| |
Sunday morning
Alex folded his arms behind his head and studied his bedroom ceiling. Should he go to Mass with his mother? Would showing up at church reinforce that he was a good man, a dutiful son—the things he considered himself to be—or would it be interpreted as assuaging a guilty conscience?
“Screw it.” He flung the bedcovers aside. He was so sick of thinking in those terms.
Five minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, his mind focused on Sunday lunch. He dressed and headed for the restaurant. Generally, he served tapas, finger food and light fare for the heading-home tourist traffic, people who wanted one last chance to linger in the fall sunshine. He'd scanned the Sunday reservation book last night, however, and recognized many of his mother's friends. Older couples who would want a substantial meal at the restaurant rather than cooking for themselves. Eating out rather than gathering with their families at home.
The arrangement worked for him professionally, even if it was at odds with his personal feelings.
Sunday was all about family for the Montoya clan—immediate and extended family members included. Everyone—his brothers, sister, and their kids, as well as the aunts, uncles, cousins, and all their families—showed up. The men always watched the game—pick the season, pick the sport—on the big screen television, while the women crammed into the kitchen. The kids were everywhere.
He'd planned to invite Sofia to dinner this weekend. With the grape crisis—and her comments about taking the relationship slower—he'd changed his mind. His family could be overwhelming and she might run in the face of their expectations.
Sofia's rich Malbec grapes—both real and dream-enhanced—played into his selection for the lunch special. The hearty braised beef he'd envisioned to accompany the wine could simmer all morning while he completed prep for other menu items. He gathered ingredients and lit the burners. The rest of the simple Sunday menu didn't require much beyond the standards they kept in the cooler.
His cousins arrived, and with the ease of long practice, settled into their tasks.
His mind wandered to family as he browned the beef and transferred it to a stock pot. Holly never understood that love held the chaos together and that his mother was the axis it spun around. Some day his mother would be gone and it would be up to his generation to make the cycle continue.
Lucia might be up to the task, he considered as he chopped onions and peppers.
What he wanted—what he really, really wanted—was a woman strong enough to make the world revolve around her. Not just him—it was a given he would orbit her light when he finally found the right person—but his entire family.
Surely, that wasn't asking the universe for too much.
The rich scent of caramelizing onions soon filled the kitchen. He worked steadily, tasting and correcting seasonings, until the vat could be pushed to the back burner. The hours before lunch would give the flavors time to meld. The dish would be ever better if any remained for later. On another burner, garbanzo beans simmered with smoked ham, chorizo sausage, and potatoes in a rich broth. Behind him, Stephan prepared empanada fillings while a helper kneaded the dough.
Alex was inspecting the morning's delivery of oysters and clams—half-shell, baked, or both, he debated—when his cell buzzed in his pocket.
“Alex?” Sofia sounded frantic.
“What's wrong?” Trapping the phone against his shoulder, Alex washed and dried his hands.
“There's a man here. He says he owns the grapes and that he's going to pick them tomorrow.”
“He can't do that.” Alex flung the towel over a metal bar.
“He's here. And he says he can. That he bought them.”
God damn Tim. This had to be more of his doing. “I'll find the contract that says you already own the grapes. Stand in front of his car or smile nice at him or whatever you have to do. Don't let him leave until I get there.”
“Hurry.”
He broke the connection and turned. Everyone in the kitchen stared at him, waiting. “Stephan, can you take over?”
Stephan’s eyebrows rose but his voice stayed calm. “Sure, we got things covered here.”
The other cousins returned to whatever they’d been doing.
Alex raced into the office and jerked open the file cabinet drawer. He rifled files, looking for the vineyard land purchase. One small corner of his mind blessed the cousin who’d photocopied the files for Ben and then returned them to the correct storage space. In-town land purchase. Up-valley purchase. He flicked through the files until he found the Snake River vineyard and orchard.
Folder in hand, he stepped to his desk. He flicked past the first pages. The arrangement with the grapes had been part of the land sale. He remembered signing a separate contract, but hadn't seen it when he went through the file earlier in the week, when he was looking for the farm manager's name.
