THE STARLIGHT HILL COMPLETE COLLECTION: 1-8

by Bell, Heatherly

  “That girl couldn’t be any hotter if she was on fire,” Scott whistled.

  “You didn’t recognize her?” Billy asked his brothers. He hadn’t either for a second. Back in high school Brooke had unnaturally black dyed hair – black nail polish, black eyeliner. Even then she’d been breathtaking.

  “I’d remember her,” Scott said.

  “That was Brooke Miller, our old high school classmate.” Billy glanced back out the window.

  “No way, dude. Brooke had black hair. And a big attitude,” Wallace said.

  “Still has the attitude, minus the black hair.”

  “Sure looks better on her than black. I remember when some of the kids were into that look,” Scott said.

  He did too. Kids he hadn’t hung out with much, since they didn’t tend to come to the games. Didn’t think much of the athletic department, basically his life at the time.

  But he’d hung out with Brooke once, a long time ago.

  “What did she want? Welcome you back to town?” Wallace asked.

  “Not quite.”

  “Don’t tell me she asked you out. Damn that is so unfair, bro. Why didn’t I take up baseball?” Scott hit the wall.

  “You’re not even close.”

  “Are you going to tell us?” Wallace pressed.

  “She was here to buy the place. Thought it was still available.” Billy raked a hand through his hair. Of course she’d find out that he’d paid cash for it, and make up her mind about him once and for all. Stick him in the category with other athletes who took what they wanted, no questions asked. Without giving him another chance.

  Scott whistled again, this time imitating the sound of a bomb on its way down.

  “Don’t give me that woe-is-me look, bro. You can’t have everyone loving you every minute of the day. So she’s pissed that you bought the place she wanted. Too bad. She’ll get over it.” Wallace said, always the voice of reason.

  “It’s not that. She happens to have experience running vineyards. Lots of it,” Billy said.

  “She could help us out,” Scott said, the light bulb finally going on.

  “No, she won’t. She’s pissed.”

  “Did you ask her?” Wallace pressed.

  “I know that look when I see it,” Billy said. “It was a screw you and the horse you rode in on.” Not that he didn’t deserve it sometimes, but not today. How was it his fault that Pop wanted to own a vineyard? He was only being a dutiful grandson.

  “You know what? If you were smart, you could turn around and sell it back to her for a neat profit. And poof! You’re out of the vineyard business with a profit to boot.” Wallace said.

  Yeah, it had occurred to him for a nanosecond. But there was Pops to think about. “What do you think Pop would say to that?”

  “He probably wouldn’t like it?” Scott said from the stone fireplace.

  Yeah, there was that. Not to mention the fact that the whole idea of a vineyard had taken on a fresh new appeal. He wondered how often he’d run into Brooke.

  “Well, why don’t you offer her a job?” Wallace asked. “I mean, you never know until you ask. Right?”

  Right. Something to think about. Did he want to work with Brooke, who had once called him out on his bullshit? Who even back when they were kids had a way of seeing right through him?

  Maybe not.

  * * *

  If Brooke were the crying type, this would be a good time to let loose with a big wail. No job. No vineyard. Nothing she could afford, anyway. Mr. Hometown Hero had swooped in and bought it out from under her. How had it happened so fast? It took at least thirty days for escrow to close on a property.

  Brooke pulled off the highway after she’d put a few miles of distance between her and the vineyard, wrenched her helmet off, dug for her cellphone, and dialed the bank manager.

  Once she was finally connected to Ted Elliott, all he wanted to do was ask about Friday night. Yes, she’d said she would go out with him because he’d been asking for months. Dinner wouldn’t kill her.

  She veered right to the point. “What happened to my vineyard, Ted?”

  “Oh, um, that. I meant to call you.”

  “Start talking, Teddy-boy. I’m standing on the side of Chardonnay Avenue and there’s no time like the present.” A car whizzed by so close that her body was pushed a bit by the force of the wind.

  “So you’ve been there?”

  “I had to take a look at the grapes, didn’t I?”

