by Tawna Fenske
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “There’s too much baggage there.”
“For you or for him?”
“I don’t know. Both.”
He smiled. “Sometimes, the baggage is the best part.”
He leaned down and gave her a soft, platonic kiss on the cheek. Then he stood up and walked toward the door.
“Goodnight, Reese. Good luck with everything.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Reese blinked at the bottle in her hands, certain she was seeing things. It was early in the morning, so fuzzy vision wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
But one look at the matched expressions of bafflement around her, and Reese knew this wasn’t her imagination.
“The bottle says pork,” she said. “We’re proposing our customers drink pork with their dessert.”
Eric shook his head and snatched the bottle from her hands. He glared at it so viciously, Reese feared he might hurl it through the wall.
Apparently reading his thoughts, Sheila took it from him. “Calm down, Eric. This isn’t the end of the world.”
“Calm down? This port is supposed to ship to the White House tomorrow. It’s being served with cheese that costs more than my car stereo. The goddamn President of the United States is going to be drinking my port, only he’ll take one look at this bottle and wonder why the fuck his culinary team decided to offer him liquefied pig.”
“God, how did no one see a typo like that?” Larissa asked, reaching into the case to pull out another bottle. “I swear we proofed it a dozen times.”
Sheila shook her head. “Maybe the printer did something screwy with the file or had a problem with the font.”
Reese shook her head and bent to pick up a bottle. “Pork,” she repeated, still too dazed to come up with anything more than that.
“We’re fucked,” Eric muttered. “This was such a big deal. Our big break—one of our wines served at a state dinner. Jesus.”
Reese bit her lip. “They’ll probably serve it in decanters so the bottle won’t matter anyway—”
“The whole fucking point is that we wanted them to see the label,” Eric snapped. “We wanted them to know where it came from. Willamette Valley port, not pork. Goddammit!”
He drew his foot back and Reese closed her eyes, waiting for the crash of shattering glass.
Instead, Eric snarled another string of obscenities. “This place is fucking cursed!”
With that, he turned and stormed out the door.
Sheila bit her lip and looked at Reese and Larissa. “I’d better go after him.”
“He’s coming unglued,” Larissa said.
“I think everything’s just getting to him,” Sheila said. “The Wine Club Pinot, the stuff that got smoke damaged, now this.” She shook her head. “He takes his craft so seriously.”
“We all do,” Reese said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Go get him,” Larissa said. “Before he drives the tractor into the pond or something.”
Sheila gave Reese’s hand a squeeze before turning to follow her husband. Reese shook her head. “What the hell are we going to do? These are supposed to get shipped out today.”
Larissa held up her phone. “Let me make some calls, okay? Maybe they can do a rush order on a reprint, and if we get everyone in here to help steam the labels off—”
The phone rang, and Larissa stopped talking. “Maybe that’s them now.”
Reese peered at the caller ID. “Not unless they’re phoning from Larchwood Vineyards.”
Larissa rolled her eyes and snatched the receiver. “Dick,” she snapped.
Reese couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakably furious.
Larissa rolled her eyes. “No, Dick, we’re not paying for smoke damage to your grapes. We’ve already been over this.”
Reese held out her hand for the phone, but Larissa shook her head and covered the mouthpiece. “I’ll handle this dick,” she whispered, nodding at the door. “You handle that one.”
Reese looked up to see Clay standing in the doorway. Larissa turned and headed for the back room, her tone rising as she told Dick exactly where he could stick his bill.
Reese looked at Clay, her heart hammering hard against her rib cage. He wore a dark-gray T-shirt and a look that suggested he feared she might be armed.
“You’re here,” she said, then kicked herself for making such an inane observation.
“We need to talk.”
The words made her gut clench and her heart lodge itself somewhere in her throat. She closed her fist around the pen she’d tucked in her back pocket and brought it up. She began to roll it in her palms, trying to keep cool.
“We need to talk now? Now? Don’t you think the talk should have happened fifteen years ago?”
She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “About the construction project. We need to talk about that.”
“Right,” Reese said, feeling her face grow hot. “That.”
“And other things.”
Reese shook her head and looked down at the bottles of “pork” at her feet. “I don’t have the energy to deal with other things right now, Clay. There’s a lot going on here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed. I heard Eric shouting about the misprinted labels. I’m sorry.”
Reese squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her pen between her palms. “I don’t know what to do about any of this. I’m at a total loss here.”
“Look, I can draw up some work-arounds,” Clay offered. “Modifications in the plan, alternate ways to approach the project, corners we can cut in the LEED certification process.”
Reese blinked at him. “Is there really anything to cut? Everything was already so lean in our budget. We’ve already made such a big public deal about this whole project. What does it say about Sunridge Vineyards if we can’t stick to our plan?”
“That you’re human?”
Reese snorted. “That’s no excuse.”
“Sounds like a good one to me.”
