Paris
I WASN’T A FAn of these kinds of lessons.
Moving from vine to vine, I removed the dry, tired branches that had born the fruit harvested last fall and tossed them in the aluminum barrel at the end of the row.
Remembering hearing the pickers talk about how each grape had been as juicy as a ripe woman, I laughed out loud.
Tyler glared at me as he worked the vine with a ruthless hand.
“You know,” I said, “I have done this before.”
He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. His belly was tight, taut, mouth-watering. My eyes followed that very faint line of hair trailing from his navel into the waistband of his low-slung jeans and his belly button, well, I remembered it all too well. I had to look away. “In this lifetime or the last?” he mocked.
I narrowed my eyes at him and thought about sticking out my tongue but that would have been immature of me. Then again, Tyler Holiday made me feel like that young naïve girl again most of the time. “Funny. I think I was eleven when my father came home one day and found me watching television when my chores weren’t done. That’s when he decided it was time for me to learn how things worked around here.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“Well, it lasted one summer.”
He let his shirt fall. “You never told me about that. What happened that you didn’t continue working on the estate anymore?”
“It’s not a fond memory.”
“Tell me about it, anyway.”
I kept pruning. “I wanted to make it fun. To have fun. One day, I took a bucket of grapes, removed my socks and sneakers, and was just about to stomp my feet inside the bucket when he drove up and spotted me.”
Tyler started to snicker. “My grandfather let me do that all the time. It was a blast.”
I pulled in a breath that hurt my throat. “Well, my father was never one for fun, you know that. So, when I told him to watch how I made wine, he grabbed the bucket and told me I never took anything seriously. After that, he refused to bring me out to the vineyards again.”
Tyler looked over at me with those blue eyes, that pouty mouth, and sympathy written all over his face. I hated the sympathy. “I know you didn’t have it easy growing up here and I have to say, I’m surprised you decided to come back.”
I wiped my brow with my shoulder and glanced over at him. “Well, like you said, things change.”
He came upon a shriveled grape that had been missed by the pickers and plucked it from the branch, offering it to me. “Can I ask you something without you getting upset?”
With a laugh, I took the raisin from his fingers and dropped it into my mouth. I relished its spicy sweetness. “Now, I’m worried.”
“Oh, yeah, why?”
“You’re asking me instead of telling me. What? Is this a peace offering before the slaughter?”
We were at the end of the row, and he took a flaming vine from the previous bucket of burning ones to ignite a new fire. “Did you take over Highway 128 as a final fuck you to your father? I mean I get it if you did. But I just want to know.”
The bitter stink of the smoke caused me to take a step back. I pondered his question for a few moments before responding with what I felt to be the truth. “A fuck you, no, I don’t think so. I really want to be a part of something here. For ten years I’ve been a gypsy. Wandering. Looking. Searching. And for what, I don’t even know. I just want to feel like I matter. But I will tell you, whether my father can comprehend what I hope to accomplish or not, I will prove to him that I am so much more than the daughter he had to replace another.”
“You are already so much more.”
I looked up at him through the shield of my hair and thought about pressing a kiss to his lips.
“Mr. Holiday.” We both turned around when we heard the voice and saw Buck making his way across the vineyard, not pausing to speak with any of the other workers along the way.
“Thank you,” I whispered, putting an end to that conversation.
Tyler took the pruners from my hand. “Come on, I think he has some good news.”
We met Buck near the tractor he’d rode up here on. The two exchanged a silent conversation and then Tyler tossed him the keys to the Rover. “Meet us down there in fifteen,” he told him.
I was trying to understand what this was about.
“Hop on,” Tyler said with excitement I felt all the way in my bones.
Sitting beside him, I watched as he pumped the throttle twice, turned the key, and then pumped the gas once the engine rumbled to life.
The air was cool, and Tyler rubbed his hands together before easing the tractor forward. I watched as he gripped the black wheel and squinted, looking for obstacles as we chugged along the dirt track toward the winery.
As soon as we started around the other side of the mountain, I saw what he was excited about. The winery had been cleared of the debris from the fire and the destroyed exterior walls taken down. And there, beneath all the rubble that had been cleared, sat all ten stainless steel tanks.
I felt a flutter in my heart that could have been a bird wanting to take flight. This was Highway 128, and I wanted it to survive.
Tyler released the throttle and let the tractor settle to a halt. A wake of dust billowed up around us, then subsided.
With a grin, he looked over at me. “As far as Buck can tell, the stainless tanks weren’t damaged from the fire, but the French Oak barrels are toast and the sorting equipment was crushed when the beams above them collapsed.”
This was good news, although looking at what was left of the winery it didn’t feel like it. The wine lab was gone and the crew’s office, too, as well as most of the equipment.
Still, I smiled because we had white grapes fermenting in those steel tanks that had survived, and that meant with California Jane’s help, I could produce lots of Chardonnay.
I swallowed the lump in my throat before asking, “And what about the cellar?”
Tyler grabbed a flashlight and hopped off the tractor. “Come on. Let’s go take a look.”
Excitement fluttered to life as I hurried after him. I think I was more excited about this than I had been about anything, besides him, in a very long time.
When we got close to the rubble, he grabbed my hand. “Stay close.”
