A Fine Year for Love
Still, Louisa appeared happiest when making wine and strolling among the grapes.
Liz believed their hearts were so much alike, they could have been sisters.
Liz entered the barn and walked among the stainless steel tanks, which would be filled to capacity during the grape harvest.
“Louisa! Are you here?” Liz shouted.
“Oui,” Louisa yelled from a distance, the hard heels of her leather boots thumping on the cement.
Louisa was of medium height, but her slight frame and taut muscles made her look like a couture model. She walked toward Liz with a practiced woman’s gait, the soft cotton fabric of her spring dress billowing around the tops of her boots and creating an ethereal effect.
“How was the tasting room this afternoon?” Liz asked. “Busy?”
“Very. I only came over here to find you,” Louisa said. “Where were you?”
“On the hill. You could have called if you needed me.”
“I did. Your phone...it’s not working.”
“Sure it is,” Liz replied, pulling it out of her pocket. “Oops. It was off.”
Louisa frowned. “I was going to tell you about the man. He wants you.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know his name,” Louisa replied, shaking her head. “He’s too beautiful. I don’t trust him.”
“Gabriel.”
“You know him?” Louisa asked, surprise illuminating her face.
“A little bit.” She shook her head. “His brother is going to marry Maddie Strong.”
“That was Nate’s brother?” Louisa asked. “Why does he want you?”
Liz bristled involuntarily in response to Louisa’s words. “If only I knew,” she said with exasperation. She didn’t realize she’d clenched her fists. Gabe didn’t want her personally. But he absolutely wanted something. She just had to figure out what she had in common with the thing it was he wanted.
“Ah. He stirs your blood. Makes you angry,” Louisa observed, peering with critical eyes at her boss.
“I just don’t trust him,” Liz replied uneasily.
Tires crunched on the gravel outside. “More tourists.” Liz smiled broadly, glad to have the conversation diverted from Gabriel Barzonni. “This is shaping up to be a good day for us.”
“Oui,” Louisa said as they walked out of the barn and into the bright sunlight.
Three cars had driven up nearly at the same time. One was an SUV with an Illinois license plate and two couples inside. The couples had just entered the tasting room. A sports car with a handsome pair in their mid-sixties pulled up beside a black Porsche convertible.
Liz stared disbelievingly at the shiny black car that looked as if it had just been detailed and polished.
Starched and pressed. Just like the owner.
“Gabe—” Liz breathed out his name with an undercurrent of frustration.
“Looks like he’s back,” Louisa said with a taunting grin, already walking away from Liz toward the tasting room. “I’m off to see to those guests. À tout à l’heure!”
“See you later,” Liz said, gazing past Louisa at the cluster of tourists. Gabe wasn’t among them.
Immediately suspecting him of going back to her vines, she spun around, her eyes tracking from one end of the vineyard to the other. He hadn’t had enough time to go very far.
She hurried around the corner of the tasting room and glanced up at the big white farmhouse with its wraparound porch. Climbing the three front steps to the beveled glass Victorian door was Gabe, a bouquet of flowers in his right hand.
“I’m not up there,” Liz shouted.
Gabe turned around as Liz marched forward.
“Hi,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “You’re not armed this time, are you? Concealed .38? Maybe a poison dart in your clog?”
“Very funny,” she growled, gesturing at the flowers. “Those for my compost pile?”
“Uh, sure. You can do whatever you want with them.”
“Hmm.” She eyed the flowers and the cellophane sleeve around them. It still had the price tag on it. “Get those at the grocery store, did you?”
“Actually, yes. That’s where the closest florist was,” he said weakly. He thrust the flowers at her. “Please accept my apology.”
“Why don’t you just tell me the truth, Gabe. I won’t bite.”
“Ha! You’re just saying that because you aren’t toting—at the moment.”
“No, Gabe. I do want the truth,” she replied earnestly, taking the bouquet.
“I did tell you the truth. I needed some soil samples from your vineyard. I heard you were going to try to make real champagne out here. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t think we had the soil for that.”
“How did you hear that?” she asked, trailing off as she realized the answer. “From Nate?”
“Yeah. Don’t be mad at Maddie—she just let it slip. Nate swore me to secrecy. I haven’t told a soul.” He crossed his heart.
