by Cat Chandler
"Email me the details. I'm happy to attend and give you an article on whatever happens at the event."
"You won't be thanking me after you meet George Lanciere. I owe you a big favor for this one."
Chapter Three
The next morning Nicki pulled into the parking lot of Holland Winery right at 10 a.m. She wasn’t surprised by how many cars were already lined up in the generous space despite a large sign on the driveway’s entrance proclaiming the tasting room closed to the public. The lucky, invited guests usually came and went throughout any private event, but were apparently ignoring that usual practice for this one.
George Lanciere had posted an announcement, all in capital letters, onto the winery’s website just that morning, stating the limited number of available tastings of his special blend would be scattered throughout the event. Which Nicki took as a warning to arrive early and stay for the entire thing. She’d read the marketing hype about the mysterious new blend while she sipped a cup of coffee and nibbled around the edges of an organic, whole-wheat bagel.
Now as she gingerly picked her way between the oversized trucks and SUVs in the parking lot, Nicki steered her compact car straight for the outer edge. There was no problem finding an empty space near the production buildings. With a resigned sigh, Nicki flipped the ignition key of her nine-year-old Toyota to the off position, grimacing when the little car shuddered for a full five seconds before the engine finally stopped running. Her mechanic had proclaimed that at 250,000 miles, it was past time to put the pitiful thing out of its misery.
But Nicki’s bank account didn’t share his sentiment. She was still making payments for her mother’s funeral and her own subsequent move across the country. She couldn’t stretch her wildly fluctuating writing income to make a car payment too. The steady freelance work of supplying articles to Matt’s very popular e-magazine went a long way toward easing her tight budget. So did her new series of novels. But the payments from Food & Wine Online outdid her books and her blog, which was why she was sitting in the parking lot of Holland Winery instead of lounging about her home office in pajamas and writing the last three chapters of her latest novel.
As much as Nicki wanted to barricade herself inside her comfortable townhouse and finish the manuscript, she simply couldn’t. Not only for the sake of her budget, but because she really did owe Matt.
Flipping down the car’s visor to reveal a tiny mirror, Nicki turned her face both ways to get a good look at her reflection, but couldn’t see much more than her eyes staring back at her. Thinking she should have used a tad more than the bare hint of make-up she usually wore, Nicki settled for a philosophical shrug. She wasn’t here to impress anyone. Just meet George Lanciere during his self-proclaimed finest hour, be sure to sneak at least a taste of his new blend, and then high-tail it back to the townhouse. Hopefully this whole detour from writing her novel would only take a couple of hours — three at the most.
Feeling more cheerful over the prospect of quickly putting this assignment to bed, Nicki fished lip gloss out of her purse and made a rapid, targeted swipe across her mouth.
“All right-y then. First Matt’s article about Mr. I’m-so-important Lanciere’s big announcement, then a fast break for home after getting the reaction of a few of the people this winemaker will allow to taste his creation,” Nicki said out loud before swinging the car door open. She stepped out and took a quick glance around.
The tasting room and adjoining parking lot were built on a slight rise, offering a beautiful view of the surrounding vineyard. Nicki smiled. She never tired of looking at rows of neat vines radiating out from the central spoke of a winery. It was always photo-worthy to her, even in late September after the grape harvest.
The crunch of footsteps against crushed rock broke the quiet moment of peace. A woman hurried up the ramp leading from an outbuilding to the parking lot. Recognizing her, Nicki raised a hand in greeting.
“Hey, Geri!”
The assistant winemaker halted in her tracks as her head snapped up and her eyes darted around the lot. At first her gaze passed right over Nicki.
Used to going unnoticed, largely thanks to her height, Nicki belatedly remembered she’d decided to wear flat sandals instead of the three-inch wedges she was usually in the habit of wearing.
“I’ll be lucky if I cross anyone’s line of vision at this grand unveiling,” she muttered to herself before waving a hand back and forth to catch Geri’s attention. It took a few waves and a slight jump up, which did nothing for her dignity, before the assistant winemaker finally spotted her and changed directions.
