Chapter 34
I need you.
That’s what the text said. Not I need to talk to you, I need to see you, or any variation of that. Just I need you.
Cristo. Why now?
Padre was back home where he belonged. He was a couch jockey nowadays, not toiling next to Esteban in the garden. Madre hovered over him like a hyperactive honeybee. At least that kept her off Esteban’s case about how hard he was pushing himself.
Padre’s mood was surprisingly chipper. Esteban could hardly believe how accepting he was of his diagnosis. The day he’d come home from the hospital, he’d given his son an awkward one-armed hug and told him how proud he was of him. Maybe having a heart attack had done something to the wiring in his brain.
Esteban had too much on his mind already to wonder what had gotten into Padre.
George had given Esteban some flak about reneging on the lineman job after he’d put himself out there for him. Esteban didn’t blame him, but what else could he do? He was needed here, at home.
Bottom line, though, was that as hard as the St. Pierres had tried to screw up everyone’s lives, they’d failed. All that was in the past. Now all the Morales family felt was relief that Padre was out of danger. They were settling into their new normal: Padre guarding his fragile health, Madre caring for him, and Esteban only coming in from the fields to eat and sleep. Doing what any son would do for his family.
The last thing he needed right now was a cryptic text from a wine heiress. He deleted her words, rejecting the pounding of his heart. But the second he shoved his phone back in his jeans it pinged again.
Meet me tomorrow, 10am, Rathmell Ranch.
The next morning he found himself driving up the steep grade to the ranch, kicking himself all the way.
Dios, though, it was gorgeous up here. That, he couldn’t deny.
There was Savvy’s black Mercedes, sitting at the top of the hill.
He parked his Chevy and set out for the distillery, betting he’d find her there. But before he’d gotten far, his peripheral vision caught a figure standing like a sunflower in thigh-high Hidcote with her back to him.
Out there in that deserted field, the high altitude breeze rippled the folds of a pale pink dress around narrow hips. A feminine hand smoothed back loose strands of long chestnut hair. When he got to within thirty feet of her, she slowly turned, somehow sensing his silent presence. Gone were the ugly glasses. Her naked gaze pierced him like an arrow, taking his breath away.
His legs got a mind of their own, carrying him forward until they were close enough to talk.
“You came.”
He’d been right before. No one could compare with Savvy.
Still, a man had his pride.
“Why’d you call me out here?”
“How’s your father?”
“Fine.” Esteban kicked the dry, crumbly dirt—the kind of dirt he dreamed about—with the toe of his boot. “Better than fine. He’s . . . I don’t know. Different.”
“He didn’t tell you, then. I thought he might,” she murmured.
“Tell me what?” He knew this would be a mistake. Now what had she done?
“Do you like it here, Esteban?” she asked, peering out at the distant, rolling hills.
Dios. His name on her lips took him back to parked cars and a sandy beach. His gaze followed hers over the house with the orange tile roof, the peach orchard, the scrub-covered ridges.
Of course he liked it here. He raised a hand like duh, and uttered a guttural noise of agreement.
“I mean, do you like it, like it?”
“Dammit, Savvy, I don’t have time for your prima donna games. I got work to do. . . .” He turned to start back to his truck. If he left right now, he’d only have lost an hour of daylight.
“Wait . . .” Her hand appealed to him. “There’s so much I have to tell you. . . .”
Suddenly the anger he hadn’t known he’d been stuffing down for the past week while he juggled problems of life and death sprang to the surface. “Then tell me! You can start with explaining how I’m supposed to believe you and your old man weren’t in cahoots together since the very first day we met!”
She took a step toward him. “Papa planned this months ago. First, he got his pal Robert Witmer to hire me. Then he used Don Smith as his cover to buy your land. Papa asked Robert to have me handle the deal, in part because I was so green. He was banking on me not digging into the NTI partnership agreement.”
Esteban felt his blood simmer to the point of boiling—but not because of anything Savvy had done. Could this be true? Her own father? What was worse, St. Pierre had to know Savvy would be irresistible to a man like him. Hell, to any man. Still . . . “How can I believe you?”
“Robert signed an affidavit admitting he never clued me in on the real identity of NTI. I have it with me, in the car. I’ll show you.”
Esteban huffed. “One lawyer sticking up for another lawyer? That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“Esteban—”
“You told me yourself that the most important thing to you in life was getting ahead in your career. Making partner.”
