Venting, Mom had called it once. She’d said that Brooke needed to learn how to ‘vent’ better. Let the steam slowly hiss out of the teapot instead of come spewing out in a big cloud of steam that would be bound to burn someone.
She unzipped the dress and stepped into it.
But that’s why she had a Harley, the skydiving, the bungee jumping. Venting on steroids. Only thing, she hadn’t had any time for those pursuits lately. Which might be the reason she currently felt like screaming.
Instead, she’d willingly participated in the one thing she swore she’d never risk: her heart. She wasn’t ever supposed to risk that part of her anatomy, dammit. Bones would break and heal, but a broken heart was never the same.
That’s what had happened to Mom – after the divorce, she’d never been the same. Quit her high powered law firm and moved to an organic farm that might as well be a modern day commune. Dad told everyone who would listen that she’d had a nervous breakdown, and Brooke wondered if it could have been true. But for the most part Mom was perfectly lucid – if a little too passionate about trees. But the divorce had ruined her, both financially, and emotionally.
Brooke couldn’t let that happen to her.
That’s why she’d tried to control everything in her life, and succeeded for the most part. Yes, she’d risked her job with George – dating her boss – but she’d never risked her heart. No, he’d never come anywhere near that muscle.
Since she’d met him again, Billy had waged a slow and steady battle for her heart. He’d forced her to give up control, and damn if he hadn’t made it feel good. Scary, but wonderful.
She’d tried so hard to control her heart around Billy, but she’d been kidding herself. Suddenly the near hysteria made sense, because she’d done the one thing she swore she’d never do. From the first time he’d kissed her ten years ago when it felt like the world had stopped spinning for a moment, she’d made up her mind that falling for Billy Turlock would be craziest thing she could ever do.
And damn if she didn’t feel certifiable.
“So, any talk of a comeback?” One of the reporters asked.
A camera clicked and Billy blinked. “Guys, I just retired. No, there’s no comeback.”
Fortunately, no one had to know that he still felt like he was missing a limb. Still walked around wondering what he’d do with himself for the next thirty years, because it wouldn’t be baseball any more.
So far he’d fooled everyone with the belief that would be fine with him. Except for Brooke, since she’d always had that way of looking right inside him. She could tell something wasn’t right. He hadn’t told her anything because he didn’t even want her to know. What man wanted the woman he loved to know that he felt like half a man?
That he wasn’t sure anything other than baseball would satisfy that hole inside his heart? The smell of the grassy diamond field, the worn leather of his favorite glove, the swish sound of the ball as it left his hand at ninety miles an hour.
“Excuse me, boys.” He turned to see Gigi had entered the room and announced her presence.
Great. He might have known she’d be upset that he hadn’t asked her advice for this press junket, so she’d arrived early. “Everyone say hello to my publicist, Gigi Rosenberg.”
She sidled up next to him. “Hello, stranger. This seems like an appropriate time and venue to make this announcement. I haven’t even talked to Billy about this yet.” She put a hand on his shoulder.
Gigi realized he didn’t like surprises. He gave his best grin through a stiff jaw.
“Billy Turlock has just received an offer from Fox Sports.”
More bright camera flashes, and an outpouring of questions from the reporters:
“I thought you were a vintner.”
“Does this mean you’ll leave Starlight Hill again?”
“Will they make you cut your long hair?”
“What’s the salary?”
“Will you accept the offer?”
He glared at Gigi. This was not the kind of news he wanted to hear about in front of an audience. She knew full well how he felt about the talking heads. He wasn’t one of them, and never would be. Apparently she thought that he might not be able to refuse in front of an audience.
His place was still on a baseball field, if only he could find a way to do it. Maybe Brooke was right. Maybe coaching high school baseball wasn’t the craziest thing in the world.
“One question at a time, folks.” Gigi waved her hand. “Billy has hardly had time to absorb the news himself. But I think we can all agree, this means that Billy Turlock’s star power is still alive and well. You haven’t seen the last of him in baseball.”
