Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1)

by Ellyn Oaksmith

  Carmen had to drive into Wenatchee to pick up a custom-made barrel that had cost a small fortune. It was basically an oversized open cask with a door. Adella had paid for it.

  Thank God for her sister. For both sisters.

  By the time Carmen came downstairs with Nathalie, Stella was doing the dishes.

  “Go back to sleep,” Stella ordered Nathalie, who blinked at Carmen, looking for directions. “Seriously. I can make grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches. Everyone will be happy.” Stella pointed at Nathalie. “You. Sleep.”

  The two friends stared at each other. “I owe you big time,” Carmen said.

  Stella shook her head. “What you owe me is an explanation. What’s going on with you and Evan Hollister?”

  Carmen rolled her eyes. “It’s complicated.”

  “Don’t you give me the old ‘it’s complicated’ runaround.” She pointed at herself. “I invented that one, sister.”

  Carmen nodded. “You did.”

  Stella folded her arms. “So.”

  Carmen pushed her hair off her face with both hands, breathing deeply. “Ever since I met him, we’ve been at each other’s throats. He wants the winery. I want to pay off the bank and stay here. So. You know. Nothing can happen. Ever.”

  Carmen nodded. “But?”

  Carmen clenched her fists. “But we have this chemistry. I mean, look at him. It’s like, at any other time…”

  “At any other time, you might not have had this chemistry. I mean, I get it. You both want the same thing. You’re both fighting hard. You both find each other’s passion very appealing. But Car, what is going on? I heard you on the phone. You went swimming?”

  Carmen wrinkled her nose. “Yes. We swam out to my rock.”

  Stella’s eyes went huge. “Wait, you took him out to your rock? That’s huge.”

  “Right? There’s barely enough room for one person. Things got cozy.”

  “Very cozy!”

  “We were chatting and it was fun. And I felt like things were, I don’t know, headed somewhere. I honestly thought he was going to kiss me.”

  “And?”

  Carmen shook her head. “No. Worse than that, I found out the next morning that he’d hired my cook away from me. Except now he says he didn’t. And he seems to blame other people who work for him for almost everything, but the bottom line is, nothing can happen between us.”

  Stella cocked her head. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Carmen, you’re putting everyone ahead of yourself.”

  “The stakes are too high.”

  “This isn’t an either/or thing. Maybe you should see him, face to face.”

  “We fight every time we talk.”

  “Make it different.”

  Carmen tilted her head. “There isn’t time.”

  “Make time.” Stella patted her friend’s arm. “Think about it.”

  Carmen grabbed her car keys. “I’ll be back to make dinner.”

  “Take some time to think,” Stella smiled.

  “Okay,” Carmen said as she pulled her purse over her shoulder. “I owe you for all this, you know?”

  “Name your first child Sunshine Unit and we’re even.”

  Carmen smiled. “Sunshine Unit is going to love you.”

  Stella gave her a soapy wave. “Don’t count yourself out, Car.”

  Carmen was rushing out the door when she saw her father returning from visiting the fields. “That old pressing machine still works, mija,” Papi said, looking tired.

  Now that the place was overrun with strangers, Carmen wondered if he felt out of place in his own winery. She put a hand on Papi’s shoulder. “Hey, would you come keep me company on a ride to get something in Wenatchee?”

  Papi raised his eyebrows, looking enthusiastic. “What’re you getting?”

  “Papi, you’re not even going to believe it.”

  She found herself looking up the hill for Evan. He wasn’t in his garden or near the pool, but she looked to the left, at the lake’s vanishing point, where it curved into the blue hills. The foggy haze of smoke was getting thicker.

  Eighteen

  First Crush

  “With their feet? People are going to step on the grapes?” Her father had decided to drive to Wenatchee. She’d take the wheel on the return, carrying the tub in the back – hopefully disassembled in a box, since the whole tub wouldn’t fit into her father’s truck bed. There were a couple of deep scrapes on the side of the car, Carmen noted before she got in. Her father never would have allowed scrapes on his beloved F210 before. The girls called the fancy truck his favorite child. Another sign that the Papi she knew was changing. Carmen felt a twinge of guilt as they drove down the steep incline on highway 971 and through the mountain tunnel. Why had it taken a crisis to get her here?