Nicki studied the solidly built woman striding across the parking lot. Geri always wore the same, unadorned white shirt with the winery logo on the front pocket, black pants and sensible black shoes sporting thick, rubber soles. If the middle-aged assistant intended to fade into the background, then the outfit was definitely a huge success. From Nicki’s observations on prior encounters with Geri, that’s usually what happened. No one noticed the assistant winemaker.
But today Geri spruced it up by trading the black pants for a stark, black skirt falling halfway between her knees and calves. At least Nicki assumed she meant to dress up for the event and wasn’t deliberately trying to look like a nun. With her short dark hair and downcast eyes, the only thing missing was the headpiece.
Nicki wrinkled her nose at the catty thought. Geri didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t easy being a female winemaker, even an assistant one, in the mostly male profession. Feeling guilty, Nicki made a mental note to mention the assistant’s name in her article. With that resolution filed in the back of her mind, she put on a smile and waited for Geri to cross the distance between them.
“I hope I’m not too late for the big unveiling,” Nicki said once the woman had come close enough that she didn’t have to shout. Geri still halted a good six feet away.
“No, no. I’m sure Mr. Lanciere will serve his newest blend later.” Geri’s eyes continued to dart about as her lips twitched just a smidgeon upward into a stingy smile. “Are you here for your own blog or for Food & Wine Online?
“I wasn’t lucky enough to receive a personal invitation for a George Lanciere private event,” Nicki said. “The magazine sent me.”
Geri’s only response was to clasp her hands in front of her and keep her feet firmly planted.
Determined to be friendly, Nicki ignored the physical distance Geri was doing her best to keep between them and walked forward. “Shall we go inside? I don’t want to disappoint my editor.”
Nicki tilted her head toward the tasting room, mildly surprised when Geri turned and walked beside her instead of following three steps behind. But apparently walking together didn’t mean talking together. When Geri remained silent, Nicki tried again.
“Is the winemaker going to give his assistant her proper due for helping with the crush and blending this year?” Nicki asked, using the common terms for the annual grape harvest.
When Geri only gave a hard snort, Nicki sent her a sideways glance. “I take it that’s not George Lanciere’s style?”
“No. It isn’t.”
“Well, maybe for his special blend, then.” Nicki forced a hint of cheerfulness into her voice. If the constantly busy gossip mill in the wine community was to be believed, poor Geri would be lucky to receive an approving nod from George Lanciere, much less a whole sentence of praise.
Geri turned her head just enough to stare at Nicki. “Why would you say that?”
“Since you help with the crush and the blend for the Holland brands, I assumed you helped with a Lanciere private production, too.”
“I most certainly did not help him put up his special blend.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not important. How did production go this year?” Surprised by the intensity of her denial, Nicki deftly changed the subject. She relaxed when Geri’s smile grew as the assistant launched into a technical discussion of the recent crush.
Since Nicki was familiar with the basic p
rocess, she only listened with half an ear, murmuring politely whenever Geri paused and took a breath. Thankful the assistant’s lecture on how to make the perfect wine was cut short when they reached the large, double doors leading into the tasting room, Nicki stepped inside, eager to get the assignment started and finished.
The inviting space boasted a long, stand-up bar at the far end, with a generous number of high tables randomly scattered around the room. Just as the large gaggle of cars in the parking lot promised, the place was packed.
Nicki stood on her toes, trying to locate a friendly face. She was familiar with many of the winemakers and winery owners in the area, and already knew Jim Holland, the owner of the winery that also bore his name. Not only had she written about Holland Winery several times in her blog, it was one of the first stops she, Alex and Jenna had made when they explored the countryside around their new home.
“This is the wrong water. Go back and bring a bottle from my private refrigerator, and be quick about it.”
The angry command snapped through the air in a half-French, half-New Jersey accent, and was loud enough to be heard over the raised mix of voices in the room. The din quieted as heads swiveled, looking for the source of the outburst.
