The Vineyard at Painted Moon

by Susan Mallery

  Her stomach clenched as she realized he was doing something online with a woman who wasn’t her. Probably just sending an email, but still.

  “You look nice,” he said. “We’re not expected for another twenty minutes.”

  “I know. I thought I’d go see Stephanie first. I’ll meet you there?”

  “Sure.” He glanced at the screen, then back at her. “Anything else?”

  She thought about asking who he was online with but didn’t. Whatever was happening wasn’t her business. And if knowing he’d already moved on still shocked her, then that was her problem.

  She walked the short distance to Stephanie’s house and let herself inside.

  “It’s me,” she called.

  “In my office,” her sister-in-law yelled back.

  Mackenzie walked down the short hallway and stepped into Stephanie’s home office.

  Stephanie had decorated her space with pale walls and brightly colored paintings. Open shelving displayed awards and certificates her children had earned, along with various art projects. A few drawings were framed—the primitive stick figures nestled up against professionally painted scenes.

  Stephanie glanced up and smiled. “Hey, you. How’s it going? I’ve stopped by to see you a few times, but you’re never home these days.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been busy with different stuff.” Mackenzie closed the door behind her and settled in a chair. “Rhys served me with divorce papers.”

  Stephanie’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Are you okay with that or do I need to march over there and slap him really hard?”

  “I’m okay. Sort of.” She thought about the shock when he’d handed her the envelope. “I didn’t know a person was actually served with the paperwork. I wasn’t expecting it.”

  Stephanie closed her laptop. “You need to get mad at him. Anger gives you purpose.”

  “Four would tell you that’s the wrong thing to say.”

  “Four lives in a world where woodland creatures help her dress every morning.” Stephanie held up a hand. “That came out more bitchy than I mean, but you get my point. Divorce sucks, even if you both want it. I was crushed to end things with Kyle, and he’d been cheating on me for years. You commit yourself to someone when you get married and you assume it’s going to last forever. Finding out that’s not true isn’t easy to deal with. There’s a sense of failure, of loss. I was terrified, and I had a place to run to. You’re going to be striking out on your own. It’s got to be confusing and hard to think about and I’m sure you feel lost. Then my stupid brother serves you with papers. Want me to beat him up?”

  Mackenzie managed a smile. “Thank you, but no.”

  “I could do it, mostly because he would never hit me back. You okay?”

  “Sometimes. Other times, like you said, I feel lost.” She sighed. “I’ve been thinking about all the last times. Is this the last family dinner? The last time I’ll put out the cookie flag, the last time I’ll visit you here?” She blinked against burning in her eyes.

  “You’ll visit me here lots of times. We’re going to stay friends. If you try pulling back, I’ll stalk you until you give in. We’re friends. Forever friends. Don’t you believe that?”

  “I do, but I’m worried your mom will put you in a difficult situation. I don’t want you to have to choose.”

  “She’s a pain, but she’s not totally unreasonable.” Stephanie paused. “Well, she is, but not all the time. You and I are going to grow old together.”

  Mackenzie nodded. “I want that, but sometimes it’s hard to see past what’s happening right now. I’m losing everything I’ve felt anchored to. It’s hard to just drift around.”

  “I’ll be your anchor.” Stephanie frowned. “Why does that sound like the title of a song?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it is. Probably from the eighties. They had some great song titles back then.”

  “You were barely born in the eighties. How would you know?”

  Mackenzie smiled. “I know things.”

  Stephanie laughed. “You’re so weird.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Okay, we need to leave now or we’ll be late, and you know how my mom gets if someone is late.”

  They both rose and walked out together. When they reached the front door, Mackenzie paused. “Isn’t Avery coming with us?”

  “She went over before you got here. She likes hanging out with her grandmother, if you can believe it.” Stephanie shuddered, then laughed.

  Mackenzie didn’t know what to say to that. She and Barbara had always gotten along, as well. Maybe because they weren’t blood relatives. Mackenzie had been so grateful to have a mother figure in her life that she’d been able to overlook the other woman’s, um, idiosyncrasies. They also had the winery in common. Each of them could talk about Bel Après for hours and still have more to say.

  They crossed the courtyard together and went up the front stairs of the largest house. As Stephanie knocked once, then pushed open the door, Mackenzie couldn’t help thinking again about the “lasts.” Was this the last time she would walk through the big wooden door? The last time she would greet everyone with smiles and hugs? Had she already lived through the last Christmas, the last Easter, the last Summer Solstice Party?

  Sadness gripped her, making it hard to breathe. Change was hard, but this was much more difficult than she’d thought it would be. Her fears weren’t about the various holidays so much as wondering when she would experience the last time she could say this was her family. Because this was the only family she had in the world, and when she and Rhys were divorced, she would be completely on her own. And then who would she be?

  thirteen

  Stephanie spent a couple of days watching Avery without seeming to watch her. Not an easy trick, considering Avery was a sixteen-year-old and, by nature, suspicious of her mother. But at the family dinner, Avery had overheard her asking Mackenzie if she was doing all right and had wanted to know what was wrong. Stephanie wondered if she’d done the right thing in telling the girl. Was Avery mature enough to handle the information?