Survey. Appraisal. He turned the pages. Form after form. Pages for title insurance. Water rights. Deed of trust. Pages and pages of contract details but nothing on the grapes.
Damn, damn, damn. Where was the damn contract? He flipped through the papers again. Where would he have filed it?
Did he even have a copy of the contract? Tim had fancied himself a grower. He'd been the one who talked to the manager as far as Alex knew.
He drummed his fingers against the desk. He had to have a copy of it somewhere.
He crammed the land purchase folder back into the cabinet, then rifled through the vendor files without success. Conscious of the ticking clock, he opened the operations drawers and scanned the headings. There would be no reason to include the grape contract with the restaurant operations. If the contract was misfiled, it could take forever to find it. He slammed the drawer and pulled out his cell.
“Where are you?” Sofia's voice was tight, as if trying to control the note of panic. “He's walking around testing the grapes.”
“I'm working on it. And testing is okay. It keeps him there and busy.”
“Did you find the contract?”
He pulled a hand down his face, hating to disappoint her. “I'm not sure where my copy is.”
“Alex, we have to have that contract.” Desperation drove her voice higher.
She—her family—would have the contract. “Is your original at the winery?”
“Of course.”
He grabbed his jacket and keys. “Call your sister, the one who manages the books. Ask her to pull it and make a copy. I'm on my way over there now.”
***
Alex hurried through the winery's tasting room. He stepped around a display of bottles and wine glasses, and headed for the office corridor.
Two children burst into the room. The boy looked about ten. Lean and sandy-haired, he clutched something in his fist. A darker-haired, smaller girl, tears and snot running down what would otherwise be a pretty face, chased him. “I'm telling,” she sobbed.
The boy cut around a couple at the wine bar.
“Dylan.” The server plonked her upraised wine bottle onto the counter. “Slow down.”
He ignored her and instead zigzagged past the seating area near the fireplace.
The wine server headed around corner of the bar.
“Give it back.”
Dylan turned his head. “Crybaby,” he taunted. Head still turned, the boy cut to his right.
Alex took a quick step and snagged the kid around the waist before he crashed into a rack full of wine. “Not cool, little man.”
A voice behind him said, “You're right. Not cool.”
“Sorry.” Alex turned and faced the blonde woman. He released the kid, setting him on his feet. “I'm used to my nieces and nephews running around the restaurant. I called him out. Not my place.”
“No, it's fine. I meant Dylan. He knows he's not supposed to run in here.” She placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. “Sounds like you're used to the good and bad that comes with working around an extended family. Everyone minds everyone else's business, but they look out for each other too.”
Alex took in the shape of her hazel eyes and generous mouth. “You look so much like Sofia, you must be her sister, Bellissa.”
“Liz. It's simpler. You must be Alex.”
The daughter had reached their group. She clung to her mother's legs, sobbing. The boy tried to squirm away.
“What's wrong, Sweetie?” Liz hoisted the girl onto her hip, then snagged the boy who’d tried to bolt while she was busy.
“He...” A ragged sniff interrupted the child’s words. “Knocked over... my tower.”
“You told her not to play with the corks.” Her brother spoke up, waffling between admitting the teasing and following the rules.
Alex stifled a grin. Following some of the rules anyway.
“I know you have your hands full here.” He tilted his head, indicating the little kids. “But did Sofia call? The contract?”
Liz nodded. She set the girl on her feet and pointed a finger at her children. “Both of you. My office. Right this minute.” She turned back to Alex. “I have a copy of the contract on my desk. Come on back.”
They stepped into the office corridor, following the children. “Sofia sounded really upset. What's going on?” she asked.
“A misunderstanding.” Alex waved a dismissive hand. “We need to show a guy he made a mistake.”
“A mistake? You have the nerve to call that business a mistake?” The old man's roar had lost its power, but not its edge. Halting footsteps echoed off the tile, coming from the operations part of the building. “What are you doing here, Montoya? I told you to stay away from my family.”
