Starlight Hill: Complete collection 1-8

by Heatherly Bell

  Jean continued chatting up the place as he brought up the rear. She opened up the front doors and led them through a small hallway into the larger room. Lots of work needed in here, Billy noticed. There was an odd peculiar smell he’d rather not try to identify.

  A broken window meant that critters might have made their way inside. Another wonderful thought.

  “That window broke not long ago. Probably some vandals. Anyway, a small fix.” Jean said, as she kept walking towards the back.

  The wine bar was near the back, just before the spacious stone balcony. Billy walked over to the balcony to what could possibly be his new backyard. Ah, yes. Here was the rub. All that land. It had a way of enticing a man, drawing him in. Rows upon and rows of vines heavy with grapes.

  Pop, who had been mostly quiet until then, finally spoke. “This is something.”

  “There’s twenty acres of prime California real estate.” Jean looked down at her clipboard. “The new gold.”

  “It looks like more than that.”

  “The land, the grapes, the manor house – did you know it comes with a living space in the back as well? That needs a little bit of work too. And then there’s a smaller cottage style house in back. In the old days, the head farmhand often lived there. Now it’s just more storage space.”

  Billy put his arm around Pop’s shoulder. “So Pops, what do you say?”

  They’d been looking at places for the past two weeks, and while there were others that needed far less work they were all much larger enterprises. All finely tuned machines that were only waiting for someone else to take over at the helm. Someone with more money than time.

  But Billy would let Pop be the final word on this deal. He knew grapes, he knew land, and even if he wouldn’t be running the place for the family this was his dream. Just like baseball had been Billy’s. The way Billy viewed it, he was the bank. He had enough to buy this place for cash, even if he wasn’t at all sure it was worth it.

  “It’s like I’ve always told you, Billy, baseball is life,” Pop began and Billy settled in to hear another baseball analogy. “Run at full speed. Maybe you’re sure that the ground ball you hit to the shortstop is going to be an out. But what do we do anyway?”

  “Run,” Billy said, because he knew this story.

  “That’s right. Run anyway. Run hard. Showing that you run 100% of the time says a lot about your playing style. And your character.”

  “Interesting,” Jean said. “So what does that mean exactly?”

  Hell if I know, Billy wanted to say. Only Pops had any idea of what he meant half the time. “Pops? What do we mean by that?”

  “We’re going to run with it, of course!” Pop wagged his finger at Billy.

  Yeah, he should have known. They were going to do this mess. Not for the first time, he felt grateful to have a contractor in the family. Wallace would help, and that could be his contribution to the new family business.

  He turned to Jean. “It means we’re in the wine making business. Let’s talk numbers.”

  A week later Billy had closed on an all-cash deal with the bank, sanctioned and approved by his accountant. According to everyone, he’d made a killing on this deal. The bank was desperate, and he had the cash. Cash was king, they’d said. And he’d forked enough of it over.

  Today he’d brought his brothers Wallace and Scott to introduce them to the new family business. He also then planned on putting them to work, because face it, with his brother Wallace in the contracting business, Billy would call in all the favors his big brother owed him for the past two decades.

  Pop was the owner of a vineyard, and he’d need help. First, the fix-it phase. “Let’s start at the edge and whack our way to the house. How about that?”

  Scott looked doubtful. “I should have brought my machete.”

  No. Billy didn’t need Scott the Army sniper to bring along any kind of weapon. “I should have brought my bat.”

  “Billy, get serious. You can’t take these weeds,” Wallace laughed.

  “Not unless maybe it’s the seventh inning and all the bases are full up.” Scott passed him on the way to the house, trudging waist high through weeds. “Tell me you looked inside.”

  “We did. It’s not as bad as it looks like from out here,” Billy said. “Most of the work is cosmetic. I think.”

  “Great, because I was afraid I’d have to kill you,” Wallace said, and was the first inside once Billy opened the door.

