Name Your Price

by Barbara Mccauley

  “I was pouring a bag of flour into a container and I dropped it.” Anna pointed a stern finger at the dog. “Cabo, sit!”

  Quivering, his big tongue rolling out the side of his large jaws, the puppy reluctantly sat.

  “I’m sorry Grant couldn’t be here,” Anna said brushing flour off Jack’s hair and overalls. “A pipe broke at the house we just bought and he’s there with the plumber. It’s one of those days.”

  Fine by me, Trace thought. His relationship, or rather, lack of relationship, with his eldest sibling had been strained from the moment the man had shown up in Napa. Meeting with Jack and Anna was enough for one day.

  Anna turned Jack to face Trace. “Jack, this is your brother, Trace. Say hello.”

  The little boy stuck one short, pudgy, flour-covered finger in his mouth and smiled. “Hi, Trace.”

  “Hi, Jack.”

  “That’s my doggie, Cabo.” Jack pointed at the puppy. “Eli gave him to me.”

  “A man I may never speak to again,” Anna grumbled, taking hold of the dog’s collar. “I’ll just take him out back and brush him off. Jack, why don’t you show Trace your train set?”

  The child’s face lit up, then he grabbed Trace’s hand and pulled him to the Christmas tree in the living room. A six car, miniature train with a shiny black engine had been set up to circle the base of the tree.

  Jack plopped down on the floor, then patted the space beside him. “You sit here.”

  Trace did as instructed, felt like a giant sitting next to the little boy. He watched the child start the train rolling, was impressed with the boy’s ability to work the controls.

  “I’m the conductor,” Jack said, pushing levers and buttons. The train whistled and sped along the tracks, ’round and ’round. “You can be the caboose man.”

  That pretty much summed up his life, Trace thought. The last car on a train that went nowhere.

  Trace watched the excitement sparkle in the boy’s green eyes. He’d always imagined he’d have a son one day. That he’d buy him his first train set, then sit beside him next to the Christmas tree and argue over who got to run the controls and make the engine puff black smoke.

  In that world, his son had his mother’s golden-brown eyes and his daughter had her pretty mouth and cute nose. They’d all drink cocoa and read ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas on Christmas eve, leave cookies out for Santa and carrots for the reindeer.

  In that world, he would kiss his wife under the mistletoe, then make sweet love to her after the children were fast asleep.

  The tiny hand on his arm shook him out of his thoughts. He blinked, then glanced down at the child looking up at him.

  “You want to be the conductor now?” The boy held out the controls. “My mommy says I should share and take turns.”

  “You’ll have to show me how,” Trace said.

  Jack’s little chest puffed out with pride. “You just push this button here like this and move this back and forth.”

  When Trace made the train move, Jack clapped his hands. “See, you can do it.”

  The smile on the boy’s face and the joy in his eyes made something shift in Trace’s chest.

  Trace steered the train around the track while Jack bounced up and down, chatting rapidly about Santa Claus and the fireplace and toys and a flurry of other things that Trace couldn’t quite understand. But the words didn’t seem to matter. Jack’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Trace couldn’t help but absorb some of the child’s excitement over St. Nick’s impending visit.

  When a knock at the front door started the puppy barking outside, Anna called from the back of the house, “Trace, would you answer that, please? I’ll be out in a minute.”

  There certainly was a flurry of activity in the household, Trace thought, and realized that had been part of his imaginary world, as well.

  “I’ll be right back. You take over for me, okay?” Trace handed the controls back to Jack and ruffled his hair, then rose and answered the front door.

  Eli.

  They stared at each other, both of them surprised. The smile on Eli’s face vanished.

  “I stopped by to see Jack,” Eli said stiffly. “I’ll come back later.”

  “Eli!”

  Arms wide, little Jack tore across the room. Eli’s smile was back as he swooped the child up and hugged him. “Whatcha doing, buddy?”

  “Playing trains with my brother Trace.” Jack looked at Eli. “You’re my brother, too.”

