“Don’t mock me for my dreams, Dad,” Joey said with a dramatic hand to her side. “What would my mother say?”
Jack looked skyward and blew a kiss up to heaven. “She’d bust me for busting on her precious little girl. The two of you used to gang up on me when you wanted something.”
“See? Listen to Mom and give me what I want.”
“Another verse? Well, okay!” He grabbed his guitar and burst into another round of “Rainbow Connection,” purposely off-key and painful.
Joey covered her eyes and waited him out. “Okay. No more wine for you.”
He scoffed. “You can’t cut this old man off. I know where we keep it. Take that and I’ll grow more.” He watched as Joey stood and grabbed her jacket. “You headed home?”
Joey nodded. “Told Loretta I’d open up, and she could join me later. She’s been pulling a lot of hours, and she needs a break.”
“She’s a keeper, that one. How many years has she worked here now?”
Joey did the math. “It’s been about twenty-two, I think.”
“She’ll always have a place here as far as I’m concerned.” He whistled low. “That one’s family.”
“She is.” Joey touched her heart. She’d grown up without her own mother past the age of eight, when they’d lost her to cancer that had taken her way too fast. Loretta Daniel had shown up halfway through Joey’s childhood, hired to help pour wine in the tasting room. She’d been a nice addition to the vineyard and a calming presence in Joey’s life. She had her own daughter, Carly, who was a little bit younger than Joey, but Loretta had gone out of her way to be there for Joey as well.
With a full heart, Joey kissed her father’s cheek with a playful smack. “Thanks for the grub. Don’t stay up late. And don’t have more than two glasses.”
“You’re a bossy kid. Who raised you?”
“You don’t even want to know. And think about the restaurant. I’m serious. This could be a really great thing for all of us.”
“I promise.” He sighed in surrender. “If we can figure out the logistics, might be a good move in the long run, especially with the damn hotel going in up the road. Keep us relevant.”
Joey shrugged and smiled into blue eyes she’d been lucky enough to inherit. She kissed his cheek again because she hadn’t expected him to concede so easily, and this felt like a victory. “That’s my thought exactly. We need to step up our game if they’re going to overshadow our rustic charm with their flash.”
“I wish to God they’d just stay outta Whisper Wall. Build a place closer to Portland where they’re better suited. Big hotels are for big cities.”
“I wish the same.” She patted his shoulder. “Gonna check back with you later this week about that restaurant. Be ready. Night. Thanks for dinner and the show.”
“Good night, sweet girl.”
As she walked home to her cottage, which was situated on the perimeter of the property not far from the Big House, Joey grinned at the progress she’d made. She’d always been ambitious when it came to Tangle Valley. She loved every inch of the vineyard and took great pride in her family’s wine, which had developed quite the regional following in Willamette Valley and beyond. Mostly thanks to Jack’s award-winning winemaking skills and Uncle Bobby’s ability to grow top-notch grapes in this Oregon climate. She hugged herself as she walked, taking in the gentle sway of the vines to her left.
Yes, she was bursting with ideas for Tangle Valley, but she could wait patiently until her dad was ready to hear her out and implement them. He was the kindest man she’d ever met and in many ways was her best friend, but he was measured and wanted to be able to hold something in his hands and turn it over for a while before he was comfortable with it. Joey just had to give him time.
“Hey, you. What’s going on?” she asked Uncle Bobby that next morning. As she headed across the property to the tasting room up front, she saw him standing stock-still and white as a sheet on the porch of the Big House. Wasn’t like him. He was a mover, a doer.
He shook his head, hand on the back of his neck. His eyes carried the worst kind of terror. “It’s Jack. I don’t…” He moved his hand from his neck until it covered his mouth. His face went red.
“What about Dad?” Joey asked as she climbed the steps. Her heart began to thud and her palms itched because by the look on Bobby’s face it was clear that something was very wrong. He shook his head. Things seemed to be playing out in slow motion, and it took forever for Bobby to speak.
“He’s gone, Jo.”
