make her restless. Not nervous. Just...restless. If he was trying to intimidate her, he was in for a surprise.
“But wine’s made in barrels...”
“Not all wine. We’re still doing some of the reds in oak. They’re along the back.”
Uncle Tony used to go on and on about the sanctity of his precious French oak barrels for making premium wines. He’d told her how the barrels were carefully assembled, then toasted over an open flame. The amount of toasting impacted the taste of the wine. How on earth could you get that unique oaky flavor from a cold stainless steel tank hooked up to hoses and computers?
“Uncle Tony wanted this?” She stepped away from Luke and the uncomfortable energy he exuded. The mountains of bills on Tony’s desk came to mind. “How much did this all cost?”
He avoided her eyes, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Well, it was a big investment. Tony was reluctant at first, but...”
Yeah, she imagined Tony would be reluctant. Had her uncle hooked up with some kind of con man in Luke?
“But you talked him into it, right? That ‘big investment’ didn’t come out of your pocket, did it?” The whole thing felt wrong. She couldn’t connect how the purchase of the metal tanks would benefit Luke exactly, but she couldn’t shake the conviction that it had. Maybe he got a kickback from the seller? One thing was sure—it wasn’t like her uncle to make a drastic change that could put the winery at financial risk.
Luke gestured around the barn. “My livelihood depends on the success of this winery. If we fail, I don’t have a job.”
“Or a roof over your head, right? Helen told me you’ve been living here for free.”
“Jesus, why do you have to twist everything?” Luke jammed his fingers through his hair and spun away from her. “Not only did I help build that damn apartment with my own two hands, I pay my rent every freakin’ month.”
“That’s not what Helen said.”
His head snapped up, and he slowly turned to face her again, his mouth open.
“Helen told you I don’t pay rent?” He studied the floor. “When she tried to refuse my payment last year, I deposited the money directly in the account. Every month. I had to take a second job to do it, but no way would I not pay her.” His voice fell. “Did she really say I don’t pay? She’s never tried to return any of the payments, so why...”
Whitney hesitated, thinking of all that unopened mail in the house. “She may not have seen the deposits.”
“How could she not...” Luke’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying she’s not looking at the bank statements?”
She didn’t know this guy. She definitely didn’t trust him. If Luke Rutledge was tak
ing advantage of Helen, she didn’t want to give him any more ammunition.
“I did not say that. And the state of her finances is none of your business.”
“That’s not exactly true.” He opened the door to the office, which hadn’t changed much since the last time Whitney had been here. There were small stacks of papers all over the desk, but they appeared to at least be in some semblance of order.
“Are these statements all for the winery?” Could it be this simple? Could the bookkeeping mess be solved right here?
“No, these are my records on the wine making—dates, mixtures, the results for different tanks. Tony used to do a lot of the business work out here, but after he passed, Helen insisted I bring all the mail to her in the house so she could...um...keep track of it.” He glanced at her. “You’re going to have quite a challenge if you’re trying to put it all together.”
That was the understatement of the century. And she should get back to it. It had taken her almost four hours to clear the dining room table, and she still hadn’t touched the magazines and junk mail stacked on the chairs and sideboard. They headed down toward the carriage house. There was a small red convertible parked there. Whitney hoped it was a customer.
She glanced up at the dormered upper floor of the carriage-house-turned-wine-shop, with its tiny round turret and multipaned windows. Luke Rutledge lived there. He followed her gaze and arched a brow.
“You want a tour of that, too?”
Whitney shook her head. “Not today.” She’d had enough contact with the man without stepping into his living space. She passed a pile of lumber clearly intended for repairs to the buildings. Her curiosity got the best of her. “What happened to this place?”
Luke looked around. His voice softened, and a little bit of his guard softened, too. “Look, I don’t know how often you and your aunt spoke after Tony died, but she...she sort of clocked out for a while.” He looked up at the main house with its empty porch. “A long while.”
