Sam’s eyes had narrowed to piercing blue slits. Liz knew he used these discerning eyes when he needed to ponder a situation. She also knew he didn’t want to talk about Gabe, at least for the moment. Later, she might be able to coax an explanation out of him.
“I’ve got work to do.” Sam plucked his straw hat off the hall tree stand and stepped outside, leaving Liz alone.
Liz looked sadly at the summer bouquet.
It was the first time a man had given her flowers.
CHAPTER THREE
GABE SAT ACROSS the kitchen table from Sophie Mattuchi and her parents, Mario and Bianca. Mario was of medium height and fit build, much like Gabe’s own father, Angelo. His black hair was veined with streaks of white, as if the man had been hit by lightning. His face was deeply lined and very tan from years of toiling in the sun.
However, Gabe quickly learned Mario had never been a farmer, as his appearance would suggest, but a car mechanic. Apparently, he was just as fascinated with Gabe’s Porsche as he was with the purpose of Gabe’s visit.
Bianca busied herself around the kitchen, bringing tall glasses of iced tea with lemon and homegrown mint to the table.
Sophie’s ninety-year-old grandmother, Bella, sat silently in a rocking chair in the corner near an enormous brick hearth. Despite the heat, she wore a colorful shawl around her thin shoulders while she watched Gabe with guarded crystal-blue eyes.
“Mario, as you and I have discussed, I haven’t told anyone about your condition,” Gabe said with compassion.
“Thank you,” Mario said, choking back emotion. “And thank you for taking me up on my offer.”
“Mario, you’re helping me make my own dream come true. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’m happy I could make this work for both of us.”
“I just never thought I would be in this position,” Mario said, looking from Bianca to Sophie.
Sophie smiled at her father. “You’re going to get well, Papa. And you’ll have many more years on the farm. By that time, Gabe will be making all kinds of wonderful wines. Right, Gabe?”
“Sure will,” Gabe replied, catching her upbeat tone. “So, Mario, I’ve had all the soil samples analyzed down at Purdue.” Gabe opened his briefcase and took out a plot map of the Mattuchis’ small farm and vineyard and placed it on the table. “This section here is the best.” He pointed at a spot on the map and glanced over at Bella. “You should all take a look. This is very exciting.” Sophie smiled at her grandmother and urged her to join them, but Bella shook her head violently and refused to move. Gabe noticed the very tight purse to the old woman’s lips and thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been negotiating with Bella.
Mario and Bianca leaned in. Mario pointed to the easternmost ridge on the map, where the land lay fallow. “This is what you wanted?”
“Yes.” Gabe smiled widely. “This section here, next to the Crenshaw place. I have reason to believe I can grow pinot noir grapes up there. These slopes are perfect.”
“We’ve never had anything grow there.” Sophie had pity in her eyes. “Are you sure you should do this, Gabe?”
“Sophie, I’m sure you’re the best darned cardiology nurse at the hospital, but I know about grapes and soil, and I’m telling you this section is worth the entire vineyard. I’m willing to buy the whole vineyard since Mario isn’t all that interested in expanding his operation.”
“Expanding?” Mario laughed. “Certainly not now, of course, but why would I want to compete with Sam Crenshaw? He’s got the best land around these parts, and plenty of it. That granddaughter of his has made all kinds of improvements and talked him into hiring experts from France, for goodness’ sake!” Mario gestured wildly.
Bianca handed an iced tea to her husband without saying a word. Mario took a long slug. The icy liquid appeared to have dampened his excitement.
Gabe nodded. “I have to agree. Winemaking these days isn’t a hobby. It’s big business. Very big business.”
Bianca shrugged. “We were never serious about it. We made the wine for ourselves. Sophie would give some bottles to her girlfriends as gifts. That’s all.”
“Mama. We made good wine. Gabe thinks he can make it better,” Sophie said.