  “Sí, Papi. People get to crush grapes.”

  Her father peered down at the Columbia River, wide and muddy jade, bordered by lawns and orchards. He shook his head. “They want their feet dirty and stained?”

  Carmen looked up at the steep red cliffs, hoping to see the tiny mountain goats stuck to their sides like magnets. “Yes. Some people think it’s fun.”

  “And this will sell wine?” He sounded doubtful.

  “Yes,” Carmen said firmly. Never underestimate a marketing gimmick.

  Her father drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Carmenita, I know you and your sisters have big plans for the winery. But the pickers, I mean harvesters, you have hired and the stepping on the grapes and you quitting your job in Seattle. It’s a little confusing. I thought you liked your job?”

  Carmen was quiet for a moment. She’d never thought to ask her father if keeping the winery was what he wanted. What if he wanted to retire, maybe even move into someplace easier to maintain? A less remote location where he could walk to the Apple Cup, or a senior center. What if he wanted something entirely different?

  “Papi, I did like my job. Well, most of it.”

  “So why did you leave?”

  Carmen glanced over at him. The sleeves of his plaid shirt were rolled back. He wore the watch her mother had given him the day they got married. The band was scratched and nicked. Aged and worn to perfection. Like her father. “Papi, I came here because I thought you needed me.”

  “Carmenita, I want you to have your own life. That’s why I worked so hard. Have it easier.”

  “Let me finish, Papi.”

  “Sí.” He nodded.

  “I thought I was coming here to help you. That I’d help you get the harvest out and go back to Seattle. Now I want to stay for me. To learn the wine business, like I told you. It’s in my blood.”

  Her father nodded. “Sí. Yo sé. But all these things like”—he gestured ahead—“the stepping on the grapes. What does this have to do with making wine?”

  Carmen sighed. “Papi, you can have the best wine in the world. If nobody knows about it, it doesn’t do us any good. These things get people talking. It’s social media. You give people something to talk about.”

  Papi chewed it over. “I’m glad to have you here. I know how to make wine. But that’s it.”

  “I love the marketing side of it. Lola’s been very creative. She came up with a whole friends of Bluehills Winery thing. It’s brilliant, really.”

  Her father nodded, then wiped his eyes.

  “Papi, what’s wrong?”

  “Oh nothing. I just like having you girls here so much. I’m happy that you want to be here.”

  Carmen reached over and squeezed Papi’s arm. Orchard House, Blue Hills, their way of life could blow away so easily, red dust off a cliff. Suddenly it became more important than ever that she save it.

  For all of them.

  The tub barely fit on the truck bed. Although the guy at the fabricating warehouse had strapped it down, Carmen worried about freeway driving. “Take the back roads,” an older worker suggested. Juan insisted on driving. Carmen caved, not wan
ting to embarrass him.

  Juan tugged at the nylon cinches holding the load, satisfied. “Bueno. Gracias.”

  The workers opened the gates, waving them off onto the gritty road lined with fruit packing plants and RV sales lots. They turned and the truck wobbled in the brisk wind. Carmen kept looking in the back window, worried. Juan drove the truck over the river towards the southern shore. They’d have to slow down when they drove through the small communities peppering the road. Some of them were no more than a fistful of houses, but the signs posted said to drive at twenty-five.

  It was a pretty drive with the wide sage river on their left, the rolling green orchards and large houses with weeping willows spreading across their improbably bright lawns, lush with access to river water. Flickering silver ribbons on fruit trees kept the birds at bay, glinting in the morning sun. The large barrel was wedged sideways, fighting the wind like a sail, rattling the truck as the wind blew down the river canyon. Canyons on either side made it seem that the world was just this: green water and red stone.

