The Christmas Wedding Quilt: Let It SnowYou Better Watch OutNine Ladies Dancing

by Emilie Richards

  She could decide where and how hard she worked, for whom and with whom, what she did and the reasons she did it. No more of Frank’s tantrums. No more complaints when she deserved compliments. No more month-long negotiations with recalcitrant executives who refused to play fair. If she worked for herself she could get up from any conference table, gather her things and take the next plane out.

  She was free.

  The thrill subsided quickly. She had no regrets that she’d been fired—because both she and Frank knew that was what had just happened. But the timing was definitely wrong. For the past week she had organized information on starting a consulting firm. She’d spent hours on research, printed or bookmarked documents, made a dozen phone calls. When she wasn’t with Brody or thinking about him, she had worked on her future.

  But now, whenever she explained this to Brody, he would think she was only reacting to losing her job. She could tell him she had contacts all over the world who would help her find a better job, if she wanted one. She could explain that Frank Conner’s inability to keep top executives was legendary and nobody would think worse of her. She could detail all the exciting possibilities ahead.

  No matter what, Brody would still believe, at least on some level, that she planned to set up her own business only because she no longer had a “real” job. Had she resigned first, then put her plans into action, she was sure he would have seen everything in a different light.

  Of course even then he might still have believed she’d left California just to keep him happy.

  She crossed her arms over the steering wheel and rested her forehead on them. Winter was seeping into the little rental SUV and into her heart.

  She and Brody had talked about everything, everything except marriage. Even if she didn’t tell him today that she had been fired, what would he think when she told him she planned to start her own business, something she could do anywhere? What did she do if he suddenly looked trapped? Wait while his face paled and he tried to find a response that didn’t make her feel like a fool?

  They had been through this before. How well she remembered.

  * * *

  BRODY DIDN’T USUALLY cook real meals with fresh ingredients. He was most often inclined to dump several things into a pot and eat the result in one bowl. Stew with an extra can of green beans. Chili with a can of corn. He told himself that way he was getting all the vegetables he needed, but he never ate any of his concoctions with enthusiasm.

  Tonight he owed Jo a real meal. In the weeks since she’d been here she had cooked a number of them for him, even packaged and refrigerated the leftovers for the nights they weren’t together. With that in mind, today he had bought salmon on sale and some fancy pack of frozen vegetables that included sauce and a packet of bread crumbs to finish them off. He’d found baking potatoes in the fruit cellar from a good autumn harvest, and now they were roasting in the oven. The salmon, which would join them at the last minute, was bathing in marinade, a recipe he’d gotten from a friend’s wife who had been so excited Brody was entertaining Jo that she had offered to come and cook the meal herself to make sure it was good.

  But good or bad, Brody was determined to make the whole darned thing by himself.

  The clock told him that Jo was due soon, and he realized that in the rush to clean the house and cook the meal he hadn’t picked up the day’s mail. He shrugged into his coat and gloves and pulled on his hat. As he shoved his feet into boots he decided to walk to the mailbox, even though the road was more than a football field away. But if he was lucky Jo would arrive in time to give him a lift back.

  He was still agonizing over decisions and how to include Jo in his life, but he had promised himself to put that aside tonight. Maybe a solution would occur to him, and maybe it wouldn’t. But they would have this night together.

  The mailbox door was frozen in place, something he was used to. He banged his fist against the side until the ice binding it fractured enough for him to open it. He pulled out a handful of letters, bills most likely, and a large envelope from Arizona that probably contained drawings by Janna, his oldest niece, along with pictures of his mother, Kaye and her family, palm trees and sunshine.

  While he loved palm trees and sunshine, he just couldn’t shake the idea that they had nothing to do with a real life.

  He was thinking about that when he reached for the final item and saw it was one of the wine magazines he subscribed to. He started to put it under his arm when words on the cover caught his eye.

  Organic grapes, organic practices.

  After using his teeth to strip off one glove he turned pages until he found the article, scanning it quickly. The glove dropped into the snow when he laughed, then read a sentence out loud.

  “‘Brody Ryan of Ryan Vineyards in Kanowa Lake, New York, is using a promising new method to control botrytis.’” Silently he read the rest of that section to himself before he picked up the glove, shook out the snow and slipped it back on.

  He had been interviewed for the article several months ago; he couldn’t even recall exactly when, but there’d been no promises his contribution would appear. Now here he was, on the pages of Winemaking Today, the most important magazine in his field, and the interview, more detailed than he remembered, was flattering. He was an outstanding young vintner, a pioneer in his field, a young man with few resources who was still making his mark.

  He was glad the author hadn’t added that he was also a young man likely to lose everything his ancestors had worked for.

  He was halfway back to the house when his cell phone rang. Since Jo was rarely even a minute late he didn’t check the number, assuming she was calling to tell him why she was held up.

  “Brody Ryan of Ryan Vineyards?”

