Chapter Fifteen
Michelangelo sped all the way to his vineyard on the outskirts of Milan. If Herb had already driven the tractors there, then the situation was worse than he’d thought. How could his American landlords sell them out so quickly? He’d told Michelangelo there’d be a grace period of a few months. Unless Herb had given the landlord an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Which was likely, knowing Herb.
His blood boiled in his veins and his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He had to exert enormous self-control to keep himself from driving his Fiat into the ground.
Hours later, he turned into the long, windy driveway that led to his family’s estate. It was now approaching nine o’clock, and he couldn’t imagine any tractor drivers working at this late hour. Hopefully, Isabella had stalled Herb enough so they hadn’t done any damage. To lose the newest section of vines he and his father had planted together would be like losing his father all over again.
The shrubs along the roadway had overgrown, narrowing the road and scraping against the side of his car. Usually his family had a landscaper trim them, but now he’d have to do it himself. He turned the corner, and rows and rows of trellises threaded with green vines came into view. Relief poured over him along with a strong melancholy. Many days he’d spent playing hide and seek with Ricco in those seemingly never-ending rows. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed being home.
His chest tightened as he scanned the horizon. Dark shapes lurked on the top of the hill, where he’d installed a cobblestone patio and lounge chairs for his parents to watch the work in the fields. Isabella had not been exaggerating. Seeing the wreckage trucks with their sharp-toothed plows made the whole problem more real.
He parked in the circular drive and entered the office part of his family’s estate, a small addition built onto the stone foundation of the old house.
Isabella sat at the desk, poring over paperwork. Her belly had grown so round she had to reach her arms out to type at the computer.
‘Isabella, what are you still doing here?’
His secretary glanced up and relief filled her dark eyes. ‘Making sure Herb doesn’t get trigger-happy. But now I see a knight in shining armor has come to save the day.’
Michelangelo shook his head, looking down at his costume. He must look ridiculous, as though he’d sold his soul to entertaining silly Americans. ‘Is he still here?’
She nodded. ‘Sitting on your parents’ swing by the apple trees and writing down some sort of plan. I told him not to move an inch until he talked to you or I’d call the police.’
Michelangelo balled his hands into fists. How dare Herb use the swing his father had proposed to his mother on to record information about demolishing the vine fields?
‘I’ll go talk to him.’
Isabella pursed her lips. ‘You’d better.’ She gave him a stack of papers. ‘I’ve been looking through all of the legal documents. When your dad remortgaged the winery to pay for the extra fields, he made a contingency amendment in case of bankruptcy. We are still in our grace period. Herb has no power until the end of next week. No legal power, anyway.’
Michelangelo took the stack of papers. ‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’
He turned toward the patio, but movement from the corridor behind him caught his attention.
‘Someone bring me my slippers. It’s raining, and my feet are cold.’
Unconditional love followed by a wistful ache spread through him. ‘You’re wearing your slippers, mamma.’ Michelangelo shot over and helped the frail waif of the woman his mother had become down the corridor, steering her back to her room. Where was her nurse? How did she get all the way to the office? He checked her arms to make sure she didn’t have any bruises from falling or bumping into the railings. Her skin was so flaky it could blow away with the wind. He’d have to instruct Lila to apply more moisturizer. Guilt panged his chest. He’d been away for too long.
As he took her arm, she looked at him with suspicion. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m you son, mamma. Michelangelo, remember?’
A moment of tension squeezed his heart before her eyes softened. ‘Ah, yes. Tell your father to get in before dark. He shouldn’t be working in the rain.’
Michelangelo blinked back tears. It was easier to go along with her than have her discover her husband had passed away again and again. ‘I will. Let’s get you back to your room.’
Lila rushed down the stairs. The middle-aged nurse had pulled her graying black hair in a bun. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. She looked five years older than when he last saw her. ‘Oh, Grazie a Dio! I went to the bathroom for five minutes and she disappeared.’
‘It’s okay. I’ve got her.’ Michelangelo took his mother’s left arm while Lila took the other. His mother was hard to care for, and he hoped Lila wasn’t thinking about quitting like the last three nurses. Sure, he could put his mother in a home, but he really believed the winery helped her retain some of her memories. To take her out of where she’d spent the majority of her life would speed up the progression of the Alzheimer’s. He just couldn’t do it.
They put his mother to bed, and Michelangelo tucked her in, kissing her forehead.
She grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘Where’s Ricco? I haven’t seen that boy in a long time.’
This time, Michelangelo couldn’t play the game. ‘He left remember?’
She nodded. ‘Your father should have never kicked him out.’
‘I know.’ But it was senseless trying to go back and fix the past. That’s why it was hard to be with his mother, because that’s all she talked about. The past was her only reality now.
‘You find him for me. Tell him to come home.’
‘I’ll try, mamma.’ He squeezed her hand, then joined Lila in the hall.
Lila closed the door slowly, leaving it open just a crack. ‘She’s been acting up lately. I think she senses the tension with everything going on.’
‘Of course. You are doing a wonderful job. It’s me who has to step up to the plate.’