“Hey,” Nicki couldn’t stifle a startled yelp when Geri latched onto her arm and quickly moved through the crowd, pulling her reluctant captive along with her. Not wanting to make a scene by digging her heels in, Nicki smiled at the people they passed, trying to nod pleasantly and act as if everything was just dandy and fine while being dragged across the room.
Geri skidded to an abrupt stop at a table surrounded by a group of men. They turned together to stare at the two women.
Nicki brushed hair out of her face and narrowed her eyes on Geri, watching the color bloom on the taciturn woman’s cheeks as her lips clamped into a tight, thin line. The assistant winemaker stepped between the frozen-in-place waiter and the man glaring at him, effectively blocking any further verbal abuse of the young server.
From the pleading look Geri tossed at her, Nicki realized the older woman was trying to protect one of her staff and needed some help. Deciding a distraction away from the young waiter was definitely in order, Nicki took a quick glance around the table before turning her smile on a huge man with his round belly hanging over a wide, leather belt.
Jim Holland stood a good foot over Nicki’s head. He sported a solid build and thick brown hair shot through with wide streaks of gray. His dark-brown eyes took on a sparkle, accompanied by a warm smile and slight bow, as he held out his hand.
“It’s nice to see you again, Nicki. You’re looking wonderful.”
Smiling at the gracious, old-world charm that somehow seemed at odds with the big man, Nicki shook his hand and grinned back. “Thank you. You’re looking fine, too. This is a wonderful event you’ve put together.”
“It’s an event, all right. But wonderful? Kind of hard to tell yet.”
Nicki turned and smiled at the tall, dark-haired man with the silver buckle on his belt and a well-worn, dusty cowboy hat, who had suddenly come up behind her. “Hello, Mr. Stacy. How are things over at Todos?”
“My winery is doing just fine. The crush went well, so the blends from this year’s production should be excellent.”
“I think we will have good blends,” the short, rotund man who’d yelled at the young waiter snapped out.
“I’m sure Todos’ wine will be excellent,” Nicki said, hoping to lessen the impact of the glare Bill Stacy fixed on the man who Nicki concluded must be George Lanciere, the head winemaker at both Holland Winery and Todos.
But it was obvious she may as well have saved her breath when George puffed his chest out and wagged a finger right under her nose.
“Todos wine will be good, but not excellent. Again, Monsieur Stacy does not buy the best grapes from the coast for an excellent blend. So, the wine will not be excellent.”
Nicki took a long step back to avoid being poked, and to gain some distance from the stench of nicotine clinging to George Lanciere like an invisible fog. The man had either recently jumped through a campfire, or had a very serious smoking habit.
She cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow, but prudently kept her mouth shut. Apparently she was getting that first-hand experience of the nasty arrogance Matt had warned her about. Nicki drew in a deep breath and silently studied the sneering winemaker. His thinning hair and thick lips topped by a pencil-thin mustache added to a picture of rock-solid arrogance.
She couldn’t believe he’d take such a back-handed slap at one of his employers, and at a public event, no less. It wouldn’t surprise her if Bill Stacy took a swing at the arrogant, puffed-up man.
“Could be a whole list of other things besides the grapes,” Bill cut in, showing admirable restraint despite his clenched fist. But he gave the shorter Lanciere such a hard stare, the men around Nicki straightened their backs and bounced quick glances between the winery owner and his head winemaker.
A dark red crept up George’s neck. “What are you saying? That my skill is inferior?”
“I guess we’ll have the answer to that after we get a taste of this new blend of yours.”
With his dark eyes smoldering, George turned his attention to Nicki. Setting his feet apart, he put his hands on his hips and narrowed his gaze. “Who are you?”
Jim stepped over and wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulder. “This is Miss Connors, George. She writes a great blog about our little area and what we have to offer.”
“A blog?” George’s lip curled upward as his eyes shifted to Jim. Before he could open his mouth and say something Nicki was dead sure would be ridiculously insulting, Geri gave the man a light tap on his shoulder. The assistant jumped backwards when the winemaker whirled around to face her.