  Things seemed to go fine until Sunday morning when Stephanie knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door. Whatever else was going on in their lives, she always made a big breakfast with whatever the kids wanted.

  “Avery, sweetie, I’m going to make breakfast. What do you want? Pancakes and bacon? An omelet?”

  “Nothing. Go away.”

  Normally the rude response would have made Stephanie bristle, but there was something in her daughter’s tone that made her open the door and step inside.

  Summer sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating the unmade bed and clothes tossed everywhere. But what actually caught her attention was the sight of her daughter curled up on the floor, in a far corner of the room.

  Stephanie rushed to her, sinking down to her knees and reaching for her.

  “What happened? Are you sick? Did someone hurt you?”

  Avery pushed her away and sat up on her own. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” Tears poured down her cheeks as she spoke. Her eyes were red, her face pale. “I don’t want to talk about it. Go away.”

  Stephanie ignored all that and pulled her daughter close. Avery resisted for a second, then sagged against her. Tears turned into sobs, shaking her body with their intensity.

  Stephanie hung on, rubbing her back, waiting out the storm. She was fairly sure her daughter wasn’t sick, which left heartache or something much worse. Rape crossed her mind, but she pushed the thought aside. She would wait to find out what was wrong before she freaked out.

  After a few minutes, Avery straightened. “Alexander slept with Bettina. He said he had to because I wouldn’t sleep with him so I can’t be upset because it’s my fault. That made me mad so I broke up with him. Then he got mad at me and said I’m a stupid, immature little girl and he’s done wasting his time with me.
”

  Instead of screaming and then getting in her car to go beat up the boy in question, Stephanie forced herself to stay where she was.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Boys can be real jerks. You did the right thing. I’m so proud of you, sweetie. I know it hurts so much. I know you feel sick inside and you’re questioning everything you said and did, but you are so strong.”

  Avery nodded, then grabbed a box of tissues from the desk. “I had to be, you know? I wasn’t going to let him treat me the way you let Daddy treat you.”

  The statement was made so casually, in such a normal tone, that Stephanie didn’t get it at first.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Avery wiped her face. “Dad’s cheating. I’ve known, Mom, for a while now. About all the stuff he did.”

  She blew her nose. “I talked to him about it. He told me he’d been wrong and that I should never let a guy do to me what he did to you. That he made mistakes, but you suffered for them.”

  Stephanie was so incredibly grateful she was sitting on the floor—otherwise she would have collapsed in a heap. Shock and shame and horror swept through her.

  “I never knew why you and Dad split up, but when I found out about the cheating, it made sense. I didn’t tell Carson. He doesn’t want to know about stuff like that.” Avery’s eyes filled with tears. “When Alexander told me what he did, I felt so awful. Like he’d betrayed everything we’d had, even as he tried to make it my fault. I knew then it was over, that I had to be strong. I wasn’t going to do what you did and stick around.”

  The words were earnest and guileless, Stephanie thought, fighting the need to run as far and as fast as she could manage. Avery wasn’t trying to hurt her—she was explaining the situation from her point of view. Just like Stephanie didn’t want to be like Barbara, Avery didn’t want to be like her. It was the circle of life when it came to mothers and daughters.

  But that didn’t stop her from feeling as if her daughter had ripped out her heart with her bare hands and then torn it up into tiny pieces.

  Avery surprised her by leaning against her. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much to be strong.”

  “You did the right thing. When it gets really bad, keep telling yourself that. I’m proud of you and you should be proud of yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Want some pancakes and bacon?”

  “Okay.”

  Stephanie forced a smile, then got to her feet. She had to hang on to the wall to make it back to the kitchen, and when she was there, she looked down at the floor, expecting to see a pool of her own blood. There was only the hardwood and a few crumbs. Nothing that indicated she’d been emotionally flayed open by the casual comments of her teenage daughter.

  * * *

  Guilt trailed Mackenzie her entire drive to Painted Moon. Ever since Bruno’s call two days before, she’d been torn between wild excitement at the possibilities and fear and worry about making such a big change. The “should she or shouldn’t she” question had filled her waking hours, but the moment she drove through the big open gates, the feeling was replaced with one of anticipation.

  The winery had been established for two generations. Not the first vineyard in the valley, but close.

  She drove by a couple of acres of vineyard that had been planted for show on her way up to what had been the tasting room. That big building was closed now. Herman had stopped bottling wine a few years back. Now he sold grapes and directly from the barrel.

  She’d met the old guy dozens of times at various events. He was knowledgeable and always friendly, but she’d sensed his heart hadn’t been in the business for a while.

  As she parked next to a new Mercedes she would guess belonged to Bruno, she tried to slow her breathing. Whatever the outcome, just asking the questions would be good for her. She was open to moving on. While buying Painted Moon would be an incredible opportunity, she shouldn’t get her hopes up. A whole lot could go wrong.

