by Alice Gaines
“Your grandmother will see the two of you together. Vivian may not be soft and fuzzy, but she’s a perceptive old…darling.”
“That’s why I need your help. You remember how Grandma was with Sarah.” When things had looked good with Sarah—before the “dumb jock” days—he’d brought her home to meet the family, and Grandma had nearly had her running for the hills.
“You don’t have to tell me how your grandmother is. I’ve been getting the same treatment since I had the nerve to marry her precious baby boy thirty-five years ago,” she said.
“Then you understand.”
“Michelle is going to have to learn how to get along with her.”
What a jaw-dropping statement. Why should Michelle have to learn to get along with anyone in his family? “I don’t think they’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
“You never know. After this, Michelle might come to visit more often.” His mother went back to rocking, staring out over the lawn. The firm set of her jaw told him the discussion was at an end. Maybe he’d convinced her to drop any idea she had of bringing the two of them together, and maybe not. They’d see if she’d help run interference with Grandma.
…
Michelle was stuck in the backseat as Alex’s dad navigated the Land Rover over narrow country roads toward Kyle’s winery. You could never count on GPS out here in the boondocks, and Alex knew the way, so the shotgun seat fell to him while Jim drove. She’d had to admit, much to her shame, that she’d never visited her own brother’s vineyard. Just as well, actually, as she shared the back with Emma, not the man who’d kissed her the night before and scrambled her brain so thoroughly she’d barely had two hours sleep. Her plans for him didn’t include anything you did in front of an audience.
Alex glanced to the rear from time to time, as if to reassure himself she was still there. Emma caught that, of course, and a tiny smile curled her lips every time he did. And okay, maybe Michelle’s own gaze landed on him from time to time, too, and she and Alex might have made and held eye contact more than was wise with his perceptive mother looking on. Messages—displays of interest—were definitely zinging back and forth between them. Fine for private moments, but they both needed to get control of themselves before rumors started.
“So, remind me who I’m going to meet,” she said.
“My mother, chiefly,” Jim said. “Chase is picking her up at her retirement home in Santa Rosa.”
Michelle put her hand on the back of Jim’s seat and leaned toward him. “She should have stayed in the cottage so she wouldn’t have to travel.”
“Vivian won’t sleep in any bed but her own,” Emma said. “No one else’s housework is quite good enough for her.”
“She can be a bit prickly, but Emma’s tamed her over the years.” Jim glanced at his wife, his eyes twinkling. “Haven’t you, my dear?”
Emma didn’t answer but leaned back against her seat with an almost imperceptible roll of her eyes.
“We’ll seat her on a throne at the head of the table and give her a glass of wine,” Jim said. “She’ll mellow.”
“Just don’t take offense to anything she says,” Emma added. “Whatever enters her head comes out of her mouth.”
“Don’t worry about Grandma. She’s a sweetheart,” Alex said.
“She is with you,” Jim said.
Emma leaned toward Michelle. “Alex is her favorite grandchild.”
“How many does she have?” Michelle asked.
“Seven, and three great-grandchildren, but Alex is the only one who can twist her around his little finger,” Emma answered.
The skin of the grandchild in question turned pink. Although Michelle could only see the back of his neck and his ear, the blush came through clearly. It was endearing on a grown man with a linebacker’s body. Especially one whose mouth tasted of sin. She’d probably stroked that exact spot, just above the collar of his polo shirt, while he’d held her in his arms and kissed her beyond reason.
“…Stewart and his wife, Diane,” Jim was saying.
Michelle pulled herself out of the memory of Alex’s body against hers. Or she did as best as she could manage with the haze of not enough sleep clouding her mind.
“And my baby sister, Helen, and her husband and brood,” Jim continued. “You’re going to be up to your neck in Staffords, I’m afraid, Michelle.”
“Stick with me if it all becomes too much,” Emma said. “I was assimilated long ago.”
“I’m sure they’re all very nice,” Michelle said. After all, the clan had produced Jim, and he and Emma had given the world two wonderful men in their sons.
“They are,” Jim said.
“With the possible exception of Vivian,” Emma muttered.
“There are just a lot of them,” Jim said.
“There’s the turn-off, Dad,” Alex said.
Sure enough, they’d approached a stone gate with iron scrollwork for an arch. Owl’s Roost the letters read. The winery took its name from the great horned owls that flew silently through the oaks and redwoods at night. Jim steered the Land Rover along the winding road that led upward and into the woods.
They entered a grove of redwoods, giants of trees that blocked out all but a bit of filtered light. Even a California native remained in awe of these largest living creatures on earth. The air was a good ten degrees cooler than in the sunshine and smelled of the duff created from fallen needles—earthy. Nothing much could grow directly under the redwoods except ferns, and they were everywhere. Even the birds hushed their singing in tribute to such beauty.
Finally, the Land Rover cleared the last of the trees and emerged at the winery—an imposing stone building surrounded by lawns and then vines sloping off in ordered rows into the distance. When Michelle opened her door, the sounds of a mariachi floated to her, along with the aromas of barbecue. Smoke and spice and meat cooking slowly, delicious enough to make her mouth water.
