Because the land might as well be gold bullion. “I don’t want to be poor, for one.”
“It might be a risky venture, but at least you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve got some savings, but not enough. I’d need a loan.” She couldn’t ask Mom, who had lived on an organic farm since the divorce. Brooke’s father had left Mom almost penniless. Brooke still wasn’t speaking to the man.
“Then get a loan. You’re part of the community here, and I’m sure the bank would work with you.”
Brooke felt the first twinge of hope. “You think so? I’ll call the bank tomorrow.”
Maybe she could make an offer on the vineyard. It wouldn’t be much, but maybe with the lack of buyers in this recession they’d jump at the chance. Brooke had the experience and the know-how to turn things around. That alone should put her in the running, even if she wasn’t financially viable.
“This is exciting,” Ivey said. “It’s like when I first got the midwife job at the hospital. You deserve to have your dreams come true, too.”
For Brooke, what she might deserve and what she got were rarely one and the same. But today was a day for dreaming. “When I buy the vineyard, I’ll live right on the property as I get it ready to reopen. I’ve always wanted to live on a vineyard, and the Mirassu vineyard has that beautiful balcony that overlooks the land.”
“That’s the spirit. I like the way you said ‘when’ and not ‘if’.”
First she had to think the plan through all the way. Make a few pros and cons lists, then organize them point by point. She had to be smart about this. Draw up a business plan and get a few investors lined up in case she needed them. She’d start tomorrow.
*****
On a cool early September morning, Billy stood at the curb with his grandfather and surveyed the dilapidated Mirassu winery. From the outside, the rambling stone mansion looked like an Italian villa manor from days of old, complete with a red tile roof. Ivy vines climbed up the side of one stone wall and overgrown weeds led from the house to the tree line. The place also needed a new paint job, and who knew what else?
He’d been assured that the grapes, however, had been salvaged. The bank understood their value.
But with these looks, no wonder the bank was desperate. He was beginning to think the bank should pay him to take it off their hands. The place had ‘fixer-upper’ written all over it.
“I see that look on your face,” Jean Jackson, Your Local Realtor with a Smile, said. “The same disgusted look on your face when Jeter hit it out of the park in the seventh inning. And like I told my husband, who said you should have thrown him your curve ball, it wasn’t your fault.”
Everybody was a sports critic. “Yeah.”
Jean waved a hand in the direction of the vineyard. “Don’t let the price scare you away. It’s worth every penny. The Mirassu winery was one of the oldest in the history of the town. And if you want to start a winery, it’s better to buy one that’s established. You do know it takes two to four years for a grape crop to grow in if you start one from scratch? You won’t have that problem here. The only work is cosmetic. Best of all, the bank will entertain an all-cash offer for a considerable mark-down. They want it off their hands. Like yesterday. You can definitely make lemonade with these lemons. Or should I say grapes? Ah ha, ha, ha. You know what I’m saying?”
Jean led the way, through the waist-high weeds to the ornate front door. “Wait till you see this place. This is the main manor house.”
Jean continued chatting up the place as he brought up the rear. She opened up the front door and led them through a small hallway into the larger room. Lots of work needed in here, Billy noticed. Not to mention an odd smell he’d rather not try and identify.
“That window broke not long ago. Probably some vandals. Anyway, a small fix.” Jean said, as she kept walking towards the back.
A broken window meant that critters might have made their way inside. Another wonderful thought.
The spacious wine bar was near the rear of the room, and just before the stone balcony. Billy walked over to the balcony of what could possibly be his new backyard. Ah, yes. Here was the rub. All that land. It had a way of enticing a man, drawing him in. Rows upon and rows of vines heavy with grapes.
Pop, who had been mostly quiet until then, finally spoke. “This is something.”
“There’s one hundred and fifty acres of prime California real estate.” Jean glanced down at her clipboard. “The new gold.”
“It looks like more than that,” Pop said.
“The land, the grapes, the manor house – did you know it comes with a living space in the back as well? That needs a little bit of work too. And then there’s a smaller cottage-style house in back. In the old days, the head farmhand often lived there. Now it’s just more storage space.”
Billy put his arm around Pop’s shoulder. “So Pop, what do you say?”
They’d been looking at places for the past two weeks, and while there were others that needed far less work, they were all much larger enterprises. All finely tuned machines that were only waiting for someone else to take over at the helm. Someone with more money than time.
But Billy would let Pop have the final word on this deal. He knew grapes, he knew land, and even if at eighty-two Pop wouldn’t be running the place for the family, this was his dream. Just like baseball had been Billy’s. The way Billy viewed it, he was the bank. He had enough to buy this place for cash, even if he wasn’t sure it was worth it.
“It’s like I’ve always told you, Billy, baseball is life,” Pop began, and Billy settled in to hear another baseball analogy. “Run at full speed. Maybe you’re sure that the ground ball you hit to the short stop is going to be an out. But what do we do, anyway?”
“Run,” Billy said, because he knew this story.
“That’s right. Run anyway. Run hard. Showing that you run one hundred percent of the time says a lot about your playing style. And your character.”
“Interesting,” Jean said. “So what does that mean exactly?”
