He drove to the local Dairy Queen, where they’d perched on a bench eating Buster Bars and talked.
“Hank?” Ellie brought him out of his reverie. “You say you two used to date?”
“Not really dating.”
He’d spotted her a few times after that, usually on the arm of the basketball star. But he was carrying a full load, working nights and weekends at the slopes and hanging out afterward with a couple of search-and-rescue pilots he’d met après-ski. He couldn’t get enough of their stories about their daring exploits.
“That’s some coincidence, her picking the Sweet Spot out of all the other fancy resorts she could have picked. Ribbon Ridge is far from an Aspen or a Jackson Hole.”
“Delilah’s just getting her feet wet. Starting with smaller properties, hoping to move up to the big ones. She says there aren’t many boutique inns on real, working vineyards. Plus, the horses. D says affluent vacationers are hungry for experiences instead of buying more things.”
Ellie eyed him sideways. “Didn’t I tell your grandfather, back when he sold the cattle? ‘We need to keep the horses,’ I said. Turned out I was right.
“If this Delilah can point more visitors our way, that’s the bottom line.”
The new partnership necessitated periodic phone calls to track its progress. During one of those calls, Delilah again invited Hank to Denver.
That time, he said yes.
And now, finally, he was on his way. He couldn’t wait.
Chapter Five
Jamie was twelve years old again, riding her roan mare through the tall grass along the property line of the family farm. Her hips rolled with Dora’s familiar gait, the saddle squeaking in time. Bees buzzed in the clover. The sun shone warm on her back. It was the start of a spring weekend, and the only thing pressing was her English paper due Monday, but that was easily brushed aside, given that she had all weekend to complete it.
Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. She turned over and slung her pillow over her head, longing to stay in that simpler time and place.
Er-er-er-er errrrrrr!
That was no dream.
She opened one eye. The bed across from hers was still neatly made. Kimmie should be lying in it.
She rose and went to the window, her bare feet slapping the floorboards. Something else was missing. No ambulances wailed their way into Methodist Hospital. No yelling came through the wall from the couple next door, who couldn’t get through one morning without an argument. No rap music drifted up from cars passing in the street below.
She was a musician. How could she have become anesthetized to nature’s silence?
From her porch she took in the sights of the vineyard waking up. Bikes with woven baskets attached to the handlebars leaned against a split-rail fence. In the paddock, steam rose from the mug of a workman making his way toward the barn. The swishing tail of an Arabian caught her eye. Nearer, a smattering of people moved toward the inn, the morning sun painting their long shadows across the ruts in the road.
Seven forty-five already. She’d gotten more sleep than she’d thought. It had been only a little past dark when she went to bed. Must be the quiet.
If she wanted to eat breakfast she’d better hurry. Out here, there’d be no dashing to a corner coffee shop for a to-go cup.
She showered, longing as she always did for a bath—with her increase in salary starting in September, maybe she could afford to move to an apartment with one of those soaker tubs—and pulled a clean pair of jeans and a blue top from her suitcase. Then she scurried toward the inn, the smell of bacon frying making her mouth water.
She thought of her first morning at the vineyard, just days ago. She had brightened when she saw Hank and a field hand coming down the steps as she was going up.
“I don’t know what could have happened to Bailey,” said the worker. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
But either because he was intent on what the man was saying or because he simply didn’t notice her, Hank didn’t so much as acknowledge Jamie’s existence.
She felt her smile fade then. He’d been polite to her when they were forced together, alone in his SUV and in his grandmother’s kitchen. But from here on out, she thought, I’m on my own.
But inside the great room it had been just the opposite. Dozens of curious eyes looked up from their plates when Ellie had breezed through a swinging door bearing a basket of fragrant muffins in each hand, the ever-present Homer at her side, and announced, “Folks, make room for Jamie. She just came in last night.”
This morning, Jamie took refuge next to a flaxen-haired child. She always felt at home around kids.
