by Nora Roberts
While she wept, the phone rang from somewhere under the sofa cushion where he'd lost it the last time. And the old mantel clock began to bong the hour.
She wasn't ashamed of tears. They were, after all, just another form of passion. But she preferred other methods of release. When she'd cried herself dry, she stayed where she was, curled warm against him and comforted more than she'd imagined.
He didn't pat and stroke, didn't rock or murmur all those foolish and reassuring words people tended to use to sop up tears. He simply let her hold on and purge herself.
As a result, she was more grateful than she'd imagined as well.
"Sorry."
"Yeah, that makes two of us."
The response made her relax. She drew a long breath, breathing in the scent of him, holding it in, as she held on to him. Then letting go.
"If you'd taken me up on the jungle sex, I wouldn't have blubbered all over you."
"Well, if I'd known my choices at the time…"
She laughed, and let her head rest on his shoulder just a moment before she climbed out of his lap. "We're probably better off this way. My father stole from the company."
Before he could decide how to respond, she took a step toward him. "You knew."
"No."
"But you're not surprised."
He got to his feet, sincerely hoping this wasn't the start of another battle. "No, I'm not surprised."
"I see." She looked away from him, stared hard into the hearth where last night's fire had burned to ashes. Apt, she thought. She felt just like that—cold and empty. "All right. Well." She stiffened her spine, wiped away the last traces of tears. "I pay my debts. I'll fix you dinner."
He started to protest. Then weighed the options of solitude against a hot meal. The woman could cook, he recalled. "You know where the kitchen is."
"Yes, I do." She stepped closer, rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Down payment," she told him, and shrugged out of her jacket as she left the room.
Chapter Fourteen
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"You didn't call me back."
Margaret tracked Tyler down in the MacMillan winery. She'd had several satisfying and successful meetings since her return from Venice. Her career was advancing well, she was certain she looked her best after two carefully outlined shopping forays before her return to California. She was developing the polish she'd always believed international travel sheened on a woman.
There was one last goal she intended to achieve while she was stateside. Bagging Tyler MacMillan.
"Sorry. I've been swamped." February was a slow month in winemaking, but that didn't mean there wasn't work. Sophia had scheduled a wine-tasting party that evening on his turf. While he wasn't particularly pleased about it, he understood the value. And knew the importance of making certain everything was in place.
"I can imagine. I looked over the plans for the centennial campaign. You've done a terrific job."
"Sophia has."
Margaret wandered with him as he moved into the tasting room. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Ty.
When are you coming over to take a look at the operation in Italy? I think you'd be impressed and pleased."
"There're noises about it. I don't have time now."
"When you do, I'll show you the area. Buy you some pasta at this terrific little trattoria I found. They're serving our wine there now, and I'm negotiating with some of the top hotels to spotlight our label this summer."
"Sounds like you've been busy, too."
"I love it. There's still a little resistance with some of the accounts that were used to Tony Avano and his style of business. But I'm bringing them around. Do the police have any more on what happened to him?"
"Not that I've heard." How soon, Tyler wondered, would word of the embezzlement leak?
"It's terrible. He was a very popular guy with the accounts. And they loved him in Italy. They're not as open to sitting around drinking grappa and smoking cigars with me."
He stopped, smiled at her. "That's a picture."
"I know how to play with the boys. I have to head back end of the week, make several stops here in the States on my way. I was hoping we could get together. I'll fix you dinner."
What was with women offering to cook for him? Did he look hungry? "That's—" He broke off as he saw Maddy come in. The kid always lifted his spirits. "Hey. It's the mad scientist."
Secretly delighted, Maddy sneered at him. "I've got my secret formula." She held up two peanut butter jars filled with dark liquid.
"Looks pretty scary." Ty took it, tipped the one she held out to him side to side and watched it swish.
"Maybe you could try it at your tasting tonight. See what people say."
"Hmmm." He could only imagine the comments of the wine snobs after a sip of Maddy's kitchen wine. And because he could, he began to grin. "It's a thought."
