by Tawna Fenske
“I got that covered, sweet pea.” The old man grinned and reached into the back pocket of his pants, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He held it out triumphantly, shaking it in front of his granddaughter.
Reese just stared at it like he held used toilet paper. She finally took it, and Clay watched as her eyes traveled back and forth over the page.
“Medical marijuana?” she said.
“That’s right,” Axl said. “It’s big business these days.”
Larissa tried to peer over her cousin’s shoulder at the words on the page. “Why is ‘medical’ spelled with two Ls?”
“Because it’s a forged form,” Reese said, handing it back to Axl, who scowled as he took it. “And even if it were legit, there are limits on how much you can grow and where you can grow it. I really don’t think a vineyard is the best place, and right here next to the forest and my Muscat vines—”
“Well, where am I supposed to do it, then?” Axl snapped. “I thought you’d be happy about infusing your wines with a little extra somethin’-somethin’, if you know what I mean.”
The old man tried to wink, but the gesture seemed to throw him off balance, and he started to tip. Clay caught him by the arm before he could go toppling down the hill.
“Hands off the goodies, son,” Albert said, stepping back and brushing off the arm of his jacket. “But thanks.”
“No problem, sir—uh, Axl.”
The old man sighed. “All right, then, where am I going to put my doobage?”
The cracking of twigs snapped everyone’s attention to the edge of the woods. A man was standing there with his arms folded over his chest and an expression Clay would’ve called a “shit-eating grin” before he gave up swearing.
Reese’s jaw clenched. “Dick,” she snarled.
Clay looked at her, a little surprised at the curse until he realized it was probably the guy’s name.
“Reese,” the guy replied. “Planting a new crop?”
“No,” Reese said. “Just checking the progress on the Muscat this season.”
“Hmm,” Dick replied. “You’ve never had much luck with Muscat here, have you? Such a shame, seeing how it seems to grow so well in my vineyard.”
Larissa snorted and took a step closer to her cousin. “Too bad your Pinot comes up short.” She sent a pointed glance at the guy’s crotch, effectively doubling the insult.
“My Pinot is none of your concern,” Dick snapped. “What is my concern is what you’re planting in this area, seeing how my property abuts yours right along that ridge over there.”
“Abuts,” Axl grunted. “That’s definitely the first word that comes to mind when I think of you, Dick.”
June put a hand on her father’s shoulder as Dick glared at them. Reese folded her arms and matched the glare with one of her own.
“I’m aware of the property lines between Sunridge and Larchwood, Dick,” Reese said. “As you can see, we’re safely on our side.”
“And at the moment, you’re on our property,” Axl added. “Those woods are ours—always fuckin’ have been, always fuckin’ will be, and if you’re here to badger me about selling again, the answer is no. ’Scuse me, the answer is fuck no.”
Dick ignored him and sneered at Reese. “I’m watching you. Don’t think I don’t know about that little event you’re hosting out here later this month.”
Larissa rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows about the event. We sent out a press release. It was on the front page of the newspaper.”
“Well, I certainly hope you know how to contain your guests. And your plantings, whatever they may be.”
He cast a dubious look at Axl, who spat on the ground at his feet. Then he turned on his heel and stomped back into the forest.
“Asshole,” Larissa muttered before the guy was out of earshot.
Reese sighed and waited a few more seconds for Dick’s footsteps to retreat before turning back to her grandfather. “Look, you’re not planting medical marijuana here. No way. Not with Dick watching and questionable paperwork. It’s too close to the property line.”
Axl was glaring into the woods after Dick. “Asshole better not step on my ’shrooms,” he muttered before turning back to Reese. “So where the hell do I put my weed?”
Reese waved an arm down the hill. “There’s the pole barn where we used to do the grafting. I think I’ve even got some old grow lights down there. Why don’t you go do some research on indoor grow operations? And find out exactly how much you can have and where you can put it and—”
“I’ve got all that, Peanut Butter Cup. I’ve been doing my research on the interspace.”
“Internet,” June said with a sigh.
“That’s great, Grandpa,” Reese said. “I’ll do some research, too, okay? Just to make sure everything’s legal.”
Axl frowned a little at that but didn’t say anything else. June reached out and took the shovel from him. “Come on, Dad—I’ve got some brownies in the oven down at the house. What do you say we have a few of those with some milk?”
“Brownies?” Axl seemed to perk up at the suggestion. “I was just reading up on a new recipe for brownies with a special ingredient, if you know what I mean.”
Clay braced himself to catch the old man if he tried to wink again, but Axl was apparently done. He allowed June to take him by the elbow and steer him down the hill. Reese and Larissa and Clay stood staring after the pair as they headed into the house that had stood at the edge of the vineyard property for more than forty years.
The sound of an approaching car drew their attention to the gravel road beyond the house. They all watched as a blue hybrid SUV crunched its way toward the winery.
“Someone’s here for wine tasting,” Reese said. “Larissa, could you—”
“I’m on it,” she said, already wobbling down the hill in a pair of ridiculously high heels.