“Um,” she stammered, her wide-eyed stare going to Nicki and then immediately down to the floor. “Matt Dillon sent Nicki here.”
George’s eyes lost their smolder and took on a speculative-looking gleam before he hid it behind a casual shrug. “Ah. The man named after a cowboy on TV. Gunfire?”
“Gunsmoke,” Nicki corrected. “His mother was a big fan. Matt’s also the owner of Food & Wine Online, which is why I’m here. And for my own blog, of course.”
“Nicki is a friend of Matt’s.” Jim spoke each word slowly, his narrow-eyed gaze never leaving George Lanciere’s face. “And my personal guest here today as well. It’s never a good idea to offend the press, and rude to insult a lady, so mind your manners.” The winemaker’s jaw visibly tightened, but he only gave an abrupt nod and kept his mouth shut. Jim returned the nod before smiling at the little group in general.
“The wait for your big unveiling is putting everyone on edge. Why don’t you get started?”
George shot Nicki one last, sideways glance before bending at the waist in an exaggerated bow. “Of course.” Straightening, he clicked his heels, did a stiff-backed about-face, and marched off toward the back of the tasting room.
Bill Stacy picked up his glass and raised it over his head in a silent salute before dropping it back down and taking a deep sip of the light, amber-colored liquid. Setting the glass carefully on the table he watched the winemaker disappear through the doorway behind the tasting bar.
“This should be interesting.”
Chapter Four
Nicki searched for something to say to break the uncomfortable silence. Turning toward the only man at the table she didn’t recognize, she gave him a broad smile.
“I’m Nicki Connors.”
The youngish-looking, sandy-haired man dressed in a neatly pressed, denim shirt and close-fitting, khaki-colored pants nodded his head and returned her smile, although his gaze quickly went back to darting around the room, and the hands holding his wine glass were noticeably shaking.
“I’m Jeremy Brennan and I’m happy to meet you, Nicki. I’m a fan of your blog. Especially liked the piece on that new winery up the coast.”
“Bon Vin?”
Nicki asked. At his nod, she laughed. “The owner is one-of-a-kind. She said she wasn’t much on fancy names so called the place exactly what it is, ‘Good Wine’. And since she uses only French oak barrels, she translated the name into French.”
“Well, that’s a lot less expensive than hiring a marketing company to come up with a name.” Jeremy’s mouth drooped slightly at the corners as he looked down at his shoes.
His pose reminded Nicki so much of Geri, she wondered if the two of them might be a good match. She made another mental note to mention the possibility to Maxie. At least it would give her landlady someone else to focus on besides Nicki.
Bill Stacy shifted his stance to face the younger man. “You paid hard money to a marketing company and the best they could come up with is Trax? You should ask for a refund, Brennan.”
Jeremy’s back stiffened and his eyes narrowed on Bill’s face. “It brings up images of a journey.”
“It brings up images of a railroad,” Bill snorted.
Nicki let out a deep sigh. Something was firmly stuck under Bill’s skin. Something or someone, she silently corrected. But whether or not it was George’s nasty remarks, the man seemed determined to take it out on the very tailored, and clearly on edge, Jeremy.
“I like the name,” she declared before Jeremy said anything to set Bill off even more. “I think I’ll have to take a trip out your way soon.”
For the first time since their introduction, the young winery owner smiled. He followed that by leaning so far forward Nicki thought he meant to kiss her. Luckily there was a table between them.
“Any time. You should come to the launch event.”
Jim reached over and gave Jeremy a firm slap on the back, taking the younger man by surprise. Holland winked at Nicki when the force had Jeremy bending completely over until his nose touched the top of the table. Bill made a fast grab for his glass and lifted it out of harm’s way, shaking his head at both men.
Seemingly unfazed by the near disaster of tall, stemmed glasses crashing to the stone floor, Jim grabbed the back of Jeremy’s shirt and hauled him upright.
