A Kiss of Cabernet Read online

  Gone? Surely she hadn’t heard correctly. “What did you say?”

  “Mr. Madison left. Late last night. I heard a car and got up to see what was going on. Mr. Madison got in a taxi and they took off.”

  Paige mentally crumpled, like a hand had reached out and punched her in the stomach. Was he leaving because of last night and what they almost did?

  Tears threatened. How could she have been so naive? Where was her brain? It definitely had not been connected to the rest of her body last night. Was he as embarrassed as she was?

  “Are you all right, Miss Paige? Is something wrong?”

  She took a deep breath, stilled her shaking shoulders, and swallowed hard. Pasting a smile on her face, she patted Sam’s back.

  “I’m fine, Sam. Just perplexed. Let’s get to work.”

  The routine of the work was comforting. By the end of the day, she was covered in fine white dust and exhausted. What she needed was a shower. She could always think better when she was clean.

  When she got back home, a text message beeped on her phone. From Jenny, it told her there was a note addressed to her on the kitchen counter.

  Just go up to the house and get it over with. The shower can wait.

  She trudged up the hill and through the back door. The house was quiet, just as it had been for years before Jake came. Yet it seemed empty to her now. She picked up the note, put it in her pocket, and walked back home.

  A breeze ruffled the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid, bringing cool air to a day that had been hot and humid, an unusual condition in this California climate. Old timers would have called it earthquake weather.

  She stopped to examine a group of grape clusters with their light dusting of white as she passed. They looked like they’d been dipped in flour. These vines were her creation. She wanted them to be strong and healthy, given every chance to grow to their full potential. She wanted the fruit they produced to be the best in the valley. Her ancestors would be proud.

  She shrugged and put her hand in her pocket and touched the crisp paper of the note. What did it say? “I’ve made my decision, and I’ve gone back to New York. Nice knowing you.” Or maybe, “Thanks for the good time, but if I want a playmate, there are plenty at home.” He had been here just over a week, yet his absence made her feel as empty as the house. Had he made such an impression on her then?

  You know the answer is yes.

  Paige opened her back door and went in. She took off her clothes inside the kitchen, placing the note on the table. After her shower she put on a long cotton T-shirt and a light robe. Pouring a glass of chilled chardonnay, she took the note out to the porch to read. His handwriting was thick and bold, like brush strokes on a Japanese painting.

  “Urgent business in New York. Be back Saturday. Sorry about last night. It won’t happen again. Jake.”

  She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she exhaled in a large whoosh. Sipping her wine, she reread the note, aware that her cheeks were growing warmer. Her stomach did a somersault. He was coming back. She would see him again. But then her smile faded as she again wondered how in hell she was going to face him and what he meant when he said it wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t hold her again, kiss her again? Or did he mean he would be prepared next time?

  She was afraid it was the former.

  She had to be very careful now, and remind herself this man was her boss, not her lover. The fact that he was coming back didn’t mean he wouldn’t disappear from her life one day.

  Her heart was in grave danger. She recognized the signs, even if it had been a long time since she’d felt anything like this. When he came back, she would put on the professional demeanor that she had worn like armor for years.

  She took another sip of her chardonnay and listened to the crickets as the light faded.

  …

  If nightmares could come to life, he was sitting in the middle of one. Jake took a long swallow of his beer and stared at the man sitting across from him. Sven Jorgensen’s eyes were slits, and the smile stretched across his face never reached them. Jake expected a forked tongue to dart from between the thin lips any moment.

  Meeting in a popular bar had been Jake’s idea. At least he could enjoy a good drink while he endured the company of what some called his arch rival. The room was warm with lively bodies at six o’clock on a Wednesday night. The buzz of conversation made it nearly impossible to hear, but the corner table was small enough that he and Jorgensen practically rubbed elbows. The thought made Jake shudder. He’d been listening to Jorgensen for the last half hour and had heard nothing of interest. He ranted about his power, his newly acquired stock, his tired ideas for the company, the value of its assets if it closed. Tuning him out, Jake mentally calculated the amount of money it would take to buy back enough Pantheon stock to keep Jorgensen firmly out of the way.

