2 Crushed (4 page)

“Don’t like our local cuisine?”
Margaret asked from her quiet corner.

“Not especially. I’m more of a
pizza and tacos kind of guy.” He plopped the top bun back down and picked up
the burger. “But I’ll eat most anything.”

Billie laughed. “Yeah, sure. You’ll
eat anything Mom cooks or a fast food restaurant serves up in paper
wrappers—but anything? I don’t think so.”

“I’m not picky. I’m discerning.” He
took a big bite to end the critique of his personal tastes.

“So how’s Davy doing in school this
year, Margaret?” Billie asked, switching gears. “I haven’t seen him around much
lately.”

“He puts up with it.” Margaret
smiled, her face lighting up. “Obviously he only attends class so he can play
on the soccer team. He’s bouncing that silly ball off his head every time I
turn around.”

“Or building some crazy structure
with Legos,” Handel added. “I think he’s going to be a wine-making, soccer
playing, architect.”

“Those are quite diverse
interests,” Adam said, and took another bite of his burger.

“Well, some of the male species
actually use their brains as well as their brawn.”

With his mouth full he couldn’t
very well respond, and perhaps that’s what she counted on. Billie caught his
eye and intuited a warning to tread lightly. As if he was the instigator.

“Davy is really an apt pupil. He’s
learning winemaking faster than I thought possible. Sometimes I feel like he’s
teaching me rather than the other way round,” Billie said.

Margaret nervously played with the
napkin in her lap again. “That’s probably because he’s been around the winery
his whole life. I worked there too when I was growing up. You learn a lot just
from observing, you know.”

Why did talk of the winery make her
nervous? Adam watched her between bites, trying not to look as though he was
staring. Was she still traumatized by her father’s return and the revelations
that led to his subsequent arrest? He couldn’t imagine learning that his father
was a child molester. He decided to cut her a little slack. She was human after
all, even if she did look like a goddess.

Adam took another bite of burger.
He’d scraped off most of the strange ingredients and it was actually pretty
good now. He dipped a fry in ketchup and poked it in his mouth too. He glanced
out the window at clear blue skies. “Doesn’t it ever rain around here? It was
pouring when I left Minneapolis yesterday. Not that I miss it, but it looks kind
of dry here.”

Margaret sent him a scathing glare
that may have meant she thought his question was totally stupid or she just
didn’t like the sound of his voice. “Rain we can do without. It would damage
the wine berry crop during Crush. One bad season and a winegrower…” She
stopped.

“Could be out of business,” Billie
finished, her voice soft with worry.

“I thought rain was good for
crops.”

“Not when they’re ripe. It can
cause them to rot.”

They finished eating while making
small talk, bordering on tiny talk. When the waiter cleared the dishes and
brought the check, everyone was eager to go. There wasn’t a mad rush to the
door, but it was a definite beeline. Adam refrained from speaking, afraid he’d
just say the wrong thing again and set Ms. Ice Queen off on a rant. He didn’t
know why she seemed to dislike him so much. He thought he was a pretty likable
guy, all things considered.

Handel put his arm around Billie as
they walked across the parking lot. He whispered something in her ear and she
laughed. Margaret and Adam walked a few steps behind. He felt like he used to
when his mom made him go along as chaperone on his sister’s dates.

 
Handel stopped beside a red Porsche and
opened the passenger door. “Could you drive Margaret back? I need to speak with
your sister and Margaret needs to be home when Davy gets off the bus.”

Billie tossed her keys and Adam
caught them. She smiled. “I really appreciate it. “

Without waiting for confirmation
she slid into the glove leather seat and Handel closed the door. He moved
quickly around the car to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. When the
engine purred to life, he gave them a thumbs-up before pulling out onto the
street.

Adam heard Margaret let out a
frustrated breath and turned around. He was nearly blinded by the look in her
eyes. “Whoa!” He made the sign of the cross, warding off evil. “I hope that
isn’t meant for me cause I had nothing to do with this. Your brother left you
high and dry. I’m the kind stranger seeing you home.”

“I don’t need anyone to see me
home. I’m not a child.”