  “Yep.” Eli set the boy down. “I sure am.”

  Jack looked up at Trace curiously. “Are you Eli’s brother, too, Trace?”

  Trace didn’t reply. It was one thing to know it, another to actually say it.

  Impatient, Jack persisted. “Are you Eli’s brother, Trace?” he asked again.

  Trace met Eli’s gaze. “Yes.”

  The little boy’s face broke into a wide smile and he grabbed Eli’s hand. “Come play trains with us, Eli.”

  “I can’t right now,” Eli said. “Maybe later.”

  “You have to,” Jack whined, and tugged on Eli’s hand. “Trace and I took turns being conductor and now it’s your turn and you—” Eyes wide, the boy stopped suddenly and grabbed himself. “I have to go potty.”

  With that announcement, Jack turned and ran, calling to his mother. Trace watched the boy disappear down a hallway, then turned and looked at Eli. There was a brief, awkward moment.

  “Well, I guess I should go.” Eli shifted from one foot to the other. “Tell Jack I’ll come by later.”

  “Why don’t you stay?” Trace offered. “Since it’s your turn to be conductor and all.”

  Eli hesitated, then stepped inside the house. “I, ah, heard Megan had her baby last week. They doing okay?”

  Trace nodded. “Great. I heard you and Lara got married. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Jack says you got him a puppy.”

  “Anna’s not too happy with me about it,” Eli admitted.

  “Wait till she sees what I got him,” Trace said, glancing at the large wrapped box on the floor.

  “What’s that?”

  “A set of drums.”

  Eli’s eyes widened, then he started to laugh. “You’re dead meat.”

  It was almost surreal, Trace realized, having a civil conversation with Eli. Though they’d shared a father, he’d simply never really thought of the man standing here as his brother.

  Maybe it was time to change that.

  Maybe, just maybe, he thought, it was time to change a lot of things.

  The setting was one of romance. Flickering votives, two delicate flutes of bubbling champagne, black caviar on toast points. One rose, deep red, long-stemmed, stretched across the white linen tablecloth, evoking images of love and passion, lust and desire. Too bad it was only a display.

  Becca snapped several more shots of the arrangement she’d designed for the caviar company, then placed her hands in the small of her back and straightened. Stiff from the long workday, she rolled her head one way, then the other, but the tension in her neck and shoulders stubbornly remained.

  For the past week she’d spent more time in her tiny studio than she had at home, hoping that work would keep her mind off Trace. It hadn’t, of course, but at least it had given her something to do other than curling up in a corner and crying her eyes out.

  She flipped off her soft box lights, then straddled a folding chair, rested her chin on her arms and listened to the persistent tick of her wristwatch. She knew it was past seven o’clock, but it didn’t matter. She had nowhere to go, no one to be with.

  Even if it was Christmas Eve.

  She stared at the flickering candles and champagne, thought about the bottle she and Trace had shared the night Megan’s baby had been born. It was a night she would never forget. Every kiss, every touch, every whisper, would be etched in her mind forever. As would her forged signature on that check and the fact that Trace had actually thought she’d taken money from hi
s father.

  The two people she’d loved most in the world had betrayed her.

  The pain would ease one day. With time and distance and a determination to move on with her life. She had all those things in her favor. Trace might have broken her heart, but he hadn’t broken her spirit.

  Though she was still upset with her mother, Becca ached for her, too. Her anger and bitterness had festered for so many years, blinded her to the possibility of finding love again.

  Will that happen to me? Becca thought, then shook her head fiercely. She couldn’t let that happen. She would get over Trace somehow.

  But not right now. Right now, every little piece of her heart felt shattered. Right now, every little piece of her heart still belonged to Trace.

  The knock at the door startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she knew that most of the other tenants in the building had left earlier in the day. Frowning, she went to the door and looked through the peephole. She dragged in a slow breath when she saw who it was, then opened the door.