  “I’m told there’s good craftsmanship in here.” Billy followed him inside.

  “I can work with this,” Wallace said, nodding.

  His brothers followed Billy into the large utility kitchen. “Mostly cleaning needed in here.”

  “We’ll get mom to do that. She wants to help out.” Wallace said, running his hand along the polished wood counter tops. “We could replace these with granite.”

  “It’s all about the grapes though. Isn’t it?” Scott said, even though Billy would bet a seat in the first row of the next World Series that Scott didn’t know the first thing about wine. Neither did Billy, for that matter. All the Turlock men were more beer drinkers. And, of course, scotch for special occasions.

  “That’s what Pop says.” Billy jammed his hands into his pockets.

  “You let him talk you into this, didn’t you?” Wallace threw him a look.

  Unfortunately his older brother could read him too well.

  “Oh man, Billy.” Scott threw up his hands. “Hang on to your money, old man. You can’t play ball any more. What are you going to do?”

  “This,” he glanced around the kitchen. “The new family business.”

  “But what do we know about wine?” Wallace asked.

  “Pop knows about it, and he’s going to lead this venture. C’mon, it’s going to be fun.” This damned adventure would be fun for the whole family if it killed him. He knew he needed a break from surgeries and physical therapy. The past year had been one big exercise in futility. They all needed some fun. It couldn’t just be him. Could it?

  “Billy, you’re a sucker.” Scott said. “Can I have some money for lotto tickets? You gotta play to win.”

  “No,” Billy said. “If I’m a sucker for my family, so be it. Pop won’t let me down. He never has before.”

  “How are we going to run a vineyard when none of us have ever done it before? Shouldn’t we like, call somebody?” Wallace asked.

  “Who do you suggest? 1-800-Start-a-Vineyard? Or maybe I should ask my competition if they’d be so kind as to help a nice guy out,” Billy said.

  “You know what? Don’t discount that idea right off,” Scott said. “People love you here. You were a superstar and now you’re home again. The people of this town would do anything for you, and you know it.”

  From outside, Billy heard the roar of a motorcycle. With those pipes, it had to be Harley. He turned to the wide paned window facing the front, and sure enough someone had pulled up at the bottom of the long circular driveway on a Sportster. “It looks like we’ve already got the welcoming committee here.”

  Wallace was at his elbow. “Nice bike. Don’t you have one of those?”

  “Mine’s a Road King.” Billy still had his eyes on the bike when the rider took his helmet off and long blond hair spilled out of it. That’s when he noticed the rest of her— including an ass that should be declared the 8th great wonder of the world.

  Scott clapped Billy’s good shoulder. “This is like a porno I saw once. Somebody pinch me. Am I dreaming?”

  “Holy shit,” Wallace said. “Look at her. Would you?”

  “I am,” Billy said. Unfortunately he was mesmerized. But she was probably some baseball groupie that had heard he was in town. He had to get this woman off his property. Now.

  “What are you going to do?” Scott asked.

  “I’m going to take care of this. She’s trespassing.” He slammed the front door, and made his way across the wide expanse of weeds. “Can I help you?”

  The wom
an looked up at him, and her smile froze in place. Billy’s heart began to sprint as he stared at the woman. It couldn’t be. No way.

  Brooke Miller.

  3

  Billy Turlock. Here? Now? Why?

  It made no sense at all. Not that Brooke kept up with the sports page, but wasn’t superstar Sliders pitcher hometown hero Billy supposed to be busy fielding the multi-million dollar offers? Somewhere up in Marin County where the streets might as well be paved in platinum? Had he retired, and gone into the real estate business? Why hadn’t anyone told her?

  “What are you doing here?” Brooke squeaked out. Damn Billy. He’d always made her so nervous with his easy smile, which didn’t always make up all the way up to the green eyes. Those eyes were now supposed to be the smiling, uber confident eyes of a multimillionaire. Get with it, Billy, and get the right eyes already.

