Slow Dancing at Sunrise

by Jo McNally

  She cleared her throat. “I know we’ve never put a label on what happened between us, and I’m as guilty about that as you are. We’ve both danced around it, not wanting to admit what was growing there. We didn’t expect it. We didn’t want to jinx it. Whatever. But you know what we have is real. It’s not going to go away.” She paused, hoping he’d make eye contact, but he stared straight ahead at the carriage house wall, stoic and silent. “I told you last night I belong where you are, and you belong here.”

  “I don’t belong here. It’s just where I happen to be.” He gestured toward the town below. “You’ve seen what everyone here thinks of me. How can I belong someplace like that? This is a dot on the map, and I’m standing on it. There’s no deep message to it.”

  “First, it’s not everyone. Doug Canfield and his crowd don’t count. But if you really feel that way, why have you stayed?”

  He finally made eye contact, but she wished he hadn’t. His eyes were hard and cold, and she was relieved when they slid away to take in the house and the vineyard.

  “I made a promise, okay? I told Tony I’d take care of Helen if anything ever happened to him. And this is the only real damn home I’ve known! I won’t cut and run like you. When I give my word, it sticks. I stick.” He struck his own chest. “For good. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  His words hit hard. I stick. For good. His word meant something, not only to him but to the people he gave it to. And he’d never once given his word to her. She’d never asked for it, either. A flicker of doubt pulsed through her. Had she been the only one falling? She had to know.

  “I’m in love with you, Luke.”

  His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut again. He didn’t melt at the words. He didn’t say them back. His face hardened.

  “Bullshit.”

  There was a sudden, painful tightness in her throat. Was he saying it because he didn’t believe her, or because he didn’t want to know? She pushed back.

  “You know it’s true. And I think you love me back.”

  There was a heartbeat of hesitation, just enough for her to notice, before he looked her straight in the eye.

  “Nah. That was temporary, remember?” He pushed away from the rail and stepped off the porch, grabbing the tool bag as he strode by it. “If you really...care...about me, you’ll take that new job and leave me alone to do mine. I’m no good for you, and you’re sure as hell not good for me.”

  He walked away without a second glance. Without any apparent feeling at all. Her hands clenched and unclenched a few times, then she rubbed them on her jeans and turned away, unable to watch him any longer. His defenses were too high. And she was fresh out of fight.

  * * *

  SHE WOKE FUZZY HEADED and cotton mouthed the next morning. It wasn’t as much from her concussion as it was from crying herself to sleep. Yes, her head hurt, especially if she rolled over without thinking and touched the left side of her face to the pillow. But it didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as her weary heart did.

  As she showered, got dressed and went down to the kitchen, she started building some defenses of her own. Her pain morphed into white-hot anger. Ah, yes—this was better than numbness or sorrow. Anger worked for her. Caffeine refined the glow of her rage. Sharpened the edges of it. Yes. This was definitely better than weeping and feeling sorry for herself. This was taking control. Being angry meant her heart was protected from any more breakage. She could work with anger.

  By the time Helen came into the kitchen, Whitney was positively glowing with superhero control. She even mustered up a wide smile, which was a mistake because it hurt. Luckily Helen went right to the coffeemaker without looking at her, so she could let the grin fade to a manageable level.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Helen turned, took a good look, coffeepot in one hand and mug in the other. “Oh, boy. You’d better grab that bag of frozen peas and put it over both eyes, girl. Unless you want everyone to know you spent the night crying.”

  Whitney’s fingers touched her face lightly. The areas under both eyes were like squishy water balloons when she pressed. Damn it, why couldn’t she be a pretty crier like in the movies? As happy as she’d been to be headache-free this morning, the image in the mirror had set her back on her heels. The bruise ran from her left temple to her cheek, with colors ranging from nearly black to purple, blue and a tinge of yellow. Her left eye had a dark crescent beneath it.

  “It could be from the injury, you know.”

  Helen laughed, filling her mug and setting the coffeepot back on the counter.

  “A—I’m a woman and I know what crying eyes look like. B—I have ears. You angry-cried all the way up the stairs and into your room last night.” Helen sat across from her. “Let me guess—Luke told you he’s no good for you?”

  “How did you...?”

  “He spent all night Friday telling me the same bull. He’s bad for you. He’s bad for me. He’s bad for the winery. He’s tainting everyone with the family curse, blah blah blah. He’s worked himself into a regular lather this time.”

  “This time?”

  “Oh, we’ve gone through this before. When his sister got pregnant in high school and left town. When his dad went off to prison. When his brother was hurt in that wreck.” Helen sighed. “He’s always in such a hurry to carry his family’s problems around. When something like this bubbles up, he frets about it affecting our business, as if tourists have any clue who he is or what the local rumor mill says. He convinces himself he’s tainted by his name, and that he taints everyone he’s in contact with.”

  Whitney’s chest went tight. Luke didn’t have to shoulder that burden. He was a good man. He just refused to see it. Her anger reminded her that maybe she couldn’t fix everything. If Luke couldn’t see the obvious, why should she keep fighting to change his mind?

  “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, Helen. He’s determined to push me away, and it’s working.”

