A Kiss of Cabernet Read online

  “I have to get back to work,” she mumbled. “Did you decide to see a doctor?”

  “No doctor needed,” he said. “He’ll just tell me to ice it and take aspirin. I’m already doing that.”

  All the men she knew would rather endure torture than admit they needed a doctor. She let it go.

  “I’ll have Jenny bring you more ice. And she’ll be making your dinner tonight.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said. He picked up the last bit of pastry and closed his eyes as he savored it. She didn’t know many men who looked sexy eating breakfast.

  She got up and stood by the door. Her first assessment hadn’t been entirely right. Jake Madison was stubborn and contrary, but he also had a soft side. She noted a frown line marring his broad forehead and wondered what he was thinking now.

  “Is there anything else I can do before I leave?” she asked.

  “No. But I’d like you to check in at the end of the day. I still have a lot of questions, and I’m housebound for a couple of days. If it doesn’t interfere with your schedule, could we talk over dinner?” The lazy smile was back.

  “I guess I could do that.”

  A knot in her stomach tightened slightly. Despite her attraction to him, she was still wary.

  He regarded her again, an intent, friendly gaze that, in spite of her misgivings, made warmth spiral through her stomach and settle in a sweet spot below her belly button.

  “How long do you plan to stay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  He picked up his pencil and leaned back in the chair. “I pride myself on being straight with people. I’m here to sell this place for as much money as I can get. But I have a few things to learn before I can price it correctly. That’s where you come in.”

  Color rushed to her cheeks, and bile rose in her throat. What did he say? Sell? Sell? After she gave up six years of her life to bring near-dead vines back into production? After making this vineyard one of the highest quality vineyards in the valley? If he sold to the highest bidder, she’d be out of a job. Big conglomerates like Diageo and Constellation bought vineyards and brought in their own people to grow the grapes for their own wineries.

  It’s more than just a lost job. This land is part of you.

  Silence stretched and Jake didn’t look away.

  “Well? What do you think? Can you bring me up to speed on viticulture in a week?”

  She swallowed, keeping the quaver out of her voice. “You’re serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “You want my help.”

  “You’re the expert.” He folded his arms across his chest, calm and confident. Paige inspected her scuffed work boots and considered her response before she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean…I have to think about it. This piece of dirt is nothing to you, but it means a lot to me—in ways you’d never understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Have a nice day, Mr. Madison.” She strode from the room. Tears filled her eyes, but she would…not…cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone. And to think she’d d actually started to like the man.

  His magnetism had made her set aside her suspicions and let down her defenses.

  She would not do that again.

  Chapter Three

  “Try a sweet riesling to temper the heat in strong-flavored dish like curry or chili. The combination blends the flavors on the tongue and brings out the essence of both food and wine.”

  —from Paige Reynoso’s tasting notes

  Jake watched her leave and turned back to his breakfast.

  What brought that on?

  It couldn’t be about her job. Whoever bought the place would be lucky to have her. Still, he could understand that she might be apprehensive.

  Maybe he should be angry, but he wasn’t. He liked people who stood up to him. Paige intrigued him. She was quiet, confident, and sexy as hell in her tight jeans and open-necked shirt with a hint of cleavage peeking over the top button. And when she talked about her work, her entire body became animated.

  Down boy. She’s an employee.

  He turned his chair to survey the vista before him. A patchwork of vineyards spread out in both directions on the valley floor. Today the air was fresh and promised heat by early afternoon. He breathed deeply, surprised at how relaxed he felt with the sun warming his face and the tractors droning in the distance. Born and raised in cities, he’d never spent much time in the country.

  Paige’s emotional attachment to this place was understandable. She’d obviously worked hard to make something out of nothing. But he couldn’t allow himself to become connected to it. It was a property that must be sold at a profit. Nothing else.

  His thoughts returned to Paige. She had the most incredible dark green eyes, like the color of her vines, but with golden highlights. Her flawless, sun-bronzed skin begged to be touched.

  Careful. Don’t start coveting what you can’t have.

  A plump, smiling woman came in with ice, an elastic bandage, and a fresh pot of coffee.

  “You must be Jenny,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. I am. Do you want me to wrap your foot?”

  “Not necessary. I can wrap it myself. It’s better today.”

  “That’s good. Sam will be here at noon to make your lunch. I’m going now, and I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  “I appreciate your willingness to cook my dinners, but I can certainly get my own lunch. And by the way, your cinnamon rolls are terrific.”

  Jenny beamed at the compliment, slanted a glance at his crutches, and planted her hands on her hips. “You sure? It takes two hands to make a sandwich.”

  “I can do it.”

  “Then I’ll check on you when I come back to get dinner started. I brought a few groceries with me this morning. You should have everything you need.”

  She bustled out of the room, leaving the terrace door ajar. Too bad she was already employed. If the rest of her cooking was as good as her baking, he would love to have her work for him the entire time he was here.

  He took his cell phone out and called Carol.

  “It’s Jake. Surprise.”