Liz shifted her weight and put her hand on her hip. “But that information intrigued you so much you snuck out here on a Saturday when you knew no one would be in the vineyard. And then you tried to take my dirt. Why?”
“I’m insatiably curious. I’ve studied pedology and agricultural soil science since college. I’m fascinated when a new pioneer hits the scene. Like you.”
“A pioneer? Some would call me a fool.” She snorted derisively.
“Not me. I think you may be the real genius.”
Liz drew in a breath and paused. She stared at him for a long moment. Louisa was right. He was really handsome, and it was her bet those good looks had gotten him out of many tight spots. She frowned. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, Gabe. I’m not buying it. There’s more here than your curiosity over what could have been idle gossip.”
“Not if you confirm what I heard. Are you making champagne out of vines you brought back from France?”
She knew she shouldn’t confirm even one iota of a fact for him. But if she didn’t, she might not ever learn the real reason for his trespassing.
“Yes. I am.”
“No kidding?” A smile broke across his face and he slapped his thigh as he looked across at the rows of chardonnay vines. His smile dropped off his face in an instant. “How good is it?”
“I don’t know yet. Last fall’s harvest was adequate. My chef de cave, Louisa, has riddled some bottles. They have to age another ten months or so before we try the first bottle.”
Gabe seemed impressed, and Liz knew she’d gained his respect. “That’s amazing.”
“It’s good business,” she replied. “I’ve never been satisfied with the status quo. I want more. Much more.”
“I get that.” He nodded. “I really get that, actually.” He glanced to the south, his gaze going past her land into the distance. He was silent for a long moment.
Whatever he was thinking obviously didn’t please him. What was wrong with having ambition or challenging oneself? Liz wondered. She didn’t care what he thought of her plans for her future. She had the right equipment, vines and people to ensure her success. She only had the unpredictable vagaries of the wind, rain and sun to contend with, just like any other farmer. Gabe ought to know that much.
He looked back at her. “You’ll need a lot of luck, Liz. I wish you that,” he said.
She chortled. “Luck? You don’t think I’ll make it. You don’t know me very well, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’d like to change that.”
She felt surprise mingled with distrust. She leveled him with a glare hot enough to wither healthy vegetation. “Yeah, right.”
“Well, I do owe you an apology. I want to make up for trying to steal your dirt.”
“You know, Gabe, I would have given you a sample. Farmer to farmer.”
This time, he was the one to be cynical. “No, you wouldn’t, Liz,” he retorted sharply. “You would have asked me a thousand questions, just like you’re doing now, because you don’t know me. You know of me. I’m Angelo Barzonni’s oldest son. These days I run his business more than he does, truth be told. That’s all people know. They don’t want to know anything else.”
Liz could almost taste his bitterness, though he spoke with the calm and detached observation of a journalist, as if he were only recording his life and not living it. Her empathy nearly went out to him, but then he flashed his charming smile. He had practiced this masquerade. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling her in...but why?
“I’m going to ask you again, Gabe. Why are you really here?”
“I thought it was obvious. I want to pick your brain.”
She stuck her left hand into the back pocket of her cutoffs and slapped the bouquet of flowers against her thigh as if she could beat down her rising anger. “And the only reason you would want to do that is because you’re going into the wine business.”
Silence.
Gabe kept his eyes on Liz.
“You must think I’m a fool, or that I’d fall for your good looks—”
“You think I’m good-looking?” he interjected.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Look, I came here to taste that great chardonnay of yours. I wandered off to check out the grapes after a bunch of tourists left. I had a soil-gathering kit in my trunk and I went and got it. The gate was open.”
“It’s always locked,” she countered with a glare.
“It was open, okay? I told you. I’m naturally curious. Just as I was collecting the soil, you came up.”
“Caught you red-handed.”
He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Can’t you let it go? I’m sorry.”
She ground her jaw and glanced away, wondering why he unnerved her this much. “You better leave. We have nothing more to say.”
“Liz, come on.”
She shot him a stinging look. He shut up. “You want me to get my gun?”
“No!” He put up his hands. “I’m going. Okay?”