  “As you know, I can take control of the company at any time,” he said. “It’s an option I haven’t exercised. But I will if we can’t come to an agreement.”

  “So what’s your game? What do you want?”

  “Why do you think I want anything?” whined Jorgensen. “As an important stockholder, I deserve your undivided attention. I will be taking my seat on the board at the next meeting. You owe it to me to tell me where you’re taking this company. I see a lot of waste and overspending. It might be time for new leadership.”

  “You and I both know you want something more, Sven. You wouldn’t have insisted on meeting with me if you didn’t. You could have presented your ideas at that board meeting. So what is it?”

  Jorgensen looked off into the crowded space, not making eye contact. He absently reached up and loosened the knot on his silk tie. Ice cubes tinkled in glasses, and laughter burst from the next table. Jake watched Sven take out a pen and begin tapping it on the table.

  When had this animosity started? True, they had both risen to the top of similar businesses in the early years, and it seemed like every time Jake and Sven were finalists in a bidding war, Jake came out on top. But it was more than that. Where Jake had charm and finesse and a code of ethics, Sven blustered through his deals like a hungry pit bull and he didn’t care who he bloodied. When he got what he wanted, he was even more ruthless.

  And then there was Vickie.

  Jake had pegged her as a gold digger the minute he’d met her at a party in Atlanta on a night when Jorgensen was busy with some business deal in a back room. He was feeling reckless that night, having endured his first episode, knowing his symptoms were starting. They had shared a couple of dances and had strolled on the veranda of the antebellum mansion, taking in the stars and the fresh air. Sven had found them in a less-than-innocent embrace, the result of too much vodka and a warm night. He had dragged Vickie off into the garden. Two days later Jake had passed them as he ran to catch a plane. Vickie had a black eye under her dark sunglasses and didn’t acknowledge him.

  His distaste for Sven had grown to disgust.

  Jorgensen leaned back in his chair and fiddled with the top of the retractable pen. Jake was sure his eyes were glittering, as if prey had just come into view.

  “I understand you’ve been in California,” he said smoothly, never taking his eyes off Jake’s face.

  Startled, Jake controlled his reaction. “Now where did you hear that?” He thought he’d kept a low profile.

  “I have my sources.” He sipped his martini, his thin lips nearly disappearing into his face.

  “And you care where I hang out because…?”

  “I was recently in California, too. In fact, I took a little side trip to the Napa Valley. Beautiful place.”

  “And your point is…?”

  “What if I offered to trade all of my Pantheon stock for that neat little vineyard of yours…the one in Napa Valley?”

  Jake felt his shoulders stiffen, his eyes never leaving Sven’s mouth. He pictured Paige, and the knot in his gut tightened.

  “You hankering to go into the
wine business, Sven?” His voice was soft and deadly, his tone even.

  “I might.”

  “You don’t look much like a farmer.”

  “Neither do you, Jake.”

  “Well, if the property’s that important to you, I guess I’m missing something. I’d better get back there and find out what’s so valuable about that piece of dirt.”

  “My offer won’t be on the table for long. Then I exercise my option and take over Pantheon. How many employees did you say you have, Jake?”

  The room had become stifling and the buzz of conversations a roar. Jake stayed perfectly still. His teeth hurt from clenching his jaw.

  “Now I thought you knew that, Sven. You seem to know everything else about my holdings.”

  A gurgle of laughter came from across the table, but there was no frivolity in Jorgensen’s smile.

  “You know where to reach me when you’ve made a decision.” The chair scraped the floor as he stood.

  Sven abruptly walked from the room.

