The level of disrepair was staggering. Her mother would be rolling in her grave. Even the flagstones under her feet were cracking. Everything about this place needed work. And love. It would take a mountain of effort. But if it would defeat this slick man and his fat checkbook then it would be well worth it. It wouldn’t just be a victory for the Alvarez family, it would be a victory for every Chelan County resident who’d been on the receiving end of a newcomer’s sneer. It was high time they stuck up for themselves.
Carmen took her time, swirling the wine, enjoying its deep ruby hues as it caught the afternoon sun, just cresting the vineyard hills.
She made a point of looking directly at Evan as she finally responded. “Well, Mr. Hollister, things are going to look a little bit different now. I’m here to look after my father and his land. Whatever it takes.”
Evan gave her a long penetrating stare, raising his glass in almost a touché gesture. The funny thing was, Carmen thought, he looked like he was enjoying this.
Game on, Mr. Hollister, Carmen thought, as her father looked between the two young people, wondering what he’d missed.
“Carmen, please sit down.” Stein Wilfrey had been the family banker for as long as Carmen could remember. He ushered her into his office with the pleased demeanor of a man who’d been there at family occasions and signed off on loans that had helped the Alvarez family achieve their dreams. He was, Carmen realized, part of her father’s success.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilfrey,” Carmen said, smoothing the skirt she’d worn to make herself seem more businesslike. Less like the kid Mr. Wilfrey had seen sliding on the hardwoods in her stockings at his daughter’s wedding. On his desk was the jar of suckers she’d helped empty over the years.
“Oh please, I think you can call me Stein, young lady.”
Carmen gulped. Here goes nothing, she thought. “Thank you, Stein.” It felt strange, but she was here as an adult. Might as well act like one. “I’m here on behalf of my father.” The words felt formal and awkward in her mouth.
“How’s he doing?” asked Stein, throwing her off with his concern. Of course, she thought, he was Papi’s friend.
“Oh, he’s fine.” Carmen’s voice wavered. “Mostly.” It was a fine line, since her father was the one with the debt. She certainly didn’t want to make it seem like he couldn’t run his own business, but she did want to let Mr. Wilfrey—Stein—know that her father had extenuating circumstances.
“His memory?”
Carmen’s heart sunk. Was it that bad? She wished for the hundredth time that she’d paid more attention. Not let things get to the stage where Adella had let ditsy Lola take the lead. Lola wouldn’t notice a sink hole in her backyard.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “It’s not so bad that he can’t run the winery, but I’m helping him. He’s teaching me the business and we’ll hire a vintner when we’re back on stable ground. I just wanted to see…”
Mr. Wilfrey’s eyes clouded over. His fingers tented as he looked out the window at the arid hills, dusty brown in the summer heat. Main Street in Chelan was skirted with pocked roads that quickly gave way to the steep foothills of the Cascade Range. “You wanted to see?”
“To see if, since my father has been such a good client over the years and has some very valuable land, we can have more time.” She clasped her hands in her lap to stop herself from fidgeting.
“Ah, yes.” Mr. Wilfrey looked truly miserable.
It took every ounce of self-control she had not to apologize and walk out of the bank, head across the street to the Three Horses and day-drink herself silly. Or at least have one very ill-advised glass of wine. But she couldn’t. She owed it to her father and her sisters and herself to stay in this plush chair, making this very nice man miserable.
“Carmen,” Mr. Wilfrey met her eyes with a pleading stare. His hair was fighting a losing battle with baldness. He looked older than she remembered, and tired. “I’d love nothing more than to give your father an extension on his loan. But this isn’t my money. It’s the bank’s. And your father has defaulted on his payments. Been late. I personally have stretched the limits of what’s possible. But we can’t run our business this way. We need at least thirty thousand dollars by October first at the very latest. The remaining sixteen thousand would be due in early December.”
Carmen grasped her hands until they were white. “I’m not sure we can make it. I don’t know how we’re going to come up with the harvest this year.”
“Can one of your sisters take out a line of credit? Maybe on a house?”