Hell if I know, Billy wanted to say. Only Pops had any idea of what he meant half the time. “Pops? What do we mean by that?”
“We’re going to run with it, of course!” Pop wagged his finger at Billy.
Yeah, he should have known. They were going to do this mess. Not for the first time, he felt grateful to have a contractor in the family. Wallace would help, and that could be his contribution to the ‘family business.’
He turned to Jean. “It means we’re in the wine making business. Let’s talk numbers.”
*****
A week later, Billy had closed on an all-cash deal with the bank, sanctioned and approved by his accountant. According to everyone, he’d made a killing on this deal. The bank was desperate, and he had the cash. Cash was king, they’d said. And he’d forked enough of it over.
Today he’d left Pop at home with Mom and brought his brothers Wallace and Scott to introduce them to the new family business. He planned on putting them to work, because face it, with his brother Wallace in the contracting business, Billy would call in all the favors his big brother owed him for the past two decades.
Billy had bought Pop a vineyard, and he’d need help. Hell, they both needed help. First, the fix-it phase. Billy glanced at his brothers. “Let’s start at the edge and whack our way to the house. How about that?”
Scott looked doubtful. “I should have brought my machete.”
No. Billy didn’t need Scott the army sniper to bring along any kind of weapon. “I should have brought my bat.”
“Billy, get serious. You can’t take these weeds,” Wallace laughed.
“Not unless maybe it’s the seventh inning and all the bases are full up.” Scott passed him on the way to the house, trudging through waist-high weeds. “Tell me you looked inside.”
“No, I paid over a few million for a property because I had a good feeling about it. It’s not as bad as it looks like from out here,” Bill
y said. “Most of the work is cosmetic. I think.”
“Great, because I was afraid I’d have to kill you.” Wallace said.
“I’m told there’s good craftsmanship in here,” Billy said, and hoped. No matter what Pop believed, Billy would only feel relaxed about this deal once his brother the contractor approved. He felt certain that he would, but knowing Wallace, he would make Billy sweat it out.
He waited several beats, as Wallace made the rounds inspecting baseboards, walls, floors.
Basically, messing with Billy. “Well? What’s the verdict?”
“I can work with this.” Wallace nodded.
Billy let out a breath. “Great.”
Billy led the way into the large utility kitchen. “Mostly cleaning needed in here.”
“We’ll get Mom to do that. She wants to help out.” Wallace said, running his hand along the polished wood countertops. “We could replace these with granite.”
“It’s all about the grapes though. Isn’t it?” Scott said, even though Billy would bet a seat on the first row of the next World Series that Scott didn’t know the first thing about wine. Neither did Billy, for that matter. All the Turlock men were more beer drinkers. And, of course, Scotch for special occasions.
“That’s what Pop says.” Billy jammed his hands into his pockets.
“You let him talk you into this, didn’t you?” Wallace threw him a look.
Unfortunately his older brother could read him too well.
“Oh man, Billy,” Scott threw up his hands. “Hang on to your money, old man. You can’t play ball any more. What are you going to do?”
“This,” he spread his arms wide. “The new family business.”
“But what do we know about wine?” Wallace asked.
“Pop knows about it, and he’s going to lead this venture. C’mon, it’s going to be fun.” This damned adventure would be fun for the whole family if it killed him. He knew he needed a break from surgeries and physical therapy. The past year had been one big exercise in futility. They all needed some fun. It couldn’t just be him. Could it?
“Billy, you’re a sucker.” Scott said. “Can I have some money for lotto tickets? You gotta play to win.”
“No,” Billy said. “If I’m a sucker for my family, so be it. Pop won’t let me down. He never has.”
“How are we going to run a vineyard when none of us have ever done it before? Shouldn’t we like, call somebody?” Wallace asked.
“Who do you suggest? 1-800-Start-a-Vineyard? Or maybe I should ask my competition if they’d be so kind as to help a nice guy out,” Billy said.
“You know what? Don’t discount that idea right off,” Scott said. “People love you here. You were a superstar and now you’re home again. The people of this town would do anything for you, and you know it.”
From outside, Billy heard the roar of a motorcycle. With those pipes, it had to be Harley. He turned to the wide-paned window facing the front, and sure enough someone had pulled up at the bottom of the long circular driveway on a Sportster. “It looks like we’ve already got the welcoming committee here.”
Wallace appeared at Billy’s elbow. “Nice bike. Don’t you have one of those?”
“Mine’s a Road King.” Billy kept his eyes on the bike when the rider took the helmet off and long blond hair spilled out of it. That’s when he noticed the rest of her— including an ass that should be declared the eighth wonder of the world.
Scott clapped Billy’s good shoulder. “This is like a porno I saw once. Somebody pinch me. Am I dreaming?”
“Holy shit,” Wallace said. “Look at her. Would you?”
“I am,” Billy said. Unfortunately he was mesmerized. But she was probably some baseball groupie that had heard he was in town. He had to get this woman off his property. Now.
“What are you going to do?” Scott asked.
“I’m going to take care of this. She’s trespassing.” He slammed the front door, and made his way across the wide expanse of weeds. “Can I help you?”