Brooke walked in at that moment, a vision in a red form fitting dress. She’d obviously heard the tail end of the statement because her eyes were wide open and questioning. Vulnerability showed in her hazel eyes, and he was transported back to a single night so many years ago. A surge of tenderness kicked him so hard in the chest he considered checking his pulse.
“Excuse me, but I have to borrow Billy as the Cub Scouts have arrived on Santa’s float. You’re welcome to stick around if you like, but the rest of the evening will be all about wine. No more baseball talk.”
Billy felt a grin spread across his face. Brooke had a way of doing that to him – of changing the face of the landscape. Instead of quick sand beneath him he distinctly felt solid ground. Somehow she managed to center him. To be his compass.
She returned his grin with a shy smile of her own – his girl, despite the wild nature beneath – was more vulnerable than she wanted anyone to know. Needier than she’d ever admit.
Once he and Pop had taken at least a dozen photos with Santa and his sleigh and the parade boat took off to make its way through the rest of the town, they were officially in business.
“Well, Pop, we did it,” Billy said.
Inside, Mom and Giancarlo were holding hands and smiling ear to ear. That’s what he liked to see. Chaste behavior from his Mom and her fiancé.
“Oh Billy, I’m so happy, darling. Pop finally has his dream.” Mom said, hugging him. If he wasn’t mistaken, her eyes were misty.
Giancarlo shook his hand, patting his back. “Well done, son. We can never, in my opinion, have too much wine.”
“I would have to agree.” From behind him, Billy heard an unfamiliar deep voice.
Turning, he saw a man he didn’t recognize.
“George,” Giancarlo said without a hint of warmth.
“Have we met?” Billy extended his arm to the man he realized must be George Serrano.
“I don’t believe we have, even though we have so much in common.” The man shook Billy’s hand like a dead fish. “George Serrano. And this is my fiancée, Chelsea.”
A tiny brunette who didn’t look old enough to drink stepped forward. “Oh my gosh, Billy, my dad is like your greatest fan.”
“Always nice to hear.” Billy couldn’t put his finger on it but something about this man set him on edge. Made him stiffen like nails on a chalkboard.
“We’re anxious to taste your first vintage. You probably know Serrano’s won the label three years in a row—”
George was stopped from tooting his own horn when Brooke appeared at Billy’s elbow, pulling at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but there are some people I want you to meet.”
He couldn’t help but notice the tension in the air, charged and amped the moment Brooke interrupted. George stiffened and looked like he’d swallowed poison. Something definitely going on. But he’d already long suspected that the two hadn’t parted well.
He caught himself enjoying the small display of PDA when Brooke perhaps unconsciously held on to his hand longer than necessary and pulled him in another direction.
Seemed like a hundred different directions. Other vintners and restaurateurs coming from San Francisco, most lamenting the price of a good wine. Business owners in town, wishing him success.
Billy saw and heard Pop make his way arou
nd the party on his own, imparting wisdom as only he could do. Letting everyone who would listen know that he hadn’t needed his frenemy’s help after all, thank you very much. Singing to the grapes was the key to a good vintage.
All in all, it was a great turn-out. The room filled to capacity, Eric and the others pouring, selling at times by the case. Who knew people would be willing to pay so much for a bottle of wine?
Brooke Miller, that’s who.
This – their entire success – was due to her hard work. Early on he’d made the decision to cede control to her and he hadn’t regretted it for a moment. Thanks to her hard work, there was every possibility that they’d be out of the red soon and he wouldn’t be forced to take the sports casting job.
Maybe he could coach the local team, or open the pitching clinic he’d dreamed about one day. Gigi and all her talk of diminishing star power and returns be damned.
Brooke was right. This didn’t have to be an all or nothing proposition.