“What I believe,” Gabe continued, “is that this line of apple trees is your problem. They block the sun too much—they won’t allow the grapes to ripen properly. Pinot noir grapes need morning, midday and afternoon sun. If I take these trees out...”
“You’re going to cut them down?” Sophie asked in horror. “I climbed them when I was a child! I love those trees.”
Gabe shook his head and reached over to pat her hand. “No, I’ll move them to the southern end, where we’ll plant the pinot gris. The apple flavor will enhance that of the grapes. I’ll also plant some pear trees there. I won’t get rid of anything on the property. My intention is to make everything better.”
Sophie glanced down at her hand, which was covered by Gabe’s larger one. She smiled.
Gabe caught her smile and took back his hand. He edged the map closer to Mario, but didn’t miss Bianca throwing Sophie a quelling look.
Gabe was sure Bianca didn’t want her daughter to blow the deal. Sophie had a reputation for going after guys and then tossing them in a heap after a few days.
Gossips around Indian Lake said the same kind of thing about Gabe because he’d never dated anyone seriously. He simply didn’t have the time. Gabe had never told a woman he loved her. He’d never asked anyone to be his girlfriend or fiancée. He’d steered very clear of relationships that smacked of anything permanent.
Gabe liked to go to dance, but he preferred to leave alone.
He had his sights set on his future, and to attain the kind of international success he wanted for himself as a vintner, Gabe had to stay focused on his goal.
As he turned back to the map, Gabe felt his heartbeat accelerate. This vineyard, and the possibility of seeing his own name on a wine label, filled him with euphoria. There wasn’t a feeling on earth like it.
“In addition to restructuring the rows of vines and bringing in new varieties, I want us to do some high-density planting.”
“How high?” Sophie asked, her eyes widening.
“Twenty-two hundred vines per acre.”
Mario whistled.
Sophie bit her lower lip. “This is no hobby.”
“Let me show you how serious I am,” he said, pulling a manila folder out of his briefcase. He opened it, revealing engineering drawings, machinery blueprints and a second land survey. “This is the equipment we’ll need by next year’s harvest in order to maximize our winemaking. I’ll keep the oak casks you have to age the wine, but we’ll need these stainless steel tanks in order to ferment it. We’ll build the barrel cellar along with the first fermentation barn. Since you’ve used your small barn for fermentation before, we’ll connect the plumbing from there to the new barn. There will be a radiant cooling system in the cellar roof. With this design you see here—” Gabe slid a set of photos across the table “—we’ll be one of the most modern wineries around. But we’ll keep the rustic charm, too. You’ll note the barn’s wood frame still has traditional hand-joinery. It’s done just as it was in the 1880s—probably when your first barn was built. Am I right?”
“Yes. It was built in 1882,” Mario replied. “I love that old barn.”
“We should capitalize on its charm.”
“What about a tasting room like Liz has?” Mario asked.
“Too soon,” Gabe said. “We’re a long way from that. I may pool our wines with the tasting rooms up in Saugatuck. Right now, I’ll be investing in fermentation barns, underground cellars and staff.”
“Staff?” Sophie and Mario said in unison.
“Absolutely. I’ll need help. I still have my father’s business to help run. Rafe has his
mind on racehorses, and Mica would rather be designing some new piece of machinery than running the farm. That leaves the bulk of the Barzonni business squarely on my and my dad’s shoulders.”
“Angelo is a good businessman,” Mario said quietly as he studied the drawings and plans.
Gabe nodded. “He is. But he’s slowing down a bit these days.” He gave Mario a pointed and inquisitive look, but the older man quickly glanced away.
“Sophie told me Malbec wine is very popular with her friends,” Mario said. “It’s a big seller. Will you make Malbec?”
“I do want to give it a try. After all, vintners in the southwest of France and Argentina shouldn’t have a monopoly on that market.” Gabe gestured to the eastern side of the vineyard on the plot map. “These blackberries will enhance the wine. We’ll also add some black pepper flavor to give it an open texture.”
“Lovely,” Bianca said, folding her hands in her lap.