  He coughed. “I was going to tell you Friday. It was out of my hands, Brooke.”

  “Don’t give me that. How did this happen? It takes thirty days to close escrow, to get loan papers signed.” Another car whizzed by, honked, and the driver shouted an expletive. Brooke rewarded him with her finger.

  “There weren’t any loan papers.”

  Brooke waited a beat. For there to be no loan, there had to be nothing but— cash. She might have known. Billy had plunked down cash, because he was Billy Turlock. “Crap.”

  “Once he put up the cash, there was no talking to my boss. This vineyard has been costing us. We’ve been paying for the upkeep so as not to lose the grapes. They’re not a lot of buyers who can put down that kind money.”

  Probably not, but a retired baseball playboy immediately came to mind. “Why this vineyard? He can probably afford one of the nicer ones that are already up and running.”

  “You got me. Billy’s actually a great guy, Brooke. He signed a ball for my nephew and didn’t ever charge me for the autograph, and he posed for photos with everyone in the bank. Everybody loves Billy.”

  She was familiar with that irritating fact. “You don’t have to tell me that. I went to high school with him.”

  “Wow, yeah, so you know. It’s hard not to like him, but I did try if that makes you feel any better.” Ted coughed again. “So, about Friday night?”

  “Screw you, Ted.” She pressed ‘end’ on her cellphone, never feeling quite as significant about that gesture. Tucked it back in her jacket, and mounted her baby again, this time like a cowboy about to tame a bull.

  Owning a Harley helped calm her tendency to speed, a fact she hated initially, but one which was relieved by the cruiser’s known cool factor. Should have cut down on her speeding tickets and it did. Most of the time. But not today, as Chief of Police Burt pulled her over, clocked at her ten miles over the limit and issued his citation along with a finger wag or two.

  “I can’t afford this, Burt!” She waved the ticket at him.

  “Then don’t speed anymore. Have nice day!” He smiled and got back in his cruiser.

  Great. So this is what she got for due diligence, for taking her time and not rushing into such a huge decision with her future. Someone else had beat her to the vineyard. Brooke made it back into the heart of town and headed to Mama’s Diner near the hospital, since Ivey and her husband Jeff had breakfast there every morning.

  Brooke tore off her helmet, and threw open the door to the diner. She spied Ivey in a booth with Jeff. As usual, all over each other.

  “Men suck!” Brooke shouted right after the bell over the door tingled announcing her entrance.

  “Order up!” Si said from behind the kitchen partition, and banged his head. “Ah, hell.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Em, his wife and co-owner, said from the register. Brooke marched over to Ivey’s booth and sat across from the two love birds.

  “Thanks for that,” Jeff said from the other side of the booth where he sat entwined with Ivey.

  Brooke wondered how they could eat that way. “You’re welcome.”

  Em was at their booth, pad in hand. “What’ll you have, hon?”

  “One hometown hero over-easy. Fry him till he screams!”

  “How about coffee instead?” Nothing fazed Em anymore it would appear.

  “Yeah, that’s fine, too,” Brooke said.

  “What happened?” Ivey finally asked when she’d managed to tear her attention away from Jeff for
a second.

  “I went to look at the old Mirassu vineyard on Hummingbird Lane. Guess who I ran into? None other than our old high school chum, Billy Turlock. I didn’t even know the man was back in town.”

  “Don’t you read the sports section?” Jeff asked.

  “Is he kidding?” Brooke asked Ivey. You never knew with Jeff.

  “Not everyone reads the sports section, babe,” Ivey cupped Jeff’s chin. “Or knows what’s going on in the wide world of sports.”

  “You do,” Jeff said, gazing at Ivey like she was the last piece of chicken at a picnic and he hadn’t eaten in a decade.

  “Half the time I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Ivey blushed, probably because she could tell what he was thinking. Everybody with a pulse could tell. “I do remember hearing that Billy retired.”

  “Super. But did you know the man fancies himself a vintner now? He bought the old Mirassu winery. Right out from under me, the bastard!” Brooke said. “I was going to buy that place.”