  He wondered which bill collector had gotten his cell phone number. It wouldn’t be hard. His cheesy little website listed it.

  He admitted he was that person and waited for the worst.

  “This is Pablo Fontanello, of Fontanello Vineyards in Napa. You’ve heard of us?”

  Brody could only imagine the question was a joke. “Who hasn’t?”

  There was warm laughter, a pleasant rumble on the other end. “I just saw the article in Winemaking Today about your research into organic botrytis control. I’m intrigued.”

  Pablo Fontanello’s wine was world-famous. The Fontanello family had won nearly every important honor. They had supplied wines to the White House and Buckingham Palace, produced award-winning wine in California and Italy, and there were rumors they were moving into the Bordeaux region of France. While other boys idolized baseball players or rock stars, Brody had idolized Pablo Fontanello.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Brody said. “I think the sooner all of us hop on the organic wagon, the better for the environment and the better our wine.”

  “We’ve been doing a lot of experiments along those lines here, but you went in a completely different direction with good results. I like the way you think.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

  “How many acres do you have?”

  They chatted and Brody answered questions, but he knew the man on the other end was too shrewd and busy to waste his time on small talk. He waited for the conversation to take a turn, and it did.

  “The man who’s been heading our organic division wants to retire. We’re looking for new blood and enthusiasm. The job pays well and comes with full benefits. There’s a house, too, a nice one for a family. Do you have a family?”

  “Too busy trying to make a go of this,” Brody said.

  “Well, I won’t say you wouldn’t be busy if you got the job with us, but there would be time for other things. You could lease your vineyards in the meantime, because eventually you’ll leave, all the good ones do, and go out on your own again. But in the meantime I’d like to think we would have something to teac
h you here.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Brody said, his thoughts as scattered as the snowflakes drifting lazily from the sky.

  “We’ll be interviewing for the job in March. I hope you’ll give it some consideration. You have a good shot at it. I’ll be sending you more information.”

  Brody thanked him and said goodbye, then he slipped the phone in his pocket.

  He heard a car pulling into his driveway, but, head still reeling, he didn’t even turn. He couldn’t tell Jo about the conversation. She would ask why he would even consider such a thing, and then he would have to admit what a deep hole he was in. But if he got the job and moved to Napa, he and Jo would, at the least, be on the same side of the country. If they married they could figure out where to live and how to travel back and forth to do their jobs. There wouldn’t be room for children in their lives, but they would have each other.

  The old farmhouse was just a few yards in front of him now, icicles dripping from the eaves, snow outlining the slate shingles on the roof. A light shone through the front window. Generations of Ryans had lived in it, and he had lived in it most his life. Western New York was his home. Everything he knew, everything he was? All right here in this, the teensiest dot on the map.

  Could he erase that and start a new life working for someone else? Despite what Pablo Fontanello had said, Brody knew he couldn’t afford to lease Ryan Vineyards or run it from afar, and he would never have the money to go out on his own again. He could sell this property for vacation homes and pay off all the family’s debts, but he wouldn’t have anything left over to buy more land someday, not even with a good salary.

  But he might have Jo.

  He heard a playful honk behind him, and he turned and waved before he stepped back to watch her park. She opened the door and stepped out, and the picture of her scarlet jacket against the white snowdrifts was lovely, but it was her smile that took his breath.

  “You look like you lost your best friend,” she said, the smile melting away.

  “I was lost in thought,” he said, managing a smile to replace hers as she walked toward him. “Come and convince me it’s time to stop thinking.”

  “I plan to. In fact I plan to spend the night, if I’m asked. I brought the sexiest nightgown I could find at the Trading Post.”

  He couldn’t think of anything to say. He finally managed to say, “Oh?”

  “Unfortunately it’s flannel.”

  “You know the way to a man’s heart, don’t you?”

  Her expression was inscrutable, but she nodded. “I certainly hope so.”

  “Dinner’s in half an hour.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe not.”

  He wrapped his arms around her for a long winter kiss.

  Maybe not was the first course of the evening.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JO STAYED FOR breakfast. Midmorning, as snow began to fall, she held and dispensed tools as Brody fixed a pipe under the kitchen sink. Of course he could easily have fixed it without her, but neither of them pointed that out. She’d made omelets for breakfast, so he made grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch.

  Since waking they had hardly been out of the same room. After lunch, though, as the snow grew heavier, Brody began to pull on his winter gear. “If I don’t get to the hardware store right now I won’t be able to do a permanent fix on the sink until Tuesday. They close Sundays and Mondays during the winter, and early on Saturdays if there’s a bad storm.”

  Jo wasn’t quite used to Kanowa Lake’s laid-back winter hours. “Do you get tired of that? Not being able to get what you want when you want it?”

  “We’re a nation of people who’ve forgotten how to wait. Delayed gratification builds character.”

  She sent him a lazy smile. “You didn’t seem too worried about your character last night. You wanted what you wanted and right that minute.”