“I never thought you were. In fact,
you look pretty grown up to me.”

She glanced away and shook her head
in disgust, but he noticed a slight shade of pink stain her cheeks.

“What have I done to tick you off?
You don’t even know me, but you’ve been sending me a definite signal that if I
got hit by a bus you wouldn’t mourn my passing.”

Her lips turned up slightly at
that. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Let’s leave
it at that, shall we?”

He shrugged. “All right. Do you
want a ride? I happen to be heading that direction anyway.”

“Thanks. That would be fine.”

She followed him to the car, but
when he moved to open her door she waved him off. He got in and turned the key
in the ignition. She slid in beside him, not saying a word. They moved out into
traffic and she directed him back to the highway toward Fredrickson’s. The
radio was set to an oldies station and he sang along, ignoring her, as she
seemed to desire.

They flew past vineyards that all
looked much the same to him. He hoped she’d let him know when it was time to
turn. Finally he chanced a glance in her direction. She stared straight ahead.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She sighed and crossed her arms
over her chest. “If you must.”

“What were you going to ask my
sister back there?”

She looked at him with a spark of
surprise before she dropped her gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.
She said she needed a manager and you started to say something. Why’d you
stop?”

“That’s two questions. Did you want
to know what I was going to say, or why I stopped?”

He shook his head. “Wow. You are a
piece of work.”

She angled her body toward him, her
arm across the back of the seat. “Now you’re just being obtuse.”

“I’m insensitive?”

She shrugged.

He turned up the radio. The heavy
rock beat of
Barracuda
thumped
through the speakers.

She flipped it back off, not ready
to drop the subject. “I’ve lived by the winery my whole life. I worked there. I
learned the winemaking process from your uncle when I was a child, just like
Davy is doing now. I hung out and watched Jack managing the place, overseeing
the vineyards. He let me be involved, explained what was going on.” She paused.
“Up until I had Davy. But I’ve read and kept up on things, talked with other
vintners that stopped by. I have my own vines and make my own wine. I know how
to run a winery. I have money saving ideas your sister could employ. I have
experience that isn’t from books, but from life, and just because I’m a woman
without a college degree doesn’t mean I’m not qualified.”

Her sudden tirade felt personal but
he knew it wasn’t. She’d been too insecure to put it all out there in front of
Billie, but for some reason had no problem blasting him with her “I am woman”
speech. He kept his eyes on the road. “Sounds like you’re the one with the
skewed perception. If you think you can do the job then why didn’t you say so?
You really believe Billie would take you less seriously because you’re a
woman?” he gave a derisive snort. “That’s a cop out.”

“I don’t want her to hire me just
because I’m Handel’s sister,” she admitted, her voice suddenly subdued.

He glanced across at her and back
to the road, slightly offended. “You mean the way she hired me just because I’m
her brother?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m
sure you’re a perfectly adequate accountant. But that’s part-time work.
Fredrickson’s needs a full-time manager and chief winemaker. Someone who knows
wine. Someone who knows Fredrickson’s.”

He pulled off the highway and
followed the gravel drive leading up to her house. A long black limousine
stretched in the shade of a huge oak beside the Parker home, windows reflecting
the glint of afternoon sun. A chauffeur immediately climbed out from behind the
wheel and reached to open the back door for whoever waited inside.

Adam sensed Margaret’s mood change
at sight of the strange vehicle. He pulled the car in behind the limo and shut
off the ignition. A man slowly stepped out of the open door, straightened his
suit coat and glanced their way. Margaret’s sharp intake of breath was more
than surprise—it sounded like fear to Adam. He looked her way. She’d gone
pale beneath her tan, and the fiery spark had left her eyes.

“Damn him,” she muttered, her lips
barely moving.

“Who is he?” Adam asked.

She didn’t answer or move to get
out, but appeared frozen in place.

Adam opened his door and stepped
out. “Can I help you with something?” he asked, taking an immediate dislike to
the stranger. He was a greased, primped, coiffed, pedicured kind of
man—the kind Hollywood used in place of real men. The kind women were
lured in by, like a moth to a bug-zapper.