“Dad.” Liz placed a hand on the older man's arm. “This isn't the time or place.”
Lorenzo Pincelli shook off her restraining hand. “It isn't your place.”
He turned on Alex. “And you aren't welcome here.”
Alex stood his ground. No way was he walking away like a whipped puppy. “I'm trying to help.”
“You've helped yourself to too much already.”
He held onto his temper. “If you're referring to Tim, that disaster was his doing. Not mine.”
“Doesn't say much for your business sense.” The old man hauled in a wheezing gasp. “If you didn't know what was going on, right under your nose.”
Yeah, he'd let Tim handle things and hadn't paid attention. Now he realized it had been a stupid thing to do. “I can't change your mind about me. That's a problem we can discuss later. But there's an issue that effects Sofia and this winery that's more important right now. A mix up with the grapes—”
“What?” Lorenzo's outraged cry interrupted again. The old man grabbed the paper from Liz and gave it a quick inspection. “You can't even honor a written contract? I knew you couldn't be trusted.”
Yeah, and you're an old prick.
Who he'd have to deal with for a long time if things moved forward with Sofia.
Alex plucked the contract from Lorenzo’s hand. “Thanks, Liz.”
“I appreciate your picking it up and taking it out there for her. Straightening things out with that guy.”
He figured the summation was for her father. He gave her a grateful smile. At least the entire family didn't hate him. “Glad to help.”
“There's nothing to straighten out,” Lorenzo ranted. “Those are our grapes. We paid for them.”
“I know. It's why I'm trying to help clear up things. Tim has the paperwork on the sale and I can't access those records.”
“Get out. You 'access' too much. You don't want to help. All you want to do is get in my little girl's pants.”
Fury lit a fuse in Alex's brain.
Do not beat the guy.
Do not pound his arrogant ass into the ground.
Alex's hand slashed to the side. “You're out of line.” His adamant tone offered no compromise. “She may be your daughter, but she's my girlfriend. I won't have her talked about that way.”
“You won't.” The old man's face turned purple, but Alex didn't stick around for the rest of his rant. He had more important things to do, like bail out his girlfriend—and save the Pincelli family's winery and reputation in the process.
***
Alex eased his Nissan 350Z down the vineyard's entrance road. Damn, he was risking his restaurant and his car for Sofia. He must be out of his mind.
He downshifted and winced as the undercarriage scraped through a series of ruts. He should've borrowed a truck from his brother. But there'd been no time.
Agonizingly long minutes later, he rolled into the clearing in front of the farm buildings. Sofia's Jeep stood beside a black Suburban that desperately needed to be washed and waxed. He parked on the other side of the Jeep and climbed from the Z.
“Over here.” Sofia waved from the end of one of the long rows of grapes.
He jogged across the clearing. She rushed forward and clutched his arms. “Oh God, Alex. He says he plans to make jelly out of these grapes.”
“Seriously?” A part of his mind thought the grapes would make a great specialty jam. Or he could blend them with Balsamic vinegar for a savory spread. Then the rest of his brain caught up. “They'd waste those grapes in commercial jelly?”
“Blend a dozen kinds of grapes with a ton of sugar and purple coloring and who can tell what they're eating?”
“Not gonna happen.” His cell phone interrupted, chirping an incoming text. He automatically pulled out the phone and glanced at the screen.
Ben Sullivan: “Waiting thirty minutes longer at this location. Call me.”
Alex stared at the screen. What did that mean? Good news? A warning? More paper chasing? Or, oh hell, an incoming arrest warrant? Blood drained from his face and his grip on the phone tightened.
“Alex?” Sofia’s voice held concern for him rather than panic over the grapes.
“Hang on.” He took a deep breath, erased the frown, and hoped his face revealed nothing but curiosity. The cell phone showed one bar. His finger hovered above his attorney’s contact. Whatever was about to happen, he had to face it head on.
He tapped the contact.
Waited.
Nothing happened.
