A Fine Year for Love
Bianca and Mario led Gabe to the door.
Sophie squeezed between them. “I’ll walk you to your car, Gabe,” she said sweetly.
Too sweetly, he thought. “Thanks.” He turned to Bella. “Good day to you, Mrs. Mattuchi,” he said with a polite nod.
Bella only grunted at him, then folded her arms over her chest and stared at the wall.
“Don’t mind her,” Sophie whispered. “It’s past her nap time.”
Gabe nodded. “I’ll be seeing you, Mario. I’ll give you a call on Monday before Mica and I come out to get started on the construction. He wants to look the place over.”
“Certainly,” Mario replied with a wide grin. He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close. “This is a wonderful day for us.”
“I’m glad,” Gabe said and ambled down the flower-bordered front walk toward his car.
Shielding his eyes, Gabe glanced over at Bella’s sunflower acre. “That’s really spectacular,” he said.
“Grandma sells to three florists in town, and a wholesaler from Chicago drives in every other day during her harvest.”
Gabe’s jaw dropped. “My kind of entrepreneur.”
“She can be a lot of fun,” Sophie assured him with a dazzling smile. “We can all be fun,” she said, leaning closer.
Gabe unlocked the car. “I’ll remember that,” he said.
She put her hands on the top of his door as he slid into the seat. “I’ll be seeing a lot of you this summer and fall, I guess.”
Gabe caught Sophie’s flirtatious undertone. Romance was the last thing on his mind. “Sophie, we should have an understanding. I’m looking forward to seeing you more this summer, but I’m doing a business deal with your father. We should keep things professional.”
The seductive smile slid off her face. She gave him a sharp nod. “Got it. Can’t blame a girl for trying. I’ll see you around.”
“See you around,” he replied.
Gabe drove down the gravel drive to the country road that would lead to the highway. As he passed the Crenshaws’ fenced-in vineyard, he began to slow down.
It wasn’t possible, he supposed—not according to any meteorologist or climatologist he’d heard, anyway—but Gabe could swear the sun shone more brightly on the Crenshaws’ grapes than it did on the Mattuchis’.
Just looking at the land brought back the vision of Liz standing tall and tan and beautiful, the summer wind blowing her long, honey curls around her shoulders as she pointed a shotgun at him.
Staring over at Liz’s thriving vines, he realized she truly was a child of the earth. And she seemed to want nothing more than to wipe him off that particular planet. Now they were going to be neighbors. He wondered if she would ever come around to being neighborly toward him. And if she did...
Would she be willing to sell her fallow land to me?
Gabe rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. The Mattuchi acreage was no more than a starter garden in the grand scheme Gabe had painted for himself. He needed something exceptional, and Liz Crenshaw had just that. She was experimenting with several different wines, including an ice wine. But how far did her imagination and drive take her?
If he could combine Liz’s harvest with imported Argentinian grapes, he would be able to create perfection.
This had been Gabe’s plan all along. But until his recent exploration to the Crenshaw tasting room and onto the land itself, he’d had no idea how valuable the Crenshaw plot truly was.
Sitting on a protected pocket of land where the earth, sun, wind and humidity combined to create a vintner’s paradise, Liz Crenshaw reigned over one of the most priceless slices of winegrowing land in the United States, outside of California.
Gabe nearly squirmed in his seat thinking about it.
He could just come right out and ask Liz if she would be willing to sell, but after their initial encounter, his best guess was she’d kick him off the land, shoot him, or both. No, he had to be careful with Liz. He had to take his time. He had to use some charm and plenty of wit. She was perceptive, bright and suspicious. A bad combination, if he was trying to swing a land deal.
He needed to win her trust first. He would make her a very fair offer—even more than fair. Both of them would come out on top.
If he were dealing with any other businessperson, the way he did at the farm and the corporate canneries, Gabe would have felt his usual confidence. But oddly, the thought of negotiating with Liz filled his gut with butterflies.
It was going to take a lot of convincing to win her over.
CHAPTER FOUR
LIZ LAY IN BED staring at Gabe’s bouquet. She’d put them in her mother’s favorite crystal vase. They would find their way to the compost heap soon enough, so she might as well enjoy them first. It wasn’t the flowers’ fault they were from Gabe.