The man stared at him for a moment
as though assessing his importance, then his lips turned up derisively. “I
think not. I’m here to see Margaret,” he said, with a foreign accent. He tried
to go around him but Adam blocked his way.

“I don’t think Margaret wants to
see you.”

The man stopped midstride and
glared up at him. “I don’t think this is any of your business. Get out of my
way.”

Adam smiled. He would enjoy tossing
the pompous little greased monkey back in his limo and sending him on his way.
But before he made a move, the car door opened behind him.

“It’s all right, Adam. I’ll take
care of this. Go home.”

“Yes, go home, Adam,” the man
repeated, a smirk lifting his lips and lighting his dark eyes.

Adam ignored the jibe and turned
around. Margaret’s face was set, but there was something he couldn’t ignore. No
matter what she said, she was afraid to be alone with this guy. She might use
it as an excuse to continue hating on him, but he wouldn’t leave her with this
jerk even if she begged him.

“You said you were going to show me
the tower, remember?” he said, throwing the lie out there like a buoy.

Her eyes clung to his, seizing the
lifeline.

He smiled, leaned against the front
of the car and folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait.”

The man looked as though he wanted
to clamp his teeth down on Adam’s ankle like an inbred poodle, but instead he
slipped a cigarette between his lips and lit it with the flick of a lighter. He
took a drag before smiling at Margaret again, the smarmy charm back in place
after sucking on his nicotine crutch. “Margaret. You’re more beautiful than I
remember,” he said, as she slowly approached him.

“What do you want? I told you when
you left, I didn’t ever want to see you again.”

He laughed softly and spread his
hands. “That was a long time ago. We were both children. We didn’t know what we
were saying.”

“I’m pretty sure you knew exactly
what you were saying, Agosto—in English and Italian. But if I wasn’t
clear back then, let me clarify now. I want you to leave my property and never
set foot on it again.”

“You always called me August. I
love the way my Americanized name sounds on your lips.” He reached out and she
drew sharply back.

“Don’t touch me!”

“I only wanted…”

“I don’t care what you want. You
gave up your rights a long time ago and there’s no going back.” She brushed
past him and ran up the steps to the front door.

He made as though to follow, but
Adam pulled away from the car and grabbed his arm. “I wouldn’t go there if I
were you.”

The man jerked away, his face red
and angry. “If you put a hand on me again…” he spit out, pointing his finger in
Adam’s face.

Adam raised his brows. “What?”

The man swore under his breath,
strode to the limo and yanked the door open. He turned to look up at the house,
but Margaret had already gone inside. He climbed in and slammed the door. The
big car slowly pulled away.

Adam waited until it disappeared
down the highway before walking up to the house and knocking. She didn’t
answer. He waited a couple more minutes and then turned to leave.

Halfway to the car, he heard the
door open behind him. He turned and looked up at the house. She pushed open the
screen door, a squeak of rusty hinges inviting him in. “I thought you wanted to
see the tower,” she said.

CHAPTER FIVE

Agosto slouched in the seat,
puffing on his cigarette. Anger spread through him, burning his stomach with
acid. He stared out the window, replaying the scene. He was sure that if that
young man hadn’t been there Margaret would have listened. He knew she still
cared, that he was never out of her thoughts. How could he be? She was raising
his son, after all.

They passed a school bus dropping
off children along the highway. He sat up straighter and turned to watch as two
young kids ran down the driveway to their home before the bus pulled back onto
the highway.

“Go back,” he ordered the driver.

It was another half mile down the
road before the driver found a spot large enough to turn around in. He caught
up to the school bus a few minutes later, as it stopped at the Parker’s drive.

“Pull over,” Agosto ordered.

The limo slowed and pulled onto the
gravel shoulder of the road, a safe distance behind the bus. Agosto watched the
bus doors flip open. It seemed like eons before a young, tow-headed boy jumped
to the ground and turned to look up at the driver. He waved before the doors of
the bus closed. The boy dropped a soccer ball and kicked it toward the house,
then ran after it to kick it again. He soon disappeared around the curve of the
driveway, blocked from view by gnarly old olive trees growing thick along the
road.