“Damn.” No bars. He stretched out his hand, turning one way and then the other.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t find any cell service.”
“I called you from over there.” She pointed at a sunny area beyond the cars.
Screw it. Good news would keep and if it was bad news... No sense in worrying about that right now. “I’ll call him later.”
He tucked the phone in his pocket and peered over Sofia’s shoulder. A middle-aged guy stood thirty feet beyond her. A receding hairline rose above a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He pulled grapes from the closest cluster, popped one in his mouth, and crushed the rest into a handheld device.
“What's he doing?” Alex asked.
“He's measuring the sugar level. That's a pH meter.”
“The Brix thing?”
She shook her head. “They're sort of opposites. When grapes ripen, the sugar level goes up. So, when the Brix goes up, the acid level drops, and the pH goes down.”
“But both are indicators of how much sugar?”
“They aren't as accurate as tests I'll run at the winery, but yes, both give good estimates of ripeness and sugar content.”
“Hey. You.” Alex stepped past Sofia.
The guy ignored him.
Okay. That's the way you want to play it. Alex vowed to keep his temper under control. Heels rapping against the packed dirt, he strode down the aisle between the espaliered vines. “Who are you and what do you think you're doing?”
The other man looked up. “I'm testing my grapes, not that it's any of your business.”
“Actually, it is my business and they aren't your grapes.”
He turned, still holding his testing machine. “You her boyfriend? Get lost. I bought these grapes. They're mine. I don't care what she says.”
“I'm Alex Montoya. I own this property and those grape vines, but I've never seen you before. I asked you once already. Who are you?”
He finally focused on Alex. “I'm Brett McAndrews.”
“When do you think you bought the grapes and from who?”
“I signed a contract last spring.”
Alex stopped a couple of feet from McAndrews. The guy had the stocky build and heavy gut of a man who spent too much time behind the wheel of a car. “Signed with who?”
The guy lowered his testing gear and squared his stance. “Nicole Stevens.”
“Nicole?” What the hell was Tim’s wife doing? Acting for Tim or trying to get back at him?
“Owner's wife. Pretty. Blonde.” McAndrews’ raised eyebrows added “you dumbass” to the snide tone of his voice.
Yeah well, you forgot, bat-shit crazy in your description.
“She never mentioned you,” the guy finished.
“I know who Nicole Stevens is. Why would she think she could sell these grapes?”
“She was acting as her husband's agent. Like I said, pretty simple. You should be able to understand it.” He held his hands, complete with testing gear, like an imaginary scale. “Cash. Grapes.”
The man turned back to the vines and grabbed another handful of fruit.
“Understand this.” Alex crossed his arms, deliberately flexing his biceps and pecs, pumping all his chest muscles. “If you'd done your homework, you'd know that any contract involving this property requires two signatures. Tim's and mine.”
The would-be buyer pivoted to again face Alex.
With condescending dismissal, Alex drew the folded contract from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Signatures that look like this. Signatures on a contract dated last fall. A contract that sold these grapes to her family's winery. So, it looks to me like you're shit out of luck.”
“Wait a goddamn minute.” McAndrews was finally seeing the light. He threw the grapes on the ground and snatched the contract.
Alex released the paper before it tore. Read it and weep. “You don't own anything out here. If you want to file a claim against Tim or Nicole Stevens, you can head on down to the courthouse tomorrow and join the crowd. Stand in that long-ass line of people Tim screwed over. And if you wait around a few years, you might get a couple cents on the dollar for that piece of paper you and Nicole signed.”
A flush climbed McAndrews' neck and crept across his clenched jaw. He shoved the contract at Alex.
“Keep it. You'll need it.”
“This is not over.” McAndrews crammed the paper into his pocket.
“Yeah, it is.” Alex again folded his arms. “Right now, you're trespassing on private property. You have five minutes to get in that Suburban and get your ass out of here.”
“If I don't?” His hands flexed around the testing gear.
“I call the sheriff. I have a Franklin County detective on speed dial.” Not that Holly's boyfriend would be thrilled to hear from him, but what was a network for if he couldn't call on it?