Carmen shook head. “Adella is the only homeowner. She has three children who might need braces or college tuition.”
Stein shook his head. “I’m sorry. Nobody wants the Blue Hills Vineyard to stay in business more than I do.”
Carmen stood, shaking his hand. “I know.”
“If anyone can keep things running, it’s you girls.” His voice was strained with emotion. “Your dad raised some very fine young women.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilfrey.” Stein. She didn’t bother correcting herself. There wasn’t any point.
Carmen walked out of the bank into the breathtaking heat. It shimmered off the sidewalk as a gaggle of tweens with damp hair and ice cream cones passed, blissfully absorbed in their own drama.
Buoyed by the vision of happy girls, Carmen steeled herself. She was going to have to learn how to run a winery and beat Evan Hollister at his own game. He might have money, but she had history and a tough family on her side.
Her car was achingly hot. She couldn’t stand it. Instead of taking a left down to the lake, Carmen turned right and then right again, driving through the oldest homes in Chelan. Built a century before the word “McMansion” arrived, these Victorian beauties were in various states of disrepair. Her mother’s favorite was still the same soft purple-blue with pink and white trim. The yard was thick with blooming white lilacs and gladioli, a flower that had fallen out of fashion but her mother had loved. On the freshly painted white porch were three large rockers. Her mother always used to say “One for the wife, one for the husband and one for the cat.”
Funny, the things she remembered.
Mama used to walk her up here after shopping, sharing a bag of licorice, just to visit her homes. She had her own nice home, but liked to visit her “ladies.” She only took one girl at a time and Carmen had always felt special when it was her turn.
Carmen reached her destination, rolled down her window and said a silent thank you for the breeze. The cemetery seemed to catch a breeze on even the stillest day. Her father had chosen a beautiful spot overlooking the lake. She sat down at the bench near the grave, looking at her mother’s tombstone. Another fine job, Papi, she thought. Thirty-five years old. Five years older than Carmen was now. The sweet smell of ponderosa pine blew through the graveyard, refreshing her. The flowers that Papi brought every Sunday were still fresh. Carmen poured more water into the vase.
“Don’t worry, Mamacita. We’ll take care of him. He’s going to be showing his grandchildren how to trim suckers. Papi is going to be fine.”
Carmen patted the gravestone, hoping she wasn’t making an idle promise.
She’d have to come through. For herself, for all them. It wasn’t just land. It was their history.
Standing in their way was a very attractive obstacle. Evan Hollister. The embodiment of everything wrong in Chelan. Entitled, spoiled, arrogant and ambitious.
Hating him was going to be fun.
Four
Wedding Belles
“He’s like a poster for privilege,” Carmen snapped, wiping the sweat from her brow, smudging her flushed skin with dirt.
“Or, like, the cover of a romance novel. I wonder what he looks like without his shirt on.” Stella tilted her head as if admiring a fine painting or view.
“I don’t,” Carmen snapped. “Doesn’t it bother you? We’re here sweating our butts off and he’s sipping iced tea while his minions do the work for him.”
<
br /> “He’s providing a valuable service.”
“By standing there?”
“You have to admit, he improves the view.”
Carmen rolled her eyes. Stella had always been like this and normally it was funny. But why couldn’t she find Evan Hollister as thoroughly annoying as Carmen did? Although Stella was certainly putting in some serious labor helping her. The salon was dark today. She’d arrived at nine to help. It was three o’clock, eighty degrees and they were both exhausted and covered in a fine layer of rich red dirt.
It was Monday. Carmen had four days to get the patio, the pool and the main floor of Orchard House in shape before the first wedding planner came. She wasn’t at all sure she could do it in time. She was having dreams of walking outside with a snooty bride and finding a sink hole in the back yard.
Stella dropped a heavy flagstone in the dirt, looking up the hill at the two figures on the Hollister patio, highlighted in the sun, peering down at them. “Is that his girlfriend?”