He caught Brooke staring at him from across the room, engaged in a conversation with Ivey and Jeff. Those two were so in love they could hardly keep their hands off each other.
If it were up to him, that would be him and Brooke. He didn’t care what anyone thought. But he had to respect her wishes, and he understood why as a woman she wouldn’t want anyone thinking she’d done anything improper to get the job. Nothing like wrenching his heart out of his chest and holding it for ransom.
Nothing like that.
“Hey, so where’s a man to find his Scotch?” He turned to see Wallace had arrived. The lone wolf again.
No one understood why. Billy had watched, at times with a twinge of envy, the way Wallace turned female heads when he walked into a room.
“No Scotch tonight, bro. Drink up from the vine. Go on, the water’s fine.” Billy slapped his brother’s back.
“Yeah, yeah. Have you seen Scott? I’m going to make sure he doesn’t force me to drive him home tonight.”
Billy had, and he pointed in little brother’s direction. Currently Scott appeared to be hamming it up with Melinda, whom Billy hadn’t even seen come in.
Thankfully Scott had listened, and not brought Fallon. Billy had expressly told him not to. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to make Brooke feel uncomfortable tonight, or any night.
Genevieve approached with a tray of items Billy hoped he’d be eating in heaven if he ever got to walk through those pearly gates.
“Bacon puff?” She asked, more to Billy than Wallace.
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Billy took a bite of bacon encrusted joy.
He wasn’t sure how Wallace, who had once eaten an entire pound of bacon by himself, could resist. But he was, barely glancing in Genevieve’s direction. She, for her part, was doing a great job of acting like she didn’t notice the tall man standing right next to her.
The one every other woman in the place was practically salivating over.
Yeah, definitely something going on there.
“Genevieve, would you marry me and cook this for me every morning?” Billy joked. Flirting felt safe, since Genevieve knew well that he and Brooke were an item.
“Oh, Billy!” She elbowed him and kept walking.
“All right, what was that about?” Billy asked when she’d walked away at a safe enough distance.
Wallace scowled. “I’m going to renovate her bakery. I put a bid on it last month.”
“Great. That means you’ll be around for a while. But you don’t look happy about that.”
“Should take me about a month or two, but not the way she keeps changing her mind. Some people think they understand construction when they should stick to baking.”
“Careful, bro. That sounds a little caveman-like.” Billy pointed out.
“Does it? Well, hell. I can’t help it.” Wallace walked away towards the bar, and joined Scott, presumably to try some of the vintage.
Gigi was speaking animatedly with Melinda – that had to be an interesting discussion, as he couldn’t imagine to two more different women.
Mom was still gazing starry eyed at Giancarlo. Fine, someday he would get used to that.
Brooke flitted about, smiling, pouring from behind the bar when needed, and making him ache a little bit. He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to that feeling.
Eventually the crowd began to thin, and Billy looked forward to the end of the evening. He wanted Brooke in his arms again like he wanted another one of those bacon puffs. All of these people would have to leave before that could happen. He’d kick them out personally, but that couldn’t be good for business.
Suddenly the young-looking woman he’d seen earlier, Chelsea he thought it was – stood at his elbow.
“I’m sorry Billy, I know I’m not supposed to bother you, but could I get an autograph? It’s for my dad.”
“Sure,” he took the piece of paper she’d pulled out of her purse. “How old are you, sweetheart?” She looked twenty if a day which made her engagement to George, who looked to be at least thirty-five, a little sketchy.
“Oh I’m older than I look,” she said without answering the question.
“Right.” He handed her the autograph. “I hope you and George enjoyed tonight.”
“We did.” George showed up behind Chelsea, who quickly stuffed the paper in her purse. “But I’m not sure you have a prayer of taking that ribbon away from us.”
“We’ll see,” Billy said.
“Well, hiring my former general manager won’t be enough. My family’s been in this business for decades.”
“Yeah. Well, we all have to start somewhere. Don’t we?” He gave Chelsea a lazy grin, to piss George off.
