“Okay, okay,” Gina said. She knew the folly of trying to stop a runaway freight train, and that was exactly how this felt.
Josh held the door open for her and she preceded him out. She was halfway to the car when he spoke. “I didn’t have anything to do with how this is turning out, Gina. Honest,” he said.
“I know,” Gina said with a sigh. She glanced at Josh. “At least you got the cookbook. You overpaid, by the way.”
“I added the extra because I asked you to deliver. I didn’t think that should be included in the price.” He waited while Mia climbed into the back seat, then he got in front beside Gina.
“That was thoughtful,” Gina said, looking straight into his eyes. She didn’t know what to expect—a crinkling of humor, a lift of a brow, that jaunty but maddening grin.
But all she saw in his eyes was a sincerity, and in that moment, she realized with astonishing clarity that she didn’t want to push him away. She had tried that, and it hadn’t worked. Moreover, she was the one who stood to lose if she refused to see him. She liked the guy, had loved him once, and there was presently nothing in her life to compare with the wildly exhilarating emotions that Josh had sparked in her in those days not so long ago.
She wanted to be, if nothing more, his friend. At least for a while, until he left the valley.
Did Josh want a friend, though, or did he only want a lover? Gina was certain that she couldn’t be both, and she doubted that Josh even knew the difference.
Chapter Eight
The woman was driving him crazy.
Lately, Josh had stayed away from Gina as she’d requested, all the more intrigued by how she kept her distance. He’d lusted after her from afar, wanted to engage her in conversation, started to walk over to her at Mia’s skating party but pulled back. He’d endured her stares at Frankie’s recital, sat by her side as they’d observed Mia’s ballet class and dropped her niece and her off at the herb shop afterward. On that last occasion, Gina had at least rewarded him with a tentative smile and thanked him pleasantly. She’d said nothing about getting together in the future and hadn’t invited him in. If she was softening toward him, she’d shown few signs of it.
The only good thing about his present low-key strategy was that he was getting to know her family even better: Rocco, whose robust style made him a good companion; and at the skating rink, her cousin Jaimie, who flirted with him shamelessly, even though he didn’t respond. After all, Jaimie was only eighteen years old and much too young for his taste, plus she wore a round silver ball in her pierced tongue, which he didn’t find appealing at all.
What he found appealing was Gina Angelini, he decided as he stared broodingly out his apartment window at the Napa River flowing past. The way she looked, the way she laughed, even the way her dark eyes lit with the gleam of righteous anger when she didn’t like how things were going.
And that seemed to be most of the time where he was concerned.
Since he was making little or no headway with Gina, it was time to tend to the business that had brought him to Rio Robles in the first place. He picked up the phone and dialed Walter Emsing, who had a private line whose number was known only to a few people.
“Hi, Walt,” he said. “Checking in from the beautiful Napa Valley, where I’ve turned up a few deals that might interest us.”
“Go ahead, tell me,” Walter said impatiently. “I’m busy with a dozen things this morning, including acquiring a vineyard in Chile, but I’ve always got time to consider this expansion of ours.”
Reading back copies of The Juice in the public library had paid off, and Josh rattled off the names and situations of four or five wineries that he’d read were in trouble.
“Which is the best fit for our company?” Walter asked. Josh heard him scribbling and shuffling papers back in Boston, which reminded him of how far away he was. He’d been here a couple of weeks, and New England seemed like another world.
“I’d say it’s the Angelinis’ operation,” Josh replied without hesitation. “The only trouble is that it’s run by a tight-knit family, and they wouldn’t like someone else’s team coming in to call the shots.”
“If Vineyard Oaks has problems, the best thing that could happen is for our guys to buy them out,” Walter shot back. “We’d get rid of deadwood, pare down expenses—you know the drill.”
Eliminating deadwood meant that family members would be laid off, and lowering expenses meant that salaries might be cut. He was sure that none of the Angelinis would approve of those measures.