She stared at the single salmon-pink rose in the middle of the arrangement. It might have been her first time receiving flowers from a man, but it was undoubtedly Gabe’s hundredth time giving them to a woman. He must have been pretty sure of himself to come back to her vineyard so quickly, which meant he hadn’t had to think very long to devise a plan to placate her. Showing up with a bouquet and an apology had obviously worked for him in the past.
Liz prided herself on not making snap judgments, on allowing people to prove themselves to her. She’d done it since high school with her employees. She had one of the best working crews around Lake Michigan, and she’d won their loyalty by dealing with them fairly.
With Gabe, she didn’t have much to go on. Of course, she’d heard about him nearly all her life. But that was either gossip or hearsay. What people said about Gabe was that he’d had dozens of girlfriends, though no one was ever mentioned by name. He was dating the “new blonde,” the “new redhead” or a woman vaguely identified by her profession.
Gabe’s supposed popularity with women didn’t surprise Liz. Most of her girlfriends thought he was the best-looking guy in Indian Lake, though none of them had ever dated him. None had even gone to a movie with him. Gabe had graduated from high school before any of her crowd had had a chance with him.
Gabe was nearly an icon by the time Liz had become a freshman. He had been Mr. Everything in high school. He was All-State quarterback and went to regionals for the five-hundred-yard dash. He was on the debate team and acted in several school plays. Some said he was better on stage than he was on the gridiron. She was sure Gabe had made it nearly impossible for his three younger brothers to keep up. Gabe had achieved every goal he set. He’d always won.
Back then, even her grandfather had said Gabe was a “golden boy.”
It stood to reason a person who had always been a winner would expect that kind of life to continue. Such an outlook would tend to make a person arrogant and bigheaded.
Pigheaded was more like it.
The more Liz thought about Gabriel Barzonni, the more intense the fire within her became. Apparently, his charms had always worked on women. Apparently, he’d lumped her into that group of easy-to-manipulate females, and apparently, he hadn’t tried to get to know her in the least. He didn’t have the slightest idea what it would take to impress her, and he obviously wasn’t interested in finding out. To a man like Gabe, she was just an object, a problem to be either solved or forgotten.
“Well!” she exclaimed aloud. “We’ll just see about that!”
She bounded out of her bed, tossing her grandmother’s counterpane quilt aside, and walked barefoot across the honey-colored hardwood floor to the window.
It wasn’t dawn yet.
Liz hadn’t slept, which made her angrier with herself. It wasn’t like her to dwell on inconsequential matters.
She combed her long hair with her fingers and then massaged her scalp. Something wasn’t right. In fact, it was all wrong. There was no good reason for Gabe to be on her land. And he hadn’t come clean about his real reason for trespassing. Then he’d sent her the flowers. But why?
She was beginning to hate that word.
There was only one smart thing for Liz to do.
I have to pretend he doesn’t exist. I never saw him on my land. He never brought me flowers.
* * *
LIZ WORE A fire-engine red bathing suit with white spaghetti straps and white river shoes as she helped her friends carry their sculling boat from the boathouse at Captain Redbeard’s Marina out onto Indian Lake.
The early dawn rays slid across the glass-like surface of the water, making it look like silver mercury. The sky was dotted with only a few clouds, now tinged in pink and lavender, a spectacle Liz knew would only last moments.
Placing the boat in the water, Liz went back for the oars and distributed them to Sarah, Maddie and Isabelle, and kept one for herself.
“Before we start,” Maddie said with an impish smile, “I have something to ask Liz and Isabelle.”
“Sure,” Liz said, pulling on a pair of rowing gloves she’d bought at the marina’s new gift shop. Sarah thought wearing gloves was cheating, but Liz didn’t care. Her hands were a wreck from thinning the grape vines the past week. She needed to give them a chance to heal, not torture them further.
“Would you both be my bridesmaids?”
“Are you kidding?” Isabelle whooped and nearly knocked Maddie down with a hug. “I’d love to!”
Liz beamed from ear to ear. “I’m honored, Maddie. Wow.” Then she looked at Sarah, who was smiling at them all. “What about Sarah? She’s not going to be a bridesmaid?”
Maddie playfully shoved Liz’s shoulder. “You goofball. She’s my matron of honor.”
