“Since when do skateboarders not eat candy?” Cammie asked. “I thought you guys were all badass and devil-may-care.”
“The devil does care . . . about empty calories. And so do athletes.” Kat rummaged through the cupboards for more treats. “I know a little bit about Web design. I can slap something together after I help you with the vines today.”
Cammie was overcome with relief. “How do you know how to make a website?”
“Well, I have one—I mean, I had one for skate stuff, and I figured out how to update it. It’s not that hard to put a basic site together.”
“Great, then we’ll delegate that to you. Nothing fancy—just a few photos, a phone number, a map, and a reservations portal.”
“Reservations portal?” Kat asked. “Reservations for what?”
“Events,” Cammie replied. “Wine tastings, tours, parties.”
“Who’s going to coordinate all that?”
“You, me, and your mother.”
Kat groaned and let her head drop back. “I’ll do the website, but I ain’t dealing with a bunch of hysterical brides. That’s on you.”
“Fine. I’ll deal with the hysterical brides; you deal with the dead vines.”
“The what now?”
Cammie summed up the situation at the far end of the field. Kat listened attentively, then gave a single nod. “I’m on it.”
Cammie gaped. “Really?”
“Yep. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ve got this.”
Cammie furrowed her brow “But . . . how? It’s really complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated. All we have to do is get a tractor and rip them out.”
“Oh, okay.” Cammie had to laugh. “We’ll just get a tractor? Just like that?”
“Yep.” Kat hummed as she started scrolling through her phone. “Look, there’s a big farm equipment auction in Lewes this weekend. Problem solved.”
“We don’t have the budget to buy a tractor.”
“It’s my treat. Now stop micromanaging. I said I’m on it and I’m on it.”
Cammie stopped micromanaging.
“And what am I going to do?” Ginger demanded, hands on her hips. “While you two are whipping up a website and hosting weddings and buying tractors?”
Cammie shrugged. Kat blinked. “Um . . .”
“I’m not purely decorative, you know. I’m smart, I’m a hard worker, and, may I remind you, I own this place.”
“Good point.” Cammie considered the options for a moment. “You’re on strawberry-wine duty.”
“Strawberry wine?” Ginger threw her hands up. “What about the grape wine?”
“We can’t make that until fall. In the meantime, we’re going to need a lot of booze and we can’t serve the swill the old owners left. We need to you make strawberry wine. Like, vats of it. Start making new batches every day. That way we’ll have a steady supply.”
“But you don’t even know if you like it yet,” Ginger protested.
“Based on the taste of the strawberries and the smell of what you were pouring in those bottles, I think it’s safe to say we’re going to like it.”
“We have a feeling,” Kat agreed.
Ginger glared at them. “You’re patronizing me.”
“No, ma’am,” Cammie vowed.
“Well, if I’m going to make strawberry wine every day, I’m going to need a lot more strawberries,” Ginger said.
“We better go back to the roadside stand.” Kat winked at Cammie.
“You go,” Cammie said. “I’m sitting this one out. Whatever was going on between Ian and me is deader than the gnarly brown vines out there.”
“Are you sure?” Ginger wheedled.
“Positive.”
chapter 10
“It smells like a square dance out here.” Cammie wrinkled her nose as she and Kat arrived at the farm equipment auction.
“No, it doesn’t. It smells like horse stables. In hell.” Kat paused to sneeze three times in succession. “And seasonal allergies.”
Cammie breathed through her mouth and slathered on an extra coat of sunscreen. She’d assumed that the auction would be held indoors, with a podium and some semblance of order, but this was nothing more than an open dirt field lined with tractors, backhoes, and combines. A group of men, all of whom seemed to know one another, eyed Cammie and Kat with a mixture of curiosity and derision.
When she and Kat had arrived a few minutes before, the smell of dust and manure had felt overpowering. But now that her nose had acclimated, she could detect ripe undernotes of hay, fertilizer, tobacco, and body odor.
“Maybe we should go home and change.” Cammie glanced down at her high-heeled sandals, which were sinking into the soil. “We need better footwear.” She glanced at the men, all of whom were clad in mud-spattered jeans, ancient T-shirts, and sweat. So much sweat. She could discern an actual rivulet of perspiration snaking down the neck of the guy in front of her. “And we don’t really blend.”
Kat, who was herself wearing jeans, agreed. “I knew I shouldn’t have ironed this shirt.” She shook her head at Cammie’s yellow cotton sundress and woven straw sunhat. “You are way overdressed.” She indicated a man a few yards away. “Look how tight that dude’s jeans are. Is that the John Deere version of jeggings? They’re like a tourniquet.”
Cammie surveyed the sea of silver belt buckles and sun-bleached cowboy hats. “Maybe we should try digging out the vines one more time.”
“Too late. Let’s make the rounds and figure out what we’re going to buy.” Kat led the way and together, they strolled the perimeter of the field. None of the rough-hewn men spoke to them or even made eye contact. Cammie hadn’t felt so awkward and self-conscious since middle school.
