Madison looked down into CS’s eyes. For one, heart-stopping moment she thought CS was going to climb up into the saddle with her. Blood roared in her ears and she nearly tipped forward. Instead of mounting, she leaned over and adjusted the stirrups to Madison’s slightly shorter height. She slipped to the other side and adjusted the one at her right foot, one hand on Madison’s ankle.
“Comfortable?”
When Madison nodded, she made a clicking noise with her tongue and started to walk. Violet kept closely to CS’s pace, a slow, gentle walk that made Madison sway even more than normal. CS kept the lead short, walking at Madison’s side with only enough slack for Violet to keep her eyes ahead.
The first few steps were a nightmare. Had she been alone, she would have screamed in fright and maybe even started crying again. Just in case, she kept a painfully tight grip on the bandana in her fist. The other hand held the pommel as though it were her only life line, though it wouldn’t do her much good if Violet were to take off like Oscar had.
Once they turned onto the path, finding smoother, flatter ground, Madison relaxed. She looked down at CS, walking so close that her shoulder occasionally brushed against Madison’s knee. Now that she had her wits about her again, she was able to examine the moment when she swung into the saddle. Looking back, it was almost as unsettling as the runaway horse. Perhaps more so, since the implications were far deeper.
She’d wanted CS to climb up into the saddle with her. Wanted them sharing the cramped seat. The plodding movement of the horse making them sway in rhythm together. Their thighs squeezed against each other. CS’s hands wrapped around Madison, pulling her close. The press of her body into Madison’s back, the swell of her soft flesh evident in the contact with her shoulder blades. Their hips rocking together as Violet picked her way down the path. CS’s mouth close to her ear. The whisper of her chocolate-smooth voice. The warmth of her body enveloping Madison.
“Quite a day.”
CS’s voice jerked her out of the fantasy so abruptly, Madison tipped sideways on the smooth leather. Reaching up from the ground with one strong hand, CS held her hip, setting her back into her seat. Madison blinked hard to force her mind away from the press of CS’s fingertips on her waist. She bit her lip to keep from groaning.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you ride,” CS said, doubt seeping through every word.
“Oh no, I’m fine.” She moderated her tone, allowing CS to think she was jumpy about the horse, not the daydream. “Violet’s very gentle.”
Madison focused on the feel of CS’s hand on her hips. They were coming up to her cottage now, the lights she’d left on in her rush to leave making it glow like a jewel in the lateness of the afternoon. The sun would be down soon. Another day closing out on the winery, though they were finally getting longer.
CS slowed Violet to a stop and reached up for Madison, who swung her leg over, trying desperately not to feel the way their bodies slid against each other. CS’s belt buckle caught the hem of Madison’s shirt, pulling it up slightly to expose a patch of skin just above the band of her jeans. When the cold metal of the buckle pressed against the exposed flesh, no amount of biting her lip could keep Madison’s body from responding. She hoped CS didn’t feel the shiver that passed through her from the tips of her toes to her sweaty scalp, but that was only wishful thinking. Their bodies touched in a dozen places and CS had to feel the electricity.
“Will you be okay?” CS asked, her eyebrows pinching together. “Can I start a fire for you? Make you some tea?”
The prospect was alluring, to have CS come into her cottage and take care of her, but she would feel the aches of her adventure soon and she’d rather CS not see her crumble any more than she already had.
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need anything, okay?”
Madison swallowed hard, her legs starting to shake again. All she could manage was a nod. CS watched her walk inside before she led Violet off to the stables. Madison watched her go, her hand gripped tight around the stone of her fireplace.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Madison’s artistic inspiration faded faster than her bruises. Doubt crept back in and thoughts of her failed relationship broke her creative mood. When her hands were idle other worries picked at her. The most prevalent was the way CS had held her close after her snake adventure. Madison thought a connection had been growing between them, but then CS had turned and walked away. The constant motion in her mind kept her far from her wheel. Instead she loaded her kiln with the last of her pots and hoped that something would spur her before these pieces were done.
In the end she did what she’d done each of the last three afternoons—pulled out a piece of discarded grapevine and turned it in her hands, willing an idea to come to her. She wasn’t much of a visual artist. Ceramics aside, Madison didn’t excel in the sort of vision required to turn raw materials into works of art. If it wasn’t clay, her mind went blank. When she looked at a blank canvas, all she saw was a blank canvas.
These vines were different. There was something there. Something calling to her from the twisted shapes. Something she just couldn’t quite see yet. She brought a chunk no bigger than her fist in the rough shape of a question mark inside and laid it on her coffee table in plain sight so the vine could speak to her when it was ready.
The knuckle of dead wood didn’t tell her any more today than it ever had. She jogged up the stairs for her tennis shoes and a thicker sweater. When she checked in the mirror, she was relieved to see that both looked quite good with her gray skinny jeans. Her foot barely touched the hardwood of the living room when the kiln buzzer, muffled slightly by the distance, finally sounded.