  It was those eyes, frankly, that had haunted her dreams from their days together at Starlight Hill High School. Where he’d been the jock and she’d been— definitely not a jock.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.” He cracked a smile.

  “I’m here to make an offer on this vineyard.”

  That seemed to bother Billy, somehow. He looked at the ground and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not going to be possible.”

  “Wow, well, you need to learn a little something about sales. That’s not a good attitude to take with a repossessed property in need of some TLC.”

  “Huh?” Billy asked.

  Now that was more like it, and what she expected from a jock. Huh? What did you say? Where’s the ball? She smiled, feeling the confidence kick in. These were no longer the hormone driven days of adolescence, even if Billy did bring some of the memories back to the surface by just— standing there.

  She set her helmet on the seat of her Harley, and walked towards the house. “It’s your lucky day. I’ve been running the Serrano winery for the past three years. Before that, the Guglielmo winery. And before that, I was taught about everything from the grape to the bottle by my mentor, Anthony DeLuca. What this means to you is that I know the value of land. And I know my grapes, too.”

  “You do?” He gave her one his drop-dead smiles.

  Good thing it had no effect on her, and that he seemed to be following right along. “So don’t try to stiff me. I know exactly what this land is worth, but you might have to budge a little on the price. This place needs work.”

  “Oh, boy.” Billy ran a hand down his face.

  Good. He seemed to catch her drift quickly. Then again, Billy had been one of the few athletes at Starlight Hill High, home of the Panthers, to make the honor roll. She had him where she wanted him. “I should take a look at the vines, to be fair in my offer.”

  “But —” Billy began.

  Uh-uh buddy, no buts. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? It’s good to see you again, buddy.” She held out her hand.

  “You too, Brooke,” Billy said, holding her hand and locking eyes with her for a beat too long for her comfort level.

  Well, that wouldn’t work on her. She was a savvy business woman and not interested in long haired jocks with facial hair— Billy still wore his dark brown hair long, and now he had a mustache and beard. Sure, he had a hot body, all big brawny arms, long legs, and flat stomach. But he was definitely not her type.

  “Hmmm,” she said, pulling her hand away because he still hadn’t let go of it.

  “Really good to see you.” He looked like he meant it too, taking a little tour of her face and having the decency to remember where her eyes were located. “It’s been way too long. How’ve you been?”

  “Well, you know I went to Chicago State.”

  “Yeah, I do.” His smiled waned a bit.

  “And I came back home right after college.” She walked toward the vineyard, and out of the corner of her eye saw a couple of figures pressed up against the wide paned window of the house. “Who’s that? You have other buyers here?”

  No sooner had she looked in their direction than the two men turned away from the window like they’d been caught in the middle of some kind of lewd and lascivious act.

  Billy scowled in their direction. “You remember Wallace and Scott?”

  “You brought your brothers with you? The real estate business isn’t like baseball. You don’t need to bring along your entourage everywhere you go.” She proceeded to march past him on her way to the vineyard.

  “Brooke, wait a minute.” He reached for her elbow as she passed him. Her stupid elbow seemed to remember his touch, as the tingle spread right down into her southern hemisphere. “You don’t understand.”

  Oh, but she did. She understood men like Billy Turlock far too well. Men who had everything handed over to them either because of their good looks, connections, or talent. Billy had all three. Not to mention a fast ball that was legendary around here. His face plastered all over town. His retired jersey number at the high school, and trophies that probably still lined the athletic department. Girls had always fawned all over him, and that had probably not changed much.

  Once, she’d thought they were friends. But she’d turned out to be wrong about that.

  The last she’d read about him in one of the gossip rags was a year ago when he’d been dating some gorgeous and towering blonde actress. “All right, I’ll play. What is it I don’t understand?”

  He looked at the ground for a second, then his eyes met hers. “I’m not the real estate agent. I own this vineyard.”