“Who cares?” Carmen offered her friend a glass of cold water. If she was perfectly honest, though, she was curious. What kind of stuck-up woman would Evan drag over from Seattle? She’d be the kind to complain that her rosé wasn’t chilled enough. Carmen knew the type. They dressed for other women and bought competitive handbags.
Carmen sipped at her water. The ice chips floating on the top reminded her of opening the freezer and finding it nearly locked in ice. Her father must have left it ajar at some point. It was like peering into a miniature Antarctic. The first two days back Carmen had spent indoors, cleaning out the freezer and fridge, going through the house systematically, making lists of what needed to be done. There were three pages of repairs. Anything that wasn’t directly in front of her father had been ignored. If she thought about it too long, Carmen felt a weight pressing down on her. At times, she’d been tempted to pick up the phone and call the number that jerk Evan had left. Tell him she’d changed her mind. It was too much. She’d go back to Seattle. Find someone who wasn’t poisoned by the rumors Felicity had surely floated. Start at the bottom in a smaller firm.
But when she imagined someone else harvesting the vines or her father without his acres to walk through, she changed her mind. His nightly walk through the vineyard was an accounting of his life. His accomplishments. No. She’d persevere.
She’d wake up and begin the endless and seemingly insurmountable amount of work. The more she worked, the more she noticed new things. A broken irrigation system. Barrels that smelled of mold. A vineyard was a mountain of chores at the best of times. Her father had fallen so far behind, it would take years to catch up.
Stella gulped down the entire glass, pulling Carmen back into the conversation. “Hello? I care. An eligible millionaire moved in next door. Are your eyes working? He’s gorgeous. And rich. What about that combination doesn’t work for you?”
“Stop looking at him,” Carmen hissed.
“He can’t hear you.”
“He probably has listening devices planted on the hill.”
Stella gave her a weird look. “Okay, what’s up?”
Carmen took a long drink from her own glass to give herself time. “What’s up is that he’s one of those super aggressive types who thinks he can barge in here and take Papi’s land.”
“Last I heard, he offered you a bunch of money. He’s not a pirate, although that is a super sexy image.”
“Do you know what’s going to happen if Papi doesn’t have those vines? That land is his history. It’s ours.”
Stella sat down on a pile of broken flagstones, uncharacteristically somber. They’d been at the tail-end of fourth grade during Carmen’s mother’s illness. Carmen had been at Stella’s house when Mercedes died, two weeks before spring break. Stella had composed filthy songs about cancer and distracted Carmen with facials made from honey and oats, rainbow manicures and thrift shopping for denim. Raiding cherry orchards by night. Anything to keep her friend busy.
Juan had poured his grief into the dirt, the grapes, the wine. Everything he cared about was right there. His girls. His land. There was nothing else.
“Fair point.”
“Exactly. And that guy”—Carmen pointed up the hill—“isn’t the kind of guy who will quit. He’ll figure out a way to get our vines, no matter what we do.”
Stella finished her water, setting the glass down on the table. She picked up another broken piece of slate, admiring the mica glinting in the sun. She looked up at her friend, grinning. “Then you’ll just have to stay here and thwart him.”
Carmen smiled broadly. “That’s the plan.”
Stella lifted her glass. “Let the thwarting begin.”
“It’s so much worse than I thought,” Carmen said, looking around the Three Horses wine café, seeking familiar faces. She’d brought Stella here as a small thank you for all her hard work. The place was jammed with tourists sipping local wines, eating cheese platters, and comparing tans and dinner plans.
Stella’s wrist jangled with an armful of bracelets as she put down her glass of rosé. “Yeah, I was surprised.”
Carmen gazed into her glass, swirling the wine absentmindedly. “Did I ignore it?”
Stella shook her head. “Maybe, a little? You were on a pretty tight leash, Car. Arriving late at night, leaving early. Remember that Christmas I drank champagne with your sisters while you wrote that stupid proposal?”