“We’re going to ride the horsies today!”
“Well, what do you know? Me too,” replied Jamie.
“Molly loves to ride,” said her mother, seated on the other side of her. “I’m Dina. Don’t mind the stares. You’re a fresh face in the middle of the week. People are bound to be curious.”
After breakfast they headed out to the paddock.
A character from off the lot at Paramount sized her up from under his cowboy hat. “I’m Bill,” he said over the toothpick in his mouth, his voice the product of a thousand packs of Marlboros. “Ever ride before?”
She nodded, sizing up the quarter horses and ponies tacked up with Western-style saddles and bridles. “Where I’m from we mostly ride English, but I can adapt.”
Bill glanced doubtfully at her sneakers. “We’re down a man, so it’s just me today. If you don’t mind waiting I can tack up Dancer for you.” He nodded toward the Arabian she’d seen earlier.
“I can help. I know how to saddle a horse.”
He nodded toward the barn. “Through those doors, tack room’s on the left. The pegs are labeled.”
Jamie tacked up Dancer, mounted, and reined the horse out of the way while Bill helped the other riders with their reins and stirrups.
Finally, Bill sauntered over and checked Dancer’s girth. “Don’t let your guard down. He’s got some personality to him.”
Personality? Anyone who’d spent any amount of time around horses knew what that meant.
“So far, so good.” Jamie patted Dancer’s neck and his ears flickered.
Bill led the string of riders onto a well-worn path through the vineyard toward the tree-covered hills. A family of four rode directly behind him. Next were the newlyweds Jamie’d seen canoodling on the couch the night of her arrival. Then came Dina and her three daughters. Jamie picked up the tail.
The horses’ heads bobbed along at a sleepy rhythm, long lashes half obscuring their eyes. Bill swatted at a fly buzzing in his ear.
Molly rotated at the waist to talk to Jamie, pulling the reins with her as she did. “My horsie’s name is Kwystal.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
Crystal responded as she’d been trained to do by turning herself sideways in the trail. She promptly began foraging on the dogwood branch right under her nose.
Jamie took hold of Crystal’s bridle and straightened her out. Riding in tandem with Molly, she asked, “Can I show you a trick? The reins are only to steer with. If you need something to hold on to, grab onto Crystal’s mane like this. It won’t hurt her, no matter how hard you pull.”
Daintily, Molly picked up a few strands of her pony’s mane.
“Dig right in,” Jamie demonstrated on Dancer.
The child wound her fingers in more tightly, her smiling face reflecting the security that came with the added connection with her mount.
“Thanks for helping her,” said Dina. “Have you ridden a lot?”
Jamie shrugged. “It’s been a while. But it’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”
On their way back, the sun was climbing to its apex. Some of the riders wondered aloud about lunch. Bill slouched even deeper into his saddle, tipped his hat down farther onto his forehead, and slipped into a half doze.
And then, without warning, Molly’s pony reared up on her haunches wi
th a startled whinny.
The roan behind her panicked and skittered sideways. Molly’s sister landed on her back with a sickening thump and an unearthly moan.
“Lauri!” Dina slid off her mount without taking her foot out of the opposite stirrup, leaving her hanging awkwardly along her horse’s flank. Inch by inch gravity tugged her toward the ground.
Dina’s screaming terrorized Crystal even more. The pony bolted off the path, zigzagging through the firs, Molly’s fingers laced in her mane.
One touch of Jamie’s heels was all the encouragement the Arabian needed. He bounded after Crystal.
“Whoa, horse!” Bill crackled impotently behind them, as he woke up to join in the chase.
“I’ll get er!” he yelled to Jamie’s back. But Jamie was already several lengths ahead of him by the time she turned to see his legs flapping like goose wings against his mare’s flanks.
Incredibly, Molly was still astride Crystal, as if horse and rider were sewn together, her little bottom bouncing off the saddle. It would have been laughable if it weren’t so dangerous.
