As Rose drove through the winery gates, she felt irritable and wished she could head back to her Tucson condo. She had just come from Valley Hospital, visiting her dad, then checking with the staff about his discharge the following day. The hospital had found them nursing support, and a Ms. Partridge was scheduled to accompany him home and stay for the first three days and nights. She would rotate with either one or two other nurses the agency had lined up, depending upon how long they felt her father needed care.
Rose’s irritation did not relate to her father or arrangements for his care. It was about the dinner ahead and her longing for the neat, quiet life she had made for herself in Tucson. Truth was, she had never cared for Cilla Beatty, and the past few days had not changed that opinion. Cilla had been fawning all over her brother, mother, and father and, of course, she and Neecy were thick as thieves. It did not appear that Jon Wilson, the cook, had fallen under her charms, and her mother seemed to avoid her as much as was polite. No matter, thought Rose, heading in with her overnight case. Cilla would be gone tomorrow, thank goodness.
Jon outdid himself with shrimp and scallop shish kebabs, flavored with a piquant lime cilantro marinade. Served with saffron rice and a medley of field greens, the meal was light and delicious. Jon had brought the seafood back from his trip to the coast, and he suggested a crisp pinot grigio to accompany it.
“Jon, this wine is superb,” Cilla said, gushing at the cook as he refilled her glass. “Is it from the vineyard?”
Suppressing a smirk, he refrained from explaining that these were not the conditions or climate for pinot grigio grapes, and simply said, “No, Ms. Beatty, I brought it back from my trip.”
“Well, it’s sublime, and I must write down the label and vintage.”
Lang watched his former girlfriend, remembering for the hundredth time why they no longer fit. “So, Rosie, how was everything with dad?”
“Fine. They’re all set for tomorrow. They expect the discharge will be completed by noon, and Ms. Partridge will ride out in the ambulance with him.”
“So they still won’t let me drive him home?” their mother asked.
Rose shook her head. “I think you should stay here and get everything ready for when he arrives.”
“Neecy can do that. She’s already made up Ms. Partridge’s room and gotten Dad’s things settled in the study.”
“Neecy’s taking Cilla to the airport, Mother, remember?”
“As I’ve told you,” Cilla said, “that is absolutely unnecessary. I can hire a cab.”
“No need,” Lang said. “I’m sure Neece is looking forward to it.” He gave his sister a conspiratorial look.
Rose studied her brother for a minute before saying, “Guess who I saw in town today? I was having lunch with colleagues in the back room of La Forge, and I spied Beth Morgan with Bill. They seemed like they were having a nice time. The food at La Forge is amazing. You feel as if you’re in the middle of Paris instead of downtown Tucson.”
Lang’s face clouded over and he stared down at his plate. He was clearly furious, his mood obvious to all three women. His mother shook her head, rolling her eyes at her daughter.
Cilla paled, watching the man she had loved for so long, and knowing with certainty that he now loved someone else. He might not know it, she mused, watching Lang’s jaw clench and unclench, but he’s crazy in love with that plain Jane Beth Morgan. Time for me to go home.
Dinner over at last, Lang excused himself and tried for the twentieth time to phone Beth, but once again he reached her voice mail. Muttering under his breath, he slammed out of the house and took a long walk, not even caring if a snake or other creature crossed his path. By the time he returned, Cilla had gone to bed, as had his mother and sister.
Lang grabbed his cell. You can not answer my calls all you want, Beth Morgan, he thought as he headed for his room, but one way or the other, I’m going to talk to you before I leave.