The Case of the Voracious Vintner

by Tara Lain

  At the same time, Bo drove Jeremy’s largely ignored hormones over the edge. Yes, Jeremy was out, but a lot of good it did him. If Jeremy wanted to meet single gay guys, he needed to hang out in San Luis Obispo or visit the gay spa over in Morro Bay, which he did sometimes. But he had so little free time, plenty of worry, and, if he was honest, a definite hang-up on Bo. Bo who attracted women like flies to honey with all that Southern charm. Bo who was straight as Jeremy’s road to the poorhouse if he didn’t figure out how to get Ottersen off his back.

  “Not exactly.”

  Jeremy’s eyes widened. What had they been talking about? Oh right, women. “Looks like it to me.”

  Bo smiled, but it was tight. “They just like the accent.”

  “Come on, you don’t really think that.” Jeremy sipped. “Man, this is good stuff.”

  That cute pink blush crept across Bo’s cheeks. “Thank you—on both counts, I guess.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “You’re a great-looking guy. I personally know half the females in the Paso Robles area are gunning for you, and some of them already have a marriage license.”

  Bo frowned ferociously. “That’s ridiculous. I have nothing to attract an intelligent woman. My God, I support half of Georgia. No woman would want my family, and I’m no prize.”

  “Really? Not what I hear.” Jeremy grinned, and Bo met his eyes for a lingering second and then stared at his wine.

  “Why should I take all the single-guy heat in the valley? You’re just as eligible as I am. Why aren’t you married or at least engaged?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “It’s tough to meet available guys. Besides, while I might not have a state to support, I’m the one Ottersen seems to want to take down next, so I’m a damned bad financial risk.”

  “God, I’m sorry.” Bo put a warm, strong hand on Jeremy’s forearm, looked at it like a snake had somehow crawled onto the table, then pulled it back as if the damned snake had bitten him. He blinked rapidly. “I thought maybe your cute young assistant might be a, uh, significant other.”

  “Christian? No. Just a worker bee, but man, he is that. The kid gets shit done.”

  “Did he come with you from—” Bo waved a hand.

  “The East? No. He found me. Right out of college at Cal Poly and wanting to learn the business. I’m not sure what I would have done without him. You, of all people, know how hard it is.”

  Bo kind of smiled into his glass. “Yes, yes I do.” He looked up. “Let’s get back to the topic at hand. I was thinking, what if we went together to visit the Napa and Sonoma vintners? We could put together a real attractive package including some of your bulk wine and mine.”

  “What about the brokers?” Jeremy folded his arms on the table.

  “Bypass the brokers at first and then, if we get interest, offer to work through whichever broker gives us the best deal.”

  “God, interesting idea.” Jeremy chewed his lip. “Uh, can I tempt fate and ask why you want to put yourself on the line for me? You have so much to lose, Bo. I mean, you can piss off Ottersen and cause him to focus on you as an enemy. Now he may see your vineyard as too hard to compete with.”

  “Honestly, I just see us all as ducks in his sights. I’d rather present a solid offense and make it even harder to compete with me.”

  What Bo said made sense. Why did it feel not quite the whole truth? “Why not partner with another dry farmer?”

  “Too monolithic. You and I can offer a variety of bulk wine and not have to compete with each other.”

  “Okay, I accept with gratitude.” Jeremy held up a hand. “And thank you for choosing me and believing in me and—everything.” He blinked hard against the heat behind his eyes.

  “My pleasure.”

  The softness of Bo’s voice sent ripples up Jeremy’s spine—straight to his heart. Man, would he like to believe Bo was doing this because he cared.

  A waiter arrived with a big tray and served the salmon. They both dug in, which produced smiles.

  Jeremy said, “This is good.”

  “Um, mine too.”

  Jeremy had to agree. Watching Bo chew enthusiastically was very good indeed. Bo had a classic face, all carved cheekbones and a strong jaw, but his mouth didn’t fit the Roman coin image. It was full, juicy, and almost feminine. Staring at those lips while Bo enjoyed his fish made Jeremy’s jeans feel a size or so too tight. “So uh, when are you thinking we’re going to take this wine country junket?”