“What do you mean? Where did he go?” She looked around the back of the house for a glimpse of his truck, but part of her knew.
“I came by when he didn’t show up for work this morning. He’s always up and at it by seven, and I hadn’t seen him. Found him in his room, and, Jo…I don’t know what happened, but we lost him.”
“No, we didn’t,” she said, as if correcting him on a simple miscalculation. “We had our dinner. He played music.” She tried to push past her uncle to make her way into the house, but he caught her with one arm, intentionally halting her progress.
“I’m so sorry, JoJo.” He looked into her eyes this time, as tears pooled in his. Bobby never cried. Did that mean this was real? Everything felt numb and awful. “I don’t know how or why, but we lost him.”
“We did?” To her left she heard the awful wail of sirens approaching. Somehow the eerie shrill sound sent a shiver up her spine that snapped her into the unwanted reality. This was really happening. She wasn’t in the midst of a dream or an imagined fear or a hallucination. She’d lost her dad. Forever. Her mind stuttered, not fully grasping the meaning of the words or understanding that there was no way to fix this no matter what she did.
She blinked and turned just as the ambulance arrived in front of the Big House. The night before had been their last night together? No. She couldn’t accept it.
Her parent, her best friend, and she’d never see him again?
The medical examiner later confirmed what they’d all imagined happened. Jack Wilder had been struck with a fatal heart attack in his sleep at some point during the night, and there was nothing anyone could have done. Joey’s entire world crumbled, and for the next few days, she felt like she couldn’t see straight. She barely moved from the leather couch in the living room of her parents’ house. She floundered, she cried, she grieved full-on. The vineyard had belonged to her grandfather and then her father and uncle, who’d eventually signed over his shares. The farm and the knowledge that it needed her now were the only things keeping her afloat. The whole place reminded her of Jack Wilder, and that made her cling to it all the more. It was all she had of her parents, and she had to take care of it.
Though Joey knew the place like the back of her hand and had lots of opinions, she’d never been tasked with managing anything other than the tasting room. With a large-scale business to run, she now had to figure out how to take the reins at Tangle Valley and do her father proud, all the while limping along with a brave face in place, when she felt like half a human. There were a lot of people looking to her now, and she had to step up to the plate and keep Tangle Valley moving forward, new terrain or not.
The next week, she lay awake night after night, terrified, unable to sleep a wink. Finally, one night, she walked out onto the porch of her cottage, rested her forearms on the railing, and stared out at the thirty-six acres of vines. She’d read books between them, skipped among them as a kid, dreamed dreams, and made plans. That idealistic version of her had to step aside now. She had a vineyard to run and a legacy to protect. This felt like a calling she couldn’t turn away from, the task at hand too important. She saw the faces of everyone who’d come before her and vowed silently to make them proud.
She would, too.
Chapter One
“It’s so sad. That’s what I say. Losing Jack like that.”
“The town was floored. That’s for sure. Who would have thought?”
“Not me. No, sir. He w
as a young fella. Here one day. Bam. Gone the next. Not right, I tell you.”
“It’s all anybody is talking about.”
Joey Wilder closed her eyes and turned slightly at the discussion about her father happening somewhere behind her in The Bacon and Biscuit Café that Wednesday morning in September. It was those elderly town gossips again. No surprise there. Still, a pang of grief rose fast and hot in her chest as she waited on her double espresso. It’d been six days since the funeral, and she still felt like she hadn’t located her bearings as she drifted through this process. She would, though. She had a lot on her plate to keep her moving forward, and she would focus on that. One task at a time. Stay busy and keep going. It was all she could do.
“I hope that child is doing okay. I should send over some chicken and dumplings. She’s had a hard couple of years. First the scandal of that broken engagement, now this.”
Joey didn’t disagree with the assessment, but she was someone who did her best to remain positive in the midst of even the hardest of times. She wanted badly to turn around and decline the covered dish but understood that wasn’t how things worked in Whisper Wall, Oregon. The town was small, driven by the local vineyards, and nestled in the Willamette Valley. Neighborly gestures were what made it go round.
