Although he wasn’t quite telling the truth, Juan nodded. “Yes. Sí. You want to try and get through this harvest? We can sell the crush, have someone else make the wine.”
Carmen looked at her sisters before responding. Although she didn’t know much about wines, she knew that the price of the unfermented crush, basically grape juice, was vastly different than casks of Blue Hills wines. “We have to make it ourselves.”
The old man shook his head sadly. “We don’t have a wine master.”
“I know one.” Or she’d get to know one. Even if it meant spending time with Evan Hollister.
Juan studied his daughter. He remembered the feeling of wanting something so desperately that facts had no bearing on what burst from in his heart. He could see the spark in her eyes. She wanted this very badly. What was the worst thing that could happen? She’d find her task impossible. Learn that you could desperately want something but that the world wouldn’t bend to your will. Grapes don’t ripen, land doesn’t produce, casks aren’t properly turned, wine sours, insects invade, fires burn, and it has nothing to do with the effort, sweat, hours, days and months of your life. All of it could amount to nothing. She might discover that life doesn’t care about your passion.
He owed it to her to let her find out on her own. It was one of the hard and beautiful lessons of making a living off the land. She was young. It wouldn’t break her. And if she got a taste for it, the Alvarez name would continue in the wine world.
“Do you know what you’re taking on?” Juan asked his middle daughter.
She nodded.
She didn’t. How could she?
Juan admired her surety. Saw something of himself in her firm nod. “Then I will help you.” He raised his glass, thinking of his wife. How many years had it been since they named their fledgling winery? Too many. “To Blue Hills Vineyard.”
The three Alvarez women raised their glasses in the purple dusk. “Blue Hills,” they repeated, each of them smiling at their own thoughts.
This, Juan thought, was about to get interesting.
Evan’s dog whined to be let out. Evan had thought about an evening swim and went to check on the water. He heard them when he stepped out onto the patio. Laughter. Cackling, if he was honest. Coming from Carmen’s patio. Evan knew he should turn on a light, let them know someone was listening, but he couldn’t help it. Carmen had fascinated him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Smart, serious, charming and sexy as hell. Pursuing her would be impossibly difficult. Wonderfully challenging.
Life-altering, perhaps.
He padded in his bare feet to where the dog was sniffing the wind. Three women sat around one of the patio tables, the wind whipping their hair, their faces shadowed by the light coming from hurricane lamps. Each of them held a round goblet of red wine. One of them talked and the others laughed hysterically.
They all gestured with their hands, adding to the conversation with glee.
It wasn’t your typical late-night hushed gathering. Evan bent over the embankment, trying to hear what they were saying. He could only hear individual words, whipped away before they made sense by the wind rushing down the lake. Carmen’s sisters. Even if he hadn’t recognized them, anyone could tell from their shadowy silhouettes that these women were related. Their dark hair, mannerisms and familiar intimacy left little doubt.
The three Alvarez sisters were all home. Evan was sure that they had gathered for a reason. He shifted uneasily.
Those women were up to something.
Six
Up the Hill
A guttering candle flickered on the patio table. This table had hosted more family dinners than Carmen could count. Summer birthday parties, first communions and quinceañera parties that confused the neighbors until Lola had insisted that her invitation said “Sweet Fifteen”. Mami’s funeral feast with enough food to feed the entire town. Tonight, four wineglasses stood nearly empty as the evening wound down. Stella had arrived late, enjoying the cool night air after waiting two hours for the air-conditioning repairman to arrive at the salon.
Papi had fallen asleep hours ago with his window open. Carmen smiled at the thought of him drifting off to his favorite sound: his daughters and his honorary hija, “bonita Stellita,” as he affectionately called her, chatting on the patio. Carmen knew he thought it was a shame her parents had moved to Arizona. Juan never understood people who willingly left their adult children.
Leaning back in her chair, Carmen looked up the hill, noticing Evan’s dog sniffing the night wind. Her stomach ached with laughter. Adella had told a hysterical story of a squirrel who’d run up one twin’s leg and back, chittering angrily from atop the poor boy’s sunhat while the other twin screamed for Mommy. Sister stories were the best.
Stella dropped an ice cube into her first glass of wine. “Do your sisters know that you have a date with Mr. Microsoft tomorrow night?”
“Exaggerate much?” Carmen sighed. It was wonderful, sitting down. The muscles down her back and legs ached from weeding and pulling up heavy slate.
Adella frowned. “I’m so confused. You hate him, but you’re going out on a date?”
Carmen shook her head. “Stella is the one calling it a date. I’m getting to know his weak spots.”
Lola speared a tomato with her fork, popping it into her mouth as she gazed at her phone. “Such as?”
“His hotness,” Stella said. “Just looking at him you’d assume he was dumb, but clearly he’s not if he’s inviting Carmen for dinner.”
Adella’s eyebrows arched. “What if Carmen is his weak spot?”
Carmen shook her head, annoyed. “I’m right here. Don’t talk about me in the third person.”
Adella nodded. “That’s one weak spot, what’s another?”