He started past her and as he reached her side, he stopped and leaned in close to her ear. “We have a lot in common, Liz. I can see it. Why can’t you?”
He walked away, got in his car and drove off.
Liz walked up the porch steps and stopped at the front door, noticing her grandfather was standing just inside. The door was opened just wide enough he could have easily heard their conversation.
“Hi, Grandpa,” she said with a wave of the bouquet.
Sam Crenshaw was as tall as Gabe, about six-foot-four, with a thatch of white hair that had thinned over the years and which no pair of scissors could ever tame. Liz always said she inherited her wild curls from Sam. He stood straight-backed and square-shouldered, as he always did when he sensed confrontation. Liz smiled to herself, validated that her grandfather also sensed the presence of a foreign substance. Gabe was like a sliver, Liz thought. Inconsequential at first, but the longer you took to deal with it, the more harm it could cause.
“So that’s Gabriel, huh?”
“Yeah,” she replied, glancing back as Gabe’s convertible left a dusty rooster tail in his wake.
“Good-looking kid. Resembles his mother.”
“I guess,” she said, moving inside.
“He give you those flowers?”
“Yep. I’ll throw them in the compost heap. It’s all they’re good for.”
Sam nodded resolutely. “Very wise. I’ve never met a Barzonni who wasn’t up to no good.”
Liz was surprised by Sam’s pointed comment. She’d never heard him mention anything in particular about the Barzonni family in the past, but judging from the way his jaw was set as if he’d just tasted something acrid, her curiosity was piqued.
Sam’s eyes had narrowed to piercing blue slits. Liz knew he used these discerning eyes when he needed to ponder a situation. She also knew he didn’t want to talk about Gabe, at least for the moment. Later, she might be able to coax an explanation out of him.
“I’ve got work to do.” Sam plucked his straw hat off the hall tree stand and stepped outside, leaving Liz alone.
Liz looked sadly at the summer bouquet.
It was the first time a man had given her flowers.
CHAPTER THREE
GABE SAT ACROSS the kitchen table from Sophie Mattuchi and her parents, Mario and Bianca. Mario was of medium height and fit build, much like Gabe’s own father, Angelo. His black hair was veined with streaks of white, as if the man had been hit by lightning. His face was deeply lined and very tan from years of toiling in the sun.
However, Gabe quickly learned Mario had never been a farmer, as his appearance would suggest, but a car mechanic. Apparently, he was just as fascinated with Gabe’s Porsche as he was with the purpose of Gabe’s visit.
Bianca busied herself around the kitchen, bringing tall glasses of iced tea with lemon and homegrown mint to the table.
Sophie’s ninety-year-old grandmother, Bella, sat silently in a rocking chair in the corner near an enormous brick hearth. Despite the heat, she wore a colorful shawl around her thin shoulders while she watched Gabe with guarded crystal-blue eyes.
“Mario, as you and I have discussed, I haven’t told anyone about your condition,” Gabe said with compassion.
“Thank you,” Mario said, choking back emotion. “And thank you for taking me up on my offer.”
“Mario, you’re helping me make my own dream come true. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’m happy I could make this work for both of us.”
“I just never thought I would be in this position,” Mario said, looking from Bianca to Sophie.
Sophie smiled at her father. “You’re going to get well, Papa. And you’ll have many more years on the farm. By that time, Gabe will be making all kinds of wonderful wines. Right, Gabe?”
“Sure will,” Gabe replied, catching her upbeat tone. “So, Mario, I’ve had all the soil samples analyzed down at Purdue.” Gabe opened his briefcase and took out a plot map of the Mattuchis’ small farm and vineyard and placed it on the table. “This section here is the best.” He pointed at a spot on the map and glanced over at Bella. “You should all take a look. This is very exciting.” Sophie smiled at her grandmother and urged her to join them, but Bella shook her head violently and refused to move. Gabe noticed the very tight purse to the old woman’s lips and thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been negotiating with Bella.
Mario and Bianca leaned in. Mario pointed to the easternmost ridge on the map, where the land lay fallow. “This is what you wanted?”
“Yes.” Gabe smiled widely. “This section here, next to the Crenshaw place. I have reason to believe I can grow pinot noir grapes up there. These slopes are perfect.”