  “You aren’t answering your phone,” her mother said.

  “You drove all the way here to tell me that?” In spite of what had happened, she was glad to see her mother, knew it was the first step in healing their wounded relationship.

  “Don’t be sassy,” Elaine reprimanded. “Of course I didn’t come here to tell you that. I came here to tell you I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  Moisture filled Elaine’s eyes, then she straightened her shoulders. “And I didn’t drive. I flew.”

  “You flew?” Becca knew it wasn’t easy to fly from Napa to L.A. on a regular day, let alone Christmas Eve. “How did you get a flight?”

  “I didn’t.” Her mother stepped back and glanced over her shoulder. “Lilah did.”

  Lilah? Becca narrowed her eyes, then opened them wide when Trace’s mother moved into doorway. Becca’s heart skipped a beat and her jaw went slack.

  “Hello, Becca.”

  “I—I don’t understand.” Becca finally managed to find her voice.

  The two women smiled at each other, but it was Lilah who spoke first. “What Spencer and I did to you five years ago was unforgivable,” Lilah said quietly. “But I’m here to ask you for your forgiveness.”

  “So am I.” Elaine bit her bottom lip. “Please, baby, can you forgive us?”

  This was unbelievable. Her mother had come here with Lilah Ashton, to ask for forgiveness? Becca looked from her mother to Lilah, saw the sincerity of their request.

  She’d lost five precious years with Trace. A lifetime. Could she forgive, honestly and completely?

  Could she?

  No one moved, no one breathed.

  Then Becca opened her arms and nodded.

  There were more tears and muffled sobs. Tissues came out and were passed around, then more hugs. Her heart might be broken, Becca thought, but at least it felt lighter.

  They were all wiping their eyes when they pulled apart. Becca realized they were still standing in the doorway. “Come in,” she said, stepping aside. “I have some champagne, or I could make some coffee.”

  “We can’t, sweetheart.” Elaine smiled at Lilah. “Stephen and Lilah are taking me to dinner. He has a friend here in L.A., a widower, and we’re meeting him at Spago’s.”

  “You’re…going out?” It was first time Becca noticed her mother was wearing a sequinned black jacket over a black dress. Lilah wore a cream-colored cashmere sweater and silk pants. They were actually going out? Together? This entire evening kept getting weirder and more unbelievable by the minute.

  What about me? she wanted to say. It was Christmas Eve, for crying out loud!

  “We’ll see you tomorrow.” Elaine kissed Becca’s cheek. “Give us a call in the morning at the Bonadventure.”

  The Bonadventure?

  She didn’t even ask.

  It was too much to absorb, Becca thought, closing the door when they left. She stood there, shaking her head, trying to stop the whirlwind in her brain.

  Neither her mother nor Lilah had even mentioned Trace. Did he know they’d come here?

  The light rap on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. Maybe they’d been teasing her about going out and leaving her alone, she thought. Still in a daze, Becca opened the door.

  And her heart stopped.

  Trace stood there, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Well, that certainly answered the question of whether he knew their mothers had been here. She stared at him, torn between throwing herself in his arms and ranting at him.

  She decided to do neither.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “And if I said no?”

  “Then I’d wait out here for you.”

  The idea of him waiting out in the hall for the next several hours appealed to her, but she stepped aside anyway and closed the door when he moved into the room.

  He glanced at the display on the table. “You working?”

  “No, I’m having a snack.” She really hadn’t meant to be sarcastic, it just sort of slipped out. Folding her arms, she released the breath she’d been holding. “I was working. Until our mothers showed up.”

  It encouraged Trace that at least Becca wasn’t yelling at him, though he wouldn’t blame her if she did. “How did that go?”

  “They asked me to forgive them.” Her face and her voice softened.

  “And?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m glad.” He moved closer to her, saw a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “What about me?”

  She turned to her display table, fussed with a toast point. “What about you?”

  He leaned in close, breathed in the familiar scent of her and held it in his lungs. “Will you forgive me?”

