Share the Moon

by Sharon Struth

  “Does it matter?”

  “To them. They’re interested in restarting the farm’s wine production. Plus Alan Moore told me the land belonged to his family for several centuries before some great uncle lost everything in a poker bet.”

  “Centuries, huh?” Trent paused for a second then waved a dismissive hand. “They’ll find another place to produce wine.”

  “Maybe.” Duncan shifted in his chair. “Listen, besides the obvious, can you think of any reason why Marion Harris would be upset about our return?”

  Trent’s foot stopped moving. “Nope.” He swung his legs off the desk and sat upright, his lips pressed tight. “If that’s all, can we discuss this later? I’m pretty beat and want to get home.”

  Duncan remembered Marion’s odd reaction in the hallway during the zoning meeting.

  “This is important to me, Trent.” Duncan’s voice rose with his anger. “Besides what Mom already shared, is there anything I should know about our family ties in Northbridge?”

  “I said no.” His eye contact seemed forced. “Are we done?”

  “No.” Duncan rubbed the back of his neck, searching for a gentle way to raise his next concern. “A rumor going around Northbridge suggests officials are being bribed over the zoning changes we need.”

  Trent’s tanned hue turned crimson. “What? You think… Spit it out, Duncan. What are you saying?”

  Built up anger pulsed through Duncan’s veins. Trent never made things easy. “Cut me some slack. You know why I’m asking. Is this Lake Simcoe all over again?”

  Fury blazed from Trent’s narrowed eyes, yet it masked a thin layer of pain. Duncan hated to bring up the incident in question, which had nearly cost Trent his job at RGI, but saw no other choice.

  “I don’t need this.” Trent stood and shoved back his chair. “You’re exactly like Dad. You never see the good in anybody.”

  The comment jabbed at Duncan’s tender Achilles’ heel. “Sit down. I don’t want this to turn into a fight.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have asked. Who warned you the time Dad tried to stick his nose into your first project when you started this business? Me!” Trent jabbed his chest with his index finger. “That’s who. Maybe Dad’s up to no good again.”

  Duncan’s checks tingled and he dropped his chin to his chest. How had he forgotten Trent’s loyalty to him? Years ago, if Trent hadn’t overheard their father on the phone trying to convince one of Duncan’s competitors to start a bidding war over his first hot property, RGI might never have gotten off the ground. Trent had come to Duncan right away. Frank Jamieson reluctantly admitted what he’d done, hoping the failure would be enough for Duncan to reconsider his career goals and maybe study law.

  Duncan suddenly hated himself. The incident at Lake Simcoe had happened during the worst of Trent’s substance abuse, no longer an issue. “I’m sorry. I’ve never forgotten you helped me.”

  Trent averted his gaze to the Newport racing photos, the one love the two men shared. “You hired me when Dad wanted nothing to do with me. Plus, you kept me…even after what I did to you at Lake Simcoe. I understand why you’d ask the question, but I swear I’m a changed man. All I can ask you to do is believe me.” He met Duncan’s stare and, for once, Trent’s watery eyes showed true remorse for his past mistakes.

  “I believe you,” Duncan said quietly. If the bribery rumor wasn’t Trent’s doing, then how’d it ever get started?

  Chapter 16

  Matt and Patrick sat next to each other on a bench seat of the pine table, one that had been sitting in the eating area of Sophie’s great room ever since she and Mike purchased this house. Their heads huddled together, the boys pored over a basketball magazine.

  Sophie threw another log on the low-burning fire in the stone fireplace and settled into the oversized sofa with a glass of wine and a book. Every so often, she glanced at the boys, noting how much Patrick looked like his dad.

  Helen’s lateness worried Sophie. The older woman, who seemed to love her work at Duncan’s home, usually showed up at practice before many of the other parents. They’d spoken several times at pick-up and Sophie once considered prying about Duncan’s interests. Now that Duncan seemed to be involved with Lucy, she was glad she hadn’t shown Helen her interest in the man. The less people who knew about her middle-aged lady crush gone haywire, the better.