  “As soon as possible. Ottersen’s dirty tricks wait for no man.”

  The idea of traveling all over wine country with Bo Marchand—alone—made his stomach flip. “I haven’t been up there since the fires.”

  “I visited a broker soon after the tragedy. A few wineries were badly damaged, but most were unscathed.”

  “That’s what I’d heard. It’s good news.”

  “Yes. So why don’t you check your schedule and I’ll do the same.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Bo smiled. “Do you have enough help at the winery to get away?”

  “Yes, I run lean, but it’s doable.”

  “Where’s your family? Clearly they didn’t follow you to California as mine did.”

  “Uh, no. I don’t have any relatives to speak of.” That was the truth. He wouldn’t speak of them.

  “Land of mercy, I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

  Jeremy snorted. “Sounds like you have enough relatives for both of us.”

  “And the rest of central California as well.”

  “A Southern thing, I bet.”

  “Oh yes. In Georgia people don’t just want to know your name, they want to know who your grandparents were. Then they figure out how you’re related.” He turned those perfect lips into a half smile. “You’re always related somehow. Where are you from?”

  Jeremy worked hard to keep his eyes level and not look away. “New York mostly.”

  “Whatever possessed you to move all the way to the central coast of California? They make good wine in New York.”

  “I was ready for a change and nothing to keep me there.” They tried to keep him there, but he got away.

  “Would you like dessert?” Bo’s lips curled around that word so deliciously, Jeremy could think of a lot of sweets he’d like in his mouth. He shifted on his seat.

  “Uh, no, thanks. I’m good.”

  “Yes.” They did that eye thing again, and the impact of those crystal green eyes built up in Jeremy to the point that the possibility of coming in his pants was a real threat.

  Jeremy cleared his throat. “Let me get the check, okay? You’ve done all the serious thinking.” He grinned.

  For a second Bo looked as if he might demur, but finally he nodded. “Thank you most kindly. I’ll get it next time.”

  Jeremy did like that there would be a next time. He motioned to the waitress for the bill.

  Bo said, “Did you always want to make wine?”

  Amid all the shit he couldn’t tell the truth about, that was an easy question. “Yes. When I was a little kid and other rug rats were downing Cokes and cheeseburgers, I was reading the labels on wine bottles and scanning my mother’s cookbooks for exotic recipes. I didn’t know I was gay until I was about twelve, but I knew I was different really young.”

  Bo got a funny expression on his face. Kind of sad.

  Jeremy gave him a smile. “No need to feel bad for me. I’ve always loved being weird.” That was pretty much the truth.

  Bo smiled. “I understand. I’m quite the black sheep of my clan as well.”

  Jeremy held up his glass with a last splash of wine in it. “Hard to imagine for such a pillar of the community, but here’s to all us freaks.”

  Bo laughed—a deep musical sound—and extended his almost empty glass. “And all our freaky works.”

  They clinked and downed the last of their wine.

  Bo said, “By the way, I have some friends who have taken an interest in our, uh, problem. Perhaps they can le
arn how Ottersen is getting information on other vintners’ secrets. What we need is an opportunity for them to meet the winemaking community without, uh—”

  “Tipping our hand?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How about a reception to celebrate”—Jeremy shrugged—“something.”

  “Yes. We could meet at my place, and then it would be logical that my friends would attend. Maybe—” His face lit up. “Maybe the Dionysian Festival in March. That’s a logical celebration of wine. It gives us a few weeks to plan.”

  The waitress brought the check to the table, and Jeremy handed her a card. As she walked away with it, he said, “I don’t know about any Dionysian Festival.”

  “That same friend mentioned the Dionysian mysteries recently and made me think of it. We’d likely need some kind of theatrical presentation, since that’s part of the festival historically.”

  “Like what? A rock concert?”

  Bo laughed—what was that word? Indulgently. “No, like theater. The festival celebrated comedy, tragedy, and satire.”

  “Maybe we could get the Cambria theater group to perform?”

  “No. It would take them forever to get something together. More time than we have.”

