Chapter Twelve

Oh Lord, her back hurt.

Grace blinked her eyes open, expecting the normal morning light that poured into her room, but there was only darkness. The cool, comforting darkness of…the wine cellar.

She sat up, realizing she’d been asleep on the bench, covered with the purple blanket that belonged to the puppies. Blinking, waiting for her eyes to adjust, she slid her gaze to the crate in the corner, expecting to see the dogs, but the door was open, and they were gone.

“Oh God.” She straightened and stood, wincing at the knot in her back, memories of the night before coming back. They’d finished blending, carefully mixing last year’s Pinot into this year’s first press and free run to create more than enough wine for fifty bottles.

Alex—the world’s most relentless person—insisted on carrying each five-gallon container out to the bottling station near the press. At about four thirty, she’d nearly collapsed, and he told her to rest for a few minutes on the bench.

That was the last thing she remembered.

Well, that and the…fun. The laughter. The easiness. A few too many congratulatory kisses and the sexy undercurrent that hummed between them. In fact, if she hadn’t been worried about the chemical balance and oxidation of the wine, they’d probably be waking up next to each other upstairs in her room, balancing a whole different set of chemicals.

She froze midstep at the thought.

That’s where this was going. She knew it. He knew it. Hell, those puppies knew it. It would be hot and crazy and passionate and…messy. She’d develop feelings and an attachment, and then he’d leave, or she’d run, or life would separate them, because that’s how it always happened to Grace Donovan.

It’s been a wonderful year, Grace.

We love having you, Grace.

Oh, honey, you’re like our own daughter. But…this is best for you.

There was always a but. No family, no love, no explanation.

The back door swung open, blinding her with a flash of morning light and a familiar silhouette.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

She laughed, pushing back some hair, feeling anything but. “Did you ever sleep?” she asked.

“Not a wink. But the wine is almost bottled and…” He angled his head. “I mastered the screw-top machine.”

“Pretty sweet, isn’t it?”

“I admit I get the appeal.”

“Where are the puppies?” she asked, looking past him.

“I’ve got them leashed up out there, all their business done and morning meals completed.”

“On zero sleep? Who are you, Superman?”

He shrugged. “When I’m going hard on a project, I don’t need sleep. This wine, Gracie.” He did a chef kiss with his fingers. “We nailed it.”

“You did,” she corrected. “I would never have thought to use wine aged a year to blend with this.”

“Three Dog Night is going to be a huge hit. Would you think I’m out of my mind if I asked for a blank label? I’ve got the idea for a design in mind and wanted to sketch it out. I have a friend who did some marketing work for Santorini’s, and he texted that he could probably produce something for us in time for the big event, but he needs the measurements and your logo.”

Her jaw loosened. “Did you work any other miracles while I slept like a baby?”

“Managed not to join you, and that is a miracle.” He tapped her nose. “Labels?”

“They’re in the office.” She shot her thumb toward the winery, hearing Ryan’s truck rolling up outside. “I need to go to my apartment for a few minutes, so let’s get Ryan and Jay started on the barrels, and I’ll show you the labels.”

A few minutes later, she and Alex returned to the main house, both of them moving with a surprising spring in their step despite the long night of bottling.

“Your enthusiasm is infectious,” she told him as she unlocked the door to her office.

“I’m stoked for this. I have so many ideas for the menu. And you have to figure something out with Cassie to have those puppies in the wedding.”

“The wedding Scooter and Blue don’t even know is happening.”

He gave her a squeeze as they walked in. “We’re going to kill this, Gracie.”

She just laughed, infected by his spirit.

“This is a great office,” he said, looking around the room full of scarred, antique woods and ancient file folders, sun pouring through a window that looked out at the vineyards.

“I haven’t renovated it,” she said, seeing the room through his eyes. “I like the feel of it, imagining owners over the years running Overlook Glen from here, on this oak furniture. And look at this. It’s really cool.”

She stepped to a large wooden cabinet with three long, flat drawers and pulled one open. “Every label of every wine ever made here. One of these days, I’m going to go through all of them, pick the best, and make a collage for the reception area. But these are from the last twenty years or so.” She waved her hand over the array of wine labels, each in small stacks, all with the Overlook Glen logo and different types of wine and names.

Alex picked up a pack and fluttered through them. “Very nice.”

“Next drawer is even older, and the blanks are in the bottom drawer.” She swallowed, aware of how close he was and suddenly wanting very much to brush her teeth before he turned and kissed her. “I’m going to run up to my apartment and clean up for the day,” she said. “Make yourself at home.”

“I will, thanks.”

She slipped out, closing the door and darting up the curved stairs to her apartment. There, she flipped on the shower, brushed her teeth, jumped under deliciously hot water, letting it sluice over her aching bones. Most, not all, of the grape stains lightened on her hands and forearms after she washed and shampooed, moving quickly and thinking about coffee and how much work it would be barreling all day.

Fun with Alex, though, whom she suspected wouldn’t leave her side.

Yep, it was getting messy. And dangerous. And…wonderful.