“Are we still talking about construction?” she asked. “Or does the ‘only human’ apply to everything around here?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about the ‘other things.’”
“I changed my mind.”
Clay nodded. “Fair enough. Look, Reese—I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I made a lot of dumb decisions when I was drinking, and I don’t even remember half of them.”
“Convenient,” she said. “You get to make dumb decisions and forget all about them, and everyone else gets stuck cleaning up messes and getting punched in the nose.”
She saw him wince, and felt bad for hurting him. But hell, she was hurting, too. Why should she be the only one?
She knew there was a flaw in that logic but didn’t want to dwell on it.
“I deserve that,” he said, and looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry. I’m really so sorry—”
“Don’t you get tired of apologizing all the time?”
Clay blinked. “Well, it seems like there’s no shortage of things for me to apologize for.”
Reese took a deep breath. “Look, Clay—it was a dumb mistake. A fling, okay? A momentary lapse in judgment.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Which time?”
“Both. Either one. Especially the other night, though. Really, can you imagine anything so stupid? A vineyard manager and a recovering alcoholic? It’s like an animal rights activist and a fur coat designer or a—a—” She struggled to find another analogy but couldn’t come up with anything, so she settled for rolling her pen faster between her palms.
Clay shook his head. “People change, Reese.”
“I haven’t. Not one bit in the fifteen years you’ve known me. I mean, look at me, I’ve still got the same damn nervous ha
bits, the same books, the same flannel shirts, the same hairstyle. I haven’t changed at all. Why the hell would I believe you have?”
“Give me a chance to prove it. I know you can get over your hang-up about us if you just—”
“My hang-up? So it’s all about my issues, is it? What about you?”
Clay frowned. “What about me?”
“You’re so terrified Eric might find out about us that you won’t even look at me when he’s in the room. This whole stupid guy code thing you two have—like he already peed on my fire hydrant, so you won’t even sniff me when he’s around?” She stopped. “That sounded weirder than I meant it to.”
Clay shook his head. “I’m happy to sniff your fire hydrant, Reese. The guy code thing isn’t that big a deal.”
“No? Then why don’t we go out and find Eric right now?” She took a step toward the door and watched him flinch. “Why don’t we go let Eric know you fucked me so hard the other night I still have bruises on my thighs?”
Clay looked away. He didn’t say anything.
“That’s what I thought,” Reese said. “Look, Clay—this isn’t going to work.”
He looked back at her. “Is that why you had the vet over last night?”
“What?”
He shrugged. “You looked awfully cozy. Moving on pretty fast.”
She rolled her eyes, feeling her blood start to boil. “Not that it’s any of your business, but nothing happened. Unlike you, I don’t hop from one bed to another in a span of twenty-four hours.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said. “That’s not how it happened. With you and me and then Larissa—”
“How the hell do you know? You don’t even remember being with me, so how can you be sure you didn’t nail us both the same night?”
“Because I know. Because I—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door burst open. Reese’s father marched into the room, his expression grim.
“Reese, there you are.”
From the look on his face, she knew he wasn’t coming to challenge her to a game of Boggle. “Dad? What’s wrong?”
He glanced at Clay, then back at Reese.
Clay moved toward the door. “I can leave. Give you guys some privacy.”
Jed looked back at Reese. “I guess it doesn’t matter. It’ll be all over the news before we know it. I just got off the phone with the fire marshal. They’re calling it arson.”
“What?” Reese sat down hard on the edge of a wine barrel. “Why? How on earth—”
“They found some things at the scene that suggest it wasn’t just a faulty wire or something like that. Accelerant of some sort, he wasn’t specific on the phone. He’s going to come out here in an hour to go over it with us, but he wanted to give me a heads-up beforehand.”
“Accelerant? Like alcohol? It’s a fucking winery, there are a few flammable things here.”
Jed shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that simple, honey. He sounded pretty sure. I’m trying to get everyone rounded up so we can all be there when he explains it. Have you seen Larissa?”
“She’s on the phone,” Reese said. “I’ll go find her.”
“I already caught Eric outside, so he’ll be here. Your mom is down at the house getting Axl.”
Reese sighed. “Okay, then, right here in an hour?”
Jed nodded. “I have to hustle to get today’s tour canceled.”
Reese shook her head, trying not to think of the lost revenue, of the angry customers who wouldn’t understand the need to cancel their much-anticipated wine country bike trip with only a few hours’ notice. Even though her dad’s cycling tours hit plenty of other vineyards, everyone knew they were based out of Sunridge. Their logo was all over the website and brochures.
“How many people did you have signed up?” she asked.
“Thirty-three,” he said. “There’s still time to let most of them know, to issue refunds or let ’em pick a different date, but—”
“The tourists. The people from out of state.”
“Right.” Jed sighed. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll see you back here in an hour, okay?”