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" It wasn't that Margaret didn't like children, mostly at a safe distance. But she was trying to make some time here.
"Oh, sorry. Margaret Bowers, Maddy Cutter."
"Oh, you must be David's little girl. Your father and I had some meetings today."
"No kidding." Resentment at being called a little girl simmered. "Me, too. Can I stay for some of the tasting?" She turned to Ty, ignoring Margaret. "I'm going to do this whole report on the wine, so I want to, like, observe and stuff."
"Sure." He opened the jar, nosed it. Amusement gleamed in his eyes. "I'd like to observe this one myself."
"Ty? How about tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Dinner." Margaret kept her voice casual. "There's a lot regarding the Italian operation I'd like to discuss with you. I'm hoping you can educate me a bit, pump up my weak areas. There are some aspects I'm cloudy on, and I think talking to an expert vintner who has English as his primary language would really help."
"Sure." He was much more interested in Maddy's wine at the moment, and moved behind the bar to get a glass.
"Seven? I've got a lovely Merlot I brought back with me."
"Great." The liquid Ty poured into the glass would never be a lovely anything.
"See you then. Nice to have met you, Maddy."
"Okay." She gave a quick snort when Margaret went out. "You're such a dork."
"Excuse me?"
"She was hitting on you and you're, like, oblivious."
"She wasn't hitting on me and you're not supposed to talk that way."
"Was too." Maddy slid onto a stool at the bar. "Women know these things."
"Maybe, but you don't qualify as a woman."
"I've had my period."
He'd started to drink, had to set the glass back down as he winced. "Please."
"It's a biological function. And when a female is physically able to conceive, she is, physically, a woman."
"Fine. Great." It wasn't a debate he wanted to enter into. "Shut up." He let the wine, such as it was, lie on his tongue. It was unsophisticated to say the least, highly acidic and oversweet thanks to the sugar she must have added.
Still, she'd succeeded in making wine in a kitchen bowl. Bad wine, but that wasn't the point.
"Did you drink any of this?"
"Maybe." She set the second jar on the counter. "Here's the miracle wine. No additives. I read about how sometimes they add ox blood for color and body. I didn't know where to get any. Besides, it sounds disgusting."
"We don't approve of that kind of practice. A little calcium carbonate would deacidify it some, but we'll just let it stand on its own. Altogether, it's not a complete failure as a jug wine. You pulled it off, kid. Nice going."
A brave man, he poured a swallow of the miracle wine, examined, nosed, sipped. "Interesting. Cloudy, immature and biting, but it's wine."
"Will you read my report and check my charts when I'm done?"
"Sure."
"Good." She fluttered her lashes. "I'll fix you dinner."
God, she
tickled him. "Smart-ass."
"At last," David said as he came in. "Someone who agrees with me." He walked over, hooked an arm around his daughter's neck. "Five minutes, remember?"
"We got distracted. Ty said I could come to the tasting."
"Maddy—"
"Please. He's going to put my wine in."
David glanced over. "You're a brave man, MacMillan."
"You never spent an evening chugging any Run, Walk and Fall Down?"
With a grin, David covered Maddy's ears. "Once or twice, and fortunately I lived to regret it. Your wine club might object to the addition."
"Yeah." The thought of that tickled Ty, too. "It'll broaden their outlook."
"Or poison them."
"Please, Dad. It's for science."
"That's what you said about the rotten eggs you kept in your bedroom. We didn't really leave New York for professional reasons," he said to Ty. "The new tenants are probably still fumigating. Okay, but you turn into a pumpkin at ten. Let's go. Theo's in the van. He's driving us back."
"We'll all die," Maddy said solemnly.
"Scram. I'll be right out."
He plucked her off the stool, gave her a light whack on the butt to send her along.
"I just wanted to say I appreciate your letting her hang around."
"She doesn't get in the way."
"Sure she does."
