by Jo McNally
The vineyard was just ahead. Which begged a new question. Should she hug the tree line during the storm, or take her chances in the open vineyard? Trees were bad, but so was being the tallest thing standing in a clearing. The rain caught up to her at the exact same time she saw something moving quickly up the hill. The silver pickup truck turned and stopped right at the end of the path. Whitney started to slow, but the rain was hitting her as if shot out of a firehose, so she wasn’t going to question the gift of a dry vehicle to jump into.
Until she realized Luke Rutledge was sitting behind the wheel.
CHAPTER FIVE
LUKE SMILED WHEN Whitney stopped abruptly, standing in the heavy rain and staring at his truck as if it were some kind of trap. He reached over with a sigh and opened the passenger door.
“Come on, get in!”
Whatever she’d been wearing before the rain started was soaking wet and basically plastered to her now, so it was no surprise when his body reacted. Strongly. He reminded himself who this was. Whitney Foster. A stuck-up city snob who clearly held him in contempt. And even if she didn’t, she was Helen’s niece, which meant hands-off. His voice was more gruff than he intended when he shouted above the pounding of the rain on the truck’s roof.
“If you’d rather walk, just say so.”
She blinked against the rain hitting her face, started to move, then hesitated again. Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder shook the air. Whitney landed in the truck cab as if launched by a catapult.
“Smart move.” He did his best to hide his grin. “Close the door, genius.”
She slammed the door shut and glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
The rain was so heavy he could barely make out the main house. He shook his head and gave her some side-eye. “I’m pretty sure I’m saving your ass. You’re welcome.”
Her dark brows knitted together and her voice lost a little of its perpetual challenge. “I meant...how did you know? And...” Her mouth twisted as if the words were pickle juice. “Thank you.”
Luke put the truck into Drive and started down the hill. “A farmer always watches the sky. I hadn’t seen you come back before the rain started, so I figured you might need a ride.”
The edge of the vineyard wasn’t designed to be a highway, and the ground was rough and rutted. The truck bounced and dipped, forcing Whitney to grab the door with one hand and the dash with her other.
“I’d have thought the idea of me getting caught in a rainstorm would make your day.”
He gave her a quick glance. Just because she was off-limits didn’t mean he was blind.
“Trust me, it did.” Luke slowed the truck and reached behind the seat to grab his zippered hoodie hanging there. Whitney looked down and her cheeks flamed when she realized how her clothes were clinging to her. She snatched the hoodie from his hand before he could give it to her, and thrust her arms into it without offering any thanks. Even the zipper sounded pissed off when she yanked it closed.
“Perfect. Another guy with more testosterone than manners. Nice to know it’s not just a Chicago thing. Assholes are everywhere.”
Luke frowned. He’d been having fun at her expense, figuring she’d give it right back to him as she had before. But her words hinted at a story that didn’t reflect well on men in general. She’d been hurt. He shouldn’t care. But that quick dimming of fight in her eyes made him feel ashamed. That was a new experience.
A flash of lightning made her flinch. But the thunder didn’t follow as quickly as the last time. The storm was moving off. He drove from the vineyard into the parking lot and over to the main house. The sound of the rain on the roof was less angry. But Whitney wasn’t. She was clutching his sweatshirt around herself, her knuckles white. From anger? Embarrassment? Both? Luke shook his head.
“Look, I thought I was doing the right thing, driving up there.” He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced, remembering how sweaty and filthy he still was. “It’s not my fault you walked out of the woods soaking wet. I mean, I try not to be an asshole, but I’m still a man. And I did offer my hoodie.”
Whitney’s chin pointed up toward the second floor of the main house. Her neck was long and graceful. There was a vein pulsing at the base of it. She blinked a few times, and for a horrifying moment, he thought there might be tears shimmering there in her eyes. Damn it. The last thing he needed was to have Helen’s niece crying in his truck. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she beat him to it.
