A Kiss of Cabernet

by Pamela Gibson

  His life that would turn ugly once the disease took over.

  And Paige would have memories of another dying man.

  Selfish bastard, aren’t you?

  He gulped down the rest of his brandy and resisted the impulse to throw the glass against the railing. He went back inside to bed.

  The next morning, Jake finally found Paige in a small room off the barn. Barely large enough for two people, it had a long workbench and a small sink. Test tubes and bottles were on shelves flanking a curtained window. Despite its age, the room was spotless, as clean as one of his company labs.

  “Good morning.”

  Her cheerful voice didn’t match the puffy eyes and hunched shoulders. He wondered if she’d been up most of the night, as he had. The thought made him want to wrap her in his arms and absorb whatever was bothering her.

  “I saw your light last night. I couldn’t sleep, either.” Maybe she would tell him.

  “I got up and read for a while,” said Paige. “I’m fine today.”

  Selecting a bunch of grapes from a box, she plucked the berries and tossed them into a ceramic container. Her neat French braid hung down her back. He reached out and gave it a tug.

  “Hey. Watch it, buster.” She swatted his hand, but he saw her shoulders tense.

  “What is this room?”

  “It’s our lab,” said Paige. She slipped on a clean pair of rubber gloves and mashed a handful of grapes inside a sealed plastic bag. “It’s where we test our sugar levels.”

  It didn’t look like a lab to him. His labs were antiseptic spaces with test tubes, not jars laid out on a wooden workbench.

  Jake moved closer to her, to watch the process, he told himself. He detected the smell of lavender soap as he leaned over her shoulder to watch her hands. The tender spot just behind that perfectly formed ear was so close. He blew gently and was rewarded with an almost imperceptible sigh.

  “Your grapes, Mr. Madison, are ready.”

  She closed her notebook, took off the gloves, and turned to face him.

  “What happens now?” He was close enough to kiss her, but let his arms hang at his sides. He wasn’t sure she’d welcome it. A knot hardened in his gut.

  “I find an available picking crew for tomorrow. Whatever they can’t get, the crew I already ordered can pick up the next day. Unfortunately, most of the grapes in this part of the valley get ripe at the same time, so labor is scarce.” Brushing past him in the small space, she headed in the direction of her cottage. Jake joined her, reluctant to let her go.

  “Does one day make a difference?” he asked.

  “In quality, it can. I want our grapes to be perfect.”

  “You have me. I told you I can pick.”

  She stopped and turned abruptly, both eyebrows raised. “Now that would be a photo op for the Wall Street Journal.”

  “When I told you I wanted to learn everything about the business, I meant it,” he insisted.

  She continued walking, taking a shortcut through the vineyard, stopping to run her fingers over a fat cluster hanging below the leaf line. A gust of wind ruffled the leaves, causing her to peer up at the sky.

  “What’s the matter?” The day was going to be a scorcher, but Jake saw that enormous, puffy clouds hovered on the horizon.

  “I’m going to check the weather first. We may have to pick today,” said Paige.

  Her shoulders drooped, and she sighed before she walked on, muttering something to herself. Jake dropped back as Paige picked up her pace, distracted by the sway of her hips in the tight jeans that were her daily uniform. Her stride was purposeful and absorbed, and he scurried to catch up with her. She swung open the back door of her cottage so hard it slammed against the wall inside. He followed her in, uninvited, closing the door gently behind him.

  “Can’t you just check your phone?” Jake got out his and tapped on weather.

  “I need the marine forecast. It gives wind direction and speed. If it’s going to rain, I need to project when it’s going to arrive.”

  She turned on the computer and drummed her fingers on the desk as it went through its startup. After typing a few quick strokes, the local weather came up.

  “Damn. I can’t believe Nana was right.”

  He looked over her shoulder at the screen. Rain was predicted to start in the evening, turning heavy into tomorrow and the day after.

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “If it rains before we pick, the grapes are bloated with water and the quality goes down. Skins sometimes split, allowing microorganisms to spoil the berries. Showers are predicted off and on all week. So we have no real choice. We have to start harvesting.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  She picked up her phone.

  “Sam, this is Paige. Round up Mike and Juan and get them started on block twelve. See if your nephew Larry can help. Have him bring his friends. Get anyone else you can find. I’ll go out and try to hire more people. And call the wineries and tell them we’re picking today and hope to finish by tonight.”

  “How can you get people on a Sunday morning?” asked Jake.

  “It’s harvest time,” said Page. “Vineyard Worker Services keeps a list of laborers who are not contracted to work at a specific place. The registry is open all the time now.”

  She turned away from him to make another call, her face set in grim lines.

  “Hello. This is Paige Reynoso. I ordered a crew for Tuesday, but I need them today.” She twisted the end of her braid in her free hand. “I know it’s going to rain. I know everyone is calling you. I’ll pay extra to have them.” She slanted a glance at Jake. “No? Well, thank you anyway. I’m sorry, too.”

  She slammed down the phone and put her forehead in her hands. He wanted to comfort her, but didn’t know what to do or say, so he hung back, watching her shake her head.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” He knew he was an outsider, he hadn’t a clue what she needed, but he itched to help.

