by Jen Talty
“But she’s not you, and if you’d get your fucking head out of your ass, rein in that inflated California ego of yours, and come home where you belong, maybe this winery would have half a chance.” Noir tossed in his two cents.
Malbec stared out at the main drag of town. Napa Valley was beautiful. One of the prettiest places he’d ever been. Between the rolling hills, the breathtaking sunsets, and the picture-perfect greenery, he loved living there.
But it wasn’t this.
“What if Taubet Liquors were willing to buy The River Winery, keeping our brand intact? The three of you would still have jobs, and the rest of us would have stock in the company, plus a large sum of money from the sale.” He’d called a few different contacts and three large liquor companies yesterday. Only one so far had any real interest, but if he could get one on the hook, he’d get more, and that could mean a bidding war.
However, the fact that there was interest at all told Malbec that he was onto something, and that gave him pause. He didn’t like questioning his plan, and he’d need to spend some time thinking about why selling was so important and also going over the books. Plus, he did have three more siblings to sit down and talk with.
Nebbiolo dropped his muffin to the ground.
Noir’s jaw gaped.
And Zinfandel’s fruity drink slipped through her fingers to land on her white skirt—which was unfortunate.
“Did they make Mom an offer?” Noir asked after snapping his mouth shut.
Zinfandel scrambled to clean up the mess that would surely leave a stain, which would piss her off, and that was never a good idea.
Malbec wasn’t having much luck over the last twenty-four hours, delivering ideas without causing a big ruckus. Of course, his sister Chablis always accused him of stirring the pot.
“No. But they aren’t the only ones who are interested. I’ve made a couple of phone calls, but so far, Taubet is the only one willing to take a meeting.”
“Jesus Christ. What do Mom and Dad think of all this?” Nebbiolo asked. “Do they even know? Or should we just call you a Weezer in the making?”
Malbec rubbed his temple. He hated admitting that his little brother had a damn good point.
His mom had been an only child and had taken after her dad, the eldest of five. He’d been an ornery man and everyone in town called him Grizzly.
However, that was in part due to the beard he refused to shave.
Everybody had called Grizzly’s father Bad Billy.
It was no wonder that everyone in town expected that one of the River kids would turn out just like their mother. Malbec had just hoped it wouldn’t be him, but it wasn’t looking good. He wondered what kind of nickname he might be given. As long as it wasn’t sour grapes, he could handle about anything.
“I’m just trying to do what’s best for this—fuck. Yes. I hear myself. And I get that I sound like Mom. But it’s true.” He pointed over his shoulder. You could see parts of the winery at the edge of the town. “Look at it. The buildings are run-down, and I took a walk around the grapevines. They aren’t anywhere near as good as they were in years past. It’s going to take more than a talented viticulturist and vintner to turn this ship around.” Okay. So he exaggerated a little bit. He needed to do so to prove a point.
“You’re right.” Zinfandel stood. “It’s going to take you.” She slammed her empty plastic cup on the table. “I might be the baby, and you might be sixteen years older than me, but it’s time you stop running from whatever it was that had your panties in a wad when you were my age. It’s time to grow the fuck up, Malbec, and do what this family needs you to do. And that’s not selling.” She stormed off toward the coffee shop for what Malbec assumed was another sugar rush.
Like she needed one.
“You tell him, baby sis,” Noir said, giving a little fist pump in the air.
“Don’t encourage her.” Malbec rolled his neck. This was not how he thought the morning would go. He’d figured of all his siblings, it would be these three who were tired of dealing with the bullshit.
But he was wrong.
Maybe he’d have better luck with the firefighter, the parole officer, and the physician’s assistant.
God help him.
His family was a hodgepodge of eclectic personalities. While he was the only one who’d taken off for the other side of the country, they had all run from their parents in one way or another.
He was just the one with enough balls to sort of admit it.
And now they were all begging him to come home and save something they refused to take part in.
Okay. Well, at least the three youngest had a hand in the business. But they all had one foot out the door, selling wines and liquors for a large distribution chain. They could give up on The River Winery if they wanted to—they were just too afraid of Weezer.
“Why not?” Noir said. “Someone has to tell you like it really is.”
“Agreed.” Nebbiolo leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “We’ve all thought it. We just never vocalized it to you before. And you know how important it was to Grandpa to keep this in the family.” Nebbiolo waved his index finger at Malbec. “And don’t go tossing the dark secret around. Our great-grandfather is long dead. Whatever he told Grandpa and Grandpa told Mom, can’t hurt us.”
“We don’t know that,” Malbec said. “We’ve all seen what that secret has done to Mom.”
“You staying away has done worse,” Noir said. “And, come on. We all know the story about the box of secrets the old doctor hid somewhere near the overflow building, so that’s not the only one this land has to offer.”