Clay’s mind flashed back to the first time he met Larissa, fresh-faced and eighteen and teetering in the same sort of silly shoes. She’d been a new freshman, while he’d been gearing up to drop out of school, already hell-bent on fucking up his life with booze and bad decisions. Larissa had stood there smiling and earnest, gripping her cousin’s arm like her whole world revolved around Reese.
Clay could relate. Both then and now.
“See you at dinner later, Reesey?” Larissa called over her shoulder as she moved down the hill.
“Maybe,” Reese said. “I might be working late on some contracts. Don’t forget to top the bottles with the argon gas when you close up, okay?”
“I know, I know.”
Larissa made her way toward the winery, and Reese stared after her for a moment. When she turned and looked at him, Clay felt the full force of those blazing green eyes like an electric jolt to the spleen.
“Still sure you can handle this?” she asked.
It took him two beats to realize what she meant. “You mean being surrounded by alcohol, drugs, and possible illegal activity conducted by members of your crazy family?”
“Right.”
“I think I’m safe.”
Reese smiled, not a huge smile, but enough to make Clay want to make her do it again.
Dude, get a grip, he reminded himself. Your best buddy’s ex, remember?
As if hearing his thoughts, Reese cleared her throat. “Shall we get down to business?”
As they strolled the site of the new tasting room and event pavilion, Reese watched the careful way Clay jotted notes and took measurements. Several times they stopped so he could ask a question or pace off an area. She studied him as he bent down to rub the red clay soil between his fingers. The sleeve of his T-shirt rode up, exposing the tattoo she’d glimpsed earlier. She leaned closer, trying to make out what it said.
“You read Latin?”
Reese jumped at the sound of his
voice. “What?”
He smiled. “The tattoo. It’s Latin.”
“Oh. No. I mean—what does it say?”
He looked at her for a moment, then stood up. “Come on, let’s go review that materials estimate.”
Flushing a little, Reese turned and headed back toward the winery. She led him to the back door where the tiny office held all the paperwork and blueprints for the new facilities.
“Coffee?” she offered, clearing a stack of books off one chair so he could sit down. “Or there’s juice or water or—”
“How about two shots of Irish whiskey and a beer chaser?”
She frowned. “Can you really—?”
“I was kidding.”
“Right. Well, I have Cran-Apple juice and—”
“I’m fine, Reese. Let’s sit. Please.”
He hesitated, and she realized he was waiting for her to take a seat first. How gentlemanly. She sat, feeling like a moron, not sure why she was so rattled. It was just Clay. It’s not like she hadn’t seen him on the floor in his boxer shorts hugging the toilet in her guest room.
Needing a distraction, Reese retrieved the bottle of formula in the small warmer on the corner of her desk. “Give me just a second to screw on the nipple,” she told Clay.
Reese winced as the words left her mouth.
Screw? Nipple? Seriously, Reese?
She waited for the dirty joke, but Clay just cleared his throat. “Need help?”
“Would you mind grabbing Oscar out of the cage there?”
Clay nodded and gently unlatched the wire door. She watched his work-roughened hand scoop the warm bundle from inside. The baby opossum wiggled as Clay handed it to her, and Reese brought the bottle to the tiny creature’s mouth.
“So you’re still saving the world’s wayward creatures,” he said.
Reese nodded. “It’s a little different now than in college. I got licensed through the Department of Fish and Wildlife to rehabilitate small animals a few years ago, so I’m all certified.”
“Oh, good. I’ll phone the police and let them know they don’t need to send the SWAT team after all.”
Reese laughed and tilted the bottle to get a better angle. “I still have that raccoon you brought me. The one you found on the side of the road that spring?”
“He’s still alive?”
Reese nodded, keeping her eyes on the baby opossum as he greedily emptied the bottle. “He mostly lives in the woods now. Axl taught him to fetch.”
“Fetch what, his bong?”
“Don’t give him any ideas.”
Clay grinned. “Your family’s looking good. June and Jed haven’t aged a bit, and Larissa’s really grown up.”
“Yeah, she’s become quite the PR whiz. She does a lot for us around here.”
Clay was still smiling as Reese focused on the baby opossum so she wouldn’t be tempted to look back at him and blurt something stupid about how she missed him or felt proud of him. What did you say to a recovering alcoholic, anyway? Especially one whose gaze made you lightheaded and stupid and tingly all over.
She scratched the tiny animal and commanded herself not to think about that damn tingle. She’d been trying for years, and she’d even succeeded for a while.
Despite what Larissa said about the lack of chemistry between her and Eric, she’d been determined to make that marriage work. She’d shoved aside all her doubts and fears and unwelcome feelings about Clay, and she’d flung herself headfirst down that aisle with the absolute certainty she was doing the right thing in marrying her best friend. She’d been brimming with hope and determination and a love that sure as hell seemed like the right sort of love at the time.
How was she supposed to know there were so many kinds?
She could still feel Clay’s eyes on her as she set the empty bottle on her desk and stroked the opossum under the chin. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft.