“Now, that’s what I call a party,” Jim declared as he closed the driver’s side door behind him.
Emma came up beside her husband and linked her arm in his. “I’ll say.”
“Let’s go.” Jim headed off, his wife by his side. After a few feet, he stopped and turned back. “You coming, son?”
“I haven’t missed a meal yet.” Alex placed his hand at Michelle’s elbow. An innocent enough gesture except for the fact that any touch held a new meaning after their kiss the night before. Warmth radiated out from the point of contact, and after a few seconds, he dropped his arm.
“Sorry,” he said. “Force of habit.”
“I never said you couldn’t touch me, Alex.”
“Your brother might have a different view.”
She laughed. “I don’t need a keeper. I’m a grown woman.”
He stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I noticed.”
She’d made him uncomfortable. Good. She’d keep him as off-balance as she could. She’d worn cotton shorts long enough and loose enough to look quite respectable, but they still managed to show off her legs. And the pendant dangling over her simple top drew an interested eye to her breasts.
Alex’s gaze went there and quickly away. Until now, she’d never have believed she had feminine wiles, but Alex’s posture and his staring off into the distance said she’d become very wily, indeed.
“About last night,” he said, still not looking at her.
“Yes?” She could help him out by starting a discussion or changing the subject, but it was more fun to let him stew.
“I wanted to talk.”
“What we did was a lot more fun than conversation,” she said.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
She reached up and touched his cheek to make him look at her. “People kiss each other all the time.”
“I don’t kiss my best friend’s kid sister.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone knows about your romantic exploits,” she said. “They’re in the gossip rags.”
“I just haven’t found the right woman yet.”
“So you’re entertaining yourself until you do.” She took a step closer to him. “No crime in that.”
“That sounds so shallow.”
“You’re too busy for a relationship,” she said. “I understand. I’m the same way.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t back away. So she inched even closer to him.
“I did college, grad school, and a post-doc in eight years,” she said. “I didn’t have time for anything but my work. If I get the job at Cardmouth, it’ll be more of the same for years.”
“And so…”
If she got any nearer to him, she’d be standing on top of him, and she wasn’t about to start anything when someone might come by. So she simply tipped her head upward an inch or two to stare directly into his face.
“This could be my last little vacation, and I’d like to enjoy myself,” she said.
His eyes widened, but he still didn’t move. If he’d gotten her message, he didn’t answer with words, but neither did he push her away. Progress, more or less. And enough for the moment. Let his mind start working on the possibility of becoming lovers. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his head any more than she could get it out of her own.
She placed her hand on his chest. “Maybe we’d better join the others.”
He cleared his throat. “Good idea.”
He didn’t touch her again, not even to cup her elbow with his hand, but as they walked along, they atomically fitted their strides. Their bodies so attuned to each other, even in the simple act of going from one place to another.
When they reached the picnic area, Kyle appeared with a wine glass in each hand. He gave one to Alex and then caught Michelle in a hug. “You finally made it.”
“We were right behind Mom and Dad,” Alex said.
Kyle released her and handed her the second glass. “What were you two talking about?”
“Nothing.” Michelle took a sip of her wine. “It’s a beautiful day.”
Kyle cocked an eyebrow. “The weather?”
Alex lifted his glass in a toast. “Whatever the lady says.”
“Well, come on. Barbecue won’t be ready for a while. We’re going to tour the vineyards first,” Kyle said.
Michelle followed him and soon found herself immersed in a crowd of strangers. All very cordial, and none of whose names she was likely to remember for the life of her. Most of the men, ranging in age from a bit older than Jim to college age, had the Stafford build. Tall and substantial. The women had names like Beth and Helen, nothing exotic. All had friendly, open expressions. Some were stunning and others pleasant to look at. The children running around in the grass and occasionally tugging on a sleeve or skirt were well behaved without sacrificing the joy of childhood. Everyone seemed so happy and healthy. A real family.
One of the men rose to give Michelle a seat at a picnic table, and the polite questions flew. Things easy to answer. Yes, she came from here originally. She and Kyle were the only kids in her family. Her father lived in Colorado now, her mother in Marin. No spouses or kids and none on the horizon.
With all that done, Michelle settled in to sip her wine and watch all the bustle around her. That ended when the assorted Staffords parted as Moses had the Red Sea. A tall woman well into advanced age and wearing it like a fine garment appeared between them. Her hair was a perfect white, but she stood straight, her only nod to infirmity a cane she leaned on as she walked. Michelle had met the woman once or twice before but couldn’t quite place her.
She stopped before Michelle and inspected her for several seconds. “A new one.”
“Vivian, this is Kyle’s sister,” the woman sitting next to her—Sue? Diane?—said.
Right. Vivian, Jim’s mother—the family matriarch and all-around Ice Queen. Oh, brother.
Vivian’s eyebrow went up. “Kyle?”
“The one who owns the vineyard,” the woman said.
“Oh, bother him.” Vivian dismissed all thought of Kyle with a wave of her hand. “I want to know about the girl Alex brought.”