With the kiln clicking as it cooled in the late afternoon air, Madison slid open the windows in the sunroom and stepped out the back door into the chilly late afternoon.
The cool air felt wonderful on her overheated skin. It hadn’t occurred to her until now how warm the cottage got when the kiln was running. She should have turned the heat down before starting it up, especially since she wasn’t paying the electricity bill. The solar panels discreetly positioned on the roof notwithstanding, a kiln was a power guzzler and she should be more mindful. Mundane thoughts of monthly bills carried her across the vineyard in a daze.
It wasn’t only restlessness that called her out here. Madison hoped that being among the pruned vines would inspire her. Her best work had come from her walks through the grounds, and the pressure of her success at the Welch Gallery coming so soon on the heels of her life’s upheaval seemed to suck the air out of her studio. She needed to be out here, in the fresh, cold air and the silence.
The silence, however, extended to her mind today. She walked through the rows, letting her fingers trail occasionally along the cut vines. The light was diffuse and gray, the winter sun muted by high, insubstantial clouds.
“What am I doing here?” Madison said out loud to the wispy clouds.
The wind cut through her wool sweater and blew loose strands of hair into her eyes. She came to the end of a row and emerged onto one of the cart paths. Looking around to get her bearings, she saw she’d made her way to the back side of the vineyard.
She was about to turn and head down the path to her right, giving her a quicker, more direct path home, when a figure emerged from the rows closer to the main building. It only took a single glance to identify CS’s quick, sure gait. She stopped at the edge of the ditch to finish writing in her pocket notebook and Madison was seized with the desire to slip back into the row behind her and hide.
Madison found herself craving the winemaker’s company. That craving, more than the foul weather, had kept her inside the last few days. Now there was the matter of the gift basket, the thought of which made her uncomfortably happy, and how CS had cradled her as she tumbled from Oscar’s back.
CS finished scribbling and looked around. She stopped when she saw Madison and nodded. Madison waved and thought she saw, thou
gh she was several yards off and it was hard to be sure, CS smile in acknowledgment.
Madison should have turned and headed back to her cottage. The cold was under her clothes now, working its way into her skin and soon would be bone-deep. She should go home, start a fire in the living room fireplace and get back to the paperback she’d been struggling through. Or maybe sit at her wheel until the muse found her or the kiln cooled enough to be unloaded. She should do anything other than turn to her left and head up the slight incline of the path toward CS.
“Thank you for the gift,” Madison said quietly after arriving at CS’s shoulder. “I love the crystal prism. I’ve hung it in my studio.”
“It seemed like something you would like.”
That wasn’t quite the response Madison hoped for, but it was at least in keeping with CS’s personality. Short on emotion and straight to the point. She should have asked her how she knew about the show. Or how she knew it went well. Maybe even how she remembered Madison was fascinated by light and so would probably like a prism. All of those questions went unasked because she feared they would go unanswered.
“No ill effects from your gallop with Oscar?” CS asked stiltedly.
“I was sore for a day, but I’m fine now,” Madison lied. She’d been sore for two days and only a long, hot bath this morning kept it from being three days.
They walked together in silence, a habit that had become increasingly comfortable for Madison. Despite the fact that they talked so little and CS rarely shared anything about herself she felt like she knew this woman well. She was comfortable in her company. They had the same rhythm when they walked, both scanned the horizon too intently to bother with conversation. Madison noticed how CS shortened her stride to keep to Madison’s unhurried pace. They both seemed to have a destination, though Madison’s was dictated more by whim and CS’s probably more by familiarity.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Madison ventured.
“No.”
“Oh.” She was taken aback and felt her face burn red hot in the cold air. “Sorry.”
“That was supposed to be a joke.” CS slowed and looked over at Madison, who saw she had a rosy glow to her cheeks as well. It looked distinctly out of place there. “I don’t joke well. What’s your question?”
“I…uh…” She plowed ahead with her question. “What does CS stand for?”
CS laughed. Actually laughed, although she barely opened her mouth and the sound was so throaty and low it could have been a growl rather than a laugh. “That’s one secret I was hoping to take to the grave.”
Madison smiled, all thought of the cold and her embarrassment melted in the warmth of CS’s unexpected candor. “Now I have to know.”
“My mom was a singer before she met my dad. Not a good one, I’m sorry to say, but she loved music and there was nothing that would stop her from singing, even a lack of talent. She liked disco. She was a backup singer for some pretty terrible C-list bands in the height of Disco Fever.” She looked at the toes of her boots and finally said, “My name is Cher Sonny Freeburn.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Now you know why I go by CS.”
Madison couldn’t catch the laughter before it trumpeted out of her. She slapped a hand across her mouth, but it didn’t work. She had to stop and bend over, her hands on her knees. To her great relief, she heard CS laughing too.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” She looked up through tear-filled eyes and said between hiccupping laughter, “Yeah, now I know why you go by CS.”
“What can I say? My mom liked them. If I’d been a boy, I’d have been SC, so it could have been worse.”
Madison straightened carefully wiping the last tear from under her eye. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not sure that’s worse.”