“Josh? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” Josh said, but he didn’t like to consider what Starling’s acquisition of Vineyard Oaks would mean to Gina’s family. He realized that maybe he shouldn’t have put the Angelinis’ winery on his list of possible acquisitions. But his loyalty was supposed to be to Walter and to Starling Industries; they were the ones who were paying him to write an article, and he had agreed from the outset to research potential objects for a takeover. The only thing was, at that time he hadn’t expected that Gina’s family’s business would be a candidate.
Walter rambled on, unaware of Josh’s misgivings. “After all,” he continued jovially, “all those Australian wine executives have to work someplace. It might as well be Rio Robles.”
“Sure, Walter,” Josh said. He hoped he didn’t sound as halfhearted as he felt.
They hung up, and Josh sat vacillating over the information he’d given Walter. Though he hadn’t done anything really wrong, it didn’t feel right, either. Finally, when he realized that there was nothing to be done about it, he decided to head over to Mom’s for the blue-plate special, which tonight happened to be meat loaf, his favorite.
He was scooping the car keys off the console beside the door when the phone rang. Thinking that it must be Walter again, he grabbed the phone and clicked it on. But it wasn’t Walter at all. It was Gina. The lilt of her voice halted him in his tracks.
“Josh, it’s me. I was wondering if you’d be free tomorrow afternoon?”
Free? Of course he could be free, even though he’d have to postpone an expedition to San Francisco to meet his friend Brian, who had finally returned from his trip.
“I—yes,” Josh said, feeling ridiculously happy that she had called.
“If you’d like, I could conduct a wine-tasting tour of some of our best wineries.” She seemed slightly tentative, as if she thought he might refuse.
Never. In that moment, he would have gone to the ends of the earth to see Gina. He would have canceled any prior obligation.
“That would be great,” he said.
“Wonderful. If you’d like to stop by around one-thirty, I should be ready.”
“I’ll be there.” He paused. “And, Gina, thanks.”
She laughed, a relieved sound. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Does that mean you won’t?” he asked mischievously.
“For me to know and for you to find out,” she retorted, and he was laughing as he hung up.
He could hardly contain his exhilaration as he drove through the quiet streets to the diner, where he would most likely eat alone tonight, as he did every night that Rocco and Frankie didn’t show up. He was tired of being lonely and alone, not that the two things always applied to his situation. Tomorrow night would be different. Tomorrow night he intended to be with Gina, and in more ways than one.
THE NEXT DAY, JOSH THOUGHT about keeping Gina waiting, cooling her heels while he took his time getting there. But in the end, he couldn’t. He had wasted so much time by staying away from her, and this was no longer a game. This was real life, and he didn’t want to screw up.
When he picked her up at one-thirty as planned, she was wearing a black clingy knit top with three-quarter sleeves and a pair of slacks that showed off her pert derriere. Her hair was piled on top of her head, pale wisps framing her face, and she looked spectacular. The Mr. Moneybags camera had loved her face, had imparted a certain glamour to its
well-proportioned curves and angles. In person, she was even more beautiful, a classy woman who would be a standout anywhere. Briefly he wondered how she’d look against any of Boston’s elegant old brick buildings, leaning on a wrought-iron fence in the park near his house, riding a swan boat in the Public Garden.
“Hi,” she said. He discerned a new shyness in her greeting, and his antennae went up. Something in her attitude had changed, mellowed, and he wasn’t sure why. It seemed to bode well. After all, they’d been going nowhere earlier, and now they would be together all afternoon. And who knew about tonight?
He decided not to let on that he’d perceived anything different in her manner. “Hi,” he replied. Then, like two idiots, he and Gina stood staring at each other, both tongue-tied.
She regained her voice first. “We’d better be on our way,” she said. “Before something happens so I can’t leave. Bye, Mother. You’ll lock up the shop when you go home, right?”
“Right,” Maren called back, pausing in her work in the garden to wave through the window at Josh.
Gina grabbed a leather jacket off a chair, but when they reached the BMW, she tossed it into the back seat instead of putting it on.