Wrapping the towel around her and squeezing the water out of her hair, she opened the bathroom door and froze.

Alex stood in her room, right in the middle of it, holding something in his hand, his expression kind of…ravaged.

“What?” She barely breathed the word.

“I found something.”

“The perfect label?” But even as she guessed it, she knew that whatever he held, which was the size of a label, had visibly upset him.

He shook his head. “I think you need to…” His gaze dropped over her. “Dress?”

Frowning, she took a step closer. “The towel won’t fall off.”

He inched back, covering what was in one hand with the other. She looked down at his hands, staring at his purple wine stains, trying to see what it was. “Grace.” His voice was gruff and low. “This is going to upset you.”

“What is it?” A hot tendril of worry wended its way through her chest, at war with a punch of frustration that he wouldn’t show her what he was holding. “Alex, you’re scaring me.”

She waited for him to laugh, to be his easy, comfortable, and comforting self, to make a joke and punctuate it with a kiss that she was more than ready for now.

But he stayed dead silent.

Turning, she went back into the bathroom, grabbed a robe from the back of the door, and slipped into it, letting the towel fall as she yanked the tie tight. If he wanted her dressed for whatever label he thought would upset her, fine.

“What is it?” she asked when she stepped out, catching him looking at what he held. Then he lifted his gaze, his perpetually tanned skin the closest thing to pale she’d ever seen.

He came closer, reaching for her hand, tugging her to sit down on the bed.

“I pulled the bottom drawer too hard, trying to get to the back, and it fell out.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure we can fix—”

“And I found this.” Very slowly, he finally handed her a picture with rounded corners and slightly washed-out colors.

She took it, angled it away from the sun that shone on its glossy surface and looked at the image of a woman holding a baby, a tiny Mary-Jane-wearing towhead who couldn’t have been two years old, the vineyards in full bloom behind them.

“Someone who lived here once?” she guessed.

“Turn it over.” The order was barely a rough whisper.

Suddenly, as something hot and scary shot through her stomach, her hand started shaking, paralyzed and light purple and unable to do what he said. Instead, she looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because you need to see what it says.” He put a hand on her leg, pressing lightly. “Brace yourself, honey.”

Swallowing hard, she turned it over and read the scripted handwriting in faded ink.

Celia and Gracie Overlook Glen Harvest Oct. 1988

She stared at the words, so utterly and wholly wrong and impossible and… “What?” She choked. “How is this possible?”

She’d never been here before. She had no ties to this winery. She’d found it by luck…hadn’t she? She could still remember the call from her real estate agent, who’d gotten hold of this gem of a listing she could snag for a song.

Chills exploded all over her body.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. Not even a chance. Then…who? Her mother? Her grandfather? Who wanted her to have this property, but hadn’t wanted to raise her?

“I don’t understand,” she whispered as her head grew light, and the world seemed to black out around her. “I don’t…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t handle this right now, Alex. We have wine to deal with.”

* * *

Grace thought he was strong and relentless? Alex watched in awe as Grace moved through what had to be the most difficult day in a life that had clearly had its fair share of difficulties. Nothing—not even discovering lies and truths so deeply intertwined that it was impossible to tell one from the other—would stop the process of barrel-aging the rest of the wine that had been pressed the day before.

Through it all, her back was straight, her jaw locked. Her pretty mouth stayed tight, and her aquamarine eyes had lost all the luster he’d enjoyed the night before. Even her approach to bottling was different than yesterday’s.

Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed more scientific today, too. She clung to her notes and used calculus—literal calculus, on a piece of paper with a calculator—that turned winemaking into math, with formulas for carbon dioxide and airlocks and measurements of oxygen molecules.

He got it, though. Science made sense to Grace Donovan, especially when a thirty-one-year-old photograph and the writing on the back made none.

She’d been born here? Her mother had lived here? Or she’d visited, at least. There was obviously some connection with the winery she’d acquired by what she’d thought was luck and timing. So, who was pulling the strings and why?

If Alex wanted to know, he couldn’t imagine the need for answers that burned in Grace. She might cover it with math and stoicism, but he knew that under that cool surface, she was churning. And all he wanted to do was help her figure it out.

Because he’d felt the revelation rack her body, and he’d heard the sobs he’d finally helped calm to a whimper. He’d waited outside her room while she washed her face and dressed, and he’d marveled when she stepped out with that mask firmly in place, refusing to discuss what that picture had revealed.

Other than a woman who looked very much like her and was named Celia and had to be her mother.

But while they transferred the wine into waiting oak barrels and rolled them into open slots in the cellar, all those questions plagued him, too. And no matter how sleep-deprived he was, he cobbled together a plan to find out the truth. She deserved that and nothing less.

As he and Ryan returned from the cellar, having stored the last of the barrels, the sun was dipping, but the day wasn’t done. He found Grace at the picnic table, playing with the dogs, whispering to Gertie.

When he slid next to her and smiled, she just looked at him.