CS’s smile was crooked, hooking up over one squared-off incisor, and her eye sparkled with humor. “No, it isn’t is it?”
They started walking again, chuckling occasionally and taking a gentle pace. The path split, one way curving around to meet the main road, the other keeping straight toward the rear of the main building. They slowed, neither seeming to want the inevitable parting. CS stuffed her hands deep into her pockets. The sleeves of her denim button-up were rolled up to the elbow and the blond hair on her forearms stood up from the cold.
“Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about my name.” She ran a hand through her hair. It feathered out softly around her fingers. “Especially Boots. I don’t know if he’d let me live it down.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“No one knows.”
“Why did you tell me?”
CS stared right into her eyes and Madison had the sense again that she could get lost there if she let herself. A part of her pulled toward that possibility.
CS shrugged and said evenly, “You asked.”
“Oh.”
Madison looked away, over her shoulder toward the path home. She thought of the empty fireplace and her empty studio and the empty living room. It felt colder there than it did out here and she groped for a reason to stay. CS started to turn toward the building and Madison’s eyes fell, landing on the last few sprigs of lavender clinging to life under the pruned vines.
“Why do you have the mint and lavender planted here?” Madison blurted before she could stop herself.
CS turned back without hesitation. “Mint is a natural insect repellent and lavender keeps deer away from the grapes.”
“Really?”
“Not really. They’re supposed to, but I still have a problem with both. They do add to the flavor of the wine though.”
“You can taste them in the wine just because they’re growing here?”
“Sure,” she said, scowling at Madison. “What, you can’t taste it? Or at least smell it?”
“I’ve never tried your wine. Other than the special blend…” She let her words fade away so she didn’t have to mention the barrel room.
CS came to an abrupt stop, her boots skidding on the rocky soil. “What?”
Madison turned back to her, feeling her cheeks burn at the return of the woman’s cold stare. “It’s nothing personal.”
“You live here. Don’t you like wine?”
“I love wine. Yours is just a little above my price point.”
Before leaving Colorado, Madison had taken advantage of one of her few drinking nights to try Minerva Hills wine, so she went to her local wine store to pick up a bottle. According to the store owner, the pinot noir had just been awarded ninety-seven points from Wine Advocate and a gold medal in a pair of competitions. It was on sale for three hundred dollars a bottle. That was two hundred eighty dollars more than she’d ever spent on wine. She’d thanked him for his time and left empty-handed.
CS’s face was stone. Her lips barely moved when she said, in a flat, no-nonsense voice, “Follow me.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
They entered the lobby through the back door and went straight to the tasting room, which CS unlocked with a ring of keys attached to her belt loop by a wallet chain. A couple of people who’d been lazily wandering around the lobby attempted to enter with them. CS stopped to explain through the barely open door that the tasting room was closed on Mondays, and directed them to a handful of other options that did not include interrupting Madison’s private tasting.
Every time she’d seen the Minerva Hills tasting room, it was packed elbow-to-elbow. Today, with the room empty, she had the opportunity to look at the place. What she saw was stunning. A rustic yet polished charm, eminently suited to the refined agricultural setting of a vineyard.
The floor was an aged, artfully pockmarked hardwood a shade lighter than the cherry ceiling beams. If Madison didn’t know the building was less than two years old, she would have thought a century’s worth of boots had trod across these panels. Tall bistro tables dotted the room, each one of polished wood with flourishes of wrought iron. An antique, mismatched hurricane lamp and a small glass v
ase holding sprigs of lavender graced every table.
There was an equally welcoming modern touch. The wall art was abstract white canvas and slashes of bright paint, their brushstrokes the main attraction. Chrome crosshatch shelving behind the bar stretched from countertop to high ceiling, bottlenecks poking out to reveal their foil caps. With its pale wooden slats and chrome flashing, the bar top perfectly mimicked a wine barrel and its hoops in a modern, minimalist way.
The patio offered a spectacular view over the rear of the vineyard, its sloping hills and the single, gnarled tree marooned in the center.
“Incredible,” Madison breathed. It seemed that every passing day showed her one more reason to think that she had, quite accidentally, stumbled into paradise. Heaven on earth here in the Oregon mountains.
CS had made her way behind the bar, snatching a series of bottles from the cooler and shelves and setting out a pair of glasses in front of each. Madison walked slowly to the bar, watching the winemaker’s swift but calculated movements and the determined look. She slipped onto the barstool in front of the line of bottles.
“I know why this room is always full now.”
CS gave an inquisitive grunt while, with a tiny knife at the end of a folded corkscrew, she set about cutting the foil from one of the bottles.
“Apart from the living room of our cottage, this may be the most beautiful room I’ve ever been in. I love the décor. It’s perfect.”
“Thank you.” She popped the cork out of the first bottle and set it on the bar before grabbing the second bottle and setting to work opening it. “I designed it myself. I’m afraid I bullied my architect a lot during the planning, but I knew what I wanted.”
And Then There Was Her Page 19