The woman looked up at him, and her smile froze in place. Billy’s heart began to sprint as he stared at the woman. It couldn’t be. No way.
Brooke Miller.
Chapter 3
Billy Turlock. Here? Now? Why?
It made no sense at all. Not that Brooke kept up with the sports page, but wasn’t superstar Sliders pitcher hometown hero Billy supposed to be busy fielding the million dollar offers? Somewhere up in Marin County where the streets might as well be paved in platinum? Had he retired, and gone into the real estate business? Why hadn’t anyone told her?
“What are you doing here?” Brooke squeaked out. Damn Billy. He’d always made her so nervous with his easy smile, which didn’t always make it up to his green eyes. Those eyes were now supposed to be the smiling, uber confident eyes of a multi-millionaire. Get with it, Billy, and get the right eyes already.
It was those eyes, frankly, that had haunted her dreams from their days together at Starlight High School. Where he’d been the jock and she’d been— definitely not a jock.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He cracked a smile.
“I heard the bank hired a realtor.” She jutted her chin the direction of the For Sale sign. “I’ve been working with Ted at the bank. I’m here to make an offer on this vineyard.”
That seemed to bother Billy, somehow. He looked at the ground and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not going to be possible.”
“Wow, well, you need to learn a little something about sales. That’s not a good attitude to take with a repossessed property in need of some TLC.”
“Huh?” Billy asked.
Now that was more like it, and what she expected from a jock. Huh? What did you say? Where’s the ball? She smiled, feeling the confidence kick in. These were no longer the hormone driven days of adolescence, even if Billy did bring some of the memories back to the surface by just— standing there.
She set her helmet on the seat of her Harley, and walked towards the house. “It’s your lucky day. I’ve been running the Serrano winery for the past three years. Before that, the Guglielmo winery. And before that, I was taught about everything from the grape to the bottle by my mentor, Anthony DeLuca. What this means to you is that I know the value of land. And I know my grapes, too.”
“You do?” He gave her one his drop-dead gorgeous smiles.
Good thing it had no effect on her, and that he appeared to be following right along. “So don’t try to stiff me. I know exactly what this land is worth, but you might have to budge a little on the price. This place needs work.”
“Oh, boy.” Billy ran a hand down his face.
Good. He seemed to catch her drift quickly. Then again, Billy had been one of the few athletes at Starlight High, home of the Panthers, to make the honor roll. She had him where she wanted him. “I should take a look at the vines, to be fair in my offer.”
“But —” Billy began.
Uh-uh buddy, no buts. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? It’s good to see you again, buddy.” She held out her hand.
“You too, Brooke,” Billy said, holding her hand and locking eyes with her for a beat too long for her comfort level.
Well, that wouldn’t work on her. She was a savvy business woman and not interested in long-haired jocks with facial hair— Billy still wore his dark brown hair to his neckline, and now he had a mustache and beard. Sure, he had a hot body, all big brawny arms, long legs and flat stomach. But he was definitely not her type.
“Hmmm,” she said, pulling her hand away because he still hadn’t let go of it.
“Really good to see you.” He looked like he meant it too, taking a little tour of her face and having the decency to remember where her eyes were located. “It’s been way too long. How’ve you been?”
“Well, you know I went to Chicago State.”
“Yeah, I do.” His smiled waned a bit.
“And I came back home right after college.” She took a few steps tow
ard the vineyard, and out of the corner of her eye saw a couple of figures pressed up against the wide-paned window of the house. “Who’s that? You have other buyers here?”
No sooner had she looked in their direction than the two men turned away from the window like they’d been caught in the middle of some kind of lewd and lascivious act.
Billy scowled in their direction. “You remember Wallace and Scott?”
“You brought your brothers with you? The real estate business isn’t like baseball. You don’t need to bring along your entourage everywhere you go.” She proceeded to march past him on her way to the vineyard.
“Brooke, wait a minute,” he reached for her elbow as she passed him. Her stupid elbow remembered his touch, as the tingle spread right down into her southern hemisphere. “You don’t understand.”
Oh, but she did. She understood men like Billy Turlock far too well. Men who had everything handed over to them either because of their good looks, connections, or talent. Billy had all three. Not to mention a fast ball that was legend around here. His face plastered all over town. His retired jersey number at the high school, and trophies that probably still lined the athletic department. Girls had always fawned all over him, and that had probably not changed much.
Once, she’d thought they were friends. But she’d turned out to be wrong about that.
The last she’d read about him in one of the gossip rags was a year ago when he’d been dating some gorgeous and towering blonde actress. “All right, I’ll play. What is it I don’t understand?”
He looked at the ground for a second, then his eyes met hers. “I’m not the real estate agent. I own this vineyard.”
The words hit her hard. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, believe it. I’m the proud owner of a fixer-upper.” He didn’t look particularly joyous about it, somehow.
No, this couldn’t be happening. She’d talked to the bank manager about a loan. She’d crunched the numbers, done her due diligence. Made two or three lists of pros and cons. It looked promising. “But I was going to buy this place. I even talked to the bank manager.”
Somebody Like You (Starlight Hill Series Book 2) Page 3