Liz shook her head. “Of course! What was I thinking?”
“I’ve asked Olivia to be a bridesmaid, as well,” Maddie said.
“So,” Liz said, “you’ve set a date?”
Maddie waved her hands in the air. “Oh my gosh! I didn’t tell you, did I? It’s December twenty-eighth. It has to be after Christmas because I’ll be catering for weeks and I won’t get a wink of sleep. And Nate says the end of the year is booked solid with surgeries for him. It’ll be an evening wedding. I thought that would be pretty. All the snow and Christmas lights. The reception will be at the Lodge. Then Nate and I will fly to Paris to spend New Year’s Eve under the Eiffel Tower.”
Liz nearly melted at the idea of New Year’s Eve in Paris. “Perfect, Maddie. Just perfect. You’ll love Paris.”
“I can’t wait. Then we’ll fly to southern Italy and spend two weeks there. It’s like a dream,” Maddie said.
“You deserve it,” Liz said. “You’ve worked so hard for so many years. You deserve a great guy and a wonderful trip...”
“Oh, yeah? You’ve worked just as hard as Maddie,” Sarah quipped.
“Yes,” Liz replied. “But I’ve already been to France.”
“That’s right!” Maddie said. “She’s been to France, so she’s a step ahead of all of us. Right, Liz?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but I would say going there with someone special should be wonderful.”
They eased the boat off the shore, then climbed in and took their seats. Oars in place, in minutes they were synchronized and sluicing through the reflective water.
Sarah called out the strokes, as she always did. Liz concentrated on her muscles, the fit of the oar in her hands and the feel of the wind on her face.
Back straining, thighs tight in order to stay properly seated, the four friends worked as a team and became one.
As they rounded the north end of the lake, Maddie pointed to a heavily treed space. “See that, guys?”
“That’s the old Hanson lot, isn’t it?” Liz said, shielding her eyes. “I heard Mr. Hanson died back in May or June, wasn’t it?”
“Right,” Maddie said. “Nate and I bought the lot. We’re going to start building next month.”
Liz grabbed Maddie by the shoulders and shook her slightly. “You’re really doing this. Jumping in with both feet. First, all the wedding plans. Then a trip to Europe for a honeymoon and now building a house together.”
Isabelle laughed heartily. “They should be divorced by Valentine’s Day.”
“What?” Maddie screeched. “Don’t say that!”
“Oh, don’t listen to Isabelle,” Sarah said. “I say go for it. Charmaine and I can work out some blueprints for the interior.”
Maddie smiled wistfully. “I want it to look like a summer cottage—dark wood floors, rag rugs and lots of French doors overlooking the lake.”
“Sounds perfect,” Liz said as they rowed back toward the marina.
“So, do I get any vote on who will be my groomsman?” Isabelle asked from the back of the boat.
“You’ll be with Mica. Scott Abbot will escort Olivia.”
Suddenly, Liz felt her entire back break out in icy chills. She should have realized Nate would want his three brothers to be his groomsmen.
“Rafe is going to be the best man,” Maddie continued. “He’ll be escorting Sarah.”
“That leaves Gabe to be my escort,” Liz said, feeling her mouth go dry.
“Yeah,” Maddie replied gleefully. “You two will look great together. You’re both tall, and he’s just so handsome.”
“What Barzonni isn’t handsome?” Sarah laughed. The boat came ashore and they got out.
As they took out their oars and lifted the boat onto their shoulders, the full impact of Liz’s commitment to Maddie hit her. She would have to sit with Gabe at the rehearsal dinner for the pictures. At the wedding, he would walk her down the aisle and back out again. They would be seated next to each other at the reception. That was something she couldn’t wangle her way out of. But it was just one dinner. One night. She could deal with it. It wasn’t going to be so bad.
“Yeah,” Maddie was saying. “Both Liz and Isabelle will have the awful burden of being around those handsome boys for my engagement party at the Barzonnis’ house and the couples’ shower at Mrs. Beabots’s. Then there’s a cocktail party being thrown by the hospital doctors, which is going to be a really big deal. Tuxedos and gowns and the whole thing. I’ll love that. I figure that through the rest of the summer and fall, we’ll all be doing something special together on the weekends. Doesn’t that sound great?”
