The Vineyard at Painted Moon

by Susan Mallery

  “Is one of them going to be Rhys?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Do you want it to be?”

  “No.” She hesitated. “He’s very good at his job. Am I wrong to say I don’t want to work with him?”

  “No. You’re handling the divorce better than most, but why make things awkward when they don’t have to be?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. We need to figure out what to do with the bottled wine. I have some feelers out with distributors in the restaurant business. We put on a house label and, voilà, it’s special.”

  “That would work.” They had a lot of inventory and she would feel better knowing cash was coming in.

  “We’ll do the same with the barrels,” he added. “Once you know what you want to do with all that, we can start making plans. We can sell some under the Painted Moon label here domestically, bottle some for house wines for restaurants and see if there’s a market for the rest of it elsewhere.”

  While her first instinct was to dump the barrels and start over, that wasn’t feasible—at least not financially. He was right—she had to let go of her quest for perfection. These weren’t her wines and keeping the business making money was important.

  “I’ll be done tasting in the next couple of weeks,” she told him. “I’m sticking to a schedule and it’s slow going. I’m being careful like the doctor said to be.”

  “I wish I could do the tasting for you.”

  She smiled. “No offense, but I don’t trust your palate.”

  “None taken, and you’re right not to. Are you feeling all right?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been really lucky to not have morning sickness. I feel fine. There are the physical changes, of course, but you don’t want to know about them.” She grinned. “Let’s just say my jeans aren’t fitting anymore and leave it at that.”

  “I appreciate the lack of detail.”

  She laughed. “I’m reading the pregnancy book Stephanie gave me, along with a couple of others my doctor recommended. They’re kind of scary. Apparently having a baby is a whole thing.”

  “Are you overwhelmed?”

  “Not if I don’t think about it too much.”

  “I’m here if you need me. I can go with you to the doctor or get you pickles.” He cleared his throat. “And when I say go with you to the doctor, I mean I’d wait outside. I think the exam part would be awkward for both of us.”

  She laughed. “It would be. Regardless, I appreciate the offer. I don’t have any pickle cravings, but if that changes, I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m looking forward to the baby. I like kids.”

  “If I bring him or her to the office, you’re going to get to know this one really well.”

  “I think that’s a plus.”

  He would be good with a child. He was patient and he understood people. There was something solid about him, but not in a boring way.

  Her gaze drifted to his mouth and she had the craziest thought that she would like to know how he kissed. Did he just go for it or was he looking for a shared experience? He was powerful and used to getting his way and—

  “I’m going to head back to my office,” he said, coming to his feet. “I have calls to make and I know you’ll want to spend some quality time getting to know your phone.”

  His statement drew her back to real life. Yikes, where had that weird kissing thought come from? Kiss Bruno? They were business partners. Sure, she liked him, but she liked lots of people and she never thought about kissing them.

  Pregnancy hormones, she told herself as he left. Her body was becoming an alien being. She was going to have to ignore the weirdness and wait for things to return to normal in a few months. Kissing Bruno. As if!

  * * *

  Barbara waited for the ibuprofen to take effect. She’d awakened with a headache nearly every morning for the past week. She was tired of starting her day with painful throbbing in her head.

  There were multiple causes—her nightly half bottle of tequila for starters, the stress of everything going on. She hadn’t seen Giorgio since their fight about his daughter’s stupid birthday party and Lori was keeping late hours, sometimes not coming home at all, no doubt staying with her loser boyfriend. Well, let her, Barbara thought, collecting her handbag and briefcase before stepping out into the morning.

  She paused to take in the deep blue sky and the perfect fall temperature. Harvest was done, the wines were being transferred into barrels and the hard work for the year was finished. Or it would have been if Mackenzie hadn’t left, ruining them all.

  She drove over to work in her golf cart. After climbing the stairs, her head pounding in time with her footfalls, she made her way to her office. She clicked on lights and walked toward her desk, fighting a sense of dread and helplessness.

  How would Bel Après survive? This was a critical time and they had no winemaker. Worse, no one would come to them now—at least no one decent. So what were they going to do?

  There was no good answer, she thought grimly. She checked her email before heading into the break room. By now one of the staff would have started the coffee. The caffeine would make her feel better, she told herself. Once her head stopped hurting, she could think.

  But when she returned, mug in hand, she found Rhys pacing in front of her desk.

  “Oh dear God, either sit down or get out,” she snapped. “This morning I have no patience for you or your moods.”

  He waited until she was seated, then slapped both hands on her desk and loomed over her. His eyes flashed with anger.

  “How dare you?” he growled.

  “You forget I’ve been dealing with your tantrums since you were two. You can’t intimidate me. Sit down or get out.”

  Their gazes locked. She saw indecision in his, and the second before he settled in the chair, she knew that she had already won.