  All of which was true, but didn’t stop the fluttering in her chest as she got out of her Jeep. In the distance was the old farmhouse, set up on a rise that would overlook much of the property. The morning was warm, the sun bright.

  She found Bruno and Herman talking. She shook hands with both.

  Herman, a small man with gray hair and weathered skin, grinned at her. “Your business partner there already had me sign an NDA. I like that you’re protecting yourself. If we do this, Barbara is going to want to set us all on fire, so you want to cover your backside, for sure.”

  The combination of visuals had her struggling to keep up, although his point about Barbara was a good one.

  “We’re still just exploring,” she said. “Thank you for signing the NDA.”

  “Did I have a choice?” he asked with a chuckle. “All right, let’s get started.” He started walking at a brisk pace. “My children have no interest in the wine business. They want me to sell, and to be honest, I’m getting old enough that I see their point. Painted Moon is producing about eighty-five thousand gallons a year.” He winked at Mackenzie. “More than Bel Après, missy.”

  That many gallons? She’d had no idea. “You’re right, it is.” It was substantially less than the bigger, well-known wineries, such as Ste. Michelle, which produced over two million gallons a year, but it was plenty for her to work with.

  He led them into the barrel room. The heavy barrels stretched out in rows, vertically and horizontally.

  “Most of this is sold,” he said. “There are about twenty thousand gallons I meant to do something with, but haven’t yet.” His humor faded. “I don’t taste as well as I used to.” He pointed at her. “You could make something happen here. You have the gift.”

  “Thank you.”

  They walked over to one of the barrels. Herman collected glasses and a pitcher, then they tasted a few different wines. Mackenzie swirled the liquid in her mouth before spitting it out. There was potential here, she thought. She could do something with this.

  “I have contracts for about half of this year’s crop,” Herman told them. “But only for this year. I’ve been thinking of selling for a while now and didn’t want to tie up my assets.”

  They tasted more wine. She wasn’t happy with the whites, but all the reds had real potential.

  “I had the business valued a couple of years ago,” Herman said as they moved down the rows. “A couple of guys came from Seattle and walked around with clipboards. I’m in the nine-five range.”

  “Nine million, five hundred thousand,” Mackenzie said, trying not to faint.

  “Yup.”

  She looked at Bruno, who seemed unconcerned.

  They spent the better part of the day looking at the facilities and a couple of the vineyards. By four, Mackenzie was exhausted and her head hurt from all she’d tried to absorb. She and Bruno thanked Herman, then they drove back to his hotel and went up to his room.

  “What did you think?” he asked after getting them each a bottle of water and sitting across from her at the table.

  “It was a lot to take in,” she said. “The land is incredible. I’d want to see the rest of it and I’m guessing you’d need to look at his books and stuff. Nine-five seems like a lot.”

  “It is. I think we’d settle closer to eight. What did you think about the wines?”

  “The white is crap. Honestly it was so bad, I’d want to dump it.”

  Bruno winced. “Seriously?”

  She smiled. “Yes, I’d want to, but I’m sure we could sell it to someone to bottle and distribute. The reds are great. They have plenty of fruit and tannin. They could be blended a lot of different ways. They’re money in the barrel.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “How do you even start with something like that? We’d have to check all the deeds, look at the contracts, look at any liabilities. We have to confirm the water righ
ts, because without them, we have nothing. All the equipment needs to be evaluated. The buildings themselves have to be inspected. What about liens and lawsuits and I don’t know what else?”

  Bruno smiled. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

  “It’s all I can think about, when I’m not feeling guilty for considering leaving Bel Après.”

  “Is it still just a consideration?”

  She thought about the divorce papers.

  “No, it’s not just a consideration,” she said, reality hitting her in the gut. “But it makes me sad.”

  “You still want to move forward with this?”

  “Is it possible?”

  “Us buying a business together? Sure. I’m good with what we talked about. You put in your two million, I take care of the rest. We’ll write up an agreement such that if we sell, I get a bigger cut of that. Until then, it’s fifty-fifty. I run the business side and you run the winery. Painted Moon will be your vision.” He finished his bottle of water. “You can have the house, if you want. It’s not really my style. I’m thinking of buying a condo on the golf course.”

  “I’m interested,” she said, “but it’s a lot to take in. Plus I won’t have my money until the divorce is final. That’s three months from the day we file. What if we need the cash before then?”

  “We’ll work out a bridge loan.”

  “With a bank?”

  His dark eyes glinted with amusement. “We’ll keep it in the family.”

  Oh, sure, because he had an extra two million lying around. “How rich are you?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Sorry. Pretend I didn’t ask that.”

  “There’s something of a family fortune and I’ve done well on my own.”

  Must be nice, she thought. “So what happens now?”

  “If you want to move forward, I’ll draw up the partnership agreement with the terms we’ve agreed upon. You get your lawyer to look it over. Once that’s signed, I’ll get a team going on appraising Painted Moon. I’ll have my finance people look over the books and you’ll head the team that will be responsible for the vineyards and the winery. Once we know what we’re talking about, we’ll make an offer.”