“He didn’t…that is, Jim and Emma,” Michelle stammered. “We all came together.”
“I saw you and Alex arrive together,” Vivian insisted. “Now, come with me. I want to talk to you.”
Vivian turned on her heel, obviously expecting Michelle to follow. Michelle looked to the woman next to her for guidance and only received an apologetic smile in return. Obviously, one did what Vivian demanded.
So, Michelle rose and went after the older lady. When she caught up, Vivian glanced at her out of the corners of her eyes and huffed. “I’ll warn you. I didn’t like the last one.”
Chapter Four
Alex’s grandmother led Michelle to a small gazebo overlooking bocce ball courts. A few people were playing but would be too far away to overhear their conversation. With a little help from her cane, Vivian went up the few steps, and Michelle let her do it on her own. The older woman didn’t appear the least bit frail and would probably resent any suggestion she was. Although Michelle had no intention of passing this interrogation in order to establish herself as relationship material in Alex’s grandmother’s eyes, it would be nice to get through the interview as unscathed as possible.
When Vivian sat on the gazebo’s wide railing, settling her cane beside her, Michelle took a seat next to her and waited for the other woman to start the conversation. It didn’t take long.
Vivian gave her a onceover from head to foot and back. “I’ve met you before, haven’t I?”
“A few times at Jim and Emma’s.” Only at large family gatherings. She and Kyle had blended into the woodwork at those. “You probably remember my brother Kyle more than me.”
“Ah, yes. The boy who always tagged along after Alex,” Vivian said.
“He owns the winery now,” Michelle said.
Vivian made a soft noise in her throat, neither approval nor scorn. “He makes good wine.”
“He does.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Vivian scrutinized her a bit more. “And what do you do, young lady?”
“I’m a research scientist at Hawthorn University in Massachusetts.”
“In?”
People outside her field didn’t normally ask Michelle about her work, and if she tried to talk about it, their eyes generally glazed over after a few seconds.
“Neurochemistry,” Michelle said. “It can be pretty boring.”
“Not to someone who knows anything,” Vivian said. “Or has an inquisitive mind.”
“Our lab is studying neurotransmitters—chemicals in the brain.”
“I know what they are.” For a moment, a twinkle might have entered those sharp blue eyes.
“We’re working on Parkinson’s with an eye toward producing more effective drugs to treat it.”
“Then, you have a mind,” Vivian said.
“I rather hope so.”
“The last girl.” Vivian waved a dismissive hand. “A bit of fluff. Pleasant enough, but no substance.”
“I see.”
“Said things like ‘Oh, Mrs. Stafford, you’re so vibrant for your age,’” Vivian said. “Who the hell wants to hear that?”
Michelle almost choked at the swear word but ended up chuckling instead. Indeed, who the hell would want to hear that?
“I gather you’re the one who ran away eight years ago,” Vivian said.
“I wouldn’t put it that way exactly.”
“Emma missed you.”
“I went away to college and then grad school. Then a post-doc.” Shoot, she was rambling. It would make her appear defensive because, frankly, she was. Was she going to have to explain herself—and her absence—to three generations of Staffords?
“And oddly enough, Alex would go quiet whenever your name was mentioned,” Vivian said. “Is there some reason for that?”
Damn, but the woman was perceptive. Still, no matter how much Vivian loved her grandson, this was
none of her business. But how to convince her of that without drawing her anger?
“I left in kind of a rush without really saying good-bye to Alex,” Michelle said. “I think he resented it.”
There, that wasn’t totally dishonest. Just left out the most embarrassing details.
“He’s certainly happy to have you back now.”
“I’m glad to be back and see everyone.” Somewhat less honest, but it sounded safe enough.
“I love all my children and grandchildren, even the people they married,” Vivian said. “But don’t tell Emma that.”
Heaven forbid. How else could Vivian keep the upper hand?
“But Alex has always been special to me. Everyone looks at him and sees the big, strong man, and he likes to play the part,” Vivian said. “He has a sweet, caring nature most people don’t appreciate.”
“I do.” That slipped out without thought, and her mind went back to the jar of lupines in the cottage. Not the way men usually impressed women with flowers, but he’d known how much it would mean to her.
“He’s easily hurt,” Vivian said. “Only his mother and I know that. He hides it so well.”
“Hurt?” she couldn’t help but repeat. Alex? All this time, she’d only cared about the way he’d humiliated her. Even crushed as she’d been, she’d realized he had only meant well. But, oh, the pain. She still felt it now, eight years later. Alex talking to her in that horrible way. Looking at her like that and then throwing her away like garbage.
“Don’t believe that nonsense about him playing the field,” Vivian said. “My Alex isn’t like that.”
Then, obviously, Vivian didn’t follow the media because Alex showed up on red carpets regularly during the off-season and in celebrity magazines the entire year ’round. Michelle wouldn’t win any points by mentioning that, though, so she kept quiet on the subject.
“He’s a good-looking kid and famous, so women are naturally drawn to him,” Vivian went on. “But he won’t let any of them close to him. Not after the last one.”
“You mentioned her more than once.”