  “You talked to a lawyer about suing Mackenzie for custody of the baby.”

  Catherine, Barbara thought, not even surprised that her youngest had been talking behind her back. There was no loyalty there.

  “You won’t do it, so one of us has to.”

  “I don’t want custody. I’m still trying to figure out my obligations and I sure as hell don’t need you getting in the way of that. Don’t mess things up like you always do. For once, just act like a normal person.”

  “I’m the most normal of anyone in this family,” she told him pointedly. “You’re less than useless on this matter. If you’d just challenge her for the baby, I could stay out of it.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  Because he didn’t care, she thought grimly, surprised to feel a flicker of compassion on Mackenzie’s behalf. James had been thrilled with each of her pregnancies. He’d been a wonderful, doting husband and a good father.

  “Getting out of your marriage at any price?” she asked, her tone bitter. “You’re going to let her get away with anything so long as you get your freedom?”

  “If necessary, yes.”

  “How you disappoint me.”

  “The feeling is mutual, Mom.”

  They were at an impasse.

  “I wish she wasn’t pregnant,” she said with a sigh.

  “Me, too, but we are where we are. I’m tired of fighting.”

  “So you’ll do whatever it takes to get along with me, as well?” she asked tartly.

  “As long as it doesn’t involve custody of the baby, yes.”

  How disheartening to realize he wasn’t going to push back. He wasn’t going to take the high ground and quit the way his sister had.

  She and Stephanie had never gotten along very well, but Barbara had to admit at least her oldest daughter had principles and a spine. She was willing to walk away to prove her point, while Rhys was not.

  She supposed his life was too comfo
rtable. He had a lovely house, food delivered to his refrigerator, and even after paying off Mackenzie, he’d have plenty of money. No doubt he was very popular with all the single women in town. He was going to turn into a dilettante and throw away any opportunity for greatness. Why had she never seen it before?

  Because of Mackenzie, she thought. He’d been swept along by her passion and work ethic. Mackenzie had been the driving force, loving her work and Bel Après with every fiber of her being. She’d brought a sense of purpose to them all and now she was gone.

  Barbara’s eyes burned and she knew the sensation had nothing to do with her hangover. Disillusionment, bitter and tinged with regret, flavored her tongue. She allowed herself a few seconds of emotional indulgence, then shook off the feelings.

  “Are the barrels ready for the wine?” she asked, sitting straighter in her chair and picking up her mug of coffee. “Did you order enough?”

  “I did. Everything is in place.” He paused. “She would come back and help us for a few days. It would make things easier.”

  Barbara glared at him. “I’m not interested in easy, Rhys. I would have thought you would know that by now. Get it done and get it done right. What’s happening with the winemakers in California?”

  “I have interviews lined up with a couple. If I think they’re all right, I’ll send them along to you.”

  “Have you ever interviewed anyone for a job before?” she asked.

  “Plenty of times.” But he looked uncomfortable as he spoke.

  “You might want to do a little research online. Otherwise you’re likely to make a fool out of yourself.”

  He stood up. “Anything else?” he asked, his voice tight.

  “No. Keep me informed about the interviews.”

  He nodded and walked out. She leaned back in her chair and wondered why he couldn’t have been the one to leave instead of Mackenzie. Or any of her children, or all of them. Mackenzie was the only one worth anything. The rest of them were simply deadweight.

  twenty-nine

  Stephanie couldn’t remember being this sick to her stomach since her pregnancies. Unlike Mackenzie, she’d spent most of the first three months unable to keep down anything but crackers. She could say for certain that her current state of nausea had nothing to do with hormones and everything to do with nerves. She was scared. No. Terrified.

  Kyle’s unexpected proposal and her realization that she was willing to take the easy way out had been what she’d needed to get off her butt and find the job of her dreams. Ignoring the top five producers in the area, she’d focused on the middle twenty or so who would appreciate her experience and skills. From there she’d done her best to figure out who might want to hire her and, of all of them, there was only one who was for sure looking for staff. Painted Moon.

  Which presented a dilemma, she thought as she sipped coffee at the kitchen island. She wanted to be hired because of what she brought to the job and not because she was best friends with one of the two owners. To that end, she hadn’t said anything to Mackenzie, and when she’d phoned Bruno to set up the meeting, she’d asked him not to say anything, either.

  “Oh, the lies we tell,” she murmured to herself as she reviewed her notes for the thousandth time.

  Carson ambled into the kitchen, pulling a Seahawks sweatshirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt. His cast was gone and he was back playing sports, as if his arm had never been broken.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  He walked over and gave her a brief hug, followed by a kiss on the top of her head.

  “Hey, I know you’re a lot taller than me,” she said in mock outrage. “Stop rubbing it in.”

  He flashed her a grin as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out the breakfast burrito she’d defrosted for him. She made them in batches and froze them individually so the kids could have them for breakfast.

