by Jo McNally
She frowned at the magazines and catalogs stacked high on the dining chairs. Helen had promised to sort through them and save whatever might be in there that she wanted, but it hadn’t happened yet, leaving few seating options in here. It wasn’t all bad that she was spending so much time on her feet. At least it was exercise of some kind. She glanced out the window to the vineyard sloping up behind the carriage house. She hadn’t tried outdoor exercise since the storm incident. Whitney lifted a heavy stack of catalogs, most from last Christmas, and dropped them on the floor with a thump. She plopped down on the now-vacant chair, her scowl deepening.
Luke let her get into his truck that day looking like a drowned rat. She picked up a bank statement and let it flutter back onto the stack. There’d been so much emotion in his chocolate-colored eyes. It wasn’t until she’d finally looked down at herself that she realized why.
That silk top clinging to her...ugh. The way Luke’s heated gaze quickly traveled up and down, leaving trails of sizzling skin behind, left her feeling exposed in more ways than one. But then he’d given her something to cover herself up with and launched into that gentleman versus asshole conversation. The whole incident left her feeling confused, awkward and sexy all at the same time.
When she’d set the recycling bins outside the door yesterday, Luke had been walking across the driveway toward the barn with his dog. Even from across the drive, she felt the heat of his eyes. She saw the half smile he always seemed to wear around her. The smile that made it seem he knew some secret about her, and couldn’t decide if he found it amusing, annoying or arousing.
Whitney straightened. Stop it. The last thing she wanted to think about was Luke Rutledge being aroused in response to anyone, especially her. She wasn’t hiding from him. She was just...busy. Inside the house. Where he never was.
She stood and grabbed the bank statements again. Time to stop thinking about her aunt’s employee and start thinking about how to sort this mess by date. If she sorted each pile chronologically, she should be able to start working her way backward—or forward from Tony’s death, she hadn’t decided yet which way would make the most sense—to see where the money was or wasn’t.
“Oh, good! You’re here!” Helen swept through the doorway, surprising Whitney. Her aunt usually stayed in the tasting room on Saturdays. “I came up to grab some more cookies, but I remembered that I’m...um...supposed to call...Iris...from my book club. Would you be a doll and go watch the shop for me?”
“What? Me?”
Whitney had no idea how to sell wine. Helen’s fingers toyed with the collar of her blouse anxiously as she nodded.
“Yes, you!” Her voice was bright. “If you can run a calculator, you can run the cash register.”
“Where’s Luke?” Wasn’t he supposed to be running the place?
Helen stammered, then gave an odd giggle. “Oh, I sent Luke into town to pick up some sugar for me, so I can bake more cookies.”
“You’re baking more cookies today? It’s already afternoon.” Whitney looked out the window. There wasn’t a single car parked at the carriage house.
“For next week! I’ll freeze them.” Helen’s cheeks had two high spots of color. “It’s slow, and I figured Luke was bored, so I asked him to go. Just to...keep him busy, you know?”
No. Whitney did not know.
“Helen, are you okay?”
“What? Oh, yes. Well...a bit tired, I guess. Please, Whitney, go cover the tasting room for a bit so I can put my feet up and rest, okay?”
But what about that phone call she had to make? Or the cookies to be baked? If she was having a stressful day, Whitney wasn’t going to pressure her. Luke said Helen had “clocked out” for months after Tony’s death, and Whitney didn’t want to make it worse. Besides, it might be nice to get out of the house for a Luke-free change of scenery.
The dark green tasting room smelled of wood and wine. The tasting counter was in the back and the cash register toward the front corner, so customers had to walk through the whole store to do business, passing temptations along the way. Uncle Tony had built the wooden aisle racks himself, sanding out the grooves that held the bottles securely. Along both side walls deeper shelves stretched to the ceiling, loaded with loose bottles on one side and cases of wine on the other.