Guilt hit him hard in the gut. How could he be romancing Carly at a time like this? When he got back to his tour job, he’d have to tone it down if he was ever going to save this place and his mother.
‘Nonsense.’ Lila gave him a stern look. ‘You’re working hard to keep everything together.’ She patted his arm. ‘You’re doing just fine. I know you’ll figure something out. Things have a way of working themselves out.’
He wished he had her certainty. ‘I’d better. If not, I won’t be able to afford the best care for my mother, and she’s just getting worse.’
‘She comes back to us now and then on the days she’s feeling well enough to take a walk outside. Then, I get a glimpse of the passionate and strong-willed woman who raised you so well.’
On the days she walks outside…even more reason to believe moving her would only accelerate her condition. He had to keep the winery. ‘You’re right about that. She was strong, sometimes too much so.’ He leaned against the wall. He knew Herb was waiting, but he wanted to relay this one particular story to Lila to show her how much fire his mother once had. ‘Once, she told off a customer who’d complained about the quality of the wine—she said they couldn’t tell Chardonnay from Merlot.’
Lila laughed. ‘I bet she did.’
‘Not only that, but she told the staff not to sell them any more wine. Said they didn’t deserve it.’
‘Now that’s what I call a healthy dose of pride.’
Michelangelo could still see his mother for what she had been, and not the ghost of a person she was now. ‘Thank you for taking care of her.’
The older woman nodded, smoothing all of the stray wisps of hair around her face. ‘I do my best. Now you’d better get down to the patio before Herb-money-pockets decides to put those tractors to use.’
‘I will.’ He glanced back through the crack in the door at his mother. Her breathing had slowed and steadied. At least she slept soundly.
Michelangelo waved to Isabel as he walked back through the office. ‘You go home and get some rest. I’ll handle this.’
‘Si, signore.’ She shut down the computer and wiggled her finger in the air. ‘You stick to your ground. Remember, he’s not supposed to be on this property until his end of the deal is signed.’
He waved the paperwork. ‘Thank you for looking into it.’
She smiled, lifting a lunch bag to her shoulder. ‘That’s my job.’
He’d recovered some of his composure after seeing his mother. He hadn’t driven for three hours for nothing. He would end this one way or another.
Michelangelo walked across the patio toward the apple trees. Maybe it was the brightness of the moon, or the feeling that his world was falling apart, but more of the tiles seemed cracked and broken. He made a mental note to call a mason, if he didn’t lose the property.
‘Lovely night.’ Herb spoke in his lazy southern-American accent and tipped his cowboy hat. He had the charming roundness and inviting smile of Santa Claus, which Michelangelo always thought was misleading.
‘It is.’ Michelangelo crossed his arms. ‘Although, I’m not sure why you’re here.’
‘Hey, now, don’t get your plastic sword all up in a twist. The landlord said I could store these here since I’ll be closing on a deal with him by the end of next week—that’s if you can’t come up with the money. So, I’m just coming to inspect my property and make sure it’s all working up to speed.’
Michelangelo tensed. Did he mean testing it out?
‘Come to stop me, eh?’
‘Yes, I have.’ Michelangelo’s tone meant business, and Herb dropped his comical friendliness.
‘Listen, son.’ He put a hand on Michelangelo’s arm. ‘You know I’ve been eyeing this property for some time.’
Michelangelo shrugged his arm off.
Herb picked a blossom from the apple tree and sniffed it. ‘It’s a beautiful piece of Italy, and could make a lot of my oil-tycoon friends in Texas very happy. The winery’s had its days of glory. But let’s face it: the estate is run-down. It’s not making the same money as it used to, and who’s gonna run it? A daft old widow.’
Michelangelo stepped toward him. ‘Don’t talk about my mother like that.’
Herb raised both his hands in apology. ‘I’m just speaking the truth.’
‘I’m going to run it, Mr. Ranger,’ Michelangelo growled. ‘And I’m going to turn this place around.’
Herb nodded as if he’d predicted this. ‘I know your daddy had big plans. But do you really want to spend your youth toiling over a bad investment? All good things must come to an end. Why not end it now and walk away?’
Michelangelo sighed. Was he here to preserve his family’s heritage because that’s what his dad had wanted? Or was he following his own dream? Driving back up here had reminded him of everything he loved about the vineyard. He’d missed the place just like he missed an old friend. Being a farmer like his father had always been his childhood dream. He’d never wanted to leave. Even if he found a job in the city, he’d always pine for the rows of green and the buzzing of the insects.
The winery ran in his blood, and it was an urge he couldn’t ignore.
‘I’m not going to do that, signore.’ He crossed his arms. ‘I’m going to find a way to buy this land. I could call the authorities, but I thought we could handle this man to man.’
Herb kicked a chipped tile. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I’ll offer you this: Give me the time allotted to find the money for this month, and if I don’t come up with it, I won’t give you any problems when the deal closes. But in the meantime, stay off my winery.’
‘Fair enough.’ Herb nodded and his smile sent a chill through Michelangelo’s heart—as though he’d just made a deal with the devil.