  Muffled laughter on the other end told him it was not.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from that phone. What’s up?”

  “I’m going to be out here a little longer. Pricing this place correctly is proving to be harder than I thought.” He didn’t feel the need to tell Carol about his sprained ankle, although she’d probably get a good laugh out of the fact that he was felled by a broom. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. He needed to learn a little more about grape production to set the right price. Paige could help, if he could get her to talk to him again. He smiled to himself. “In the meantime, I’ll check email daily. I promise.”

  “Okay, boss. I’ll send the new sales reports from both Pantheon and Madison. By the way, Sven Jorgensen called today. He wants to meet. Says it’s important. I gave him the line that you were on vacation, but he didn’t buy it.”

  The muscles in his neck tightened. He had once compared Sven Jorgensen to a living computer worm. Instead of silently wiping out files, he bought out competitors, stripped them of any remaining talent, and then diverted their contracts to his own companies until the acquired company died. He’d been a rival for years, but Jake had been able to hold his own against him. He still could.

  “Why?”

  “He says he has a proposition you will want to hear—a lucrative one.”

  “Tell him no. I’m not that desperate.”

  “He was very insistent.”

  “What’s he after?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “The answer is still no. Stick to the story. I’m on vacation.”

  “If you say so,” said Carol. “By the way, Dr. Michaels’s office called and wants you to schedule a physical. Are you ok
ay, boss?”

  “I’m fine,” he lied. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Why don’t you take some real time off while you’re there?”

  “If you mean lay around in the sun like a lizard, I don’t have time for that.”

  “Work, work, work… That’s you, boss.”

  “Bye, Carol. Talk to you later.”

  He closed the phone and placed it on the table. Jorgensen wanted to meet with him? Had he gotten wind of the financial troubles at Madison? Just the thought of Jorgensen getting his hands on anything he owned made him testy.

  He took off his sock and twisted the bandage around, securing it snugly. Using the table to brace himself, he got up slowly, grabbed the crutches, and carefully put weight on his foot. It hurt like hell, but the swelling was down.

  When he reached the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed, propped his foot, and put the ice pack around his ankle. The cold penetrated the bandage and reminded him he was alive and had work to do. He inched back up against the bank of pillows and for the first time, really examined the room.

  When Kevin advised him to buy the property six years ago, he thought to hold it for a few years and sell when the market was hot. An interior decorator was brought in to furnish it, but it had been taken off the rental market when the economy turned sour. He was glad he hadn’t sold. Kevin handled the transactions. Bottom line—that’s all he’d wanted to know. He was too busy growing his markets for his biomedical products—the markets he was trying to rebuild now that the economy was on the rise.

  Today he would explore the house and work on a report to his stockholders at Madison. The financials for the last quarter had not been a pretty sight. He hoped their latest numbers would show they were making progress. He didn’t want to have to lay off anyone.

  Selling this property will buy some time.

  He removed the ice pack, stood slowly, and hobbled down the hall. The sound of his crutches tapping on the tile floor disturbed the silence of the house. He could still hear the rumble of tractors in the distance, reminding him that this was a working estate. The hum blended with the peacefulness of the surroundings, like a bee buzzing on a lazy afternoon.

  Paige had called it a ranch, but he didn’t remember seeing any animals, except for a dog that appeared to be someone’s pet. And the house would not be called a farmhouse by any stretch of the imagination. The villa was large, but simple in design with long windows on all four sides. He explored the formal living room, dining room, kitchen, and another bedroom wing. On the far side of the house was another terrace with a swimming pool and small cabana.

  A study, located near the kitchen, would be his office while he was here. Bookshelves, partially filled with classics by the decorator, lined two walls. An oak credenza was pushed against a third wall behind a large, wooden desk. The chair looked comfortable. Yes, this would do nicely. He hobbled over to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and took his own aspirin bottle out of his pocket swallowing two pills. His stroll around the house made his ankle throb, but he had a better idea now of what he owned.

  Aside from his injury, he couldn’t believe how good he felt here. Too bad he couldn’t find a way to keep this property in his inventory. But he couldn’t. The stakes were too high.

  Back in his room, propped against pillows, he opened his laptop, and settled down to read about property values in the Napa Valley.

  …

  Paige closed the door to the barn and called her mother on her cell.

  “I wanted to let you know I won’t be over for dinner tonight.”

  “That’s funny. Your grandmother insisted on bringing dinner to you. She said she had a feeling you’d cancel. I thought she’d be there by now.”

  Paige glanced over toward her cottage. A car was parked behind her truck.

  “She’s here. I’m on my way home now. Call you tomorrow.”

  A 1960 white Cadillac convertible with tail fins dominated the driveway. Nana leaned against the door, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. Today she wore a bright red blouse and billowy black slacks. A floppy straw gardening hat with a trailing red scarf wrapped around the brim perched on top of her head.

  “I told your mama I’d drop something off,” said Nana. Her many-ringed fingers sparkled in the sunlight as she took one more drag and then snuffed out the cigarette under her gold flip-flop.