Gabe could read body language well enough to know that Bianca, for one, was itching to get a hold of his cashier’s check. He could only imagine the medical bills that had been piling up. Mario was on the mend after his surgery and was starting chemotherapy in a week. He would get well. They all had to believe that. Still, his treatments had put a strain on the family’s finances. Gabe was surprised by the sense of pride he took in being able to help them.
“Mario, this set of drawings is for you and your family. I want you to continue to look them over. I know we’ve talked about what I hope to create out here, but I need to be sure you’re happy with this deal. Do you still want to sell to me?”
Mario didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately and thrust out his hand. “Yes, we do, Gabriel. I’m very pleased you are going to make my little vineyard into a modern operation.”
As they shook hands, Gabe smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. This was more than a very exciting day in his life. And it felt very, very fine.
Gabe signed the papers, then handed them to Mario. “Congratulations to us.”
While Mario countersigned them, Gabe took out the cashier’s check and handed it to Bianca.
She smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you.”
As soon as the paperwork was done, Gabe would own roughly twelve acres of vineyard, most of which contained the same soil that was on Liz Crenshaw’s land.
This tiny parcel wasn’t even a speck of lint on the hundreds of acres, both planted and fallow, that Liz and Sam Crenshaw owned, but it was a start.
Since his freshman year at UC Davis, when he’d taken his first classes in viticulture and enology, he’d known that the tomatoes, soybeans and corn his family grew would never hold the allure for him that grape-growing and winemaking would. He had not only excelled in his classes, but also seemed to know as much or more than his professors. He remembered everything he read about wine as if the information had been burned into his brain. He was obsessed with California—the weather, the soil, the rock, the grapes, the other fruit and the estates. Gabe was drunk on the knowledge that flowed into him. Like the casks of wine he someday intended to make, Gabe knew he had to bide his time. His dream had to be held in reserve. Aged and not rushed. He’d returned to Indian Lake that summer, forever changed.
Still, Gabe had always felt the strong sense of duty to his parents that often befalls firstborn children. When Nate ran off to join the navy after high school, not telling any of his family where he’d gone, Angelo had exploded with rage. Gabe had assuaged his father’s anger by promising to be his right-hand man on the farm after he graduated from Purdue. Gabe had been putting his dreams and passions on hold for nearly a decade now. This opportunity to buy this small patch of land from the Mattuchi family had been the key to unlocking his hidden desires.
Once the papers were signed, his life was never going to be the same. It was time for him to break free from his father’s grasp, and this purchase was his first step.
He needed to learn as much as he could as fast as he could, because all his moves would be swift from this point forward. He intended never to look back.
Gabe’s ultimate dream was that one day his vineyard’s name, Château Gabriel, would grace a wine so rare and unique that it would be sold, revered, saved and even auctioned off around the world. He would be recognized among the world’s great sommeliers and collectors. He would have left his mark.
When the time was right and his plans called for it, he intended to travel to Argentina, South Africa and France to buy exceptional varieties of grapes with which to create masterpieces.
“Thank you, my friend,” Mario said as he handed the papers back to Gabe. He kept a copy for himself. “This makes me very happy.”
“I’m glad I could help. And thank you, Sophie, for suggesting I buy your father’s land.”
Bianca and Mario led Gabe to the door.
Sophie squeezed between them. “I’ll walk you to your car, Gabe,” she said sweetly.
Too sweetly, he thought. “Thanks.” He turned to Bella. “Good day to you, Mrs. Mattuchi,” he said with a polite nod.
Bella only grunted at him, then folded her arms over her chest and stared at the wall.
“Don’t mind her,” Sophie whispered. “It’s past her nap time.”
Gabe nodded. “I’ll be seeing you, Mario. I’ll give you a call on Monday before Mica and I come out to get started on the construction. He wants to look the place over.”
“Certainly,” Mario replied with a wide grin. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close. “This is a wonderful day for us.”