Whitney probably shouldn’t be happy that the place was deserted, but it was nice to be able to walk around on her own and get familiar with things. She wandered down the hall that led to the event room in back, with its large windows, wraparound deck, and spectacular views of Seneca Lake and the long narrow valley. Small tables were set near the windows, and she knew the idea was for customers to come back here to enjoy their wines. If only they could find some customers.
The tinkling of the bell over the front door made Whitney jump. Damn it. She had no idea what she was doing, and if that was someone looking to taste wine, she’d have to fetch Aunt Helen from the house. She hurried up the short hallway and into the tasting room. Maybe it was her aunt coming out to relieve her. But no.
An older woman, meticulously dressed and carrying that season’s Dooney & Bourke leather bag, walked around one of the islands of wine racks. A man Whitney’s age followed quietly. His brows were gathered together and he looked around as if he had no idea what he was doing there. He was attractive, with sandy hair and kind blue eyes. An inch or two shorter than Whitney, but that wasn’t all that rare at her height. He smiled when he saw her, and gently touched the older woman’s arm.
“Mrs. Pendergast? Here’s an employee. Maybe she can help you remember the wine you wanted so badly for tonight.”
The woman smiled at Whitney, giving her an odd up-and-down glance as if taking her measure. Whitney was used to that in the corporate world, especially among women—the way they viewed every other woman as a rival for the few executive offices available to them. But why would someone be assessing her like that in the winery? Could the woman tell at a glance that Whitney didn’t belong? She silently thanked herself for pulling her hair back into a neat twist and changing into white capris and a tailored blue-and-white top before coming down here.
A slow, satisfied smile formed on the woman’s carefully painted matte lips, as if Whitney had passed some unknown test.
“You must be Helen’s niece, Whitney, here to visit Rendezvous Falls for a few months...all by yourself. I’m Helen’s friend, Vickie Pendergast. Helen says you’ve been busy with her accounting work...” Vickie made a little gasping sound. “Oh! That’s right, you’re an accountant! And my neighbor here, Mark Hudson, is an accountant, too! What a strange coincidence!”
It wasn’t as if accounting was some never-heard-of career like professional lion tamer. There were basically accountants on every corner, nearly as common as attorneys. Mark gave Whitney an I-don’t-know-what-she’s-talking-about shrug from behind the woman.
“Yeah, Mrs. Pendergast. Very strange.” Mark stepped forward and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Whitney.” It was a friendly, business-like handshake, if a bit hurried. She had the impression there were a hundred other places he’d rather be than here. “My neighbor is determined to find a specific bottle of wine for a dinner party tonight, and enlisted me to drive her.”
Now it was Whitney’s turn to give the head-to-feet examination of Vickie. The woman was around Helen’s age. Her health seemed as sharp as her fashion sense, so why couldn’t she drive herself? Her mental faculties seemed pretty sharp, too, as she rushed to answer Whitney’s unasked question, making a point to rest her hand on Mark’s arm.
“My doctor has me on medication right now that makes it impossible to drive, but I knew a single guy like Mark would be available to run me on an errand today.”
Mark’s face twisted. His neighbor had basically said the man had no life. Judging from the well-defined muscles on his arms and the way his shirt stretched across his chest, Whitney had a feeling this guy didn�
�t make a habit of sitting around with nothing to do. Taking pity on him, she tried to move the conversation along before Vickie embarrassed him any further.
“I’m not very familiar with where things are in here, but if you give me the name of the wine, I’m sure I can find it for you so you can go prepare for your party.”
Vickie gave her a blank look. “What party?”
Was the woman experiencing early dementia? Whitney softened her tone.
“Your dinner party? You wanted something specific for a dinner party?”
Color flamed Vickie’s cheeks. “Oh! Yes! Of course! My dinner party!” She glanced away, smoothing her hands down the front of her linen skirt. “Yes...that’s right...”
The poor lady. “Do you remember the name of the wine? I’ll find it for you.”