  After popping it in the microwave, he poured himself a glass of milk.

  “You ready for your interview?” he asked.

  “I hope so. I may have studied too much.”

  “You can never be too prepared. You ran the drills, Mom. You’re going to do great.”

  “Thanks.”

  The microwave beeped. Carson collected his breakfast, then sat at the island where she’d put fresh fruit. He’d just started eating when Avery sailed into the kitchen.

  “My hair wouldn’t cooperate,” she said, dumping her backpack on the floor, then crossing to Stephanie and hugging her. “Why does it have days like that?”

  “It just does, sweetie.”

  “My hair always cooperates,” Carson said.

  Avery pulled out protein powder and almond milk. “Your hair is an inch long. You don’t know if it cooperates or not.”

  “You should try it.”

  Avery drew in a breath. “Carson, you’re not normal.”

  “I’m more normal than you.”

  The bantering had always been a part of their morning routine. Stephanie knew she was lucky when it came to her kids. She and Avery had gone through a rough patch in the summer, but now they were friends again. She was going to focus on the good in her life and let the rest of it take care of itself. As for her interview—she would do her best. This time she was prepared. If things didn’t go well, she would come up with another plan, because no matter what, she wasn’t taking the easy way out.

  * * *

  Stephanie had known Bruno Provencio for several years and always thought of him as impressive, but she’d never actually trembled in his presence before. Of course he’d never had any power over her life before, and that certainly made a difference.

  “The remodel came out great,” she said as she sat across from him in his large office. “There’s lots of functional space.”

  “Mackenzie’s office is smaller than the original plan,” he said with a chuckle. “She refused the extra square footage and the private bathroom.”

  “She’s not one for frills.”

  “I agree. She’s not here right now. She’s having lunch with your sister, I believe. Your doing?”

  Stephanie nodded. She’d confided in Four, asking that she arrange lunch at the same time Stephanie had her interview.

  “I didn’t want her to know. She’s a full partner in the business and her opinion would influence yours.”

  His gaze was unreadable. “Good to know. Tell me what you want to talk about.”

  Her stomach sank, her heart rate increased and her mouth went dry. At least she didn’t feel like she was going to pass out. Fainting would not make her look capable.

  “You’re in a unique position. Painted Moon is well established and yet you’re starting over. From my perspective, you need to remodel the tasting room, design and stock a retail space, revamp your digital presence, start a wine club, entice tourists, and sell your library wines.”

  “That’s a big list.”

  “It is, so there need to be priorities. The digital aspect is out of my area of expertise.” She smiled. “So that’s on you.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Passing the buck so soon?”

  “Absolutely. As for the rest of it, the tasting room needs to be open by early spring for tourist season. The retail space falls in line with that. The other priority should be the library wines. From what I’ve calculated, you have over a million dollars’ worth of wine tied up in that. Let’s get it out there.”

  “You want to start a wine club?”

  “Not yet. That should be a year-two endeavor. Right now you don’t have wines to sell. The library wines are a separate project.”

  “How would we sell them without a wine club?”

  And here it was, she thought, opening the folder she’d set on the conference table in his office.

  “By letting the wines tell a story. Mackenzie had no part in them, so we can’t use her. By the way, I have
ideas on how to make her the star when it comes to the wines you’re going to start producing. But for the library wines, I thought the focus should be on Herman and his family.”

  She opened the folder to show him the first of the labels she’d designed. “The oldest bottles are twelve years old.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She felt herself relax. “You have very poor security. The last time I visited Mackenzie, I went into the production area and walked into the cellar. No one stopped me or asked me why I was there. I took a quick inventory.”

  “Interesting.” He made a note on a pad. “Go on.”

  She explained how the new labels would feature pictures of the winery dating back to when it had been a farm and how it had changed. Four had drawn the pictures in her whimsical style.

  She flipped to another page. “See how we can do a boxed collection, featuring three years and five years? The presentation would be lovely and it’s something we could offer in the retail space next year.”

  “How would we get customers?”

  “Painted Moon used to have a wine club. You would have all those names and addresses. We do a mailing, talking about what’s happened at the winery and what they can expect in the future. Herman said the list was nearly ten thousand people.”

  “Let me guess,” Bruno said dryly. “You called him and asked.”

  “I did. He’s so sweet. I’ve known him forever.”

  “Apparently.”

  She smiled. “Small-town living, Bruno. You need to get used to that.”

  “So Mackenzie tells me.”

  “Now, about the tasting room,” she said, setting a second folder in front of him. “There are two stars of this particular show. The wines and the bar. Rumor has it, the bar started in a San Francisco brothel during the gold rush. Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter—it’s a great story and one that should be played up in all the materials.”

  She opened the folder to a picture of the bar.