Lips pressed in a thin line, the man brushed past first Alex and then Sofia. A moment later, the Suburban's engine roared to life. Dust billowed as the man stomped on the gas and sped down the dirt drive.
“That went well.” He rejoined Sofia at the end of the row.
She tilted her head and studied his expression. “Long-ass line of people?”
He shrugged. “Fighting over what the banks don't take.”
She was quiet. “And you? You lost money too? I never realized that. I mean, I should've.”
“Nobody wants to hear it.” He cut her off. “My partner. My bad.”
“Of course, you lost money. How bad is it?”
Alex ran a finger over the uppermost wire. The metallic streamers fluttered in the breeze, but the sturdy wire didn’t move. “The banks seized everything belonging to Tim or Stevens Ventures they can legally attach and a few things that are questionable.” He shifted his gaze from the vines to the sparkling blue water and the pastoral setting of the vineyard. “I'm in limbo on all my property, including the ones like this that Tim and I own outright.”
Sofia rested a hand on his forearm. “But you didn't do anything wrong.”
“Welcome to my life.” He didn’t want to think or talk about what Ben’s warning text might mean.
“I like being part of your life.” She reached up, draped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You're my hero.”
He liked the sound of that. “I didn't do much.”
“You chased off the bad man. Think he'll come back?”
“Not today. Tomorrow, he'll probably talk to his lawyer and try to figure out if he has any recourse. He may come back to check the sugar again.”
She stepped back, worry planting new lines on her forehead. “I can't risk him coming back. Can't risk the grapes.”
“I doubt he'll try to pick them.” He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “We could hire someone. A watch-guard.”
“Right. I have 'security' on speed dial.”
He ran the Rolodex in his head. Who could he convince to stay up here for a day or two? There had to be a cousin... “I'll find someone. Just 'til you harvest them.”
“Harvesting...” She rubbed her brow, as if she could massage away the tension. After a moment, she dropped her hand and gave a brittle laugh. “If it's not one crisis, it's another. I spent Saturday evening and most of this morning on the phone, trying to round up a crew for harvest.”
“And?”
“It's so late in the season. Everyone's either fully booked or has moved on. I couldn't even hire the people who pick our family’s vineyards. They're already scheduled somewhere else.” She shook her head. “I thought it was taken care of. That the manager had arranged a crew to pick the grapes.”
“What will you do?”
“I can’t wait any longer. I'll come out tomorrow morning with everybody from the winery. We'll pick as much as we can and then bust our butts and get the grapes back to the winery to process them.”
“How many people can you put in the field?”
“Not enough. But we'll do what we have to do to save this vintage.”
He thought about the logistics. “You'll be out here all day picking, and then you expect them to handle the processing at night?”
She nodded, lower lip caught between her teeth.
“What if we helped?”
“Who?” Her hand twitched in a questioning gesture.
“Me. My family.”
“But... The restaurant...”
“Is closed on Sunday evenings and Mondays.”
Hope brightened her eyes, then dimmed. “You don't know how. If it isn't done right, you can damage the grapes.”
“So, teach us.” He shrugged. “Show us how. If you don't pick them, they're ruined. Or dumbass”—he tilted his head, indicating the departed, would-be buyer—” can come back and make a run at grabbing them. Take a chance. It could be wonderful.”
“You, your family, would really help us pick?”
“I can't promise everyone will come, but I can ask.” He thought about the scene at the winery. The kids in the tasting room and Liz's willing acceptance of him, rather than the angry words from her father. “I suspect your family is a lot like mine. Sometimes it seems like total chaos at my mother's house. The noise can be overwhelming. But I can tell my family you're important to me.” He pulled her close for a quick kiss. “And that you need help. If your grapes aren't picked, your business, your family, will suffer.”
And word would spread. It would flow past the crowd at his mother's home. Phone calls would be made. Simple words passed, describing need. Carpools arranged. Details managed.
“You would do that for me? For us?”
“We've got your back.”
That's what love and life were all about.