“I’m glad,” Gabe said and ambled down the flower-bordered front walk toward his car.
Shielding his eyes, Gabe glanced over at Bella’s sunflower acre. “That’s really spectacular,” he said.
“Grandma sells to three florists in town, and a wholesaler from Chicago drives in every other day during her harvest.”
Gabe’s jaw dropped. “My kind of entrepreneur.”
“She can be a lot of fun,” Sophie assured him with a dazzling smile. “We can all be fun,” she said, leaning closer.
Gabe unlocked the car. “I’ll remember that,” he said.
She put her hands on the top of his door as he slid into the seat. “I’ll be seeing a lot of you this summer and fall, I guess.”
Gabe caught Sophie’s flirtatious undertone. Romance was the last thing on his mind. “Sophie, we should have an understanding. I’m looking forward to seeing you more this summer, but I’m doing a business deal with your father. We should keep things professional.”
The seductive smile slid off her face. She gave him a sharp nod. “Got it. Can’t blame a girl for trying. I’ll see you around.”
“See you around,” he replied.
Gabe drove down the gravel drive to the country road that would lead to the highway. As he passed the Crenshaws’ fenced-in vineyard, he began to slow down.
It wasn’t possible, he supposed—not according to any meteorologist or climatologist he’d heard, anyway—but Gabe could swear the sun shone more brightly on the Crenshaws’ grapes than it did on the Mattuchis’.
Just looking at the land brought back the vision of Liz standing tall and tan and beautiful, the summer wind blowing her long, honey curls around her shoulders as she pointed a shotgun at him.
Staring over at Liz’s thriving vines, he realized she truly was a child of the earth. And she seemed to want nothing more than to wipe him off that particular planet. Now they were going to be neighbors. He wondered if she would ever come around to being neighborly toward him. And if she did...
Would she be willing to sell her fallow land to me?
Gabe rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. The Mattuchi acreage was no more than a starter garden in the grand scheme Gabe had painted for himself. He needed something exceptional, and Liz Crenshaw had just that. She was expe
rimenting with several different wines, including an ice wine. But how far did her imagination and drive take her?
If he could combine Liz’s harvest with imported Argentinian grapes, he would be able to create perfection.
This had been Gabe’s plan all along. But until his recent exploration to the Crenshaw tasting room and onto the land itself, he’d had no idea how valuable the Crenshaw plot truly was.
Sitting on a protected pocket of land where the earth, sun, wind and humidity combined to create a vintner’s paradise, Liz Crenshaw reigned over one of the most priceless slices of winegrowing land in the United States, outside of California.
Gabe nearly squirmed in his seat thinking about it.
He could just come right out and ask Liz if she would be willing to sell, but after their initial encounter, his best guess was she’d kick him off the land, shoot him, or both. No, he had to be careful with Liz. He had to take his time. He had to use some charm and plenty of wit. She was perceptive, bright and suspicious. A bad combination, if he was trying to swing a land deal.
He needed to win her trust first. He would make her a very fair offer—even more than fair. Both of them would come out on top.
If he were dealing with any other businessperson, the way he did at the farm and the corporate canneries, Gabe would have felt his usual confidence. But oddly, the thought of negotiating with Liz filled his gut with butterflies.
It was going to take a lot of convincing to win her over.
CHAPTER FOUR
LIZ LAY IN BED staring at Gabe’s bouquet. She’d put them in her mother’s favorite crystal vase. They would find their way to the compost heap soon enough, so she might as well enjoy them first. It wasn’t the flowers’ fault they were from Gabe.
She stared at the single salmon-pink rose in the middle of the arrangement. It might have been her first time receiving flowers from a man, but it was undoubtedly Gabe’s hundredth time giving them to a woman. He must have been pretty sure of himself to come back to her vineyard so quickly, which meant he hadn’t had to think very long to devise a plan to placate her. Showing up with a bouquet and an apology had obviously worked for him in the past.
A Fine Year for Love (Shores of Indian Lake) Page 3