  She raised her head. “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “Sorry. I don’t.”

  She stood up abruptly.

  “I do. Get in the truck.”

  Jake climbed into the passenger seat and managed to get the door closed before she tore down the hill, pausing only to let the gate open.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The other hiring hall.”

  They sped down the Silverado Trail, turning off toward Highway 29. Fields on both sides were heavy with grapes. Jake spotted a vineyard that had been picked.

  “They must have gotten the word early,” said Jake.

  “They have grapes that go into white wine, and they’re picked generally a month ahead of the reds.”

  She slowed and turned into a narrow lane, stopping behind an abandoned warehouse. Up ahead four men sat on a bench at the side of the road. Paige got out and went over to talk to them. She motioned to the rear of the truck, and they hopped in.

  “I thought you said we were going to a hiring hall.”

  “Usually there are a lot of guys hanging around here, but other growers must have come earlier. These four just got here. Probably came straight from church. It’s not a formal hall. We just give it a nice name.”

  They cruised down the street and pulled up in front of a row of simple, wooden structures. Children played soccer in an open field next to a ramshackle barn. A skinny dog stood up and growled.

  “What’s this place?”

  “These are the homes of year-round vineyard workers,” said Page. “The seasonal workers that are brought in for harvest stay in manufactured housing constructed by the larger growers. I’m going to see if anyone is free, but most work full time for people like my father.”

  There wasn’t anyone available. Paige slumped against the wheel, but only for a moment. When she fired up the truck, determination set her shoulders back and her chin high.

  They hurried back home. Paige got out at the gate, said a few words in Spanish,
and sent the workers up the hill toward the barn.

  “What do we do now?” Jake noticed his palms were starting to sweat. Her nervousness was catching.

  “Something I don’t want to do.”

  “Is it something I can do for you?” Jake felt like an extra string on a guitar, but he had to say something. He tried to make his voice sound calm and patient, but his chest was tight. He focused on the woman whose lower lip trembled and whose hands gripped the steering wheel like it was a lifeline. “I’m usually the one making the decisions, but I feel so damn helpless because I don’t know what to do. Tell me how I can help you.”

  Taking an audible deep breath, she faced Jake. “My father has access to picking crews. Whether any are available is another story. The point is…we’re not exactly on the best of terms.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re his daughter. Wouldn’t he want to help you?”

  “No.”

  Jake frowned and touched her shoulder. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. I’ll go with you.”

  The hand on her shoulder slipped up to her neck, then quickly withdrew. Jake wanted to say more, but Paige bit her lower lip and shook her head.

  “I have to face him. My mother’s been our buffer for too long. I’m going to go, but if you don’t mind, I need to do this alone.”

  “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do. And, Paige…you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You can do anything you put your mind to. Remember that.” Emotion welled up inside him, making it hard to breathe. He wanted desperately to help her, but didn’t know how.

  “Thank you for understanding.” Her fingers were soft against his face. She leaned over and brushed a quick kiss against his lips.

  It was getting harder to keep their relationship strictly professional. But he’d think about that later. Right now Paige had to concentrate, and he sensed he could help her best by doing what she asked.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Once known as Mataró, Mourvèdre is a sturdy Rhône varietal that goes well with lamb stew, a meaty pasta, and other filling, no-nonsense foods.”

  —from Paige Reynoso’s tasting notes

  Striding into the house she had lived in most of her life, Paige called out to her mother. No answer. She wandered through the living room and her father’s study, then backtracked to the kitchen and went out the back door. Her father was working in the vegetable garden behind the garage. Even in the early morning, humidity was rising.

  “Papa.”

  He looked up and leaned on his hoe, facing his daughter.

  “I…I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She surveyed the man in the battered hat, his eyes as green as hers, focused solely on her.

  It had been so long since they had a real conversation. Not since the accident—the one that was her fault in her father’s eyes. Unlike her, he had not noticed the small personality changes that had grown into intolerable character traits in Manuel. He’d only seen the boy he’d tutored and mentored. She swallowed her pride, thought of Jake’s encouragement, and stood up straighter.

  “I need your help. My crop is ready, and it’s going to rain. I can’t find workers. Do you have any crews that are uncommitted?”

  He shook his head and scraped the earth with the hoe. Crouching down to pull out a stubborn weed, he wrapped his bare hand around it and gave it a tug. Examining the dirt on the roots, he flung it into a nearby pile.

  “Didn’t you check the reports? Didn’t you feel rain in the air? What did they teach you in that school? You should have ordered a picking crew days ago.”

  “I waited until the sugar was perfect.”

  “And now it’s too late.” He dug out another weed and paused to look up at the sky.

  “Did you hear what I said, Papa? I need your help.”

  He stopped and glared up at her. “And did you help Manuel when he needed it, Paige? Or did you turn your back and walk away?”

  “Papa, listen to me.” She stooped and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “It’s time we put this behind us. Do you know how much I’ve missed you? You were my rock, the person I could count on, growing up. It feels like you’ve abandoned me. Like I don’t even have a father anymore.