“It was. But I never told you why.” She took some worn paper rectangles from her pocket and handed them out. “The thing I’ve always cared about the most, the thing that kept me motivated since I was twelve years old, was taking care of my sisters.”
He refused to take the notes from her hand. “What do they need you for? You said they were doing great. Got good jobs . . . isn’t one of them engaged?”
“They’re doing great now, but there was a time when they depended on me, and I couldn’t help them. That affected me more than I could ever explain.” She nodded toward the notes. “Read them. Please.”
He skimmed over the contents of one of them, then lowered it to his side. “What about us? Were you faking liking me? For my land?”
Savvy huffed softly, looking him up and down. “I’m a lawyer, not an actress.” Then she averted her gaze. “I’ll admit it, though. When the deal was falling apart, I thought sleeping with you might reignite it.”
He felt his heart harden and his molars clench.
“I had it all planned out. Bought a new dress, new underwear, CVS’s entire stock of condoms. . . .”
He frowned, remembering. “That day at the beach. That underwear was for me?”
She blushed. “That was my work underwear. It wasn’t supposed to happen that day. Remember? You invited me along at the last minute. The first time was supposed to be the night after I took you to that shop in downtown Napa. Those white lace panties? Those were for you.
“That day on the beach was totally spontaneous—in every way. I didn’t fake anything. You were the first.” She edged closer, bringing with her the scent of roses. “I swear on my mother’s grave. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that.”
How did she do that? Take him from gutted to on top of the world with a wave of her wand?
She stepped up until she stood in front of him. “Your father signed a new contract to sell.”
Wha—?
“I reworked the sales agreement it so that your parents can lease back the house and land for the remainder their lifetimes. Everything about the farm will look the same as it always has. They’ll live out their lives in the home they love, in exchange for a small monthly leaseback fee that they’ll barely notice coming out of their bank account. The only thing different is they’ll clear two million dollars from the sale, so they won’t have to work. If they choose to continue to farm, they can hire help.”
“How’s that help Xavier?”
“The land will eventually be planted in winegrapes, after your parents are gone. That’s the compromise.”
When he recovered his shock, he said, “And you’ll get a sweet little commission. What’re you going to do with that?
“Use it as a down payment.”
“On what?”
“This.” Savvy spread her arms. “It wasn’t working out here for Anne and Lucas. They’re more city than country mice, they decided. They were thrilled to entertain my offer.”
His brows knit. “You’re not a farmer. You have no clue what you’re doing.”
“I want to make perfume. People change and grow, Esteban, like plants. Dreams change. Sometimes they die—”
“Sometimes they get killed,” Esteban interjected.
She smiled wistfully. “I realized I was doing something I didn’t really enjoy, for reasons that no longer applied. You’re right. Char and Meri don’t need me anymore. Everyone could see that except me. Now, Papa . . . I can’t even. God knows I’ve already bailed him out enough times. That man was born trouble.
“I could open a solo practice, work out of the farmhouse here. Haven’t decided yet. It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
She turned and stood next to him so that they were gazing out at the same view. “You’re right. I’m in way over my head here. I need someone who knows what he’s doing. Someone with strength and experience.” She took his hand. “Come with me. Be my partner. We’ll make our dreams come true, together.”
“And let you support me? No.” He looked down, shaking his head. “No way.”
“We’ll be equal partners. Your father has offered to give you—lend, if you insist—as much money as you need. Everything else is right here. You could make this the most amazing lavender farm in California.”
He yearned to trust her, but after all that had happened . . .
“How did you get our fathers to agree to all this?”
“Your father wants you to be happy.”
“There’s more to it than that. How’d you get them to come to terms? They hate each other!”
She faced him again, taking one of his hands in each of hers. “I told them that was the only way they’d get to see their first grandson.”
He stared slack-jawed at her face, then her belly. A shiver ran up his spine.
“I’ve prepared documents stating that when your parents are gone, the title to their farm will pass directly into our child’s name. Along with his rightful portion of all the other Domaine St. Pierre properties, of course.”
The Plan Familiar. She’d thought of everything.
“If you say no, I can raise our baby at the winery. Continue at the same law firm, hire a nanny. . . .”
But Esteban wasn’t hearing a word she said.
“Woot!” he hollered. Savvy squealed as he scooped her into his arms and twirled her around in the fertile field. “Woo hoo hoo hoo hoo!”