  Maybe she should focus on controlling what she was able to control. Like the Blessing of the Grapes Festival. She straightened.

  “But you know what?” She looked at Helen with renewed resolve. “We have a festival to get ready for. Luke made it clear what he cares about, and that’s the wine. Great. But I care about the brochures and labels and...”

  Helen’s expression stopped her. “About the labels.”

  Oh, no. “You said they arrived Friday in the right color. Please don’t tell me there’s a typo on those, too!”

  “No. But...” Helen looked at the kitchen counter, and Whitney followed her gaze. Several bottles stood there, sporting the new labels. The plan was to order enough poly labels to place right over the existing ones, figuring there was no time to peel and replace the ones already on dozens of cases of wine. The labels were beautiful, in pretty shades of blue, with Lena’s sketch of the falls and the deer. What was Helen worried about? They looked perfect. Except...what was that dark shadow in the center? She walked over to inspect them.

  No, no, no!

  “The old label is showing through! The printer said that wouldn’t happen! He said they could use a poly material that would...” She pulled a handful of labels out of the box. They were paper. Paper couldn’t hide the dark Russo family crest on the old labels. They were useless. Just like the booklets. Just like the gigantic moose up in the barn. Just like everything else she’d tried to control...er...accomplish.

  “That’s it, then. No new labels. Probably just as well, since we don’t have any marketing materials to support the new design anyway.”

  “I’m sorry, Whitney. I definitely ordered the thicker ones, but this is what they sent. We could try to peel the old labels off?” Helen sounded so hopeful. But, if nothing else, Whitney was a realist. It was her strength, even in the face of defeat.

  “Peel the labels off hundreds of bottles?
In a week? Forget it, Helen. I never should have tried to make this work. Any of it.” She turned to face her aunt, and caught a glimpse of Luke outside, driving the tractor up the hill. She wasn’t going to make them work, either. “I let you down. I’m sorry.”

  Her aunt moved to stand at her side, putting her arm around Whitney’s waist.

  “Any more talk like that and I’ll take you right back to the doctor to have your head reexamined. First, you couldn’t let me down if you tried, because we love each other. Second, you not only straightened out the bookkeeping nightmare I created, you found a small fortune I didn’t know we had. You saved this damn winery!”

  Whitney shook her head, still watching Luke. He was twisted on the tractor seat, watching both the direction he was headed and the sprayer behind him. The pose pulled his shirt tight across sinewed shoulders. His beard was dark against his tanned, weathered skin. Her heart warmed. He was doing what he always did—what needed to be done. Calm and steady, unperturbed at the thought of her leaving. Honoring his promise to Tony.

  “I didn’t save the winery, Helen. Luke did.”

  He was sticking. And he’d already decided she wasn’t. He knew she’d originally suspected him of taking advantage of Helen when she arrived. After they’d ended up in each other’s arms, sharing kisses and stories and building what felt like a future, she’d questioned what he’d done with the mystery account. His belief in himself was fragile enough, and she’d ripped a gaping hole in it.

  She took a deep breath. “Your books are in great shape. If you have any accounting questions, Mark Hudson would probably help you out, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his art business.”

  “You’re talking like you’re not going to be around.”

  “Maybe that job offer came along at the right time, Aunt Helen.” She shrugged halfheartedly. “Maybe it was meant to be. I’m going to give them a call.”

  “So you haven’t accepted yet?”

  She shook her head. She’d had no real intention of accepting when they’d called. She’d only humored them because she’d been distracted by everything that had gone wrong here. At the time, it had been impossible to imagine walking away from Luke. Little did she know he’d be the one walking away. She loved him. She loved Helen. Much to her surprise, she loved this town. She’d been warming up to the idea of setting up her own business here.

  Evie told her the nearest CPAs were in either Geneva or Watkins Glen. There was an opening for her to create a solid foundation of local clients, then she could use the internet to find consulting jobs anywhere. Two weeks ago, she’d been happily jotting a business plan in her journal. Luckily for her pride, she hadn’t told anyone else her ideas, not even Luke. No one would know her leaving meant she’d failed to achieve something she desperately wanted. A home.

  She loved a man who refused to let himself love her back. Her chin rose. She deserved better than that. He didn’t want her here. And she wasn’t going to fight anymore. It was time to move on.

  “I haven’t accepted it yet. But I’m going to.”

  Helen puttered restlessly around the kitchen. She stopped at the sink and stood for a long time, as if her mind was a thousand miles away.

  “Do you have to call them right away?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Wait until after the festival—” Helen ignored Whitney’s attempted protest and said the one thing she couldn’t argue against. “I need you. I know you think the plans are a mess, and maybe they are, but that just makes me need you more.” Helen took a ragged breath, looking back at Whitney with large, sad, shimmering eyes. “Tony always took care of the festivals. I don’t know how. I can’t do this without you. Please.”

  Whitney frowned. She’d assumed Helen had been helping Tony all those years with the festival. They did everything together, didn’t they? Her aunt took another trembling breath, staring out the window, her shoulders rounded in defeat. Guilt started whispering at Whitney again. Whispering that she hadn’t come to help when Helen asked for it. When Helen needed her. How could she say no now? But still...