“It’s for later, when the air cools down,” she explained in response to Josh’s inquiring glance. California weather was warm in the daytime but could grow notoriously cool at night. The jacket, Josh decided, was an indication that she didn’t intend to get home before nightfall. A promising sign.
Gina sat straight beside him, her hands clasped in her lap as he drove out of the parking lot, then stopped at the two gateposts before the highway.
“Which way?” he asked her. She seemed a little nervous.
“North on the Silverado Highway,” she said.
“Relax,” he told her. “The Big Bad Wolf is on his best behavior.”
“And Little Red Riding Hood wouldn’t be scared of him, anyway.”
He spared her a look. “Is that true?”
“Basically. I don’t think the wolf ever studied karate.”
“And you did?”
“Yes. With Rocco some years ago. He thought I might need to give a guy a clop in the chops every once in a while.”
“And you’ve always seemed so nice.”
She grinned and settled back in the seat. “I thought we could go to San Elmo Vineyards first. Then we’ll move on to a small winery, Vincenti Brothers, between there and our final destination, Century Vintners.”
“You’re the tour director. I’m only the driver. By the way, when will your car be ready?”
“Ask Rocco. You’re on good terms with him.” She flashed him a look, shifting her eyes away quickly as if she didn’t want their gaze to catch and hold. Fine, he thought. I can play that game, too.
He kept his eyes focused on the highway unwinding in front of them. Dappled shade created patterns on the car’s hood; they passed three bicyclists who waved.
“Are they friends off yours?” he asked.
“One of them was my aunt Gayle. She’s a serious biker. Does it for exercise.”
“Is it true that everyone in the valley is related to you in some way or another?”
She chuckled. “Who told you that?”
“I’m not sure. It was either your first cousin once removed or an uncle you’ve forgotten about.”
“Believe me, we Angelinis never forget about any of our kin,” she said. He could tell by the twitch at the corners of her mouth that she was suppressing a smile.
“Are you related to my landlady?” he asked her. “To Judy Rae?”
“No, she and her late husband moved to the Napa Valley from San Diego after he retired. How is she?”
“Hard to tell,” Josh said. He hadn’t seen either her or Sadie for a couple of days, but Judy Rae had told him that she often went out of town to visit her daughter.
“Judy Rae’s husband died a few years ago when they had just moved into that big house on the river. I get concerned about her because I went through a lot with Mother after she was widowed, and I don’t think Judy Rae’s quite as resilient.”
“She said she’s had a difficult time paying her expenses, and that’s why she had the house converted to include a couple of apartments.”
Gina sighed. “I know. I hated it when she changed the house. It was so perfect—the most wonderful house in Rio Robles, I always thought. I grew up admiring it as I walked past on my way to school as a kid. I was sure I’d live there someday.” She pictured the house’s carved front door and sharply peaked roof; she’d always imagined herself waving to her friends through the front mullioned window.
“Maybe you will live there,” Josh said. “You never can tell.”
“If she ever sells, it would be too expensive for me, and I’m not sure I’d like the way she’s chopped it up in remodeling it.”
“Judy Rae said it would be easy to remove the partitions that created the apartments so that the house will be the way it was in the past.”
“I didn’t realize that. Do you like living there, Josh?”
“So far. Judy Rae is a nice person—though a bit talkative—and her dog’s a lot of fun. Sometimes I take Sadie out and throw balls for her. Judy Rae says she doesn’t play with Sadie as often as she’d like because her arthritis bothers her too much.”
“I’ll take her some angelica root tomorrow, and maybe some willow bark with instructions on how to use them. Both are useful for treating arthritis pain.”
Josh pulled out to pass a large motor home and didn’t speak until he was back in the right-hand lane. “How did you learn so much about herbs?”
“My grandmother was an herbalist. She treated a lot of people around here.”
He glanced over at her. “Do you know what an interesting person you are, Gina?”
“Just because I know what to do with a few herbs? It’s no big deal, Josh.”