“Is it just me, or do these all look the same?” Cammie whispered as she and Kat regarded a trio of tractors.
“What are you talking about? This one’s way rustier than that one.” Kat said. “Let’s go over the plan again. We don’t need anything fancy. It just has to be able to furrow the fields and yank out a bunch of grapevines. Ooh, let’s get that one.” She pointed out a tractor that had probably once been red. It was hard to determine the original color under all the rust.
Cammie tilted her head to assess the tractor. With a big, rectangular grille, two huge tires in back and two small ones in front, it would have fit right into an animated movie or an Old MacDonald storybook. “That one? Really?”
“It’s red.”
“So?”
Kat shrugged. “So it’s cute.”
“It’s not a sports car, Kat.”
“Yeah, but if we pretend it is, it’ll be more fun to drive.” Kat succumbed to another sneezing fit as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “It’s Josh. Should I—”
“Take it.” Cammie waved her cousin away from the throng. “Talk to your husband. I can handle the bidding.”
Kat blew her nose. “You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Cammie absolutely could not handle the bidding. The auction commenced without fanfare—all the men just clustered around a backhoe and started yelling. After about fifteen seconds, a barrel-chested, bearded guy in overalls announced, “Sold!” and everyone moved on to the next vehicle.
“Oh.” Cammie hurried to keep up. “We’re starting? Okay.”
Three minutes later, the bearded auctioneer had sold two backhoes and two tractors, and Cammie felt rivulets of sweat trickling down her own neck. He spoke so quickly, she couldn’t understand what the current bid was, although that was irrelevant since she couldn’t seem to figure out how to bid, anyway.
She raised her hand. The men ignored her.
She waved her sunhat. The men ignored her.
She tried to push her way through to the front. The men ignored her,
selectively blind and deaf.
Sales whizzed by in a blur of rapid-fire yelling and cursing. The crowd shuffled from one piece of equipment to the next. All of a sudden, there were only three tractors left. Cammie’s desperation segued into full-fledged panic. What if she couldn’t get a tractor? How would they get rid of the dead vines? What would happen to the rest of the harvest? How on earth was she going to—
“Hey!” A deep voice boomed out from the back of the crowd. “Guys.”
All conversation ceased. Heads swiveled toward the back of the crowd. The only sound was a couple of tobacco chewers chomping away.
Cammie didn’t have to look. She knew who had spoken.
“Give the lady a chance.”
There ensued another moment of silence as everyone directed their attention to Cammie.
“Oh.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled. No one smiled back. They coughed and muttered and waited with palpable impatience. But they gave her a chance.
She pointed to the rusty red tractor Kat had remarked upon earlier. “That one’s great. I’ll take that one.” She named the price she and Kat had agreed upon, too flustered to try to bargain.
The auctioneer glanced toward the back of the crowd, then nodded. “Sold.”
Cammie literally jumped for joy, then turned to locate Ian. He stood away from the group, watching her with the faintest trace of a smile.
She wended her way back to him, skittering sideways as a wad of freshly spit tobacco landed near her foot. “What are you doing here?”
He shifted his weight and lifted the brim of his cap, gazing down at her. “What are you doing here?”
She adjusted the strap of her sundress and tried to explain. “We have some dead vines. Well, they’re either dead or diseased, and I’m worried that whatever they have is going to spread. We need to pull them out—so says the Internet—and also, we’ll need to, um”—she strained to think of the correct terminology—“furrow the field.”
“Furrow the field.”
“That’s right. I think.” She twisted her hands together.
He watched her intently. “You’re pretty hot when you talk like a farmer.”
Cammie didn’t know where to look. She could feel her thin cotton dress clinging to her back. “Thanks for your help.”
“My pleasure.”
“But I was holding my own, just so you know. I would have figured it out.”
His smile deepened. “I have no doubt.”
Kat bounded back into the field and looked around in dismay. “It’s over already? What’d I miss?”
“I got the red one.” Cammie gestured to the Old MacDonald tractor. “This lovely, um . . .”
“International Harvester,” Ian supplied.
“This lovely International Harvester.”
Kat high-fived her. “It’ll be like the autobahn on the back forty.”
Cammie rested her hand on the steering wheel, then pulled away when she felt the gritty combination of dirt and oil. “Here’s hoping they’ll wash it before they deliver it.”
Ian laughed.
“What?”
“Wash it. Deliver it. You kill me.”
“They’re not going to deliver it?” Kat demanded.
Ian kept laughing and pointed out a little black puddle beneath the tractor. “You’re going to have to change the oil, too.”
“Details, details.” Kat charged after the auctioneer, yelling, “Hey! Take my money and give me the keys! Will you take a check?”
Cammie turned back to Ian. “Can you believe it? I officially own a tractor. What next? Black is white? Up is down?”
“Next, you have to learn to drive it.” His voice held a hint of a challenge.
She folded her arms and regarded the International Harvester. “I drove the Los Angeles freeways every day. I think I can handle a tractor in an open field.”
He sidled closer, just inside her personal space. “If you ask nicely, I’ll come over and show you.”