  Jeremy grinned. “I did a bit of playacting in school.”

  Bo smiled, and that familiar blush painted his cheekbones. “I was in a little theater group as a boy. Before I went to college.”

  “Perfect, we can work out a scene together. You want to pick something, or shall I?”

  “You can.”

  “How about Romeo and Juliet?” Jeremy waggled his eyebrows. No point in pretending he wasn’t gay.

  Bo’s eyes widened. “Uh, that’s okay. I’ll pick something.”

  Jeremy chuckled, but he had to admit to some disappointment.

  The waitress brought back the check to sign. “Thank you so much for coming by. Hope to see you again.”

  They slid out of their booth and walked toward the front of the restaurant. As they approached the door, Bo stumbled and turned slightly gray. Jeremy followed his gaze. Well, shit. Ezra and Marybeth Hamilton sat in a corner booth and Ezra stared directly at Bo—and then Jeremy.

  Jeremy took a deep breath. “Best defense, man.” He walked straight across the space separating them. “Well, hi, folks. Fancy seeing you here. You’re not planning on opening food service in your tasting room too, are you?” He grinned. Not as devastating as Bo’s dimples, but a guy had to use what he had.

  Ezra frowned. “What? No. I don’t muddy my brand with food. I’m a vintner, not some bloody restaurateur.”

  “Good. More for us, then.”

  “What do you mean?” Ezra glanced over Jeremy’s shoulder, where Jeremy could sense Bo’s warmth.

  Jeremy glanced back. “Bo and I check out restaurants for recipes and food service ideas.”

  “You’re in collusion?”

  Bo stepped forward, frowning. “Collusion, Ezra? Since when did two vintners having a meal together constitute collusion? Where the hell is your head?”

  Ezra looked startled and blinked rapidly. “Of course, sorry. It’s just all these terrible competitive disasters are taking their toll.”

  Bo put a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. Nice touch. Jeremy wasn’t sure he could have brought himself to touch the SOB. Bo said, “For all of us, Ezra.”

  Jeremy said, “Bo, why don’t you stay and talk to Ezra and Marybeth? I need to get going. Good to see you both. Thanks, Bo.” He shook Bo’s hand and gave him a significant look. We have nothing to hide. Jeremy winked.

  “Yes, thanks, Jeremy. Next restaurant we review, I’ll pay.” He winked back.

  Jeremy walked away chuckling.

  Chapter Four

  THE DOORBELL rang.

  Bo’s mama flashed a hand toward Blanche. “Get it! Get it!”

  Blanche scowled, but their mother’s favorite expression was always “Will you do that? You’re younger than I am.” Since everyone was younger than Mama except Harvey, Bo’s grandfather, she seldom got up.

  Blanche moved at half the speed their mother would have liked toward the door to fetch the elusive Sage, who was officially a half hour late. She’d texted to say she was dealing with a business emergency and would be there as quickly as she could get away. She’d said not to hold dinner, but since the whole purpose of the meal was to seat Sage next to Bo, there was no likelihood of that happening.

  Bo stood at the bar cart pouring wine but looked up to see an attractive dark-haired woman, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, which made her older than he was. She wore a denim pantsuit that seemed about the right level of formal for central California business, with a thick scarf around her neck that she unwound as she walked in. “Oh my God, how can I ever apologize for keeping you all waiting? I’m so terribly sorry. It was one of those drop-in-your-lap emergencies, and I couldn’t leave until it was resolved.”

  Mama bestirred herself and rose from her rocker, extending her hand. “Think nothing of it, dear. A busy girl like you has so many responsibilities. We were happy to wait.”

  Mama was never happy to wait, but she sounded charming, if not convincing.

  Bo walked to his grandfather and handed him a glass of wine as his mama said, “May I present my father, Harvey Walshman.”

  Harvey gave Sage a smile. “Always delighted to meet a pretty girl.”

  Sage smiled back. “I have a good idea where all the fabled Marchand charm comes from.”

  Harvey gave Bo a slap on the arm without getting up from his recliner. “She’s a cutie.”