Tyler set the glasses in the sink under the bar. "Okay, she does. But I don't mind."
"If I thought you did, I'd've herded her off. I also realize you're more comfortable with her than you are with me. I get in your way, and you do mind."
"I don't need a supervisor."
"No, you don't. But the company needed, and needs, fresh blood. An outsider. Someone who can look at the big picture from all angles and suggest a different way when it's viable."
"You got suggestions for me, Cutter?"
"The first might be taking the chip from your shoulder and the stick from your ass, then we can build a campfire with them and have a couple of beers."
Tyler said nothing for a moment as he tried to judge if he was amused or annoyed. "Add yours and we could have a hell of a blaze."
"There's an idea. I'll bring Maddy back around later. I'll come back at ten to pick her up."
"I can drop her home, save you a trip."
"Appreciate it." David headed toward the door, paused. "Listen, would you let me know if she gets… if she starts to get a crush on you. It's probably normal, but I'd like to head it off if it veers that way."
"It's not like that. I think I'm more big brother, maybe uncle material. But your boy's got a champion crush on Sophie."
David stared. Blinked. Then rubbed his hands over his face. "Missed that one. I thought it came and went the first week. Hell."
"She can handle it. Nothing she does better than handle the male of the species. She won't bruise him."
"He manages to bruise himself." He thought of Pilar, and winced.
"Hard to fault his taste, huh? Under the circumstances?"
David shot back a bland look. "Another smart-ass," he muttered and walked out.
Pilar chose a simple cocktail suit, thinking the sage green with satin lapels was midway between professional and celebratory. Perfect, she hoped, for hosting the wine tasting.
She'd taken on the role to prove herself—to her family, to David and even to herself. She'd spent a week assisting with tours, being trained—delicately, she thought now. Staff members treated family members with kid gloves.
It had jarred her to realize just how little she knew about the winery, about the vineyards, about the process and about the public areas and retail venue. It would take more than a week and some subtle education to learn how to handle any of those areas on her own. But by God, she could handle a group at a wine tasting.
And was determined to prove it.
She was going to learn how to handle a great many things, including her own life. Part of that life included sex. So, good for her.
And on that thought, she lowered to the edge of her bed. The idea of moving toward an intimate relationship with David terrified her. The fact that it did, irritated her. And terrified and irritated, she had made herself, she admitted, a nervous wreck.
The knock on her door had her springing to her feet again, grabbing her brush and fixing what she hoped was a confident and casual expression on her face. "Yes? Come in."
She sighed hugely and gave up the pretense when she saw Helen. "Thank God it's you. I'm so tired of pretending to be a twenty-first-century woman."
"You look like one. Fabulous dress."
"Under it, I'm quaking. I'm glad you and James are here for the tasting."
"We dragged Linc along. His current honey is working tonight."
"Still the intern?"
"Yeah." Helen sat on the curvy velvet chaise, made herself at home. "I'm starting to think he's getting serious about her."
"And?"
"I don't know. She's a nice girl, raised well. Focused, which he could use, and independent, which I appreciate."
"But he's your baby."
"But he's my baby," Helen agreed. "I miss the little boy sometimes, with the scabbed knees and loose shoelaces. Still see him in that tall, gorgeous lawyer in the three-piece suit that strolls in and out of my life now. And Jesus," she said with a sigh. "I'm old. How's your baby holding up?"
Pilar set down her brush. "You already know about what Tony did."
"Your mother thought it best that I know, so that I can cover any legalities that might come up. I'm sorry, Pilar."
"So am I. It was so unnecessary." She turned. "And so like him. That's what you're thinking."
"It doesn't matter what I think. Unless I see you start blaming yourself."
"No, not this time. And I hope never again. But it's rough, very rough on Sophia."
"She'll get through it. Our babies turned into strong, capable adults while we weren't looking, Pilar."
"I know. When did we blink? And still, we can't help worrying about them, can we?"
"The job never ends. Sophia was just heading over to