“I’ll concede I wasn’t prepared for rain.” Her mouth barely moved, her words forced through clenched teeth. “But a gentleman would have looked away or...something.”
His low laughter was enough to crack that brittle shell of hers. She turned to face him, eyes wide.
“See, Whitney, that’s where you made your biggest mistake.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t going out for a day hike with a storm coming.” He talked over her attempted objection. “Your biggest mistake was thinking I’m any kind of gentleman.”
The corner of her mouth tipped up into an almost smile. “But you said you weren’t an asshole.”
“There’s a hell of a lot of real estate between asshole and gentleman, babe.”
Her half smile faltered, then returned. That familiar spark appeared in her eyes. The crack in her veneer had been repaired, and the sharp edge returned to her voice. Any other guy might have been annoyed, but Luke was oddly relieved to see Whitney back in fighting form.
“The fact that you just referred to me as ‘babe’ tells me you’re a lot closer to asshole than you think.”
He lifted his shoulder. “I never told you which end of the spectrum I fell on.”
The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. She reached for the door handle, looking over her shoulder with a smirk.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure you just did.”
She hurried up the steps to the covered porch. He waited, but she didn’t look back before going into the house. Her energy still filled the cab of the truck, and so did her scent. Spicy, woodsy, rain soaked. Finally coming to his senses, he threw the truck into Reverse and headed back toward the carriage house. He needed a long shower. A long cold one.
* * *
“I’M TELLING YOU, HELEN, my neighbor’s grandson would be perfect for your niece.” Vickie took a sip of her tea, carefully pursing her lips so she left minimum lipstick marks on the fancy teacup. Her short champagne blond hair was carefully styled to look casual, as if she’d rolled out of bed looking like that instead of spending an hour in front of the mirror. “Mark is quiet and bookish and he’s an accountant, like Whitney. He’s not terribly tall, but he’s cute and polite and just generally adorable.”
The two women were sitting on the porch of the Taggart Inn, waiting on the founding member of the book club, Iris Taggart, to join them. Iris was a spry eighty years of age, and she was still treated as their grand matron, even if she didn’t get to as many meetings as she used to.
Every afternoon, tea and snacks were served at the inn, following the English tradition Iris grew up with as the daughter of an expat member of Britain’s peerage. Coffee and real lemonade were provided for those who didn’t embrace Iris’s love of all things British, but indulging in those outlier beverages would always earn a sideways glance of disdain from the white-haired hostess.
“I don’t know,” Helen said. “She hasn’t said what happened in Chicago, but I have the feeling Whitney isn’t interested in dating.”
Whitney had been at Falls Legend for a week now, and last night she said she’d probably need six to eight more weeks to sort out the finances of the winery. Helen’s response had been a mixture of relief and embarrassment. She knew she’d let things slide after Tony’s death, but it wasn’t until Whitney started dragging boxes of papers from Tony’s office to the dining room that Helen understood the mess she’d made. Dealing with that guilt
had kept her from talking to her niece much. Usually, all they did was talk when together. Tony used to call them his “cackling hens.” Whitney was the closest thing to a daughter Helen would ever have, and Whitney called her a second mom.
Vickie sat back and sighed with her typical sense of drama. “Regardless, the poor girl can’t stare at spreadsheets all day long. It’s unhealthy.”
“But she loves numbers. She loves her job.”
“What job is that, exactly?” Vickie lifted one shoulder, half innocent shrug and half artful insinuation. “What kind of job allows employees to take an entire summer off? She’s an accountant, not an elementary school teacher. And you said she’s a partner, so...”
“What exactly are you saying?” Helen liked Vickie, but her theatrics could be tiresome, especially when she was beating around the bush like this.
Vickie took another sip of tea. “Look, I serve on a lot of boards with a lot of executives, including several up in Rochester, and I’ve never heard one of those professionals say they’re taking a couple months off, unless they’re between jobs.”
Helen frowned. “Are you saying Whitney is lying?”