They were headed out of the firs and back to the vineyard. With fewer trees to swerve between, Molly was less likely to become unseated, even if her pony gathered momentum in the clearing.
Crystal emerged from the forest and just as Jamie had predicted, picked up speed. As Jamie’s horse came astride Molly’s in a wide row between vines, she leaned over and grabbed Crystal’s bridle, reining both horses to a gradual halt.
Crystal snorted and huffed with the effort of her escapade.
“Whoa there!” Bill rasped, cantering up behind them. “I knew she’d run outta steam eventually,” he said, breathing heavily.
Jamie was already off her mount. “Hey there, cowgirl! Way to hold on!” she praised Molly with a grin. “Some ride, huh?”
“That was scawy,” Molly cried, shaking. The corners of her mouth dipped as a tear slipped down her cheeks and her face threatened to crumple.
“Yes, but you did just what I showed you, didn’t you? You held on tight. And see? You’re fine!” Jamie resisted the urge to scoop the frightened girl into her arms. If she got off now, fear might deter her from ever riding again. She untangled Crystal’s reins, gave them to Molly and hopped back up on Dancer.
“Molly!” Dina called, rushing to meet them on foot. “Are you okay?”
“I’m a good wider!” Molly exclaimed, swiping bravely at a wet eye.
Dina looked at Jamie with pure gratitude. “Thank you so much,” she gushed.
“You kidding? This one’s a born cowgirl!”
By now the others had caught up. Bill motioned for Jamie to ride next to him.
“Looks like we got Dancer a little exercise after all today.”
* * *
In contrast with breakfast time, at lunch people crowded around Jamie, regaling her with stories of what had happened earlier in the week, before her arrival, and trying to coax her into joining them in the rest of the week’s activities.
“I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing vacation,” she protested, laughing.
But she couldn’t resist putting her name down for a variety of activities. This morning’s ride had made her feel like she was back in her natural element. It felt good.
Chapter Six
From the airport, Delilah drove south an hour to Colorado Springs to take Hank on a surprise tour of the United States Air Force Academy. They spent a couple of hours touring the exhibits and the grounds.
Back in Denver, they drove through the UD campus so Hank could see the changes that had taken place over the last three years. Then it was on to Delilah’s place, to shower and so that Hank could put on the sport coat Delilah had instructed him to bring for the charity dinner she was taking him to.
They checked in at a fancy hotel downtown and got their table assignment. Hank was given a bidding paddle and a table number in exchange for his credit card number on file. Then they entered a ballroom filled with Denver’s glitterati, all of them seeming to talk at once.
Hank examined his paddle. “I’ve never been to one of these things,” he said in voice loud enough to be heard above the din created by a couple of hundred people, all of who seemed to be talking at once.
“Don’t worry,” said Delilah, “I’ll show you the ropes.”
Across the ballroom, a man waved and Delilah waved back. “That’s us,” she said, taking Hank’s hand and leading him into the crowd.
When they reached their table, the first thing Delilah did was save two seats by setting her program on one chair and her handbag on the other.
“Hank, I’d like you to meet Stewart Baker. Stew, Hank Friestatt, my friend from Oregon.”
Stew took Hank’s hand in his meaty one and shook it vigorously. “The Sweet Spot, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Delilah told me about you. I was just about to hit the bar. Get you anything?”
“I’ll have a vodka tonic,” said Delilah without hesitation.
“Beer,” said Hank.
Stew gave him a knowing wink. “I getcha. Never order wine at these things.” Before he turned to head toward the bar he patted Hank’s arm familiarly, as if they’d known each other for years instead of less than a minute.
“Want to check out the silent auction items?” Delilah cocked her head toward the tables piled high with baskets wrapped in cellophane.
There were resort passes and sports memorabilia and every other kind of gift basket that could be imagined.
“How close is Eldora Mountain?” Hank asked Delilah as he contemplated a ski package.