Vickie blinked, then stepped back, seeming affronted. “Of course I remember it, I’m not stupid.” She looked between Mark and Whitney. “I mean...you know what? I should go up to the house and ask Helen. She’ll know what I’m talking about.”
Whitney met Mark’s baffled gaze.
“Helen is resting right now—”
“Oh, it’s okay. I called her before we left. She’s expecting me. Just a quick visit.” She headed to the door, but stopped when she realized Mark was following her. “No, dear, you stay here with Whitney. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Mrs. Pendergast...” The words sounded like a plea.
“Oh, call me Vickie, Mark. You’re all grown up now. And you two have so much to talk about! You just moved back here, she’s visiting, you’re both young, single, attractive accountants. You probably have all sorts of other things in common.”
Something clicked, but Whitney didn’t want to believe it. Helen wouldn’t be part of such a foolish plan, would she? Vickie was out the door in a flash. Medication, her ass. That woman was perfectly fine, and up to something. Whitney had a sinking feeling her aunt was involved. Helen, who had suddenly needed an odd midday rest.
Mark hadn’t caught up with what was going on. They both watched out the window as Vickie hurried across the lot to the house. Sure enough, there was her aunt, standing on the porch smiling at her co-conspirator. Busted, Aunt Helen. Mark looked so confused it made her laugh. Glancing outside and back again, he shook his head.
“What the hell just happened?”
“Does your neighbor often ask you to drive her around town?”
He threw up his hands. “Never! The woman has a Mercedes convertible she drives like she’s on the racetrack at Glens Falls. She hasn’t said more than two words to me in the month that I’ve been back with my grandparents. Then she calls me today and gives me this story about doctors and pills and parties and her desperate need for a bottle of wine from this specific winery and I’m the only one who can get her here.” He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t get it.”
“I didn’t, either, until that last thing she said.”
He looked down at the floor, then shrugged. “I must be missing something...”
“She worked awfully hard to make sure two—” she held up her fingers into quote marks “‘—young, single, attractive accountants’ were left alone together, don’t you think?”
He frowned, mulling her words until the truth dawned and his eyes went wide. He nearly shouted the words.
“She’s trying to set us up? Because we’re accountants?” An incredulous grin spread on his face. “She barely knows me!” He slowly scrubbed his hands down his face and groaned loudly. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea what made her do such a thing.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.” Whitney shook her head. “She and my aunt have clearly been talking, and somehow they decided we both needed companionship. Because everyone knows accountants only date other accountants, right?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, because we live and breathe numbers so we can’t wait to talk about them on our dates.” He started to laugh harder. “You want to hear the funny part? I’m not an accountant. I mean, I have a degree in accounting, but I quit my job. My passion is art. I guess that little fact appalls my grandmother so much she never mentioned it to Mrs. Pendergast.” His smile faded.
Whitney had zero interest in dating him—or anyone else—but Mark seemed like a genuinely nice guy. She hooked her arm through his and leaned in to nudge his shoulder.
“I may not know much about the winery business, but I do know there have to be open bottles of the stuff back at the tasting counter. Interested?”
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Thank Christ. Lead the way.”
* * *
LUKE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE the compact car parked in front of the tasting room, but he wasn’t surprised to hear loud laughter when he got out of his truck. People often had a good time driving from winery to winery for samples. But he didn’t like the idea of Helen being alone with a group of drunken dipsticks. He hurried inside.
Helen wasn’t behind the tasting counter, and he panicked for a moment, thinking she’d taken ill or maybe been a victim of some crime. He eyed the baseball bat Tony had always kept by the cash register and moved in that direction.
“Luke!” The female voice was familiar. “Come on back and tell us about this stuff we’re drinking!” He turned, and his jaw went slack.
Whitney Foster was sitting at the counter with some guy. There were six bottles lined up, and an untold number of wine glasses. She was sporting a wide, slightly crooked smile while holding up a bottle, then flipping it upside down. Luke flinched, but only a drop came out. It was empty, and he had a pretty good idea where most of it had gone.