Vickie’s shoulder made that strange, circular motion again.
“No-o. I’m saying it sounds...unusual.” Another precise sip of tea. “And if she’s under some kind of job stress on top of working at your place, then the girl needs a night out on the town. Even if the town is Rendezvous Falls. And Mark would be a lovely match for her.” Vickie looked up and smiled brightly. “Iris, darling! We’re over here!”
The smiling older woman stopped at a table where guests were sitting. She was in full-on hostess mode, asking them how they were enjoying the summer afternoon on the porch and laughing lightly in response to something that was said, before turning to Vickie and Helen.
“Hello, ladies.” Iris’s sharp blue eyes settled on Helen, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “How nice to see you getting out and about again, Helen.” Iris settled into her chair, tucking her snow-white bob behind her ear and smoothing the ruffled pink apron across her lap. She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “It’s about damn time, don’t you think?”
No offense was meant or taken. Iris was right—it was about time Helen started living again. While many friends had tiptoed around her, it was Iris who’d insisted Helen visit Dr. Lupine and get some medical help to kick her depression to the curb. Besides, taking offense would be a waste of time with Iris. The octogenarian simply didn’t care.
She played the part of sweet-little-old-grandmother-fresh-from-baking-bread to charm her guests. In reality, Iris Taggart was a shrewd businesswoman. She bought the inn fifty years ago when it was a run-down old mansion with peeling red paint and a dangerously sagging porch. Her divorce—a fairly scandalous thing back then—left her with some money, and she poured it all into the big house, along with her sweat equity. Iris had done much of the work herself, putting her young son to work right alongside her. Never a follower, Iris defied the colorful tradition of Rendezvous Falls and painted the exterior bright white. She surely knew being the only white house in town made the place stand out.
As her business improved, she’d strong-armed her neighbors into fixing up their homes, too. She took over the Rendezvous Falls Business Owners Association like McArthur storming the beaches. Much of the town’s current success was due to the formidable personality of the “sweet little grandma” sitting across from Helen.
Helen lifted her tea in a mock toast. “Thanks for the warm welcome, Iris.”
Iris barked out a laugh, then glanced at the guests two tables away and quickly reverted to more grandmotherly light, musical laughter. She reached over to pat Helen’s hand. “You know I’m happy to see you, girl. You look good.” Iris glanced at Vickie, who was dressed in her Sunday best on a Friday afternoon. “And you look overdressed, as always.”
Vickie waved her hand in dismissal. “My mother taught me there’s no such thing as overdressed.”
Iris snorted. “You’ve told that story so often you’ve started to believe it yourself. That was your first—or was it second?—wealthy mother-in-law who taught you that. Your mother was a waitress at the old Gem Diner up on Route 14, remember?”
Vickie’s cheeks went pink for a moment, then she reached up to scratch her nose. With her middle finger extended. Everyone knew what they were getting into when they stepped into Iris’s no-bullshit zone, and Vickie and Iris had been friends-slash-rivals for decades. Helen’s heart warmed as the two women sniped playfully at each other. She’d missed this.
The coneflowers below the porch were blooming, tall and pink. The stalks swayed in the warm breeze. What the inn lacked in paint color, Iris made up for with her vibrant flower beds. Helen pictured her own garden and cringed. It had once been her pride and joy. Now it was overgrown and chaotic, screaming for attention. Maybe she’d get out there this weekend with some trimming shears...
“Helen? Did you hear me?” Vickie tapped Helen’s arm, causing her to startle. “Which book are we supposed to be reading this month?”
“Oh...uh...the mystery. Cecile sent an email. I can’t remember the title, but I’ve already put it on my Kindle.”
Vickie nodded. “That’s right. I was telling Iris we’re trying to set your niece up on a few dates while she’s here.”
Helen squirmed. She doubted Whitney would be interested. She always said she had no time for dating. But if she didn’t start making time, she’d end up alone. Iris tsked.