  Jake gulped the last of his beer and sat in stunned silence, his thoughts dwelling on the bombshell Jorgensen had dropped. Now how in hell did he know what property he owned in California? And why would he make that kind of an offer if he wasn’t up to something? Was there oil under that land he didn’t know about? No. It had to be something else.

  Green eyes flecked with gold intruded on his thoughts. Paige couldn’t know anything about this. How could she? If she had ever encountered Sven Jorgensen, she would have told him. He was certainly unforgettable. In their nightly talks, she had never mentioned anyone inquiring if the property was for sale. Maybe she didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want him to sell it. She’d never bring a buyer to the table, unless that buyer promised to keep her on.

  You’re too suspicious, Madison. This isn’t Paige’s doing.

  It was time to get back to Napa.

  Chapter Ten

  “Barbera, with its hints of blackberry, is a perfect wine for a hearty pasta with sausage. Serve it at room temperature, and put a little in the sauce, as well as the cook.”

  —from Paige Reynoso’s tasting notes

  The heat was making clothes implements of torture. Paige carefully peeled off her jeans and put on a pair of shorts before driving into town. As much as she hated to confront her father, she was curious about what he knew about Jake. If there were rumors, she wanted to hear them. And if their relationship was worth repairing, maybe she needed to make the first gesture.

  Tourists were out in force on the Silverado Trail, making progress frustrating as they slowed down to read signs leading to the string of wineries along the two-lane road.

  Pulling into a modest neighborhood of older tract homes, Paige turned into the third driveway, parking under a large sycamore tree. Nicky ran out of the house to greet her.

  “Aunt Paige, Aunt Paige. I hit a home run.”

  He opened the door of her pickup before she could get out and threw his arms around her.

  “That’s terrific, Nicky.”

  “Can you come see me play Saturday?”

  “Is yours the first or the second game?”

  “The second.”

  “Good. I won’t have to change my booth schedule.”

  Extracting his arms from around her neck, Paige stepped out of the truck, and they walked together into the house. The smell of chocolate chip cookies made her mouth water. Nicky made a beeline for the kitchen.

  “Hey, just one until after dinner, young man.” Paige’s mother was busy drying neatly stacked dishes. Watching her grandson carefully choose his treat, she shooed him out of the kitchen.

  “Can you stay for dinner?”

  “I’ll pass on tonight, but I’ll see you Saturday. I promised Nicky I’d go to his game.”

  “I thought you were helping Mariel with her booth at the Harvest Fair?”

  “I am, but my shift should be finished by then.”

  “Here, take these cookies to your father. He’s been smelling them all morning. He’s in his study.”

  The warmth of the cookies seeped through the plate as her mother placed it in her hands.

  “Is he in a good mood?” She sounded like a teenager who had scratched the family car. Meetings with her father usually turned her backbone to jelly.

  Mama’s tone was stern. “Your papa loves you. Never forget that.”

  “I know. It’s just that he always makes me feel like I’ve been caught pilfering from the church poor box.”

  She shook her finger under Paige’s nose. “He makes you feel guilty because you let him. Now go and take him his cookies.”

  Paige opened the refrigerator and took out a diet soda, balancing the plate in one hand. She moved through the living room and entered her father’s study through the open door. He was hunched over a newspaper, muttering something.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Do you want a soda or a beer?”

  Her father shot her a glance, but didn’t greet her. He took a cookie and motioned to Paige to sit down. She chose the chair opposite his, setting the plate on the cluttered desk.

  She studied her father’s sun-weathered face. Wrinkles lined his forehead, and his eyebrows, once black, were now completely gray. He was clean shaven as always, his thick salt and pepper hair cropped short to fit better under the broad-brimmed straw hat he always wore in the fields. Hard to believe that he once carried her piggyback through the vineyards while she whooped and shouted, hanging onto his broad shoulders. Now those shoulders were taut and controlled. She could have used one to cry on from time to time.

  “Mariel said you’d heard something about the owner of Garnet Hill,” said Paige.