“We’ve never had anything grow there.” Sophie had pity in her eyes. “Are you sure you should do this, Gabe?”
“Sophie, I’m sure you’re the best darned cardiology nurse at the hospital, but I know about grapes and soil, and I’m telling you this section is worth the entire vineyard. I’m willing to buy the whole vineyard since Mario isn’t all that interested in expanding his operation.”
“Expanding?” Mario laughed. “Certainly not now, of course, but why would I want to compete with Sam Crenshaw? He’s got the best land around these parts, and plenty of it. That granddaughter of his has made all kinds of improvements and talked him into hiring experts from France, for goodness’ sake!” Mario gestured wildly.
Bianca handed an iced tea to her husband without saying a word. Mario took a long slug. The icy liquid appeared to have dampened his excitement.
Gabe nodded. “I have to agree. Winemaking these days isn’t a hobby. It’s big business. Very big business.”
Bianca shrugged. “We were never serious about it. We made the wine for ourselves. Sophie would give some bottles to her girlfriends as gifts. That’s all.”
“Mama. We made good wine. Gabe thinks he can make it better,” Sophie said.
“What I believe,” Gabe continued, “is that this line of apple trees is your problem. They block the sun too much—they won’t allow the grapes to ripen properly. Pinot noir grapes need morning, midday and afternoon sun. If I take these trees out...”
“You’re going to cut them down?” Sophie asked in horror. “I climbed them when I was a child! I love those trees.”
Gabe shook his head and reached over to pat her hand. “No, I’ll move them to the southern end, where we’ll plant the pinot gris. The apple flavor will enhance that of the grapes. I’ll also plant some pear trees there. I won’t get rid of anything on the property. My intention is to make everything better.”
Sophie glanced down at her hand, which was covered by Gabe’s larger one. She smiled.
Gabe caught her smile and took back his hand. He edged the map closer to Mario, but didn’t miss Bianca throwing Sophie a quelling look.
Gabe was sure Bianca didn’t want her daughter to blow the deal. Sophie had a reputation for going after guys and then tossing them in a heap after a few days.
Gossips around Indian Lake said the same kind of thing about Gabe because he’d never dated anyone seriously. He simply didn’t have the time. Gabe had never told a woman he loved her. He’d never asked anyone to be his girlfriend or fiancée. He’d steered very clear of relationships that smacked of anything permanent.
Gabe liked to go to dance, but he preferred to leave alone.
He had his sights set on his future, and to attain the kind of international success he wanted for himself as a vintner, Gabe had to stay focused on his goal.
As he turned back to the map, Gabe felt his heartbeat accelerate. This vineyard, and the possibility of seeing his own name on a wine label, filled him with euphoria. There wasn’t a feeling on earth like it.
“In addition to restructuring the rows of vines and bringing in new varieties, I want us to do some high-density planting.”
“How high?” Sophie asked, her eyes widening.
“Twenty-two hundred vines per acre.”
Mario whistled.
Sophie bit her lower lip. “This is no hobby.”
“Let me show you how serious I am,” he said, pulling a manila folder out of his briefcase. He opened it, revealing engineering drawings, machinery blueprints and a second land survey. “This is the equipment we’ll need by next year’s harvest in order to maximize our winemaking. I’ll keep the oak casks you have to age the wine, but we’ll need these stainless steel tanks in order to ferment it. We’ll build the barrel cellar along with the first fermentation barn. Since you’ve used your small barn for fermentation before, we’ll connect the plumbing from there to the new barn. There will be a radiant cooling system in the cellar roof. With this design you see here—” Gabe slid a set of photos across the table “—we’ll be one of the most modern wineries around. But we’ll keep the rustic charm, too. You’ll note the barn’s wood frame still has traditional hand-joinery. It’s done just as it was in the 1880s—probably when your first barn was built. Am I right?”
“Yes. It was built in 1882,” Mario replied. “I love that old barn.”
“We should capitalize on its charm.”
“What about a tasting room like Liz has?” Mario asked.
“Too soon,” Gabe said. “We’re a long way from that. I may pool our wines with the tasting rooms up in Saugatuck. Right now, I’ll be investing in fermentation barns, underground cellars and staff.”