“I’m proud of you, Reese,” he said. “Not just for the animal rescue stuff, but everything you’ve done with the vineyard.”
She looked up at him and nodded. “Thank you.” She felt warmth pool in her belly. It was possible the opossum had just peed on her, but more likely it was the effect Clay had on her. She turned and tucked Oscar in his cage before facing Clay again.
He was sitting with his hands folded on the desk in front of him, just watching her. She nodded at his clipboard. “Ready to talk business?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled. “This is a pretty ambitious project you’re taking on. The wine tourism thing?”
Reese shrugged. “We’ve gotten flak from some of the other wineries—especially Dick, the guy you just met from Larchwood Vineyards. It’s the whole ‘we’re not in this to make money, we’re in this to make wine’ thing a lot of vineyard owners like to say.”
“And what’s your take on that?”
Reese shrugged and picked up her letter opener. “We already make great wines. Doesn’t do us much good if no one knows that.”
“Good point,” Clay said, leaning back in his chair in a way that pulled his T-shirt snugly across his chest. Reese tried not to stare. “So how does the rest of the family feel about the big expansion?”
Reese began to roll the letter opener between her palms. “They’re all really supportive—Mom, Dad, Axl. We’ve been taking it slowly, starting up a wine club that’s been really successful, holding events and tastings. This event pavilion is sort of the next big step.”
She shut up as she realized Clay’s eyes were fixed on her hands. She stopped rolling the letter opener between her palms and waited.
Clay gave a nod that seemed to signal a change in tone, and Reese braced herself for whatever was coming next.
“Let’s talk numbers, shall we?” he said.
“Yes, let’s,” Reese agreed, annoyed by the formality in her own voice. She began to roll the letter opener again, comforted by the curve of it against her palms.
“You want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Good.”
“Okay. The area you’ve staked out looks great. I don’t anticipate problems with excess rock or anything like that, and the permits should be pushed through by the end of today. We could break ground as soon as tomorrow.”
“What’s the bad news?”
Clay sighed. “As we spelled out in the bid, the materials estimates were based on market conditions and prices at the time of the bid. We gave that to you two months ago.”
“Has something changed?”
Clay nodded. “For starters, you’d planned to use wood certified by the Forest Stewardship Council for green building—that gives you the points you need for LEED certification.”
“Right. So what’s the problem?”
“FSC-certified wood just doubled in price in the last month.”
Reese stopped rolling the letter opener between her palms. “Oh.”
“It gets worse. The plan was to use recycled fly ash in the concrete so you get LEED points for that. But there’s been a recall after significant amounts of arsenic were found in a large shipment of fly ash from several big mines in Virginia. It’s tougher to get now, which means—”
“Let me guess—the price has gone up?”
Clay nodded and handed her the stack of papers he’d been holding. Reese took them from him and studied the figures in silence, feeling sick. She looked back at Clay. “Why didn’t Dorrington Construction plan for this?”
Clay cleared his throat. “We did. There’s a contingency in the bid for shifts in market price. If you’d signed off on the estimate two months ago, we might have been able to purchase materials sooner, but—”
“Things don’t move that quickly in a family-owned operation like this,” she said, swallowing back a surge of panic. “You know that. It took a lot of time to get our finances together, and
then the whole family had to agree.”
The tension in her own voice made her cringe, and Reese wasn’t sure if it was the result of grim news or how unsettled she felt having him so close after this many years. She was almost sure she could feel the heat of him from across the desk, could smell the wood shavings on his skin. The thought made her cheeks grow warmer.
“Look, we can alter the plans here,” Clay said. “If you want to change tracks and not go the green-building route, there are a lot of less expensive things we can do.”
Reese closed her eyes, feeling her head start to throb. “Not an option. Wine Spectator is doing a huge spread on Gold LEED certification. It’s been all over our website for months, and we’re holding a special Memorial Day event where we’ll be unveiling the model.”
“Right.”
“Environmental stewardship is the backbone of our branding on this whole project. This is Oregon—this is what wineries hang their hats on here.”
Clay nodded. “So you’re committed.”
Reese looked at him, gritting her teeth. “You mean I’m screwed.”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
“Clay Henderson, missing the opportunity to say screwed in any context? That’s a first.” She grimaced at the waspish sound of her own voice and forced herself to take a few deep breaths before speaking again. “So now what? I don’t spearhead multimillion-dollar construction projects on a daily basis. What do I do now?”
He gave her a small smile, one that seemed to warm the brown pools of his eyes, and Reese felt her belly begin to liquefy. “The other pages I gave you outline different options,” he said. “Review the numbers, let us know if you want to change course.”
Reese frowned. “What if I want to ditch Dorrington Construction altogether and use a different builder? What then?”
“That would be unfortunate,” Clay said, stone-faced.
“That’s your professional assessment?”
He sighed, folding his hands on the desk. “That could get ugly. You’ve already signed the contracts, and I’m certain my employer will hold you to that.”