“It’s the only one that has driven a wedge between us, and the only one that Mom holds over my head.” He was damn tired of this argument, and he wasn’t about to discuss a box that probably didn’t exist and was only brought up to deflect the issue that had the potential to destroy the winery and his family for good. “The way I see it, we have two choices.” Malbec sipped his coffee for the first time. Damn, it was getting cold, but it was still the best brew he’d ever tasted. “We can sell it to a big company and watch it grow and profit and be proud of what our family has done. Or, we can sit back and watch it bankrupt Mom and Dad. Because that’s what’s going to happen if we do nothing. And then we’ll all have nothing to show for our family’s hard work. Is that what you want?”
Noir harshly pushed back his chair and stood. “Or we can all band together and make this winery great with you at the helm. And did you ever think that you might be able to do that at somewhat of a distance?”
“And Eliza Jane?” Nebbiolo added as he joined his twin. The two might not be identical in looks, but they were the only two in the family identical in personality. “She’s a lot like you, and she’s the best thing that Mom has done in years. With your guidance, she could run this place, and you might still be able to keep your stupid job in Napa Valley.”
The sound of angry footsteps coming up behind him made him clench. His baby sister was a force to be reckoned with.
“Besides lying to get you to take a week off work, Mom didn’t really do anything that any of us didn’t want her to do,” Zinfandel said. “So, don’t be an asshole and go running off. At least talk with Eliza Jane. Listen to her ideas and have an open mind. And for the love of all things holy, pause all talks with those big companies.”
Malbec blew out a puff of air. He could slow down the talks. Hell, he only had one company that had shown any real interest. But speaking with Eliza Jane might prove more difficult. “Okay, but there is one problem.”
His sister jutted out her hip and brought her straw to her lips as she tapped her shoe against the pavement.
“Eliza Jane hates me,” he said.
Zinfandel licked her lips. “That’s because in your thirty-eight years on this planet, you still have no clue about women.”
Malbec stifled a laugh. “Oh, and you do?”
“I am one, aren’t I?”
“Bare
ly,” he mused but winced the second the words tumbled from his mouth.
Of all the girls, Zinfandel had more of his mother’s quick wit. Not to mention, she had no filter.
“Shall I start talking about all my sexual exploits, vibrators, and—?”
He held up his hand. “Good God, no. That might be worse than being in the same house with Mom and Dad.”
“Ew. Gross,” the twins and his sister said collectively.
Zinfandel waved her hand. “My point is, you’ve never had much game. Truth is, you’re not much better with the ladies than Sam Wilde.”
“Damn. That hurt.” Malbec knew his sister was teasing. He hoped. “I’ve had no problem getting dates, thank you very much.”
His sister lowered her chin. “And how often do you date? When was your last serious relationship?”
“That has nothing to do with my ability to woo a girl.”
“Prove it,” Zinfandel said.
“How?” He shouldn’t have asked the question.
The twins glanced between each other and then back at him. “Is she thinking what we think she’s thinking?”
“That’s a damn tongue teaser,” he mumbled. “I’m not going to flirt with Eliza Jane, so you can forget that. It’s stupid and pointless and has nothing to do with the problem at hand.”
“It has everything to do with this situation,” Nebbiolo said. “Especially if you’re interested in helping to keep the winery in our family.”
“Are you willing to do that?” Noir asked. “Because all of us are willing to do our shares.”
Malbec liked the idea of The River Winery making a comeback, but only if it could be on his terms, and if his family could guarantee that it wouldn’t be something they would do for a few years, only to get bored and put them back at square one. However, first, he’d have to get his mother to agree to step back and give him some control—and more than just a little.
She’d have to turn over all final decisions to him.
And that included the worth of Eliza Jane and her role at The River Winery.
It was either that or he’d go back to Napa Valley in a heartbeat.
However, he didn’t need to go over those specific details right now with his siblings. That was a conversation to have with the entire family, and only after he got his mother to agree to putting him in charge.
And only if that happened from a distance.
If she agreed to that, he’d put a stop to his talks with the big wine companies.
“I’ll entertain the concept.” Malbec pushed his chair back and stood, curling his fingers around his uneaten bag of muffins.
Perhaps Eliza Jane might enjoy one.
“What does that mean exactly?” Noir asked. “Because sometimes you can be more vague than Mom.”
“I’ll make my decision on whether or not to commit to keeping the winery by Friday.”
“That’s in five days.” Zinfandel cocked her head. “Can’t you think any faster than that?”
“I’ll let you know if my brain decides to work at warp speed.” He patted his baby sister on the shoulder. “You kids have a good day selling wine. I’ll be talking with you soon.” He stuffed his free hand into his pocket and strolled toward his vehicle.
Time to bring his game to a new level.
7
Eliza Jane
Eliza Jane found an old wooden dock on the river that ran by the winery. She kicked off her sandals and stuck her toes in the chilly waters. She never imagined that New Jersey could be this beautiful. She expected either skyscrapers in a city with a view of Manhattan, or the ocean shores with houses on top of one another and hard surfer bodies in tiny bathing suits drinking and partying like it was the end of summer every day.