Liz was silent as they stored the boat and oars and locked the boathouse, a smile plastered on her face.
She’d just promised herself she would pretend Gabe Barzonni didn’t exist. Now she was going to be thrown together with him for months. Then an idea hit her. She rushed up to Maddie’s car just as Maddie was getting in.
“Hey, I just had a quick question,” Liz said. “Was it you or Nate who decided on which groomsman would be with Isabelle and me?”
“Nate,” Maddie assured her. “Funny you should ask, though.”
“Why?” Liz cringed. That word again.
“Last night Nate told me he and Gabe had been having a beer at the Lodge and decided it would be cute to pair up Isabelle and Mica, even though Scott Abbot would be the obvious choice for her. She’s always giving Scott a hard time. Maybe if she made Scott a bit jealous, he would make a real commitment to her instead of beating around the bush all the time. Isn’t that the cutest idea? Do you think it would work?”
Ire rekindled its flame in Liz’s belly and exploded inside her. She felt an acid burn all the way up to her throat and she could hardly get out her words. “Gabe.”
“He’s been such a help to Nate with the plans,” Maddie said.
“A help.”
“Nate’s so busy with surgeries, so Gabe’s just been great. Organizing the engagement party with their mom. He even got the Tom and Jason Big Band to play until midnight,” Maddie said effusively.
“An orchestra.” Liz swallowed. There would be dancing. Arms entwined. Her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck. Liz felt the heat inside her boil over. She hadn’t trusted Gabe when she’d found him skulking around her vines. Now he was deliberately manipulating her social life.
“Isn’t it great?” Maddie asked.
“Sure. Yeah,” Liz said, trying to cover her shock and frustration. “I was just curious.”
“You know, I didn’t ask you, but have you ever met Gabe?”
“Uh. Only in passing.”
“Well, I’d better get to the café. Chloe can only do so much without me. Call me later.”
Liz watched her friend drive away, then went over to her pickup. She stared out the windshield at the lake.
Her grandfather believed all Barzonni men were up to no good.
Guess Grandpa’s right.
CHAPTER FIVE
FOR THE NEXT several days, Liz was busy with a hundred tasks. Because she was the general manager, the winemaker, the sales manager and the office manager all rolled into one, her list of duties was like a black hole. She never got it all done. On summer days, she worked dawn to dusk at the vineyard, and though she relished every moment of the work, it was still exhausting.
On Thursday morning, a series of semitrucks barreled up the country road that ran between the western edge of her property and the Mattuchi farm. Semis weren’t unusual on that road, which led to the highway, but a constant stream of eighteen-wheelers was out of the ordinary. Trucks carrying large loads of lumber, pipes and building materials could only mean one thing. Someone up the country road was building a new house or barn.
Liz didn’t have time to be curious or to gossip with neighbors. She had her eyes on the clouds gathering over Lake Michigan. She took out her cell phone and opened her weather radar app. Unfortunately, radar or not, the fickle westerly winds had a mind of their own once they reached the lake. The rain could easily pass her over and fall just north of her vineyard, showering her northern competition and jilting her vines. Again.
They were in desperate need of a good soaking. It had been nearly three weeks without rain, and this kind of summer heat would only do one thing—produce inferior grapes.
Liz lifted a cluster of Seyval blanc grapes she’d personally cluster-thinned three and a half weeks after fruit set. Though this grape produced the fresh and dry white wine they sold midseason in the tasting room, Louisa had suggested they experiment with it to produce a sparkling wine cuvée. Liz loved the idea—making something new out of a longtime standard grape in the vineyard.
As Liz slung her long leg over the seat of her ATV, she heard yet another truck downshift as it began its trek up the country road hill.
Natural curiosity urged Liz to ride over to the edge of her property to inspect the scene.
The semi was hauling a long flatbed trailer that held what looked like a mountain of lumber and three pallets of cement bags. She noticed there were piles of steel framing and insulated metal sheeting.
“Not a house,” she said to herself. The materials on this truck were used for warehouse and commercial buildings. Because their area was primarily farmland, she assumed one of her neighbors up the road was upgrading his or her silos. She’d heard from her grandfather last summer that Gerald Finstermaker, who owned a large apple orchard, had opened up a fifty-acre area, though no one knew exactly what he intended to plant there. The joke in town was that Gerald, paranoid and intensely secretive, was the only person who could keep his crop a secret until after the harvest. Five years ago, Gerald had experimented with roses and raised them under enormous grow tents, not so much to increase the productivity and excellence of the roses as to keep prying eyes out. After that fiasco, few in Indian Lake paid much attention to what Gerald Finstermaker did or didn’t do on his farm.