“Gracie,” he whispered, getting a kick of pain when she flinched a little at the name. “Let’s start with the real estate agent who listed the house. Do you know who that was?”

She bit her lip, nodding. “It must be on the contract, right? My agent handled everything. It was fast and easy and…” She closed her eyes. “Purposeful.”

“Can you reach your agent?”

“I should be able to. Her name’s Donna Morgan, and she’s with a huge national firm, but her office is in DC. She actually specializes in winery properties, mostly in Virginia, but also all over the East.”

“Let’s call her, and if she doesn’t know the previous owner’s name, then get the listing agent. You have every right to know who owned this property before you.”

Just then, Jay came closer, wiping his brow and opening a bottle of water. “Bib Hunnicutt,” he said, angling his head in a silent apology that acknowledged he’d overheard their conversation. “Is something wrong, Grace?”

On the bench, Grace’s fingers curled around Alex’s hand, squeezing him. “Bib,” she whispered, paling a little.

“That’s what everyone called him,” Jay said. “Old Bib, which must have been a nickname for something that’s long forgotten.”

“You knew him?” she asked, her voice stretched thin.

“Nah, but my uncle knew the Hunnicutts pretty well. Him and his wife, Bonnie. People talked around here when they died within a year of each other. Cancer, both of them. They say she knew she had it, but didn’t tell him or do anything about it. She just nursed him to the end, then hers was so far gone, she died about eight or nine months later.”

“When was this?” Alex asked.

He shrugged. “They died a little over three years ago, I guess. They pretty much kept to themselves, though. Didn’t socialize much with neighbors or folks in town.”

“I…had no idea who owned this property,” Grace said after processing all that. “My Realtor just told me the owners had both passed, and an attorney was handling the sale.”

“Then we’ll find that attorney,” Alex said softly, getting a slightly surprised look from Jay.

“Was something wrong with the barrels? The press? What’s your issue with the Hunnicutts?” Jay asked.

“Curiosity,” Alex answered easily for her. “I’m fascinated by the history of this winery and the families who’ve owned it in the past.”

“You could talk to my uncle,” he said. “He worked here back in the seventies and early eighties.”

“But not 1988?” Alex asked.

Jay frowned. “I’d have to check,” he said. “Seems to me he moved to another place in the mid-eighties, but sometimes his stories all ramble together. He’s eighty-two now, and I don’t always, you know, pay attention.”

Alex gave him an understanding smile. “Does he live around here, Jay?”

“Oh yeah. He lives just outside of Bitter Bark in that Starling apartment complex for seniors.”

“Do you think he’d talk to us today?” Alex got a quick look from Grace. “Why wait?” he asked.

Jay looked from one to the other, nodding slowly. “I can call him and tell him you want to stop by. Just remember, his memory is a little shaky at times. Although, he usually remembers the weather fifty years ago, but he can’t tell you what he had for breakfast.”

“We’ll be gentle,” Grace said, turning to him. “I do need to know the history of the family that owned this winery.”

“Sure thing. And good news, we’re done with the barrels,” he said. “Ryan and I will handle the cleanup, if you like.” He waited a beat. “I’ll call my uncle.”

He stepped away, pulling out a cell phone. Alex slipped his arm around Grace and eased her closer. “I’ll drive you there. On the way, we’ll call the agent who sold you the property. We’ll ask all over town until we figure this out. We’ll find out who your mother was.”

Just then, Gertie climbed up on Grace’s lap for some love. “And I thought we just wanted to find their mother.”

“Her, too,” he teased lightly.

She was quiet for a moment, then leaned away to look at him. “Bib. I remember that name. I remember saying it. Bib.”

“Maybe you do have family, Grace.” And if so, there was nothing he wanted more than to help her find out about them, even if they were gone.

But that just made her look sadder. “If I do, or did, they didn’t want me. Why not?”

“We have to find out the whole story before we start making assumptions.”

“But I don’t want to—”

He put a hand over her lips. “This isn’t foster families in California. This is the reason why you bought this winery, which has a connection to your birth and your mother. You have every right and reason to find out what it is.”

She just stared at him.

“And who knows?” he added. “It might lead you to Bitsy and Jack.”

Her eyes filled as she put her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “I know I shouldn’t feel this way about you. I know it’s going to hurt like a bitch at some point in time, but this is the kindest thing anyone’s ever done, and I…you…we…”

“Shhh.” He pulled her into him and kissed her forehead. “One emotional land mine at a time, sweetheart.”

She melted a little in his arms, then looked up at him. “I’m scared about what I’m going to find out.”

“Hey, what’s that saying? The truth will set you free.”

“Or shatter you into a million pieces, never to recover.”

“There’s the attitude.” He tapped her nose.

She managed a shaky smile as Jay came back over, holding a piece of paper. “He’s very excited to have company,” he said kind of sheepishly. “Guess I should visit him more often. His name’s Lou Corbell.”

Alex took the paper. “We’ll give him your best, Jay. And thanks.”

A few minutes later, they were headed to Bitter Bark with the dogs in the back and hope in their hearts.