  “We’re falling behind with the harvest, Carmencita,” Juan broke the silence. “The sugar can’t get too high. The fruit will spoil.”

  Carmen let the wind ruffle her hair through the open window. “I know.”

  “Maybe you ought to ask our neighbor for help.”

  Carmen frowned. “What makes you suggest that?”

  Her father kept his eyes on the road. “His crew is almost done. It’s what we do. Remember when we lent our crews to the Sundersons? They didn’t have to ask. We knew.”

  Carmen shook her head. “We can do it, Papi.”

  A blast of wind shook the car. Juan kept a firm grip on the steering wheel, holding the truck steady. It had been this way her whole life. Papi kept things steady. Even after Mami died. When the freezer was empty of casseroles, Papi had shopped at Safeway, the place where he’d met his wife, filling the cart with food he recognized, hoping he’d get it right.

  “And what if we can’t, mija? You girls have been working so hard. What if all your work is for nothing?”

  “We can do it.” She wasn’t sure. She might be too stubborn. What if her pride let this all crash down on her shoulders? Could she live with that? But could she live with asking Evan for help? And what if he said no? Maybe that would be the worst outcome. Knowing he put greed before everything. She didn’t want to know that about him.

  Juan was silent as the truck ate up another mile of river road. “I trust you.”

  Carmen’s eyes filled with tears. She sniffed. Her father reached over and squeezed her hand.

  Just when she needed it.

  Carmen looked up at the top of the canyon. There was a faint haze in the sky. Smoke or clouds? Juan turned on the radio and found a song in Spanish on KOZI, his and Mami’s favorite public radio station. Every Sunday, KOZI broadcast in Spanish all day. When the girls were little, the Alvarez family went to church in Manson, across the lake. After the service they’d eat donuts in the community room, balancing paper plates while hugging friends. Afterwards at Orchard House, when it was warm enough, the girls would race to the lake while their parents took a siesta with the radio on, falling asleep to language of their homeland.

  Father and daughter both sang along, enjoying the ride, forgetting everything in the simple pleasure of togetherness.

  “Hey Mr. Alvarez! Nice to see you.” Evan shook Juan’s hand with genuine enthusiasm. Carmen hung back by the truck on the fairgrounds. It was a beautiful site, with views of the canyon and the river winding to the north. Winemakers from all over Central and Eastern Washington were driving onto the grounds with large trucks, setting up their booths and trailers. There was an air of easy camaraderie between the winemakers, catching up during the busy harvest.

  Carmen watched her father and Evan talk, envying their easy rapport. Her father seemed to forget that Evan was the one who wanted to take their winery in the first place. He didn’t even seem to hold anything against the bank. When she’d pointed out that he’d been doing business with Mr. Wilfrey for decades and maybe the man could have done more to help, Papi had shook his head. “Mija, it’s business. The man’s done everything he could.” Maybe it was his memory or maybe it was hard-won wisdom, but her father didn’t seem to hold grudges.

  Maybe she should learn something from him.

  As he walked over with Evan, Carmen felt flushed with anger. Evan’s smile was the same one he’d offered her the night of their swim. Which had led to nothing. Which, to him, had meant nothing.

  He seemed to be searching her eyes as he approached.

  She didn’t give anything away.

  “Carmen, it’s great to see you.” He squeezed her arm warmly.

  She pulled away quickly. “Just show us where to set up.” She added a terse, “Thanks.”

  Her father looked between them, curious. Carmen knew what he was thinking. His daughter wasn’t normally so curt. This was their neighbor after all. “No podemos hacerlo solos,” he told her. We can’t do it alone.

  Carmen shook her head slightly, hoping her father would take her lead. “We’ve got people coming.”

  Evan looked shocked. “Carmen, you don’t have to. I mean, I’ve got people. Shouldn’t you be keeping people on the harvest?”