  “The nerve,” Jeff said.

  “I’m sorry,” Ivey said. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’ve no idea. I can’t afford anything else. Vineyards don’t come up for sale every day. This was a special deal. A once in a lifetime opportunity.” Brooke rested her forehead on the table. This was a crappy day. If only she had a rewind button.

  “Heads up,” Em said as she filled Brooke’s mug with coffee. “And don’t worry about what some people are saying. We all know you’re perfectly sane.”

  “Why? What are people saying?” Last year it was the blue and pink ribbons for Ivey and Jeff. What would they do next?

  “Nothing much,” Em continued as the patted Brooke’s back. “Just that you might have had a nervous breakdown. But look at you. You’re fine. My sister Jackie had a nervous breakdown and she didn’t brush her hair for weeks. Your hair looks great.”

  “A nervous breakdown?” Brooke squeaked out. Her lack of sanity had been greatly exaggerated. As usual. Just because she liked to jump out of planes and had once bungee jumped off the Merlot Bridge. “Well this is all I need.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jeff said. “Some of us never thought you had such a firm grasp on reality to begin with.”

  Ivey might have kicked him under the table, because he scowled.

  “What am I going to do?” She turned to Ivey. “Who’s going to hire me if they think I’m nuts?”

  “Maybe you should offer your services to Billy,” Ivey suggested.

  Jeff’s pager beeped. “Gotta go.”

  Brooke counted exactly six “bye, babe” with their corresponding kisses, because she had promised herself to scream if they reached number seven. By the grace of all that is holy they didn’t.

  Finally, Dr. Jeff Garner was off to the hospital where he could stop bothering his wife and go do something useful like save someone’s life.

  “As I was saying, why not offer to run the place for him?” Ivey said, taking a nibble off Jeff’s left over bacon.

  “You want me to help him? Why would I do that?”

  “Because you need a job? And he owns a vineyard. Plus, he wasn’t there that night.”

  “It’s also his fault I can’t have my own vineyard. This was my one chance to start one. The biggest dream I’ve ever had, and the timing was perfect. And then Billy showed up with his smile, his hot body, and all his money.”

  Ivey’s eyebrow lifted. “Hot body?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. People started to fall all over themselves to give him what he wants. In other words, it’s high school all over again.”

  4

  New day, new problem. Now Pop couldn’t find the prize winning grape tending tip from his oldest friend, the late Giusseppe DeNiro, not any relation to the actor.

  They didn’t need the prize winning grape tip now. They had rows of grapes which had to be harvested.

  Wallace and his crew had been at work on the manor house for three weeks now, with Scott and Billy’s help. The place was beginning to shape up into a place he’d actually like to live in, and he’d given that some consideration. The country air would be good for him. So would the solitude.

  “It was in this box,” Pops said as he sorted through the items in an old shoebox. Probably not where Billy would have put something special.

  Billy turned another one upside down, finding pictures and useless old bank receipts with faded ink. “Could it be in any other box?”

  The Turlock family had congregated at the sprawling mansion he’d bought for Mom with his first multi-million dollar contract. On the outskirts of Starlight Hill on county land, it was the one place that had served as a refuge during the past few years and all the shoulder surgeries, each one more painful than the last.

  Sure, he had his own apartment in the city but even if he’d plenty of offers for after-care treatment, no one took care of him like Eileen Turlock. Right now he thought he could smell the pot roast stew wafting in from the kitchen.

  It was time to discuss their next steps with Pop. He’d already been over a mock up plan with his accountant and projections for salaries. “Hey, Pops. We’re going to need to hire a staff.”

  “Sure, but we won’t want anyone knowing our secret. He almost took this one to the grave with him. He was one greedy son of a bitch, and my best friend.”

  Billy didn’t want to bother with the juxtaposition of those two statements. “I ran into someone who has a lot of experience. She used to work for the Serrano winery.”

  Pops ears perked up at that. “The Serrano winery? They’ve won the blue label the past two years.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “A very good thing. But you haven’t thought this one all the way through, son. She could be a spy.” Pop pointed to his head, narrowed his eyes.