  “I delayed dinner, didn’t I?”

  “Quite a while, as I recall.”

  He flashed her a wicked grin. “And once we were in bed I was the soul of patience.”

  She kissed the tip of his nose in answer.

  He sent her one of his best dimple-creased smiles. “You don’t mind if I run out? I have a couple other errands I need to do. You’re staying for dinner?”

  “If you invite me I’ll make homemade pizza. But fresh mushrooms would be nice if you can get to the store before the snow’s a problem. I saw some yeast packets in your cupboard. I’ll make the dough while you’re away.”

  “You’re officially invited, but you already knew that.” His expression turned serious. “I don’t want you to go back to Hollymeade at all. I want every minute you’ll give me before you head back to California.”

  “I haven’t quite decided when that will be.”

  “How much vacation time do you have, anyway?”

  That bit of trivia no longer mattered, because whatever days she hadn’t claimed would simply show up in her final paycheck. But she wasn’t ready to explain all that.

  She settled on an answer that wasn’t quite a lie. “Enough to keep me here a little longer.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.” He told her to make herself at home; then he kissed her again, a long promising kiss that was more hello than goodbye, before he headed out the door.

  Jo waited until she heard Brody’s pickup pull out to the road, then she crossed the house to his office. She had been hoping for some time here alone. The first thing she had to do to help bring Ryan Vineyards into the twenty-first century was find out exactly what software Brody already had and how well he was using it. Then she had to take stock of his equipment. Having peeked at his desk when he was in the shower that morning, she was fairly certain they would need to start from scratch.

  In the office she did a quick survey, then settled down with a notepad and began to list what little was there. While she was discouraged that Brody was working with antiques, she found herself getting more and more excited.

  It was going to be so much fun to put all this together. Once she finished, walking into this room would be a completely different experience. Everything Brody needed would be right at his fingertips. Every task he had to accomplish would go faster, and the time saved by using up-to-date, relevant software that she would program just for his needs meant he could use the extra hours to expand in new directions. They would have to sit down together and discuss his dreams, what he couldn’t do now and wanted to, and figure out how to proceed, but the foundation would be laid right here in this room.

  The list of hardware took no time at all. Then, feeling only slightly guilty, she woke his computer, which wasn’t even password protected, to see what was already loaded there. Immediately she saw that his operating system and browser needed upgrades, although it was doubtful this machine was capable of handling the newest versions.

  She looked briefly at his spreadsheet software and saw that it was underutilized as well as sadly out-of-date. She told herself the data was none of her business, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself from clicking on a file he’d labeled debts, since knowing a bit about his financials would help her establish a budget.

  She stared at the screen, not believing what she saw. Surely these figures couldn’t be right? But as she scanned the page, her heart sank. Brody seemed to own very little outright. The property was heavily mortgaged. He didn’t own most of his equipment but was paying for it on installment. He had a first and a second mortgage on the house. He had a full year to go to pay off his truck and substantial credit card debt. And worst of all there was a category labeled medical with a debt of more than $50,000.

  She closed the program. She didn’t have to look any further to see how deeply in the hole he was, and this one glimpse had probably turned up the reason. Medical might well be debt the family had run up while his fat
her was dying. Jo wondered how large the amount had been at the beginning. Had they mortgaged the property and the house to pay off the bulk?

  Now the state of the front porch and the low setting on the thermostat made sense.

  Her heart ached for Brody and his mother. Fate and medical science had dealt them a blow, and they were struggling to pick themselves up again. Could they? She had no way of knowing. A careful assessment of expenses and profits might tell the tale, but in Brody’s business, weather, economy, the fickle tastes of the public plus a million other variables could affect even the most educated estimate. Right now the Ryan family needed an infusion of cash so the debts with the highest interest rates disappeared.

  Ryan Vineyards also needed her to provide a plan for its survival. She was more convinced than ever that she could make a difference. If Brody would allow it.

  With that in mind she did a quick perusal of the rest of his software, shaking her head as she went. She finished with his mail program, which thankfully was a good one that just needed updating.

  An email was already on the screen when she clicked on the mail icon. She had already invaded his privacy, and there was no excuse good enough for having done so, but the logo under the signature caught her eye.

  Fontanello Vineyards. The email was from Pablo Fontanello himself. Apparently Brody ran in exclusive company.

  She couldn’t have stopped herself from reading it if the roof had been threatening to cave in.

  By the time she finished she had a knot in her stomach that felt like a cannonball. Fontanello wanted Brody to move to California to work for him. There was an attachment Jo didn’t open, but it was clear the offer was good.

  Brody was considering a move to California? Not to San Diego, where he believed she needed to live. Napa Valley, which was a day’s drive from her home, or a shorter flight, although with airport security and a million other problems, no flight was short these days. There would also be a substantial drive to whatever airport he was flying in and out of. They would be in the same state, but always hours apart.