Liz was turning away from the fence to head back to the tasting room when she saw a second truck, also hauling a long trailer stacked with building materials. She laughed to herself and wished Gerald all the luck in the world with his new venture, whatever it was. She tossed the driver a friendly wave and then froze.
Following the last truck up the country road was a very familiar black Porsche. The top was down, and she could clearly see Gabe inside. He did not seem happy.
No doubt he was angry because the trucks were moving slowly up the grade and she’d already learned that Gabe liked to drive a bit on the fast side. But Gabe didn’t honk or try to pass them. He must not be in a hurry after all, she thought.
As Liz drove her ATV back down the slope, the first drops of rain stung her bare arms. Then the dark storm clouds moved over her property and opened up with a vengeance... The next second, the drops were huge, pelting her with enough force she found it difficult to see.
She bumped her way across the vineyard and smiled to herself. If she was caught in the rain, so was Gabe. And that meant both he and the interior of his expensive car had been deluged. She couldn’t help laughing a little. Served him right. Even if she hadn’t had a chance to pay him back for trespassing and stealing from her, Mother Nature had taken restitution into her own hands.
By the time she got to the utility barn, Liz was completely soaked. Her white shirt looked like a second skin and her shoes squished as she walked across the gravel to the tasting room, where she always kept a fresh shirt and a long black apron to wear when serving the tourists.
Liz noticed with satisfaction the parking lot was full of cars. The tourists would be trapped inside to avoid the downpour. That could only mean one thing. Increased sales.
Opening the door, Liz found the place packed. Sam was engrossed in one of his sales pitches with a man dressed in a golf shirt and khakis. Louisa was at the bar, pouring a flight of white wines for a strikingly beautiful, auburn-haired woman who wore a business suit and designer shoes.
The woman was not a local, but she was buying a lot of wine, if the smile on Louisa’s face and twinkle in her eye were any indication.
“I’ll be right there,” Liz told her chef de cave. Louisa nodded and continued talking to the customer.
Liz rushed into her office, shut the door and pulled out a clean white blouse from the closet. She towel-dried her hair and rolled it into a twist. She didn’t have a smidge of makeup left after the rain pelting, but she didn’t care. As she tied her apron on, she noticed the morning’s mail. As usual, Louisa had left it on the old leather desk blotter.
Sitting on top of the stack was the familiar green paper envelope from the County Treasurer’s office containing the yearly property tax bill. Always diligent about the vineyard’s accounting, Liz reached for the envelope and opened it.
What met her eyes was a shock.
“Twenty-three thousand four hundred dollars...past due?” Liz read the numbers again. Twice.
This was impossible! They were not a year in arrears.
“I paid this bill,” she groaned, sinking into the desk chair. She could remember purchasing the cashier’s check from the bank to pay the taxes. “There has to be some mistake.”
Liz called the Indian Lake County treasurer’s office and spoke to one of the clerks. The woman assured Liz that although the Crenshaw taxes had always been paid promptly each year, there had been no payment in the past twelve months. Liz thanked the woman and hung up.
She dropped her face to her hands, feeling as if the world had just crashed down upon her. There was no mistake. Liz now owed not only her taxes, but a penalty, as well. According to the bill, she had ninety days to pay in full.
How could I have forgotten to pay this? Liz berated herself. I’m always so careful...
She drew in a quick breath and clamped her hand over her mouth. “Sam.”
Last year, the taxes had been due when Liz was in France. She had left the cashier’s check with Sam for him to take to the treasurer’s office. Amid the flurry of her decisions about Louisa, the champagne vines and the newly built tasting room, she hadn’t given the taxes a second thought. And because she’d always paid the taxes with a cashier’s check, she had no record of the check being cashed.
This was about the same time she’d begun to notice the first signs of Sam’s forgetfulness, she realized with a lurch in her stomach. His slips were always minor, and she’d thought they were more of a nuisance than a real danger. But this...