“Lu-u-uke, come taste wine with us.” She looked at the other guy, who seemed vaguely familiar. That didn’t make Luke like him. “With Mark and I. Mark and me? I can never keep that straight. Us. Come drink with us. This is Mark, by the way. Mark, this is Luke. He thinks he runs the place.”
Luke bit back his annoyance at that remark. Mark, short but solidly built, just nodded, smiling at Whitney. Like he knew her. And where was Helen? Luke started to ask that very question, but Mark cut him off.
“Yup. I’m Mark. And she’s Whitney. And you’re obviously Luke.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait... Luke Rutledge, right?” Luke braced himself. His last name brought out the worst in people. But Mark extended his hand. “I went to school with your sister, Jessie. Is she still in the area?”
Luke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Jessie graduated with a visible baby bump under her robe, and never did admit who the father was. Luke shook his head. No way was he telling this guy she’d left Rendezvous Falls and never returned. Luke turned back to Whitney.
“Where’s Helen?”
She threw her head back and laughed so loud it echoed in the empty shop. He’d heard a few of her controlled laughs, the ones tinged with contempt for him, but this was the first time he heard a true, uninhibited belly laugh from Whitney. He had a feeling she didn’t let go of her control very often. This laugh looked damned good on her. Her eyes were shining. Her cheeks were pink. She winked at him. Damn. She was really something when she kicked back like this. She should do it more often. Kick back, that is. Not get drunk.
“My aunt? You mean the co-conspirator?” she asked. Mark laughed at that, and Luke had no idea what was so damn funny. “She’s probably up at the house celebrating, or maybe plotting some other little surprise.”
The other bottles on the counter still had plenty of wine in them. She hadn’t had that much to drink. Mostly the chardonnay.
“No more drinking our profits. Clean up this mess. I’m going up to the house.”
“What’re you going to do, tattle on me? This is all her fault! Her and Vickie. It’s part of the master plan.”
Mark straightened, his eyes getting more clear and sober by the minute. “We’ll clean up, man. Sorry.” He took Whitney’s arm and helped her off the counter. “T
his has been more laughs than I’ve had since I moved back, Whitney, but I need to get Vickie home and get out to my studio. The art festival’s next month and I have some pieces I need to finish, including that mural downtown.”
Whitney’s eyes went wide. “Hey, I could model for you!”
Mark looked Luke’s way. “Uh, no. I do landscapes, remember?” He lowered his voice after Whitney shrugged and walked away. “Dude, I didn’t know she’d get that tipsy off a little wine. I swear we’re just friends.”
Luke wondered how they’d become “just friends” in the eight or nine days since Whitney’s arrival, especially since Whitney had hardly left the house, but that was none of his business. She was none of his business.
So it made no sense that Luke’s hands were clenched into fists when he walked away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HELEN WAS APPROPRIATELY chagrined and apologetic the next morning. Whitney wasn’t sure what was worse—that her aunt and her friend had arranged a double-secret blind date for her, or that Luke had seen her acting a little tipsy. She’d always been a lightweight, and alcohol on an empty stomach was never a good idea for her. The combination of amusement and disapproval on Luke’s face wandered through her dreams all night.
“Seriously, Helen, what were you thinking?” Whitney set her coffee mug down with a thunk on the table, sloshing a little onto her fingers. “You and your friend go through this elaborate scheme to get me to meet someone, and you leave me alone with him for almost two hours. You didn’t even know Mark. What if he’d been some sleazy stalker?”
Helen finished cleaning the pan she’d cooked scrambled eggs in and turned to face Whitney. “I said I was sorry. And Vickie knew Mark—he wasn’t some random stranger we plucked off the sidewalk. We came down to check on things after half an hour, and heard you two laughing together inside, so we left you alone to have some fun.” Helen put a fresh saucer of milk down for Boots. “You haven’t laughed like that since you got here, Whitney. It didn’t occur to me it was because you two were drinking in the shop during business hours.”