She sidled a bit closer, too. “Oh yeah? That sounds kind of like a date.”
“More like a tutorial.”
“Ooh.” She framed her face with the brim of her hat. “I’m excited.”
“You should be,” he drawled. “How about Friday?”
She considered her options. “Let’s say Thursday.”
“Big plans for Friday?”
“Friday night’s for dates. You said this was a farming tutorial.” She smiled sweetly.
He didn’t hesitate. “Fair enough. See you Thursday. Five o’clock?”
“Six,” she countered.
“Five thirty.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She closed her eyes and inhaled, picking up the scent of fresh soil and cut grass.
“Sold.”
chapter 11
“Is the tractor all ready to go?” Cammie asked when she returned to the house after yet another day of weeding and watering the vines. She was covered in dust and sweat, but felt surprisingly energized after a full day’s work. “Ian’s going to be here in half an hour.”
“No. They just dropped it off about an hour ago.” Kat sat down on the hall floor, kicked off her flip-flops, and put on her sneakers. “It was supposed to be here yesterday, but they wouldn’t take a personal check, so I had them call Josh and he worked everything out.”
“You got them to deliver it? Good for you.”
“Yeah, I had to pay extra. But now it’s leaking all over the barn floor. We better go give it some more oil before Ian gets here for your, ahem, tutorial.”
“You should worry less about my, ahem, tutorial and more about your own relationship. When are you and Josh going to see each other again?”
Kat took her time tying her shoelaces. “Unknown.”
“Do you want to see him?”
“Kind of. I do but I don’t.”
“Fake it till you make it, remember? Call him.”
“Why do you care?”
“I care because I love you, I love Josh, and I want you two to work this out and be happy.” Cammie took off her sunhat and shook out her hair. “I believe in you.”
“I’m glad somebody does.”
“Call and invite him for this weekend.”
“You call him and invite him for the weekend.”
“Fine, I will.” Cammie whipped out her phone.
“Stop. Stop!” Kat got to her feet. “Okay, I’ll call him.”
Cammie waited.
“As soon as we’re done with the tractor.” When Kat opened the screen door, Jacques materialized at her side.
“Is it dinnertime?” Kat asked as she took in the panting and beseeching canine eyes.
“No, he wants to help with the tractor. He’s a farm dog,” Cammie explained. “Just roll with it.”
They headed out to the barn, which was dark and suffocatingly humid, to inspect the tractor. Jacques opted to wait outside in the grass.
Cammie folded her arms as she regarded the dilapidated red machine. “It just looks more jacked up every time I see it.”
“It’s about to look slightly less jacked up.” Kat pointed out six bottles of motor oil resting on the dusty concrete floor. “At some point, I’ll have to change the oil, but we can just top it off for now.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I’m so glad you asked. I did some reading while you were out whipping the grapes into shape.” Kat extracted a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Behold, instructions on how to add oil to an International Harvester.”
“All right, let’s get down to it. I’ve got a tutorial in thirty minutes and I have to shower.”
“Here we go.” Kat gave directions with great authority. “First thing we do is check the oil level.”
She lay down on the concrete and scoot
ed underneath the tractor. “Come on. What’re you waiting for?”
“If that thing falls on you, it’ll kill you,” Cammie said.
“Fall on me? How would that even happen?” Kat scoffed. “Get down here. Oh, but first, grab the wrench. I left it next to the oil.”
Cammie obligingly grabbed the wrench and got down there. The underside of the tractor was impossibly claustrophobic, reeking of motor oil and diesel.
“I’ll give you five minutes and then I’m showering,” she told Kat.
“Then I better work fast.” Kat applied the wrench to a rusty bolt and twisted. “Oof. This thing is stuck.”
“Maybe it’s a sign,” Cammie suggested. “A sign that we should deal with this later.”
“There is no ‘later.’ There is only now.” Kat grimaced as she twisted the wrench with all her might. “I think it moved. Where’s the oil pan?”
“What oil p—” Cammie broke off as a spray of black oil streamed onto her forehead. She flailed around on the filthy floor, shielding her face with her hands.
“Whoops.” Kat sounded cheery and chipper as she tightened the bolt again. “Got a little carried away there.”
Cammie gagged and sputtered, wiping her eyes.
“The good news is it wasn’t rusted shut.”
“Kat.” Cammie wriggled out from under the tractor, dripping oil.
“Sorry. My bad.”
“Kat.”
Kat peered up at her. “I’ll make it up to you. What can I do?”
Cammie mulled this over for a moment. “Call Josh.”
“But—”
“I’m covered in used tractor oil and dust, Kat. I smell like a truck stop. Do not test me.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll call him.”
But Cammie wasn’t finished. “Ask him to have dinner on Saturday.”
“All right, but you have to come with us.” Kat emerged from beneath the tractor and stood up. “I can’t make it through another meal like we had last time. It was deathly awkward.”
“Look at me.” Cammie held out her arms. “Do I look like I’m in any mood to chaperone you people?”
Once Upon a Wine Page 9