  Yeah. One too many James Bond movies. “A spy?”

  “He sent her over, maybe to find out just how much we know.”

  “Kinda doubt she’s a spy,” Billy said, shaking his head.

  “You never know.”

  “What I do know is that we need to harvest those grapes soon. Otherwise we’ll lose our window.” Okay, so he’d actually done some reading since running into Brooke. He was now the proud owner of acres of vines, and he hadn’t a clue. Calling Brooke and offering her a job, even if she’d been less than happy to see him, had become a real possibility. It was at least worth a shot.

  Pop continued to dig through boxes.

  At the risk of yet another baseball analogy, Billy offered up the truth in a way Pop would understand it. “It’s game time. We’re up to bat.”

  “Don’t worry, son. We’ll hit this one out of the park.”

  Considering his batting average, Billy didn’t want to think that way. Sounded like a long shot at best. He wanted, needed, this venture to be a resounding success, and didn’t want to see any newspaper articles quoting their doubts that he could make this work.

  “I’m going to give her a call and see what this woman has to say. I’ll have her checked out, if it makes you feel any better.”

  He heard Mom call out dinner time, and offered a hand to Pop. “You can go back to this treasure hunt later. Time to eat.”

  Pop put the box down. “I’m a little tired. Think I’ll take a nap first.”

  “Before dinner?” It didn’t sound right. Was Pop getting weak on him?

  “Not hungry. And tell Eileen not to save me any leftovers either.”

  Great. Even worse. He’d have to talk to Mom, and make sure Pop had been to the doctor recently for a full check-up. For now, he would let Pop think about other things besides grapes and vineyards. Truthfully, Bill could use a change of subject too.

  * * *

  “What the hell is it?” Billy stared at Mom’s dinner. This was not pot roast.

  “Tofu roast,” Mom declared. “We’re all eating healthy around here. Good for Pop, good for me, and good for my children.”

  No wonder Pop had
begged off dinner. “Mom, tofu and roast don’t belong in the same sentence together.”

  “Word,” Scott said with a fist bump. “You’ve missed out on all the fun around here. Mom’s on a health kick.”

  “And I’ve lost twenty pounds and lowered my cholesterol and my blood pressure,” Mom said pointing her fork at him. “So no more complaining. Eat your greens if you don’t like my tofu.”

  The greens looked like someone had taken a pile of grass, wet it, and put it on a plate. In the old days, Mom had cooked. Somewhere, somehow something had gone terribly wrong. He put a spoonful of wet grass on his plate and passed the plate to Wallace.

  Wallace held out his hand. “Thanks, I already ate. I eat an early dinner early these days.”

  Billy immediately made plans to join him from this day forward. For now, he changed the subject. “I’m meeting with some of the farm hands tomorrow. The bank manager said they’d be more than happy to stay on with us.”

  “I’ll be out there tomorrow, with my crew.” Wallace said. “We need to finish up the living quarters.”

  “Should you spend all that money on that now? Who’s going to live there?” Mom asked.

  “Maybe me,” Billy answered.

  “Don’t be silly. You don’t have to stay out there all alone. There’s plenty of room for you here, in my house.” Mom objected.

  “I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve been living on my own since I was eighteen. I love you, Ma, but I can’t live with you.” Especially not now, when he couldn’t even look forward to a good home cooked meal.

  Anyway, he did want the quiet of the vineyard at night. Maybe there he could think. Make plans. Plans that didn’t involve baseball. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around that one. How was he supposed to get through the rest of his life without the passion that had driven him since he was seven years old?

  “Fine. Have I told you how grateful I am lately that you’re making Pop’s dream come true?” Mom asked.

  “At least three times a day. But honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d do or where I’d be headed until Pop suggested the idea.” Where did a washed-up ball player go when he hadn’t even had the foresight to get a college degree? When he’d gone straight to the minor leagues to the majors without a second thought? Where the wind blew, apparently.