While stepping carefully over charred pieces of wood, I allowed my gaze to drift to the stainless steel tanks. “Do you think the temperature variation the tanks underwent this winter are going to be a problem?”
He scratched at his head. “I’m not one-hundred percent sure. It’s been a cold winter, and the roof remained relatively intact until this morning, so there’s a really good chance we’re going to be fine.”
We’re.
I liked that word.
That thrill I had been feeling was still fluttering inside my chest. “When do you think Buck will have a chance to get test samples?” I asked.
Tyler strode ahead of me and then turned around to walk backwards. Excitement shown all over him when he said, “He took some initial ones, but since there hasn’t been any monitoring of the yeast levels, we need to get a winemaker down here right away to help determine our next steps.”
Realizing I didn’t really care for the man that worked for my father as winemaker, and that he was past ready to retire anyway, I frowned. If I didn’t use him, that left CJ’s. But then, using Tyler’s, seemed like I was giving him everything.
“I was thinking,” Tyler said, turning back around, “about contacting Paulo Movado . . . if you agree.”
The space between us had grown vast and I hurried to catch up to him. When I was beside him, I placed my free hand on his strong shoulder. “You mean the winemaker from Cliff Star Wines?”
Tyler stopped and looked over his shoulder, his warm breath blowing against my cheek. “Wow,” he grinned. “I’m impressed you know who he is.”
Apparently he thought I was completely ignorant to the field I worked in. “I’m not a complete wine illiterate, Tyler. I might not know the art of successfully taking the helm of a business from a grumpy old man with undiagnosed Alzheimer’s or the scientific process to creating a blend, but I do know the business.”
“Touché,” he chuckled, and continued toward the place where the entrance to the caves had been. “Well, anyways,” he said, “I had a fleeting minute with Cliff Star Wines last week, long story, but I did have a chance to have a very lengthy talk with Paulo.” There was a gleam in his eyes. “I actually think I can get him down here.”
I bit my lip. “Can we afford it?”
“We can’t afford not to. I’m putting my penthouse up for sale and with the money I’ll make from it, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Tyler, you love that place.”
The giant hole in the ground stopped him from moving any further. “It’s just an apartment. I can get another, later, or we can. So what do you say?”
We can?
My heart did crazy things in my chest.
Yes, I was most definitely a bird in flight.
Soaring way too high, I stepped beside Tyler and peered down. I sighed in relief when I saw the stone stairs hadn’t crumbled. “Are you actually asking for my opinion?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I think getting a new winemaker is just what we need.”
He patted my butt. “Great because I already called him and he agreed.”
“Tylerrrrr!” I gritted. “That is not how teams work. There’s no U in team.”
Taking the first step down, he reached his hand out for me. “But there could be a me in U as long as you start behaving.”
Ignoring his help, I stepped down. My palm hit the cool of the cave wall and I concentrated on where I was moving. “You . . . you . . . you make me so mad.”
“That anger you’re experiencing is just a substitute for what you’re really feeling.”
I took another step and felt the cool air whirl around me. “Really,” I said, amused. “And what might that be?”
“Oh, Love, just admit you want me to bang your brains out right now, and I will.”
The light shone down, and with each step I had to tell myself to breathe. “In your dreams, Tyler Holiday, in your dreams.”
“You were last night, and this morning, too, when I jerked off to the erotic moans you were making in your sleep.”
“I was doing no such thing.”
“But you were.”
“And you jerked off in my shower?” I wanted to say, “Not fair.”
As soon as he hit the last step, he looked over his shoulder at me and his lips twitched. “I’m happy to do it again tonight if you want to watch.”
“No, thank you,” I snapped but the very idea had me thinking I couldn’t wait for evening to arrive.
With a slight shrug he muttered, “Your loss,” and then stepped into the cave. When he shined the light ahead, we both gasped in glee. There they sat. Barrels and barrels of fermenting red wine. Untouched. Unharmed. “Any idea how long they’ve been down here?” he asked.
Tears appeared in my eyes when the light from the flashlight reflected off the steel bands around the oak. “I don’t have a clue. My father never mentioned them.”
“Maybe he forgot about them?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
With quick steps, Tyler strode toward all the oak. Crouching down, he tapped his knuckles against one of the barrels. “I’m going to guess these suckers, other than losing a larger than normal amount of angel’s share, are more than ready for production.”
I hurried toward him and bent to see the barrels in the light. “They’re fine?”
He nodded.
“And this means we are going to be just fine, doesn’t it?” I cried and threw my arms around him, throwing us both off balance.
He caught me and brought us both to our feet. We held each other’s gaze for a few moments. Once young lovers now adults trying to find our way.
The burn of desire started to pool low in my belly and I wondered again how it was I could hate him one minute and want him so much the next?
To my surprise, he said, “So, what do you say we call it a day?”
“You mean lesson one is over?”
He glanced at his watch. “Yes, I think it is.”
“Did I pass?”
The nod he gave me was slow and sexy. “Dinner?”
Elated over today’s accomplishments, I felt on top of the world. “Anywhere I choose?”
Tyler considered my suggestion and then chuckled before shining the flashlight back on the barrels. “Sure, why not.”
Everything was getting easier between us. More like the way it used to be.
The question was—was that good or bad?