She leaned back and stared at the water running over the shiny rocks. This spot really reminded her of that old black-and-white picture of her great-grandfather. But she knew it couldn’t be. Her heart was only searching for someplace to call home. Since she and her father had moved from one place to the next until she turned fifteen, she’d never really felt rooted anywhere. She wanted to make this place her home. She’d projected her desire to feel a connection to her past on her deep-seated need to be grounded.
She let her thoughts wander back to the situation currently torturing her soul. Her mind raced with a million questions, and she desperately needed to take a moment and try to sort out all the possibilities of what Malbec’s return could actually mean for her future. Having one viticulturist and vintner at a winery and vineyard this size, with the volume that it often produced, wouldn’t cut it in years to come. Right now, she had Weezer and, on occasion, Carter.
The twins also knew a fair amount and were willing to help, but there was only one Malbec River.
She wondered if he knew about the rumors. The wine business wasn’t as big as one might think. At least, when it came to growing and making. And many in the business believed that Malbec had run scared. That he’d taken a job in Napa because he didn’t have what it took to follow in his mother’s footsteps.
Well, Eliza Jane didn’t believe it. He’d left long before the wine quality started to decline. She just couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to make a wine with his name on it. She rolled the explanation that he’d given her yesterday around in her head, and it was a concept she couldn’t fathom. Sure, she didn’t understand the family dynamics, and yes, that could change everything, but Malbec lived two thousand miles away.
Apart from a family he obviously loved, cared for, and wanted to have a good relationship with.
That just didn’t jive with the things he’d stated.
Someone cleared their throat.
She jerked. “Shit. You scared me.” She brushed her hair from her face, hoping her cheeks didn’t turn red as Malbec strolled down the wobbly dock.
“Sorry.” He held up a bag from the local coffee shop. “I brought a peace offering.
Her stomach growled. Anything from that place made her mouth water. “I didn’t realize we were at war.”
“I didn’t like how we ended our last conversation.”
“It was pretty intense,” she admitted. “And I have a feeling we’re going to be at odds for as long as you’re here.” She took the tasty treat he offered as he sat down beside her, slipping off his shoes and rolling up his jeans as if he’d sat in this very spot a million times.
Of course, he likely had. He’d lived here for his entire childhood.
“That may be true.” He laughed. “I will try to be on my best behavior from here on out.”
“I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday, especially for accusing you of ruining your family business. I could have handled that situation differently.”
“I won’t disagree, but I also tend to come in hot.” He took a large bite of his muffin.
She dropped her gaze to hers and fiddled with the wrapper, taking only small nibbles. She wasn’t sure how to continue this conversation. He made her uncomfortable and not because of the business.
Because of how attracted she’d become not only to his body but also his intellect and his witty personality. There were more layers to Malbec than met the eye, and if he weren’t a River, she’d be trying to peel them back like an onion.
“I’d like to start over,” he said. “I’m going to be here for a week, and I hear you have some interesting ideas for the winery.”
She tilted her chin. “Why would I tell you when you said you plan to sell? And I know it would be to some big corporation, which would most likely leave me without a job.” While she trusted Weezer and believed that as long as the woman was in charge, Eliza Jane would be safe, she didn’t trust that Malbec wouldn’t be able to gain more control.
“For one, I know my mom made you some promises. And, secondly, I genuinely want to hear what you have in mind. Maybe we could brainstorm and come up with some better ideas.”
Her eyes widened. All she could think about was how he could step in and take over.
/> That might be worse than a big-corporation buyout.
She swallowed. “Are you planning to come back?”
“Would you leave your job if you were me?”
She let out a short laugh. “I never would have taken a long-term job at that kind of vineyard.” She held up her hand, cutting off his retort. “I know they make great wines. It’s not about quality. It’s about size. I don’t want to be one of many. I want to be the one, and I don’t mind being in a smaller setting to do that. It gives me more control, and the satisfaction is so much sweeter.” She brought her fingers to her lips and sent a kiss out into the warm air. “I’ve turned around a few wineries that others had written off, and there is nothing better than watching that happen.”
“If that’s the case, why aren’t you still doing that? Why stop here? Why make this your home?”
Those were valid questions. However, she wasn’t sure how honest she wanted to be. Her father and grandfather used to talk about The River Winery when they were both near the end of their lives. They would discuss how pretty the land was. And when she pressed them on how well they knew it, they’d simply told her that they’d had the opportunity to visit once, and it had touched their soul like no other had.
Weezer had confirmed that story.
But Eliza Jane always found it odd that her father and grandfather never once drank the wine. It sat in their wine cooler with a big sign that read: Do not drink. She always thought that was odd because, while they were both wine snobs, they didn’t have a bad thing to say about the River labels.
However, they really didn’t have anything good to say about it either.
“I’ve enjoyed my work. I’ve learned a lot from every winery I’ve ever worked at. But I want my own line, and I want to stay in one place. I want roots.”
“I can understand that. I’ve planted my feet firmly in Napa.” Malbec took her empty wrapper with his and stuffed them back into the small paper bag. “But my mom can’t be the first person to offer you the chance to create your own brand name.”