  “I want this to end. If you want me to admit guilt, then I will. I’m guilty. Manuel is dead, but you and I are alive. We have to go on with our lives. Family is everything to both of us. You know that. Help me, Papa. I need my father. I need you.”

  Her father’s lip trembled, but he made no response.

  Paige stood and wiped her eyes with her hands.

  “I see it’s useless to talk to you.” She sniffed, straightened her back, and turned away.

  “Wait.”

  She swiveled around to face him again.

  “Manuel was sick. The war changed him.”

  It was a small admission, but one he’d never made before.

  “Yes. When he came back from Afghanistan, he was angry all the time and provoked fights. He refused to go to the Veteran’s Hospital. I tried to help him, Papa. But I should have done more. I know that now.”

  Silence stretched over the expanse of the yard. She turned to go again.

  “Paige?”

  She stopped and turned around. “What?”

  “I’ll try to get the crew you need. But I can’t make promises.”

  “Thank you.” She heard the catch in her voice and wanted to run back and hug her father, but it was too soon. She left him standing in the yard.

  He’d made a concession, and so had she. According to Jake, life was a series of compromises, each one made incrementally. Was she to blame for Manuel’s death? Yes, in some ways she was. She could have been stronger. She could have hidden his keys that night. She could have called the cops and reported a drunk driver heading over the mountain from Santa Rosa to Calistoga. Guilt had been a constant companion since the night it happened, but she was moving on, and she wasn’t going to regress now. Maybe Papa could move on, too.

  Shaking, she climbed back into the truck and turned back home. If her father couldn’t find crew, she had to think of another plan. And by the looks of the sky, it had to be a good one.

  …

  “So Jorgensen called a meeting of the Pantheon Board of Directors and the purpose is to dump me as Chairman. Fine. Let it happen. We have a crisis at the vineyard right now. I’ll call you later.”

  Kevin’s voice was insistent. “No, Jake, you have to come back now. You have to talk to Sven. Find out why he’s doing this.”

  “I can’t drop everything and leave.”

  “Call your supporters, then. Tell them what’s going on. Give them some encouraging news. Tell them you’re selling a prime piece of property to help the bottom line.”

  Was he doing that? “Okay, tell Carol to set up a meeting with Sven. Text me the details.”

  Jake put down the phone and grabbed the edge of the desk for support. He sat back down and filled his lungs with air, focusing on a spot just outside the door until the room righted itself.

  Paige needed him here today, and here he would stay. She was important to him—certainly more important than thwarting Sven Jorgensen. But is she more important than employees who might lose their jobs if you no longer control the fate of Pantheon? And what about Madison, International? Can it survive without Pantheon’s product development? He could push the thought aside for now, but he would have to face it tomorrow.

  After standing carefully, Jake took a few steps and realized he had fought off the attack. If he didn’t make any sudden moves, he should be okay for the rest of the day. Bright morning sunlight flooded the kitchen, and he grabbed a soda from the refrigerator before going outside to check the sky. The thunderheads appeared closer and were still as thick and white as whipped cream. But he could smell rain in the air and knew the forecast was right. The torrent would be coming soon.

  He finished his soda and strode purposely toward the barn. A large
truck loaded with fruit passed him on the road, heading for the winery. He saw Paige in the distance with Sam, the Nieto brothers, whom he’d just met, and the four men they had just hired. They were each working on a separate row. Walking carefully, he closed the short distance and joined the group.

  “What are you doing here?” Paige squinted into the sun.

  “I said I’d help.”

  “I wasn’t sure you were serious—at least about the physical labor.”

  “Damn right I am. I don’t want the crop to be ruined. I need the money.”

  Laughing, she handed him a pair of short-handled cutting shears and gave a quick demonstration of where she wanted the cluster to be cut. “If the color is too light, leave it and go on to the darker clusters. Don’t worry about what’s inside the leaf canopy. Get the fruit that’s exposed. You probably won’t finish before it rains, but get as much as you can. Fill your bin, then empty it in the larger ones we’ve set up in the field. Sam and his nephew, Larry, will load those on the truck. Let’s go.”

  Jake followed Paige to the head of a row where she told him to start. She took the other side. Being a novice, it took Jake twice as long as the seasoned workers.

  Paige stopped to answer her cell phone, then gave a whoop.

  “Keep going. I’ll be right back.”

  She ran toward the gate, and a few minutes later, a large truck arrived with men crammed in the back. Jake didn’t recognize the man driving, but the woman next to him was Paige’s mother. Reinforcements had arrived and not a minute too soon by the looks of the sky.

  …

  “Mama, you haven’t picked grapes in years.”

  “I never forgot how. Your grandmother wanted to come, but her arthritis is bothering her. She said she’d burn some incense for you. And throw in a couple of feathers for luck. Show me where you want me.”

  Paige slanted a glance at her father. He was directing several men who jumped down from the truck bed.

  “I can’t believe he came. And where did he find the crew?”

  “Your father called in some favors.” Her mother put her arm around her shoulder. “How many times have I told you your father loves you? You two are so much alike. Both obstinate. It’s long past time for you to talk, a real talk. Today’s was a start, but there needs to be more like that.”