  She looked up again as Patrick reached for a brownie.

  “Great dinner, Mrs. Shaw.”

  “Thanks. Ziti is pretty simple.”

  “Maybe you can give my dad the recipe.” Patrick glanced at Matt, who fought a smile.

  “Does he like to cook?” She lowered her book onto her lap.

  “Not really.” A small brownie crumb stuck to his lower lip while he chewed. “When Helen goes home on Friday’s we do a lot of takeout until she comes back on Monday.” He took a napkin and wiped his mouth. “Oh, I forgot. Dad sent me a text half an hour ago. He’s on his way.”

  The bruise to her ego after what happened at Griswold’s had almost vanished. The idea of facing him, especially after her episodes of blatant flirting, made the area throb again. Part of her wanted to crawl under the sofa and hide. On the other hand, a minute alone with him might give her a chance to bring up Henry’s death. She’d learn pretty fast if Duncan possessed a human side or only the cold, corporate robot concerned with his own needs. Boy, if he already knew and had never mentioned it, it would speak to his integrity.

  “Mrs. Shaw, do you remember when my dad visited here as a kid?”

  “No. I’m afraid I don’t. Summer visitors come and go.”

  A flash of the devil’s smile took over Patrick’s boyish face. “So you really didn’t know he had a big crush on you when he was a kid?”

  “He did?”

  The two boys exchanged a knowing glance. She worked hard to contain her shock and again scanned the fading tickler file of her memory, coming up short on a miniature Duncan clone.

  “Uh-huh.” Patrick grinned. “He said you didn’t notice him, though.”

  Matt snickered. “Now he’s busted.”

  “Not exactly, Matt.” Sophie tried to sound mature. “That happened a long time ago, anyway.”

  He shut the magazine. “Can we play X-box ’til Pat’s dad gets here?”

  “Sure. First, take those last few plates into the kitchen.”

  They all but knocked over their chairs to deliver the dishes then ran downstairs.

  She soaked in the knowledge Duncan had had a boyhood crush on her, news that filled her with schoolgirl delight. It lasted mere seconds. Big whoop. A puberty-driven crush meant nothing. An image of Lucy in her sexy outfit the other night made a sick pit churn in Sophie’s stomach. She couldn’t compete with Lucy. Anyway, why should she? Duncan had manipulated Sophie with his charm simply for good press. Still…what if she was wrong?

  Five minutes later, headlights flickered in the driveway outside the front windows. She swallowed a reality dose. She and Duncan were simply two grown-ups whose kids hung out. End of story.

  Bella barked. Seconds later, a knock sent Sophie to the door with the terrier-mix prancing at her heels.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Duncan stood bundled in his wool coat, hands shoved in the pockets. He broke into a warm smile.

  “No problem.” She instinctively melted a little and smiled back, wishing she had more control. “Come on in.”

  Bella sniffed at Duncan’s kneecaps as if they were coated with beef juices.

  He crouched down and scratched under her chin. “Who’s this?”

  “Bella. Our guard dog. JFK airport should have such tight security.”

  He chuckled and stroked her wiry back. “The boys around?”

  “Down in the family room playing X-box. Have you eaten?” The words flew out without much thought, although it might give her a chance to tell him about Henry even though the idea of such a conversation left a hard pit in her stomach. Too late to ta
ke the invite back, she added, “We have leftovers.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t want to put you out.”

  “I just handled twelve teenage boys. Feeding one grown man is easy.” She held out a hand. “Let me take your coat.”

  During the hand-off, Duncan’s eyes never left hers. She could have sworn his expression carried an undercurrent of longing, as evocative as a schoolboy crush. Or was it just wishful thinking?

  * * * *

  When the door opened, Sophie’s eye-sparkling smile made all Duncan’s uneasiness disappear. Being near her seemed comfortable and right.