Carmen sighed. “Yes, it was awful. Orchard House needs about five years of back maintenance, if not more. Paint, roof. You saw the orchard. It would be totally fine if the wedding theme was Zombie Apocalypse, but anyone who thought a wedding would work there now is out of their mind.”
“That would be your sister.”
“Lola,” they both said at the same time.
Lola was a jump-first ask-questions-later kind of girl. Carmen had found a brochure for Blue Hills weddings that had Lola’s fingerprints all over it. Weddings at wineries were a solid thing now. Winter was a time for the vines to grow, the fruit to cultivate. In the meantime, wineries produced no income, excluding wine sales. Blue Hills Vineyard hadn’t produced a vintage in two years. They’d need money to pay the harvest crew, the warehouse workers, the bottlers, everything.
Weddings were the obvious choice. Chelan had become a wedding destination. Blue Hills Vineyard had breathtaking views. Local rental and catering businesses flourished. The problem was that Lola had booked everything, then, without so much as a backwards glance, returned to art school. She was enrolled in the Art Institute of Seattle, racking up student loans, and as usual, had left someone else holding the bag.
“The problem is we can’t get ready in time for those weddings and we can’t not do them. Papi owes everyone. My heart goes crazy just looking at his books. If we aren’t a wedding venue, we can’t hire pickers. He can’t even afford to pay his wine master. I have no idea how we’re going to make the wine this year. We can’t afford anyone. All the wine masters have been hired for the year. But if we don’t harvest, we don’t have a prayer at paying the back taxes. It’s a disaster.”
Stella scratched her head. “That hot millionaire next door has a master vintner he brought all the way from Italy. The man is yum on a stick.”
Carmen laughed despite herself. “Yum on a stick?”
Stella nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Totally. Don’t get me started on his accent.” Stella pulled out her shirt, blowing lightly into her cleavage.
Carmen rolled her eyes. “What good does that do me?”
“He’s next door. Get to know him. Do your research. You might not be able to hire him, but you might be able to pick his brain.”
“And what about the weddings?”
Stella rolled up her sleeves and flexed her biceps, poking one and frowning comically. “They might not be much, but they’re all yours.”
Carmen tilted her head, teary-eyed with gratitude. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
Stella smiled her crooked grin. “
I’m so happy you’re back. We can do this. The two of us make one superhero.”
Carmen nodded. “But weddings, as in plural?”
Stella counted on her fingers. “You’ve got Adella, Lola, your dad, and”—she raised her eyebrows—“this fine specimen here. You’re the organized one. Make a list.”
Carmen’s face lit up. “My three favorite words.” She opened notes on her phone. “First we text my sisters.”
Stella finished her wine, signaling the waitress for another round. By the time their glasses were topped up, the girls had a plan.
“The ice sculpture can go over here. And—wait—no, over here.”
Evan had thought he’d met fast talkers in his life, but this wedding planner put them to shame. The woman tumbled from one thought to the next like lemmings off a cliff. Now she was gazing off into the distance with a dreamy look on her face that made Evan rolls his eyes. What he wouldn’t pay to shut her up and hustle her off his property.
Oblivious to his distress, the wedding planner kept babbling. “I love that people can look at the view through the center of the sculpture. Isn’t that so gorgeous?” The woman didn’t walk, she flowed, waving her arms through the confusion of white gauze cascading from her belled sleeves.
Why does anyone need such big sleeves? Evan wondered.
Bored out of his mind for the last half-hour, he’d counted how many times she’d said the word “gorgeous”. Thirty-five and counting. “It will melt,” Evan said flatly. “No shade.”
The wedding planner, whose name was Maura or Mavis or something mumsy, gave him an exaggerated sad look, trailing her fingers from under her eyes like tears. “Can’t we put up a canopy?”
“Sure, if you want it to blow into the field.”
Evan’s pricey PR person, Mandy, shot him a look. She was the one that was so hot on this wedding thing, insisting that weddings drove the wine business and you couldn’t replicate the word of mouth from five good weddings hosted on the vineyard property. Evan had insisted that he hadn’t gone into the wine business to host weddings.
Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1) Page 4