It was Maude Berkland offering the chicken and dumplings in her very recognizable wobbly voice that always reminded Joey of a billy goat. Maude was in her early eighties and had zero concept of discretion when dishing with her equally sassy friends, Thelma, Janet, and Birdie. Those old ladies were thick as thieves and the unofficial town gossips. They’d nicknamed themselves The Old Biddies, and the moniker had caught on. It was how everyone referred to the group of troublemakers. Those four knew everything about everyone and gathered daily to sip coffee, eat pastries, and exchange critical town information. Apparently, Joey’s appearance in the café had promoted her family to top headline.
“That poor girl now has all that farmland and all those grapes to figure out what to do with. I don’t envy her,” Janet McRoberts said. She was the spitfire of the group and the loudest. “Not one bit.”
Joey waited patiently at the beige and black counter with the swirly faux-marble design running through it for her to-go order, having tossed in a butter biscuit last minute, because who could resist a warm freshly made biscuit at a place called The Bacon and Biscuit? No one. That’s who. They were in the midst of harvest season, and she could afford the extra calories. Hell, she deserved them after the blow from the universe. She tightened the rubber band that held her blond hair in a ponytail and watched the action in the kitchen through glimpses offered by the swinging doors.
“She’s a smart cookie, that Josephine. Mark my old lady words. She’ll figure it out,” Thelma McDougall told the Biddies in what she seemed to think was a whisper. It wasn’t even close. Joey forgave her. She was the generous one of the group, always offering hugs and snacks.
“Maybe someday,” Maude said with a hearty sigh.
“Here you go, Joey,” Clementine said and slid the espresso and warm biscuit bag her way. “I tossed in a couple extra biscuits for the folks back at Tangle Valley.”
She lifted the bag. “Feels like you tossed in a lot.”
Clem smiled and shrugged. “Harvest time. I know you guys must be hungry. Lots of picking left.” They’d gone to high school together, and Clementine had always been a good friend to her. She’d worked at the Biscuit since graduation and had become a fixture of the place. Her sweet smile and cheerful disposition kept the townsfolk coming back. There was talk of her buying the café altogether from Mr. Rothstein, the current owner, who took very little interest in the place. Joey thought it sounded like a great idea. Clem’s brand of tenacity and vision was the kind she identified with.
“Thanks, Clem. Big week ahead. You’re right.”
Clem leaned in. “And Joey? The Biddies mean well—they just have big mouths.” She offered a wink.
“That they do.”
With her espresso and bag of fresh butter biscuits in hand, Joey headed out of the café, smiling warmly at the Biddies as she passed. “Have a great day, you guys. Don’t fill up on biscuits. Lunch is not far off.”
The Biddies waved and smiled and blew kisses just like she knew they would before getting back to the business of dishing. Joey headed off into the chilly sunshine of the morning. Close to sixty now at nine a.m. on its way to maybe seventy-three later that day. The conditions were perfect for the continued harvest. If everything went according to plan, they’d have the pinot noir entirely picked by the first week in October.
She pulled Dusty, her truck, down the winding road that led to the vineyard she loved like a member of her family. Along her path, she smiled at the large rustic sign out front announcing Tangle Valley Vineyard, which had been owned and operated by her family for fifty-five years now. Her grandparents had opened the vineyard as a pipe dream once her grandfather had retired from his career as a veterinarian. They’d started with only eight acres back then, which they’d planted by hand themselves, and steadily grew to the nearly forty they had now. They weren’t a huge operation, but they certainly weren’t a small one. Her father and his brother had grown up on the property and took over, along with Joey’s mother, who’d married into the place, once Joey’s grandparents had passed.
As she arrived at the top of the hill, the expanse of land came into view in all its beauty. God, Tangle Valley never failed to take her breath away. Joey brought the truck to a halt at the top of the hill and just stared, taking it all in with new eyes. After the reading of the will yesterday, it was official. All of these vines now belonged to Joey. Tangle Valley, the place she loved more than any other, was hers to take care of, nurture, and develop in the name of her family before her, and for those ahead. The sense of responsibility overwhelmed her, but at the same time, she wanted this more than she could articulate.