  “Yes.”

  “What are people saying?”

  “They say he is in financial trouble and has a buyer lined up for the property.”

  “Is it a rumor or does someone have facts?”

  He scowled and continued reading his paper.

  “Well? Which is it, Papa?”

  Paige frowned and stood up, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Why was it so frustrating to have even a casual conversation with her father? Didn’t he care enough about her livelihood to question his sources? It hadn’t always been like that. Papa was her hero growing up, the man who had taught her to think, to question, to reach for whatever she wanted, even if it seemed it seemed to be beyond her grasp.

  Of the three children, Paige was most like their father—hardworking, loyal, sometimes a little insecure. Maybe that’s why he still blamed her for causing Manuel’s death. He said she hadn’t done enough to prevent it. Maybe he saw in himself things he could have done as well.

  She turned and started to walk out, leaving the plate of cookies on the desk.

  “It’s probably talk. People like to talk,” he said.

  She turned back, trying to read his expression, but he didn’t look up. Her father was a man of few words and rarely elaborated.

  “Will you be all right?” Her father’s deep voice rumbled behind his newspaper.

  “Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you for asking.”

  She closed the door behind her and expelled her breath. Maybe Mama was right. Maybe he did care about her career. But his news was troubling. Did Jake already have a buyer? Had he lied to her? No, it was a rumor. She shrugged it off.

  “Leaving so soon?” Her mother was still in the kitchen, a cookbook in front of her on the counter.

  “I have errands to run in town. I just stopped in to say hello.” She took a long drink of her soda and poured the rest into the sink, putting the empty can in the recycling bin. “Papa said he’d heard rumors about Jake Madison that might affect my property.”

  “Your property? You have to stop thinking that way, querida. That land was sold before World War II. You’re the only one who still thinks of it as ours.”

  “It should be ours.” Her back was rigid, and her hands clutched her hips. “Don’t your ancestors, your heritage, mean anything to you?”

&nb
sp; “I care about the living…you, your father, your sisters, and Nicky. You have to get over this obsession you have.”

  “That’s what Sarah says.” She bent down and gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek. She picked up a cookie from the cooling rack, slipped it into her mouth, and slowly made her way out the back door, her gaze on the ground. The warm chocolate melted on her tongue.

  Her shoulders knotted as she backed out of the driveway and headed for the irrigation supply yard. Her entire life had been spent here in the Napa Valley. She expected to die here. And if she had her way, she would one day own Garnet Hill.

  She turned onto Highway 29, heading toward St. Helena, and pulled into the parking lot of Napa Vineyard Supply. She had just reached the entrance when a familiar voice called out her name.

  “John. When did you get back?” She walked over and gave her neighbor a peck on the cheek. He generally looked tastefully disheveled, his blond hair worn long over his forehead. Today he seemed depressed.

  “What’s up?” said Paige. “You look like someone stole your last dollar.”

  “Why don’t I invite myself over to your house for dinner, and then I can tell you all about it?”

  Why not? John might be able to cheer her up.

  “As long as you don’t mind frozen lasagna, I’d love to catch up.”

  “See you around six o’clock then.”

  She watched him saunter to his red Ferrari and slide smoothly into the front seat. The engine purred, and he drove off. John was said to be a man who lived off his investments with his business based in Chicago. Paige knew during the past four years the role of gentleman farmer had appealed to him and his business trips had fallen off. He’d even played at wine-making and had won a few gold medals in amateur competitions. But lately he’d been spending a lot of time in San Francisco, and she suspected he might be getting tired of farming.

  A bad feeling weighted her shoulders. Maybe he’d heard something about Jake.

  …

  Paige took the lasagna out of the freezer and put it in the oven to heat. She had enough greens for a salad, and she had stopped at her favorite bakery for a fresh baguette. She wondered if Jake liked lasagna. Maybe she’d try making him dinner one night.