  He sat on a tall stool next to the granite-topped peninsula while she got them drinks. A large stone fireplace lent a gentle smoky aroma, buried underneath the garlicky scent of sauce. He admired the rustic pine-beamed tresses supporting the cathedral ceiling of the living room and overstuffed furniture. Cozy and homey, a far cry from his wife’s contemporary preferences or his mother’s formal style. A plaque on the kitchen wall, in the shape of a chocolate bar, read “I’d give up chocolate—but I’m not a quitter.” He smiled. Somehow, he was certain it referred to Sophie.

  She removed a container of ziti from the refrigerator and transferred some into a pasta bowl. Her back to him, he took in details not politely acquired face-to-face. Soft curls of midnight brown hair rested between her shoulders. Gentle curves graced her worn jeans and clingy top. She turned sideways to study the contents in a lattice wine rack built into kitchen cabinets and tucked her hair behind her ear. A turquoise earring dangled against creamy skin.

  “How long have you lived here?” He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his dress shirt, at ease in the comfortable setting.

  “About twenty-five years. We bought this house from my grandmother right after getting married.” She removed a bottle and twisted the traditional wine steward’s opener into the cork. “Nana had just gone into the nursing home. Two falls in the driveway trying to get the mail meant the time had come.”

  “You were lucky to keep this place in the family.”

  “We’re not waterfront property, but from this hill, the views are a plus. I know it’s mostly trees, but the two-acre lot gives us lots of privacy.” She seemed preoccupied as she tugged out the cork. “Did you have fun at Griswold’s singing karaoke?”

  “It was fun.” His heart skipped a beat at the mention of the awkward encounter.

  Sophie pursed her lips. “I’ve known Lucy my entire life. Watch your back around her.”

  All his worry had been well-spent. “Teresa Barnes invited me. She’s my neighbor. I only gave Lucy a ride.”

  She avoided looking at him and poured the wine. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  “Sophie?”

  She lowered the bottle and her gaze lifted to meet his.

  “We weren’t on a date.”

  The tenseness in her mouth relaxed. She finished filling their glasses with dark red wine. “I realize what you do is none of my business, but she brings back every bad memory from high school.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me.”

  She handed him a glass and the brush of her hand carried the weight of a slow caress. Her eyes, like pools of melted chocolate, latched onto his. He wandered in their dreamy richness.

  “So, you’re the wine expert. Care to give me a lesson on how to appreciate this one?”

  She grinned and her softened eyes twisted around his heart. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay. Oh, hold on. Forgot to warm your food.” She rushed to the counter and popped the pasta dish into the microwave, pushed a few buttons and returned to the kitchen island. “Ready for your crash course?”

  He lowered his tone and did his best sly flirtatious grin, one he hoped would brush away any remnants of the Lucy incident. “I’m ready but always seem to be in for a surprise around you.”

  Her lips parted and she blushed. “Okay, Mr. Ready. To start, the proper enjoyment of wine involves all the senses.”

  Sophie tilted the large globed stemware toward the recessed lights above. “This is a shiraz. Hold your glass up to the light. The grapes used for this have a longer growing season and the thick skins leave a bold, dark color.” Her delicate hand slipped behind the goblet and disappeared. “See how dark this is? My hand isn’t visible on the other side. Other reds, like merlot or pinot noirs, have thinner skins and give a more transparent red hue.”

  He mimicked her movements and his hand vanished behind the dark wine.

  “Now, gently swirl the wine.” A slight twist of her wrist rotated the glass.

  Duncan copied her moves, realizing she made the gesture fluid, easier than his attempts.

  “This gives the molecules a little nudge to entertain us. I mean, who doesn’t like to be entertained.” She waved a playful brow. “Once you get them moving, stick your nose up close and take a whiff.”

  Sophie brought her straight nose close to the rim. Her lids dropped, as if prepared to receive a scent from heaven. She inhaled. Passion-filled concentration dominated her expression, leaving him mesmerized, unable to stop watching even as he lifted his own glass. He copied her movements, contemplating the aroma in a way he’d never done before.

  When he opened his eyes, she’d been watching. “Anything stand out?”

  He took a second, shorter whiff. “Pepper, I think.”

  Her mouth turned into a half-surprised, half-pleased smile. “Very good.”