Lola flipped her phone face-down. “Being one of those annoying people showing off their Stratus Rewards Visa.” Adella gave her an arch look. “Okay, maybe he doesn’t, but he’s probably been invited. It comes with a concierge service and a jet share.”
“I’d get one,” Stella sighed. “In a heartbeat.”
Carmen ignored them. “His vines are newer and weaker. Shallow roots.”
Adella nodded. “Which is why he wants ours…”
Carmen nodded. “I’m using him, he is not using me.”
“Why can’t Carmen take one lousy night off and enjoy the company of a hot, rich dude?” Stella objected. “And a free meal?”
“Says the girl who decorated her salon to attract wealthy people. You haunted Pinterest before you chose a lick of paint,” Carmen pointed out. “You wanted to charge a hundred dollars a haircut.”
Stella shrugged. “I like money. Everybody does.”
Adella glanced at her phone, mumbling something about her children and needing to wake up at the crack of dawn to drive home. “We need a plan.”
Carmen glanced up the hill while Stella topped off their glasses. There was a dark shape beside the dog on the Hollister patio. Was it a shrub, a sheathed umbrella or Evan, spying on them, eavesdropping? She kept her voice low. “Stella and I thought…” It was surprisingly hard to say in a group, even to her sisters. “Sabotage? Nothing terrible, just enough to slow him down.”
Stella nodded. “Mess with the business.”
“Oooooh! So dramatic,” Lola said. “We could snip his vines. Bleed them.”
Adella winced. “Lola! We’re not those people.”
Stella waved her arm at the dark, rolling Hollister Estate vineyard hills. “Too many plants. We’d definitely get carpal tunnel syndrome.”
“We’d be the first suspects,” Carmen said.
Adella drummed her short nails on the iron table. “We could mess with his irrigation system, but it’s probably illegal.”
Carmen shook her head. “He’d have it fixed within two hours. He’d reprogram some computer system and bam, back in business.”
Stella sighed. “And we’d be in jail.”
“Sabotage,” Lola whispered theatrically as
she scrolled through her fellow art students’ Instagram feeds. “Such a fun word.”
Carmen sat up. “I’ve got it. We make our business more attractive by default. Whatever he’s doing to attract customers—wine tastings, hosting events, winery tours, whatever it is—we subtly ruin it.”
Lola lifted a finger. “We do it so that even if he suspects something, he can’t prove a thing.”
Carmen blinked, opening her mind to the possibilities, already making a mental list. “Okay, okay, let’s brainstorm.”
Stella wrapped an arm around Carmen, hugging her. “You’re insane and I love you.”
Carmen gazed up at the celestial view that had informed her childhood. Her small corner of earth. “We can’t let him win.”
Adella pushed her chair back, heading into the house. “We need more wine.”
Lola nodded, biting her lip. “Car, what would you think if I dropped out of art school and stayed here to help? My student loans have run out. I can’t make tuition, and this seems like a lot more fun.”
Carmen resisted the urge to lecture, to warn her that this wouldn’t be fun and games. It was business. “I think that would be awesome.”
Lola grinned happily. “This is going to be the weirdest first date ever.”
Carmen’s lips tensed. “Not a date.”
Stella uncorked the next bottle. “Keep protesting, Car. It’s totally believable.”
Carmen finished planting the last anthurium and took a long, hot shower, digging out an old toothbrush to get the dirt from under her nails. There wasn’t time to paint them, but at least she’d get them clean. As she studied her closet, she could hear her father whistling below, getting himself dinner in the kitchen. Orchard House, with its thick Spanish-style walls and tile roof, stayed cool and dark, even in summer.
After dinner, Papi would carry the remains of his wine to the patio and smoke a few puffs of the cigar that lasted him all week. He seemed happy to have her home. He’d stopped eating in front of the television. They made salads and grilled steaks. He’d told her that he was happy that she was going out tonight. His whistling meant that all was well in the world.
Sometimes it was easy to forget that her father had Alzheimer’s. Then she’d find him staring at a plate of tomatoes, wondering who had cut them. Or returning from a trip into Chelan without the items he’d gone to fetch. Calling from his truck, asking for a reminder of who he was supposed to meet or where he was supposed to be going. One night when he hadn’t shown up for dinner, she’d hiked up into the fields, finding him wandering and hungry. He hadn’t eaten lunch. His blood sugar was perilously low. He’d been confused, disoriented. As they’d strolled through the packed dirt fields between the curling vines, Carmen had felt grateful she’d found him. Someone should always be there for him. Maybe that person should be her.
As she’d left him in his bedroom, his eyes had cleared. He took her hand. “The vines.”
“¿Sí, Papi?”
“They need trimming.”
Carmen had added it to her long list.
Trimming the vines, she knew, took some expertise.
Hopefully she’d get to talk to Evan’s mysterious vintner.
Carmen stared into the mirror. Her office pallor had disappeared. Working in the hot sun had returned her skin to its golden hue, her cheeks pink. Running her fingers through her curls, she was glad she’d let Stella work her magic, telling herself it had nothing to do with Evan. She’d seen him on his patio, his long legs up on a table, talking on the phone. His voice carried over the distance. He was arguing. Unlike her, he didn’t sound defensive or raise his voice. He was self-assured and confident. Someone accustomed to negotiations. She felt admiration, before tamping it down.