  Mama said, “I’m sorry you don’t get to meet my sister and her husband, but they’re out this evening. So I think I only have yet to introduce you to Bo.” She swept her hand in a grand arc as if showing off a new car.

  Sage gave Bo a direct gaze. “Sage Zilinsky. I’m pleased to finally meet you, Bo. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  And wouldn’t he like to know all the details? “I hope it was all good.” He shook her hand and tried to smile genuinely.

  Her hand was strong and warm, her handshake firm. “It was appreciative, I assure you.”

  He barked a little laugh, and she grinned. He asked, “Can I get you a glass of wine? A cocktail? Something softer?”

  “In this home I must ask for wine. Red, please. You choose.” She looked up at Mama. “And please don’t hold your meal another moment for me. I know how hard it is to keep things warm.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.” Mama looked through the arch to the dining room where the big table was set for six. “I’ll just check with the cook.” She walked toward the kitchen.

  They didn’t always have help, but his mother preferred not to cook and Bo’s sisters were awful at it. Unless his Aunt Cortina wanted to take on the job on any given day, they often ate takeout. So much for the Southern reputation.

  Bo poured zin from the cocktail cart for Sage and handed her the glass where she sat in the flowered chair between the sofa and another empty chair obviously left for Bo. He accepted the cue and sat. “I assume your emergency was handled successfully?”

  “Yes, thanks. Everything hit the proverbial fan about four, so I had a little time to deal with it.” She looked down at her suit. “No time left to change, however.”

  “You look great.” Which was pretty much true. Her face, while not beautiful in a traditional sense, was interesting, with almond-shaped eyes, a strong nose a little too big to be cute but quite classic, and full, lush lips. Her style complemented her bold features.

  “Dinner, everyone,” his mother called from the dining room.

  It took a few minutes to get Grandpa Harvey settled at the head of the table, Bo’s mother on the other end, Bettina and Blanche on one side, and Sage and Bo on the opposite.

  His mother said to Blanche and Bettina, “Help get food on the table, please.”

  Sage hopped up. “Let me help. It’s the least I can do after making everyone late.” She bustled into the
kitchen, with B and B, as he called his sisters, looking a little shame-faced behind her.

  Bo rose too. “How about I help also?”

  His mama gave him that disapproving crease between her brows. “Not your job.”

  He grinned. “Not theirs either.” He walked into the good-sized kitchen. He’d always planned to rip down some walls and make the living, dining, and kitchen areas more open, but his mama liked the separate rooms, and he did admit it was nice not seeing the mess. Leaning around Bettina, he grabbed a platter of roast beef.

  Blanche laughed. “I think we just moved the party in here.”

  Sage had donned kitchen mitts and had a serving dish of vegetables in each hand. “Make way, I’m feeding the multitudes.”

  Bo laughed. He liked her—so far.

  With that much help, it only took minutes to serve all the food. Bo refreshed everyone’s wine, then sat as his mother raised her glass. “To new friends who fit right in the family.” Subtle much?

  Sage smiled and nodded graciously. “Thank you. Most kind.”

  As they dug into food, Bo said, “I understand you’re new to the coast.”

  “Yes. I’m from Chicago.”

  “I guess I don’t have to ask why you left.”

  “What? You mean because there it’s eight degrees and here it’s sixty-eight?” She chuckled. “Actually, I love the big city, but I couldn’t pass up the job opportunity.”

  “You do PR, my sister said.”

  She nodded, then looked at Bo’s mother. “This is delicious.”

  “So glad you like it.”

  In case she hadn’t changed the subject on purpose, Bo said, “Did you do PR in Chicago?”

  She smiled. If she was wary, he couldn’t detect it. “Yes, but for a large manufacturer. I’ve always been interested in the wine industry, and this was a chance to get in on the front lines.” She sipped from her glass. “And I get to live here surrounded by the very best wines.” She held up the balloon glass. “You do achieve the most unique flavors with your dry farming.”

  “Thank you.” He chewed and swallowed so as not to look too inquisitive. “Ottersen sells mostly in bulk. I’d think that would be a, shall we say, PR challenge.”