  A sensation fluttered in his gut, her approval an unexpected joy.

  “I smelled some kind of berry too. Now take a decent taste. Let the liquid coat your entire mouth. It’ll feel different on your tongue versus the roof of your mouth or the inside of your cheeks. There are all kinds of hidden flavors. Some bold, others more subtle.”

  She brought the glass to her lips then stopped, leaned across the counter, and placed her soft palm over the hand where he held the glass. A sweet floral scent drifted from her hair. She dropped her voice, now low and sexy. “A ready guy like you should take your time with this one.” She cocked a loaded brow. “Really work hard and you’ll detect the wine’s secrets.”

  Heat crept up his neck again.

  The microwave buzzer sounded but she kept her gaze on him as she tipped back her goblet. Her full lips brushed the rim with the delicate touch of a first kiss. Intense lines creased her forehead as she savored the sample then swallowed.

  She squinted. “Blackberry. A little plum. That’s what I love about wine. Depending on the soil and climate, the same grape can take on a different flavor. A surprise every time.” She lifted her glass in a toast. “Well, cheers.”

  He raised his and took a sip, but it tasted blank. In one short wine-tasting lesson, Sophie had disclosed the love and passion steering her winery dreams. Dreams stopped by his last-minute bid.

  Duncan lowered the drink, now bitter to his palate and carrying the flavor of regret.

  Never had he surrendered anything he wanted for the sake of someone else. Sacrifice sounded more like losing to him. The reason he wanted to purchase the land, one only known by a select few, crashed head-on with someone else’s goals.

  For the first time in his life, giving up what he desired for another person came with its own set of rewards.

  * * * *

  “Here you go.” Sophie slid the bowl and fork toward Duncan. They’d been traveling a delicious path of flirtation when a dark front of doubt crossed his face. Did it matter? This all sidetracked her from her real mission.

  He rolled up the sleeves on his pinstriped dress shirt. “Looks delicious. Thanks.”

  Sophie sat down on a stool next to him, leaned an elbow on the counter, and buried her cheek in her palm, watching his profile while he ate. Should she just blurt out about Henry? The words to start such an awkward conversation garbled in her head.

  Duncan swallowed. “I loved the wine lesson. Your passion is obvious.” He motione
d to his bowl. “Excellent pasta, too.”

  “Thanks. I’m curious about something.” She’d work her way into the uncomfortable topic later, when he finished eating. “Back in the day when you visited Dad’s shop, did we talk?”

  He lifted another bite and made her wait. “Briefly. A couple of times.”

  “Remember any specifics?”

  He grinned. “One time you were loading the refrigerator and I came over. You teased me about not having the skills to catch some fish over by the bridge. Merciless, if I recall.”

  “Oh my. I was a brat.” She took a slow sip of her wine. “Any other times?”

  “A passing hello. You were interested in your friends.” He lowered his fork and pushed the plate to the side. “If you promise to be nice to me, I’ll fill you in on a little-known secret.” He cocked his head and grinned, his teasing manner unexpected.

  “First off, Carter”—she raised her brows—“other than the day you lied to me about your name, I’m usually nice. Second, are you already indulging in Northbridge gossip?”

  “Not gossip. Old news.” He turned on the stool to face her. With his index finger, he motioned for her to move closer.

  She inched sideways and their knees touched. The grainy stubble of his five-o’clock shadow piqued her curiosity, making her want to feel the texture against her cheek.

  “Back then I had a crush on you.”

  Coming straight from him, the admission made her flush. “A crush? On me?” His gaze blazed through her, following the same path the wine lit down her core.

  “You’re blushing,” he said tenderly. “Wish I’d had that effect on you in those days. I should be blushing.” Duncan fingered his glass stem. “A little embarrassing to admit my first crush didn’t even know I existed.”

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his forearm and he stilled.

  “Don’t be. I was thirteen.” He shrugged it off, but she could tell some residual awkwardness remained. “A part of growing up. Right?”

  “I guess.” She let her hand slide away, unsure what to say next.