  Carmen threw her hands up. “That’s rich, Evan. You of all people, giving me advice on what to do about the harvest. How about if you didn’t mess up our weddings? Or steal our cooks?” She turned to her father, pointing at Evan. “He’s been sabotaging us every step of the way.”

  Her father put his hand on her shoulder. People passing by were giving them looks. “Carmen, por favor.”

  “No. No. Papi, I came here because I was worried that he would buy the land right out from under you. That he would just take everything, and for what? His ego? He doesn’t need the money. He can buy grapes from anywhere in the world. But he wants our land. And you know why? Because he can’t have it!” She turned to Evan. “Isn’t that right? It’s a measly eighty-seven acres. Do you know what we’re called now? A boutique winery. It’s not the grapes, Evan. It’s that someone finally said no to you. Isn’t that it?”

  Evan was shaking his head. He lifted his hands. “Okay, you win. You can figure out how to set up on your own.” He nodded at Juan. “Mr. Alvarez, if you change your mind, let me know. I can send people over.”

  Juan nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  Evan shook hands with him. “Don’t be. I haven’t—”

  Juan lifted a hand to stop him. “I think I understand.”

  Both men exchanged a glance.

  Evan wondered if Carmen’s father truly understood. He didn’t want the older man to think badly of him. Evan admired Carmen’s father more than either of them would ever know. Alvarez senior was truly a self-made man. He’d not only built up a great business, he’d done everything Evan aspired to do. Make award-winning wines, marry well, raise a family and establish roots. While Evan’s wealthy parents played golf and traveled around the world, Evan planted vines. What he really wanted was roots.

  As he walked away across the trampled grass through the clusters of chatting winemakers and workers, Evan wondered if Carmen was right. Had he just wanted to own those vines because they weren’t on the market? Had he wanted to buy Juan’s dream as a shortcut? Carmen’s words made him feel like an impostor.

  But it didn’t matter. Tomorrow the festival would begin, and the world of wine lovers would be at his door.

  He had to be ready.

  He looked across the windy fairgrounds, hoping that everything would come together.

  Carmen and her father were at the truck, talking. He’d messed things up with her. Maybe it was too high a price to pay. Maybe sometimes success wasn’t worth it.

  “Car, we can’t spare anyone,” Lola said. To Carmen’s surprise, Lola had become the crew boss, along with Marcus, the math teacher who was used to talking people into things they didn’t want to do. The two of them led trivia games, brought
in ice cream and went the extra mile to make life sustainable in hot, windy weather. “We’re doing everything we can.”

  Carmen looked around the fairgrounds. Everyone had big signs and concessions. She didn’t know she was supposed to sell food. Or that this was such a big deal. She should have known there would be food because it was at the fairgrounds, but she didn’t know they were going to take up the entire place. Someone was assembling a tasting room in a huge circus tent. An electrician was testing the lighting. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Who would willingly stain their feet when they could sip free wine under strands of Pinterest-worthy lights?

  “This barrel is huge. I can’t do this by myself. Even with Papi. You should see this thing. I hope it works, because we almost got lifted off the highway by the wind.”

  “Listen, you’ve got to find someone else,” Lola said. “Everyone here is dragging. We have more than a third of the field left and people are slowing down. Come back.”

  Carmen heard panic in her sister’s voice. She was at her limit. “Bueno. I’ll get this figured out and come back. Don’t worry. It’s all going to work out.” Hearing the words come out of her mouth felt like a lie. The harvest wasn’t going to be enough to save Blue Hills. They’d lose everything, including her childhood home. It would all be her fault.

  Carmen slipped her phone in her jeans, desperate for someone to reassure her that she was doing the right thing. Evan was across the fairgrounds on the scrubby grass, talking to a man with a dog, bending to scratch the dog’s ears. She didn’t need a man to encourage her. Nobody had told her migrant father to keep going before he’d met her mother. He’d survived on sheer grit. Carmen took a deep breath, letting the movement settle her nerves. Survival was in her DNA.

  “It’s fine,” she told herself.