Evan Hollister was used to maneuvering people into chutes. He knew how to pull levers and get people to commit to things they didn’t want to do. It was his bread and butter. She’d have to watch herself.
After experimenting with a few hairstyles, Carmen frowned into the mirror. “This isn’t high school and it’s not a date.”
Still, it felt fun to be getting a little dressed up. Presentable, her mother would say, patting her cheek before church. Fancy, when they were younger and wore glittery barrettes and hairbows. Since she’d arrived home, Carmen had barely had time to shower, let alone choose an outfit, apply make-up and spend time on her hair. She’d chosen a black gauze dress with short fluttery sleeves and white embroidery around the neck. Summery and attractive, but long enough to send an I’m not flirting with you vibe. She was glad she’d bought it in Seattle last summer. It was her first chance to wear it.
After kissing her father on the head while he ate dinner at the kitchen table, Carmen debated driving to Evan’s house. It was a little ridiculous to drive the quarter mile down the orchard road to the street, take a right and immediately turn into Evan’s drive and right back up the eastern side of the same hill through virtually the same orchard. The steep embankment between the two houses had once had a switchback path but it had eroded years ago, leaving rocky dirt, wild sage and few scrubby ponderosa pines.
Fifteen minutes later Carmen was climbing the slope, scrabbling in her low sandals, arms flung out to keep her balance. Halfway up the hill, she realized it was mistake. For every step she took, she slid backwards on the rocks. She looked back, weighing her options. Should she go back down and get the car like a sane person? Plant the bottle she was carrying in the hill to free her hand for better balance? How stupid, she thought, to be climbing a hill in a dress, a bottle of wine in one hand. She prayed Evan wouldn’t be standing on his patio. The only thing worse than sweating and sliding backwards down this hill would be having Evan witness the spectacle.
A few seconds later, a large dog appeared on the patio, sniffing the cooling air. Carmen’s back foot had slid down the hill on a cascade of pebbles. She was holding her arms out beside her, feeling the wind lift her dress, praying she didn’t lose her balance. The dog walked the perimeter of the patio, his hackles rising when he saw her. A slight growl came from deep in his throat.
“Oh no. Nice doggy. It’s just me, your neighbor. No worries.”
The dog erupted into a series of sharp warning barks, quickly escalating into hysteria as he ran back and forth.
“No!” Carmen wailed to herself, acutely aware of the spectacle she was creating.
She was stranded in a dress on a steep slope between two of the valley’s most storied wineries.
A few seconds later, Evan appeared, springing into action. “Barry, be quiet.”
His dog’s name was Barry?
She reminded herself not to appreciate Evan’s whimsy. Ridiculous dog names were an easy thing. People did it all the time.
Evan didn’t hesitate. He shushed the dog, and scrambled down the hill, oblivious (and Carmen had to admit, handsome) in his crisp white shirt. It was impossible not to enjoy the chivalry as he used the ideal approach to avoid covering her in dust and rocks.
In moments, he was a few feet above, offering his hand. “Nice of you to drop by.”
His smirk wiped out her hero fantasies. His shoulders could be as wide as an aircraft carrier. He’d still be a rich, entitled guy. “Maybe I should have taken the car.”
“More fun this way.” He gained a few points for that one. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be torture.
Maybe.
“I keep sliding backwards.”
He frowned. “You should take off your shoes.”
“My sandals?” Carmen thought about all the sharp rocks, and more importantly, arriving dirty-footed at Evan’s mansion. Her mother had had a strict rule about going barefoot and keeping one’s feet clean when going to anyone’s house. Dirty feet were a sign of bad manners.
“Your sandals,” Evan pronounced gravely. As if he could read her mind, he said, “Don’t worry. You can wash your feet and put them back on.”
Satisfied, Carmen took them off.
Even held out his hand. “Here.”
&
nbsp; Carmen hesitated. Give him her dust-covered sandals? This was not the way she’d wanted this night to start. Still, his logic was irrefutable. Reluctantly, she offered them up.
“Take my hand.” He leaned forward. His sleeve was rolled up. The veins popped on his arms, strong and ropy with muscle. Not the hands of an office drone. He’s spent some time outside. Papi would approve.
She shook her head. Stop it.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He took the bottle she was carrying, freeing both hands.
There was no choice. Either take his hand or gracelessly tumble down the hill while he watched. His hand was cool and smooth. He gripped her arm firmly, pulling her slowly towards him. She found her footing a few feet away and stood up straight.
They were inches apart. She looked up into his face. He smiled, his teeth straight and white.
“Hello, neighbor.” His breath was hot against her skin. She turned away.
“Lead the way.”
“Hang on a second. Look at that.” He turned her shoulders gently toward the lake.
The lake could always surprise her. No matter how many times she thought she’d seen every mood the water could throw, it could seem completely different when the sun went behind a cloud, or a bend in the road revealed a waterfall, or the turquoise depths turned black.
The low summer sun cut a glittering path off Wapato Point, slanting across the blue velvet of the lake, seemingly headed straight towards them.
Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1) Page 6