  “It’s not like the new job will start next Monday. I could stay for the festival if you really want me to, then leave.” She didn’t want to stay. She didn’t think she could bear working that closely with Luke for another week. “But I was thinking I could go to Dallas early and find a place to live?” She knew better than to make a statement in the form of a question, and Helen pounced on her hesitation.

  “But you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to call them this week.” Helen moved slowly toward the table. Was she limping? She rubbed her lower back with her hand, then sat down with a sigh. “I’m so tired, Whitney. We’ve all been so busy and with all the drama and then you got hurt and scared me to death...”

  Helen had been concerned, but she hadn’t seemed traumatized. Or maybe Whitney had missed it because she was too busy battling with Luke. Just as she’d missed how exhausted her aunt apparently was.

  “Okay, Helen. I won’t leave early.” She saw a glimmer of a smile on Helen’s face, then it was gone. “I’ll tell them I’ll be there in two weeks. I can always stay in a hotel while I’m apartment hunting.”

  Helen’s face fell. “Oh, but do you have to call them at all? Can’t you wait?”

  “But...why?”

  Helen shrank in the chair. “Maybe just to humor an old woman?”

  Whitney never considered her aunt an old woman, but she looked like one now. Sad and small and...was her lip trembling? Oh, god, was she going to cry?

  “Why are you so upset? I mean... I told you I’d be job hunting. I was only going to be here for a few weeks. Yes, that turned into a few months. But you knew it was temporary, right?”

  “Yes, that’s what you said. But then you made friends, and got some work in town, and you and Luke...”

  “There is no me and Luke anymore. I’m sorry.” The words cut her heart like a rusty knife. And Helen physically recoiled from hearing them, putting her hand on her throat. My two favorite people... It hadn’t occurred to Whitney until right now how much Helen had invested in Whitney’s ill-fated romance with Luke. Her aunt gave her a trembling smile, tears pooling in her dark eyes.

  “I know, honey. But can’t you do it for a silly, romantic old woman?” What was up with this “old woman” business? Helen’s voice took on a pleading tone. “This week is going to be so hard for me. Can’t you give me a glimmer of hope for you and Luke? I swear, if you want to take the job after the festival, I won’t say a word, but please wait to make the decision. Help me get through this week without having to deal with the thought of you leaving. Let me play make-believe.”

  Whitney stared hard at her aunt. Helen had never in her life been a make-believe sort of person. She’d preached hard work and honorable ethics as the key to success. She’d refused to take Whitney to a Disney movie when she was a little girl because she didn’t want Whitney thinking some white knight would come save her. She and Tony both told Whitney she should be ready to save her own damn self.

  Helen’s bottom lip quivered again, and Whitney caved. Helen had been through hell and back over the past couple of years. If she wanted Whitney to wait a week to accept the job, she’d wait a week.

  “On one condition.” Whitney held up her index finger, and Helen nodded. “If you need to have hope and play make-believe, that’s fine. But I won’t. Luke made it clear he doesn’t want me, and I’m not going to throw myself at his damn feet. I’m not going to pretend he and I are okay. I can’t.” That was the truth. It would kill her. “I’ll tell Dallas to expect my decision the Monday after the festival. Have all the hope you want until then, but manage your expectations, Helen. I’m staying for you, not to win him back.”

  “Oh, Whitney!” Helen grabbed a fistful of tissues from the box that always sat near the table and wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “You’ve made me so happy! We�
�ll have so much fun at the festival together...”

  The older woman put her face into the tissues held in her hands, and her shoulders shook. This was more emotion from her aunt than she’d seen since she’d arrived. Did it mean Helen was getting better—processing her feelings instead of stifling them? Or was she hitting another one of those “clocked out” phases Luke talked about?

  Whitney looked back out the window, but he was out of sight. A cloud of dust rose from over the ridge where he must still be working. Staying so close to him and not being able to love him would be more painful than she could imagine. But if Helen needed them to be a team for one last week, then she’d figure out a way to make it work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “SHE FELL FOR it hook, line and sinker.” Helen smiled proudly, taking a sip of brandy-laced tea. “I gave her crocodile tears and everything. It was the best acting job of my life.”

  Rick took a seat next to Helen at Vickie’s dining room table. They were having an emergency meeting of the book club. “You really think your niece will hold off on accepting the job?”

  “She promised she’d wait. You should have seen her face when I gave her that little lip tremble. I had to bury my face in tissues so she wouldn’t see me laughing! She folded like a house of cards.”

  Lena chuckled. “Why you little devil! I’m proud of you, Helen. But now what? Why this urgent gathering?”

  “Wait!” Cecile put her hand up. “First, tell me how she is. Did Doug Canfield really punch her in the face? Is she okay?”

  “Technically it was an accident—he was swinging at Luke. But she’s okay. It looks awful, but she just had a bit of a headache. The doctor said she needs to take it easy, though—not a lot of activity or stress.”

  “So naturally, you went all Joan Crawford on her about staying and played on her emotions.” Rick chuckled. Helen flipped him the bird.