She tapped the steering wheel and sat back, marveling.
The vineyard, in her opinion, came with a lot of personality. It was all rustic charm and lush farmland. Rows of grapes lined their fields for acres with the Big House off to the right and a series of smaller cottages dotting the outskirts of the property, set aside for members of the staff. Tangle Valley was on the map for its pinot noir, and why wouldn’t it be? Their pinot was complex, structured, and fruity. The jury was still out on the tasting notes for last year’s batch, as they’d yet to bottle, but the year before had been a good one for the pinot with hints of strawberry, plum, and vanilla. It had won multiple gold medals at not just regional competitions but the San Francisco International Wine Competition as well. Joey had high hopes for last year’s haul. Time would tell, as it currently sat in the French barrels that lined the barrel room clear up to the ceiling.
And things were looking up for this year’s grape yield, too. The fruit was ripe but still held its acid, which made the grapes come with lots of potential. The one thing they didn’t have anymore was their secret weapon, Jack Wilder. He knew every millimeter of his equipment. He took care of the wine like it was his baby, coaxing, nursing, measuring, metering, tasting, and tinkering it to be just right. Hell, he even talked to the barrels, whispering his own encouraging sweet words. Joey had learned a lot from him, but she also knew her own strengths, and chemistry wasn’t one of them. She’d barely pulled Cs in science classes. She was better suited to overseeing the operation of the vineyard as a whole, managing the tasting room, talking to the guests, selling their wine, working with distributors and their sales managers, and making sure their marketing was everything it could be. She wasn’t a winemaker by nature, and trying to force it to fill her father’s shoes would show. She needed to figure something out for them, and fast. Her father’s assistant, Deacon, could fill in temporarily, but he was young and lacked the experience they needed.
“You hanging in there, Chipmunk?” Uncle Bobby asked a few hours later as the afternoon sun began to make its descent. The grape pickers were slowly bringing
in their final hauls of the day and grabbing a water or cool can of soda from the tubs of ice. She waved to many of the seasonal regulars.
“I’m getting by.” Joey slanted a hand over her eyes to keep the sun out. She sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of the Big House, her father’s place. “Weird without him griping at us.” She laughed affectionately. Bobby did, too.
“Still kinda hard to believe.” Bobby shook his head. He used a blue bandana to dab the sweat on the back of his neck after one of the more strenuous days of the season thus far. The weather was cool, but the harvest was hard work. He was her father’s younger brother and had always looked up to Jack. Bobby was a good nose-to-the-grindstone kind of guy, and she was grateful to have him by her side. He’d sold his share of the vineyard to Jack years back, preferring to keep his life as simple as possible. All he asked for was a job. For years now, he’d served as vineyard manager and oversaw the farm, the vines, and the growers. A farmer by nature, harvest was his time of year to shine, and in spite of their tragedy, he hadn’t let Joey down.
“This place is yours now. What are your plans?”
It was a huge question. Tangle Valley didn’t have to be a sleepy winery, and she’d always believed there was more to do. She knew the place could blossom. Her ideas involved a second tasting room, a sit-down cellar reserve tasting experience with food pairing, and that on-site restaurant she’d been pushing for. But she needed to start with their most urgent needs and go from there, because unfortunately, her father had not been the best with money. In fact, after his death, she’d learned things were worse than she’d imagined. While she firmly believed that the changes she had in mind would pay off for the vineyard in the long run, it would certainly be risky to invest what little they did have. “We’ll need a winemaker. Deacon can fill in for a while, but he’s only been an assistant for a few years.” She lowered her voice. “He also doesn’t have vision. He’s a worker bee.”
Bobby nodded. “Couldn’t agree more. Want to advertise? Willamette has tons of winemakers who’d kill for a full-time gig at a pretty place like this.”
Entangled Page 2