“It’s too bad I can’t get that grandson of mine back here. Logan needs to put down some roots.” Iris looked up at the lacy gingerbread trim around the porch. “Someone else is going to need to run this place sooner or later.”
Vickie winked at Helen over the top of her teacup. “Come on, Iris. You’re a tough old broad. You’ll be running this inn for another twenty years.”
“Until I’m a hundred?” Iris scoffed. “I don’t mind living that long, but I sure as hell don’t want to be working until then. But I’ve got a few good years left in me.” She turned to Helen. “I’ve met Mark Hudson. Your niece could do worse.”
Helen ate the last of her cookie. “I just don’t think she’s interested in being set up on a blind date.”
Iris tipped her head for a minute, then gave a devilish grin. “So don’t tell her. Figure out a way to get them both in the same place, then let nature take its course.”
Vickie leaned forward. “Yes! That would be perfect! I could ask Mark to drive me to the winery to pick up a bottle of wine—”
Iris nodded. “And Helen can make sure Whitney’s in the tasting room to sell it to him!”
Helen raised her hands in protest. “No! She’s doing my accounting records, not working in the tasting room. Besides, Luke would be in there.”
“Helen, you own the place,” Iris said. “You decide where people work. Figure it out.” She slapped her hand on the table. “Now we need a camera in there so we can see what happens.”
“I am not recording Whitney on her date!”
“Ah-ha!” Vickie pounced. “But you just agreed she was getting a date!”
Helen stammered a few times, then snapped her mouth shut. Why was she even considering this? She was out of practice dealing with her strong-willed friends, especially when two of them ganged up on her. And Whitney had been spending too much time indoors with invoices and statements. The poor girl—the one time she’d headed outside for a walk this week, she’d been caught in a storm and came back to the house soaked to the skin. She must have grabbed one of Luke’s sweatshirts from the barn on her way back, and she’d held it tight around her as she stomped upstairs to change. She’d been on edge since she’d arrived. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to introduce her to some people here.
“Fine,” Helen sighed. “We’ll arrange for them to meet each other, but that’s all we do. If Mark just buys wine a
nd goes, that’s it. I’m not locking them in the storeroom or anything. They hit it off or they don’t. Period.”
Vickie nodded. “Agreed. Good thing Cecile isn’t here, though, or she’d be pushing for some kind of romance novel meet-cute in a locked storeroom for sure. I’ll call Mark as soon as I get home and see if he’s free tomorrow.” She looked at Helen. “You’re still only open on Saturdays, right?”
“Yes, for now.” Luke had a few more repairs to do around the place, and they had to bottle a few new vintages. Then they’d be able to send press releases announcing that Falls Legend Winery was open for business again, starting right after the festival. “Let me know what time, and I’ll figure out how to get Luke out of there and Whitney in.”
If the two of them weren’t at each other’s throats all the time, she might try to get Whitney interested in Luke. But no. They had nothing in common other than an instant dislike for each other.
CHAPTER SIX
THE LAST OF the unopened mail from Tony’s office had now been opened. There were two blue recycling bins out on the porch overflowing with discarded envelopes. Whitney wiped her brow and stared at the mahogany dining table. Actually, she couldn’t see the dining table anymore—not the top of it, anyway. Every inch was covered with semiorganized stacks of paper. Bills, sorted by company or utility—paid or unpaid, who knew?—occupied more than half the table. Bank statements and miscellaneous mail that might be official, but she wasn’t sure, covered the other half. And there were three stacks of papers from the Department of Agriculture and Markets, referring to permits and licenses and other things Whitney didn’t understand. Not yet. But she would.
Helen’s records were a disaster, but Whitney was determined to make things balance somehow. She had no idea if her aunt was a pauper, a millionaire or somewhere in between. Her chest tightened. She had to determine if the winery could survive or not, and what role Luke Rutledge had in its success or failure. If she was going to give her aunt sound financial advice, she had to know that man’s cost-benefit ratio for the business.