Reese shook her head and watched her father amble out the door in his bike shorts. As soon as he was gone, she looked back at Clay. “So I’m thinking now might not be the best time for us to discuss our relationship.”
Clay nodded. “I understand. But this conversation isn’t over, Reese.”
She shook her head, her chest feeling like someone was standing on it. “It’s over. It’s definitely over.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Reese wasn’t sure what to expect from the meeting with the fire marshal. Chaos wouldn’t have been her first guess, but it also wouldn’t have been her last.
Everyone assembled in a circle as though they expected to play duck-duck-goose instead of discuss who might want to burn down the winery. Jed and June held hands on one side of the circle, while Eric sat with his arms folded over his chest and scowled. Larissa wore a neon-orange halter top Reese was pretty sure she’d donned to distract the fire marshal.
Axl beat her to the punch there.
“Be a damn shame if anything happened to that pretty white car of yours,” he said, glaring at the fire marshal. “Maybe you should just drop this whole thing and head on out of here.”
“Um—” said the fire marshal.
“Dad!” June warned. “You promised.”
“I promised not to stab him,” Axl retorted. “You see a knife?”
The fire marshal took a step back and cleared his throat.
“Um, good morning, folks,” he said. “Thanks for meeting me here on such short notice.”
“Would you like a brownie?” June offered. “Before we get started, I mean. There are brownies on the tray behind you. Baked fresh this morning.”
“We didn’t even put weed in ’em this time,” Axl added. “In case you need to pass a drug test.”
Reese sighed. “Can we just get on with it? Please? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve got work to do.”
“Right,” the man agreed. “I’ll just get right to it, then. I’ve given you each a copy of the preliminary report, which details our findings about the type of accelerant we found and some of the reasons we suspect arson in this case. Obviously, I’m not laying all our cards on the table—this is an active investigation, after all.”
“So why are you telling us this?” Jed asked.
“Because I want your help putting the pieces together.”
Reese picked up her copy of the report and began to skim, while the fire marshal droned on about the steps in the investigation and the time they’d need to carve out for individual interviews. Reese glanced up at that point, feeling ill as he explained how they’d all be interviewed separately immediately following the meeting, and they should expect tough questions.
The implication was clear, and it annoyed the hell out of her.
“So you think one of us did it?” Reese interrupted. “That’s what you’re driving at, right? You think it’s for insurance money or something like that?”
The fire marshal stiffened. “We aren’t suggesting anything at this point. Obviously that’s one theory we’ll consider, but it’s just one of many.”
“What else?” Eric demanded.
“Well,” he began, “for starters, I’d like you all to think hard about any unusual activity you’ve seen around here lately. Any changes, maybe someone visiting the tasting room more than normal, any strange comings or goings—”
“Dick,” Larissa volunteered. “He owns Larchwood Vineyards next door and he hates us. He’s always dropping by.”
“And he’s an asshole,” Axl added.
“What about that repair guy the other day?” Jed suggested. “The one who fixed the label machine? I’ve got hi
s card here somewhere.”
“I met with a new barrel distributor two weeks ago,” Eric offered.
“Good, good,” said the fire marshal as he jotted something in his notebook. “Keep going.”
June frowned. “Sally Kreitzer brought me a dozen eggs from her farm the other day, but I hardly think she’d burn down our barn.”
“You didn’t give her any of the meringue cookies you made,” Axl pointed out. “Maybe she took it personally.”
Larissa raised her hand. “What about that religious group that showed up last week asking if we sold any nonalcoholic wine?”
“Didn’t you just fire one of the field hands last month?” Eric asked. “The one you caught stealing Larissa’s underwear?”
“That guy was sweet,” Larissa said. “I don’t think he’d light our barn on fire.”
“Clay,” Reese heard herself say. “Clay is new here.”
Everyone stopped talking and stared at her. Reese felt her face heat up. “What?”
“Jesus, Reese,” Larissa said.
“I’m not accusing him,” she pointed out. “I thought we were just throwing out names of people who’d been on the premises, right? New additions, strange people, unexpected visitors, that sort of thing.”
Larissa shook her head and frowned. “You really think the worst of him, don’t you? That’s what this all comes down to.”
Reese threw her hands up. “No more than Mom thinks the worst of Shirley the egg lady or dad thinks of the repair guy or—”
“Who is this Clay character?” the fire marshal asked.
“Old buddy of mine,” Eric volunteered, his gaze fixed on Reese’s face. “He’s heading up the construction crew on the new tasting room. Good guy.”
The fire marshal nodded, scribbling in his notebook. “Last name?”
“I can’t believe you,” Larissa hissed, narrowing her eyes at Reese. “After everything he’s done to try to get his life back together, to prove he’s a decent guy, and you go throwing his name out like—”
“Cut it out, Larissa,” Reese snapped. She wished like hell she’d never said anything. She didn’t really think he’d done it, did she?