It worked. She blushed, and George grew red for a different reason. “Well, this isn’t the American baseball league. This is where the real men play, not long haired jocks who never graduated from college. It must be nice to be a millionaire for throwing a ball around in a sandbox.”
“George! What are you doing?” Chelsea pulled on the jerk’s arm, and he pushed back so hard he nearly knocked her down.
She rocked a bit on her high heels, and Billy reached his arm out to steady her by the elbow.
“Be quiet. The men are talking,” George said.
Billy felt his gut tighten and his hands curl into fists. This was so not good. The guy was goading him, and he couldn’t let him win. Not like he hadn’t been in the scenario before. He’d learned the hard way to keep calm. Take deep breaths and remain professional.
He tried again, forcing a grin. “If you push that little girl again I might have to escort you out of here.”
“I barely touched her. I love Chelsea. She’s going to be my wife.” George put his arm around her. “She’s a sweet girl. Not like Brooke.”
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you know? Yeah, Brooke and me. We were together. Guess she has a thing for the boss. The girl gets around. Don’t think you’re special or anything.”
Later, he’d probably wonder how his arm now worked independently of his brain. The arm he’d trained for years. The same one that pitched a ninety mile an hour ball and a curve ball that wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t listening to him now, but there was no time to reason with it. Like it belonged to a stranger, his arm found itself reaching for George’s collar.
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
16
For the first time in decades, Brooke began to believe that the curse of The Holidays had been removed. Otherwise, how was it that everything tonight had run so smoothly?
The wine flowed plentiful, the appetizers were a huge hit, and they’d sold out of what would obviously be their most popular wine: the earthy nutty Merlot that slid down a person’s throat like wet silk.
She’d kept George and Chelsea occupied, having had Ernesto take them for a long and bogus special invitation-only tour of the vineyard, the wine cellar and the bottling room.
Everyone had seemed to enjoy the evening, and fr
om the looks of it they’d sold a lot of wine. The crowd had thinned, but all in all she could say the event had been a resounding success. She’d kept her cool, kept her emotions in check, and controlled the outcome. Always the key.
In fact, the first concern of the evening came when Brooke heard Gigi scream Billy’s name. The sound caused her to turn in that direction, and that’s when she saw Billy, dragging George outside by his shirt collar.
Chelsea followed two steps behind Gigi, who waved her arms around, frantically trying to get Billy’s attention. “Stop!”
“Uh-oh,” Eric said. “This is bad.”
Brooke didn’t think, only ran towards them all. She didn’t make it before Wallace and Scott were out the door, their faces reflecting the appearance of soldiers headed to war.
Not good.
Brooke hurled her body out the door, feeling her breaths come out in short little desperate spurts. “What’s going on?”
Outside, Wallace and Scott flanked Billy, who could be heard saying, “I was about to teach this gentleman some manners.”
“Why can’t we all sit down and talk about this like civilized citizens of the world?” Gigi said.
“We could,” Billy said sounding gritty and rough, “But some people don’t know how to be civilized.”
Brooke shoved her way to the front of the melee. “What’s going on here?”
“George was leaving. Say goodnight.” Billy let George go with a slight shove.
George smoothed over his Italian suit, probably one that cost a year of her salary. He glared in Brooke’s direction.
“You picked the wrong man, Brooke. If you wanted a jock you should have said so.” He turned to Billy. “You might pitch a ball at ninety miles an hour but let’s see you build up a winery from the ground up. Oh wait, guess you didn’t need to. You’re a millionaire. You take my best people. But it won’t be enough.”
“He didn’t take me, I quit. Remember? You should leave now,” Brooke said through a shaky breath.
Billy moved forward but he was stopped on either side by Wallace and Scott. “Listen to her. A ball isn’t the only thing I can hit out of the park.”
Starlight Hill: Complete collection 1-8 Page 36