“Why’d you decide on these particular wineries today?” he asked. As he spoke, he opened the sunroof, so that a ribbon of air stirred the tendrils on Gina’s forehead. She brushed the hair back, seemed to think better of it and let it go.
“The first one is because we’ll get an interesting spiel that might interest you. The second, Vincenti Brothers, is so that you can taste their chardonnay, which is exceptional. And the third, Century—well, you’ll see.”
“Okay, so Century is something special,” he said, guessing.
She nodded. “The site is a favorite of tourists. I won’t tell you any more than that.”
The rolling landscape was bathed in mellow golden sunlight, the coastal range to the east bright against the shimmering blue sky. On either side of the road stretched a patchwork of vineyards, one beginning where the last one ended. Now, in autumn, the vines were changing from green to scarlet, russet, gold and yellow. He wished he’d brought his camera. The play of light and shadows on the mountains and the valley was fascinating.
“I’ve been to California before, but never here. It’s beautiful,” he said.
“I may have mentioned it when we were at Dunsmoor.”
If she had, he wouldn’t have paid attention, blinded as he was at the time by her beauty. “I don’t recall. I only know how much you missed home.”
“Was I that obvious? I thought I concealed my homesickness rather well.”
She shifted slightly toward him, a frown furrowing her forehead.
“Everyone concealed something or another. Especially you women.”
“Oh? And what was your secret?” She slid a sly look at him from behind her lashes.
“Nothing—at least, at first. As the game went on, I hid things, too.”
“For instance?”
“For instance, my true feelings.”
“Ah,” she said, growing pensive. “Anything else?”
“Nothing I want to talk about now.”
They rode for a few moments in silence, passing a winery that looked exactly like an old Spanish mission, complete with a bell tower. They whipped
past a hedge, and another winery’s sign appeared, and farther on, another.
“So many wineries,” he said. “Each one different.”
“As different as the wines they produce. That’s what makes a tasting tour so much fun.” She paused, and he was unprepared for her next remark because it didn’t follow his train of thought.
“Why did you do it, Josh? Why did you play the Mr. Moneybags game?”
“Now, that’s a non sequitur if I’ve ever heard one,” he said teasingly.
“Maybe, but I’m curious. You don’t have to answer,” she said, but he figured he might as well be honest.
“I was looking for love,” he said.
She gave a ladylike snort to signal her disbelief. “No, I mean really. You already had money. You could have found love in any of hundreds of places. Why there? Why subject yourself to the media scrutiny and speculation, the inconvenience of being recognized everywhere you go from now on?”
For a moment, he considered glossing over his answer, but in light of his determination to be honest, he decided he’d better not.
“I did need the money,” he said quietly.
Gina’s eyebrows lifted, a sign that she was unconvinced. “What was all that ballyhoo about your being from a prominent New England family with money up the wazoo?”
“The truth,” he said. “What the publicity didn’t say was that my parents expect me to make it on my own. Unlike many wealthy families, they don’t believe in trust funds or handouts. They put a lot of stock in the value of working to earn your own living. I wasn’t making much money as editor of a newspaper in Woods Mill, Massachusetts, and I had a couple of books I wanted to write but no assurance of income if I took time off from my job to write them. That’s why I signed on to be Mr. Moneybags.”
“No kidding,” Gina said as if he’d knocked the wind out of her sails. “How did you get to be an editor in the first place?”
“A family friend recommended me to the publisher of a string of small-town papers after I graduated from college. The job seemed like a way to make a difference in the world, so I took it. Every time I decided to leave, I got promoted.” He laughed. “Anyway, when I learned that the Mr. Moneybags show’s producers were going to be interviewing in Boston, I camped out in line to audition. I had no doubt that the successful candidate would receive offers of endorsements, interviews, ways to change his Mr. Moneybags fame into real money. No one was more surprised than I was to be chosen, but as soon as it happened, I left my job in Woods Mill and hired an agent. The rest is history.”
Heard It Through the Grapevine Page 11