  “Didn’t your doctor tell you to quit smoking?”

  “That quack. The day I listen to him will be the day dirt covers my coffin.”

  Paige shrugged and led the way into her cottage. A large covered dish sat on the small table in the corner of her kitchen.

  “What’s that?”

  “Enchiladas. Just warm them up, honey. There’s enough for two days.”

  “You don’t have to bring me food.”

  “Someone has to feed you since you don’t cook much for yourself. Your mama agrees.”

  Paige put the dish in her refrigerator, thinking some might be destined for the freezer.

  “I’m too busy to cook. Do you want a soda?” she asked.

  “Got any beer?”

  Paige handed her grandmother a beer. “You know you shouldn’t drink and drive.”

  “I don’t. This will be long gone before I get back into the car.”

  No arguing with a woman who knew everything.

  “So tell me what’s wrong.” Large gold loops bobbed from her ears as she removed the straw hat from her dyed black hair and tilted her head, waiting for Paige to answer.

  “Why do you think something’s wrong, Nana?”

  “You have bags under your eyes.”

  “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Who?”

  “The man who kept you awake.”

  Paige sat on a kitchen stool and shook her head. Nana Reynoso claimed she had “the sight.” That was one of the ways she kept her numerous offspring in line. When her oldest son, Pete, had insisted she move into town where he could keep an eye on her, the rest of his siblings breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m not worried about a man, Nana. I just can’t sleep sometimes.”

  “All right. Fool yourself if you want. You’re not fooling me. Are you still fretting about Manuel?”

  “No. No, I’m not.” The wave of guilt over her former fiancé’s death sometimes took her by surprise, but she could honestly say she didn’t dwell on it.

  She’d known Manuel since high school. When she went off to college, he started working for her father and when she came back to Napa after graduation, they started dating. He was funny and cocky, and when he proposed, she accepted. But she couldn’t bring herself to set a wedding date.

  That should have been a clue.

  She had planned to call off the engagement when his reserve unit was called up and he went to Afghanistan. Thinking a break up would be callous, she put it off. Then he was sent away again. And when he returned, he had changed. He was angry and sometimes violent. He refused to get help.

  She was sympathetic, but she couldn’t marry him.

  Then the accident occurred.

  Marcelina cocked her head to one side and stuck her index finger next to her chin, striking a pose. “So if it isn’t Manuel, who is it?”

  “There’s no one,” said Paige, staring down the woman who could be as stubborn as she was herself.

  “Maybe that’s the problem. It’s time for you to find another man.”

  “Honestly, Nana, you think I have time to hang out in singles bars?”

  “All I know is a hummingbird pecked at my window this morning, like it was saying, ‘Marcelina, that granddaughter of yours needs some sweetness in her life.’ You know what I mean, honey?”

  “I’ll give it some thought.”

  They strolled out to the front porch and sat on old-fashioned swing, catching up on family gossip. After another ten minutes, Nana rose.


  “I’m off.”

  She gave her granddaughter a kiss on the cheek, put her beer can on the kitchen counter, and flounced out of the room.

  Bay howled. Great. Nana would call her and tell her some tale about what it means when dogs howl in the daylight.

  Standing in her doorway, she waved as the Caddie roared into life and rumbled down the driveway. Nana may be a trial, but Paige loved her dearly. Nana was the only one who stood up for her when she told her family she would not marry Manuel. And how could she possibly know about Jake?

  She was worried about a man. Hopefully, she’d be able to talk him out of selling her vineyard.

  …

  Talking to herself was an ingrained habit, a way to organize her thoughts, and bolster her confidence. She’d done it since she was a child, and she did it now as she strode to the villa to have dinner with her employer.

  You made an ass of yourself this afternoon. Think before you speak.

  Her momentary anger over his sudden pronouncement had faded by afternoon. If she was to buy herself time, she needed to fight him with logic, not emotion. Jake Madison might have made up his mind, but he’d given her an opening. He said he wanted to learn a little bit about the viticulture business before he listed the property for sale. Fine. It would be up to her to convince him he could make more money keeping it—at least until she could figure out a way to borrow enough money to buy it.

  Banks were out of the question. Her salary was good and she lived modestly, but her savings didn’t amount to a fraction of what a down payment would be. A few of her mother’s relatives were interested in their heritage, but not if it meant investing their own savings. They were solid, middle-class citizens with mortgages and college funds for their kids. They couldn’t afford sentimentality.

  One person had offered a loan when she’d once daydreamed out loud about someday buying the property. But help from her billionaire neighbor, John Sims, came with a golden string. He wanted a relationship. She could only give him friendship. To her shame, she had actually considered it.

  Tonight was important.

  She’d spent the last hour rehearsing her arguments.

  You want to sell this place? You must know how much money it’s making. If you knew more about the wine grape business, you wouldn’t even think of selling. Give me a month and I’ll convince you it’s more valuable to keep. By the way, do you have a girlfriend?