  She stilled, but didn’t reply.

  “I know I’m an idiot,” he said, and meant it. “I was an idiot five years ago and I’m an idiot now. But I swear, I’m working on that.”

  He thought she smiled at that, but he couldn’t see her face.

  God, he wanted to see her face.

  “Becca.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her. “I’m sorry for what my father did, but I’m even more sorry that I didn’t trust you enough to see the truth, that I didn’t come after you and drag you back. I wanted to, I thought about it every day, but my damn pride wouldn’t let me.”

  “I should have told you the truth,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head. “Could we have really been happy knowing our families were adamantly opposed to our being together? And we both know what kind of man my father was.”

  She closed her eyes. “But what my mother did. Taking that money, lying to me.”

  “She did the wrong thing for the right reasons,” Trace said tenderly. “She loves you. And if there was one thing she was right about, it was that I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’ll spend every day of the rest of our lives making it up to you. I love you, sweetheart. I’ve always loved you.”

  There were tears in her eyes when she opened them. “I love you, too.”

  Lightly, he pressed his lips to hers. “When you said you were going back to Napa, I panicked. I’d lost you once, I couldn’t handle the thought of losing you again. Marry me, Becca.”

  He pulled the ring out of his pocket, watched her eyes widen in surprise.

  “My ring,” she gasped, and looked up at him. “You kept my ring?”

  He slipped it on her finger, where it belonged. “I couldn’t let it go. It was part of you, part of us. Say yes. Please say yes.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lifted her hand and stared in wonder at the ring she’d worn five years ago. With a small sob, she leaped upward and wrapped her arms around him. “Yes, yes!”

  He tasted her tears when she kissed him, pulled her closer and tighter, held her like he’d never held her before. He’d never let go again.

  “We’ll live anywhere you say,” he said, lif
ting his head. “We can live in this room if you want, though we might want something bigger when the babies come.”

  “Babies,” she whispered, then smiled. “We can probably do better than this, you being a rich guy and all.”

  “The richest,” he murmured, and kissed her again.

  She took his face in her hands, happiness glowed in her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Trace.”

  “Merry Christmas, Becca.” He smiled back. “Forever.”

  Epilogue

  T he official announcement in the Napa Valley Register sent a shock wave through the community that rippled up and down the coast. Some people thought it was a mistake in the printing, some thought it was a bad joke—definitely one of poor taste.

  It simply wasn’t possible that Ashton Estate Winery and Louret Vineyards were merging. Even Trace, who’d placed the announcement himself, found the news astonishing.

  He stood at the entrance of the family room, scanned the faces of everyone who’d been able to join in the celebration. By the fireplace, Megan stood with a sleeping Amber in her arms and talked babies with Mercedes while Simon discussed business with Cole and Jared. Sitting on the sofa, Anna and Grant shared tales of little Jack’s latest exploits with Paige and Matt while Jillian and her husband, Seth, looked at photographs of the boy’s Christmas day excitement.

  Eli, standing by the French doors that led to the breakfast room, had his arm draped possessively around his wife, Lara’s shoulders, who was deep in a conversation with Cole’s wife, Daisy.

  If this group had been gathered under the same roof one year ago, Trace thought, there was no doubt blood would have been shed.

  They’d all been tentative of his offer at first, Trace knew, even a bit suspicious. They still had a long way to go before they really knew each other. But they were already family, and he had the feeling that before long, they would be friends, as well.

  The past week had involved a dozen meetings, a mountain of paperwork and what felt like hundreds of signatures, but the lawyers had ironed out all the details and it was a done deal: Ashton Estate Winery and Louret Vineyards would now be Kindred Estate Vineyards.

  The legacy of greed and avarice that Spencer Ashton had left would now be buried with him. There’d be a fresh start, Trace thought. The estate and its vast holdings would be divided equally, and his mother, who’d left yesterday for a week in Hawaii with Stephen, would keep her beloved house.