  The words hit her hard. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, believe it. I’m the proud owner of a fixer upper.” He didn’t look particularly joyous about it, somehow.

  No, this couldn’t be happening. She’d talked to the bank manager about a loan. She’d crunched the numbers, done her due diligence. Made two or three lists of pros and cons. It looked promising. “But I was going to buy this place. I even talked to the bank manager.”

  “Yeah. I got that idea. And I’m sorry.”

  “What do you want with a vineyard? Have you lost your mind? What happened to baseball, and your contract with the Sliders?”

  He rocked back on his heels. “I’m betting you don’t read the sports section.”

  “Good guess, genius. Did you get caught somewhere with your pants hanging down? Did they suspend you?” Maybe it was unfair to lump Billy into that category but it was all she knew about these athletes that believed they were God’s gift to the world at large, and the female population in particular.

  Billy scowled. “I’m retired. My shoulder gave out on me.”

  A strange thing happened then—Brooke thought she caught something in his eyes that looked strangely—humbled. “Oh.”

  “Back in Starlight Hill now, with the rest of the family.” He waved in the direction of the picture window where Wallace and Scott had gathered again. Presumably to watch the show, and the fireworks when she found out the news.

  She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. “So you’re back in town, but why buy a vineyard? Why not open up a sports bar?”

  “It’s for my grandfather. It’s always been his dream to own a vineyard. A family business. So I bought it for him.”

  “You bought your grandfather a vineyard?” Brooke managed to say. So typical of athletes, throwing their wealth around.

  “Yep.”

  “Next time buy him a card. It gets the point across with a lot less fanfare. But maybe you like the fanfare. This place is going to be a lot of work. Good luck to you.” She turned to walk back towards her Harley. Another opportunity snatched out from under her, but no point in crying about it.

  “Wait,” Billy said from behind her.

  This was where she was supposed to stop and turn around because when men like Billy Turlock said sexy single words like ‘wait’ and ‘stay’ women were to melt in their tracks. Then turn around and ask what ‘Master’ wanted. Of course Brooke kept walking. She strapped on her helmet only to find him at her elbow.
r />   Now he admired her baby, or in other words, tried to get on her good side. “Nice bike.”

  “Thanks,” she said, mounting it. And then because she did feel pretty mean at the moment, she made a show of squirming and wriggling into the seat, bucking and gyrating a little bit. She licked her lips (which she hoped he could see ‘through the helmet) and gazed in his eyes.

  He didn’t say a word, and this time he wasn’t smiling.

  Brooke started her bike and roared off, leaving Billy ‘I’m-the-sexiest-man-alive-and-you-know-it’ Turlock in the dust.

  Billy couldn’t move for several minutes. He could only stare into the distance trying to collect his thoughts. Actually, to have a thought of any kind would be nice. Any thought that didn’t involve mounting Brooke like she’d mounted that bike, where he’d show her how he could relieve the itch she seemed to have.

  Brooke, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and the only girl in the class of 2004 at Starlight Hill High who didn’t think he walked on water. Unless one counted her best friend Ivey, who only had eyes for the point guard on the basketball team. Jeff something. More memories.

  Too bad she hated him because it sounded like she knew the business, and he could use a staff right about now.

  He walked back inside, and Wallace whistled. “Seriously better than TV.”

  “That girl couldn’t be any hotter if she was on fire,” Scott whistled.

  “You didn’t recognize her?” Billy asked his brothers. He hadn’t either for a second. Back in high school Brooke had unnaturally black dyed hair – black nail polish, black eyeliner. Even then she’d been breathtaking.

  “I’d remember her,” Scott said.

  “That was Brooke Miller, our old high school classmate.” Billy glanced back out the window.

  “No way, dude. Brooke had black hair. And a big attitude,” Wallace said.

  “Still has the attitude, minus the black hair.”

  “Sure looks better on her than black. I remember when some of the kids were into that look,” Scott said.