“Just under an hour,” said a male voice beside him.
Looking up to find a man in a tux peering down an aquiline nose, Hank was suddenly conscious of his sport coat, still slightly rumpled from his suitcase.
“Hank,” said Delilah, “these are my friends the Willeses.”
“You must be the wine guy,” said the man.
“Delilah’s told us all about you.”
Hank looked at Delilah in mild surprise. He hadn’t realized he’d made such an impression on her. Was it because of their business venture, or—he hardly dared believe it—something more? Back when they were in school, she’d seemed so unattainable. . . so elusive.
Delilah leaned into Hank. “Suzy’s my aesthetician and Paul’s a stock broker.”
“Anesthesiologist?” asked Hank.
“Minus about six years of schooling,” said Suzy with a chuckle. “Aesthetician. I do facials.”
“You lost me.”
“You should try it sometime. It’s amazing,” said Paul.
Delilah laughed at Hank’s ignorance. “Baby steps,” she told her friends. “We’re going to have to reintroduce Hank to civilization slowwwly.” Then she slipped her arm through Hank’s and regarded her friends admiringly. “Suzy and Paul are building the most amazing house in the Washington Park neighborhood.”
“It’s got two public gardens and great shopping,” Suzy added. “We’re trying to talk Delilah into looking at a lot there.”
Pulling Hank away, Delilah told Suzy, “We’ll catch up later. I want to check out all the items up for bid before they summon us to our tables.”
They arrived back at their table to find six of the eight chairs already occupied. Hank found himself seated between Delilah and Stew.
“So!” said Stew as Hank speared his salad. “The latest Wine Spectator’s giving last year’s Friestatt pinot ninety-one points.”
Hank nodded as he chewed.
“Must be tough in the wine business, always fighting to stay on top.”
“I have complete trust in our winemaker. I prefer the vineyard management aspect of the business, myself.”
“Nabbed her just out of UC Davis, right?”
As a matter of fact, he had—after spending a good deal of time vetting her.
Something about Stew put Hank on his guard. He couldn’t tell if Stew truly cared about wine or if he’d
only educated himself recently in anticipation of meeting him.
He turned to say something to Delilah, only to discover that she was nowhere to be seen.
“You know my winemaker?”
“I know she has a strong commitment to Riesling,” Stew replied.
A strong commitment to Riesling? That sounded remarkably like a quote Hank had recently read about Joy in another wine journal.
And then it dawned on Hank that this seating arrangement was no coincidence. Delilah had intended to bring Stew and him together.
“Joy’s responsible for our single-vineyard pinot.”
“I just ordered a case of it.” Stew looked at Hank expectantly.
Hank nodded out of courtesy. “Appreciate the business.”
But he was grateful when the server materialized with his meal and Delilah reappeared and flounced down beside him.
Dinner was followed by a live auction. Program in hand, Delilah turned her chair to face the auctioneer. “This is the best part,” she told Hank. “There are wines by the lot, trips, and so on up for bid.”
The first item up was a trip to the Albuquerque balloon festival.
“Look over there,” said Delilah, nodding toward the table where Suzy Willes whispered in her husband’s ear. “Looks like the Willeses are thinking about going to New Mexico.”
She was right. Paul raised his paddle in the first bid of the night.
All around them, other paddles went up in the air.
Hank was careful not to make any quick moves that might be misconstrued.
The bids mounted steadily. Finally it came down to the Willeses and one other bidder. After some more back-and-forth the gavel hit the podium. “Sold! For eight thousand five hundred dollars.”
The Willeses kissed, to a roomful of applause.
Following the auction the lights went down and the band came out.
Delilah reached for his hand. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”
Mustering his enthusiasm, Hank followed her and dozens of others pouring onto the floor.
Halfway through the song a man bumped into Delilah. “Sorry,” he said, catching her by the elbow to steady her. He did a double take, followed by a scowl. “Delilah?”
The Sweet Spot Page 4