“Staff?” Sophie and Mario said in unison.
“Absolutely. I’ll need help. I still have my father’s business to help run. Rafe has his mind on racehorses, and Mica would rather be designing some new piece of machinery than running the farm. That leaves the bulk of the Barzonni business squarely on my and my dad’s shoulders.”
“Angelo is a good businessman,” Mario said quietly as he studied the drawings and plans.
Gabe nodded. “He is. But he’s slowing down a bit these days.” He gave Mario a pointed and inquisitive look, but the older man quickly glanced away.
“Sophie told me Malbec wine is very popular with her friends,” Mario said. “It’s a big seller. Will you make Malbec?”
“I do want to give it a try. After all, vintners in the southwest of France and Argentina shouldn’t have a monopoly on that market.” Gabe gestured to the eastern side of the vineyard on the plot map. “These blackberries will enhance the wine. We’ll also add some black pepper flavor to give it an open texture.”
“Lovely,” Bianca said, folding her hands in her lap.
Gabe could read body language well enough to know that Bianca, for one, was itching to get a hold of his cashier’s check. He could only imagine the medical bills that had been piling up. Mario was on the mend after his surgery and was starting chemotherapy in a week. He would get well. They all had to believe that. Still, his treatments had put a strain on the family’s finances. Gabe was surprised by the sense of pride he took in being able to help them.
“Mario, this set of drawings is for you and your family. I want you to continue to look them over. I know we’ve talked about what I hope to create out here, but I need to be sure you’re happy with this deal. Do you still want to sell to me?”
Mario didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately and thrust out his hand. “Yes, we do, Gabriel. I’m very pleased you are going to make my little vineyard into a modern operation.”
As they shook hands, Gabe smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. This was more than a very exciting day in his life. And it felt very, very fine.
Gabe signed the papers, then handed them to Mario. “Congratulations to us.”
While Mario countersigned them, Gabe took out the cashier’s check and handed it to Bianca.
She smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you.”
As soon as the paperwork was done, Gabe would own roughly twelve acres of vineyard, most of which contained the same soil that was on Liz Crenshaw’s land.
This tiny parcel wasn’t even a speck of lint on the hundreds of acres, both planted and fallow, that Liz and Sam Crenshaw owned, but it was a start.
Since his freshman year at UC Davis, when he’d taken his first classes in viticulture and enology, he’d known that the tomatoes, soybeans and corn his family grew would never hold the allure for him that grape-growing and winemaking would. He had not only excelled in his classes, but also seemed to know as much or more than his professors. He remembered everything he read about wine as if the information had been burned into his brain. He was obsessed with California—the weather, the soil, the rock, the grapes, the other fruit and the estates. Gabe was drunk on the knowledge that flowed into him. Like the casks of wine he someday intended to make, Gabe knew he had to bide his time. His dream had to be held in reserve. Aged and not rushed. He’d returned to Indian Lake that summer, forever changed.
Still, Gabe had always felt the strong sense of duty to his parents that often befalls firstborn children. When Nate ran off to join the navy after high school, not telling any of his family where he’d gone, Angelo had exploded with rage. Gabe had assuaged his father’s anger by promising to be his right-hand man on the farm after he graduated from Purdue. Gabe had been putting his dreams and passions on hold for nearly a decade now. This opportunity to buy this small patch of land from the Mattuchi family had been the key to unlocking his hidden desires.
Once the papers were signed, his life was never going to be the same. It was time for him to break free from his father’s grasp, and this purchase was his first step.
He needed to learn as much as he could as fast as he could, because all his moves would be swift from this point forward. He intended never to look back.
Gabe’s ultimate dream was that one day his vineyard’s name, Château Gabriel, would grace a wine so rare and unique that it would be sold, revered, saved and even auctioned off around the world. He would be recognized among the world’s great sommeliers and collectors. He would have left his mark.
When the time was right and his plans called for it, he intended to travel to Argentina, South Africa and France to buy exceptional varieties of grapes with which to create masterpieces.
“Thank you, my friend,” Mario said as he handed the papers back to Gabe. He kept a copy for himself. “This makes me very happy.”
“I’m glad I could help. And thank you, Sophie, for suggesting I buy your father’s land.”