Agosto leaned back against the seat
and smiled. He had a son. It had never been so real to him before, but now that
he’d seen the boy…he felt a sense of pride, of accomplishment. He had sired a
son and the boy was the spitting image of him. Granted, he had his mother’s
blonde hair, but everything else was straight from the Salvatore bloodline. He
chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. Margaret couldn’t have gotten
over him. She’d seen him in their son’s face for the past nine years.

“Take me back to the hotel,” he
told the driver. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like when he
bedded Margaret once again. She was more beautiful and curvaceous than he
remembered. She’d matured into a spirited woman. There was fire in her eyes
now—a wild, free spirit. He would enjoy breaking and molding her to his
will. And she would enjoy the ride. He would allow her to come to Italy with
them if she cooperated. She would probably expect marriage and perhaps he would
concede. After all, his father would wish his grandson to be legitimate before
he wrote him into the will. But it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

*****

“This is some view you’ve got up
here.” Adam moved through the doorway and across the empty room to stand at the
curve of glass and gaze out over the countryside. Vineyards, lush and green,
stretched for miles, punctuated by clumps of olive trees here and there. Men
were at work in the fields, the Fredrickson’s red pickup truck parked between
vineyards on a stretch of gravel road that followed the property line. Winding
off in the distance was the snakelike curve of a manmade canal.

He turned slowly to look back
toward the highway and saw the school bus pulling up at the end of the drive.
He watched Margaret’s son, Davy, hop down the steps, blonde hair flopping over
his forehead.

“Looks like Ernesto has the men
checking the grapes. They have to get the crop in at the exact right time,”
Margaret explained, still gazing out at Fredrickson’s fields.

The bus pulled away and Davy kicked
his ball toward the house. Adam’s gaze shifted a few degrees to the right. A
hundred yards or so down the road, partially obscured by a tangle of olive
trees, a long black limo was parked on the gravel shoulder. Davy was already up
to the house before the limo slid into the end of the driveway, turned around
and sped back toward town.

“So who was that obnoxious
foreigner anyway?” Adam asked, suddenly very curious and a bit concerned. Why
would the man sneak back and then leave again? Was he waiting to catch Margaret
alone, or…

“No one important.”

She still stared out the window in
the direction of the men, her lips pressed into a thin line of resolve. He
pushed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and watched her. She was
definitely a hardheaded woman. “Not important, huh? Well he obviously thinks he
is. He came back.”

“What?” She crossed to stand at his
side, staring toward the road.

He pointed. “His limo was out there
on the shoulder of the highway. After Davy got off the bus and walked up to the
house, they drove off.”

Her eyes widened and then narrowed
in anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She pushed past him and hurried through the
door and down the stairs, her feet clattering against the wooden treads all the
way to the ground floor. Apparently the man in the limo was more important to
Margaret than she let on.

“Davy!” she called out, her voice
muffled but clearly worried. The bang of the back door reverberated.

He turned and stared across the
vineyards, not really seeing the beauty of the land but feeling frustrated
beyond words. He thought he was making a little headway, but it seemed he
flunked her man test once again. He wondered how the fancy-suited Italian came
out on her scale of 1-10. That man had her full attention even when he’d
already disappeared.

“Are you planning on camping out up
there,” Margaret called from the bottom of the stairs a few minutes later, “or
would you like some coffee?”

A slow smile turned up the corners
of his mouth. Maybe he’d gotten a passing grade after all. He moved through the
door. “On my way,” he called down the stairs.

He followed the fresh-brewed coffee
smell through the house to the kitchen. Country white cupboards with glass
panes encircled granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. Davy sat on
a stool at the counter eating apple slices with peanut butter. The boy turned
around and grinned, his mouth oozing juice. “Hey! You’re Billie’s brother.”

“That I am. It would probably be
easier if you just called me Adam though. Billie’s brother is kind of long and
doesn’t really have the same flare.”

Margaret motioned for him to sit
down at the table. “Do you take cream or sugar?” she asked, filling two red
49er mugs from a thermal carafe.

“Black is fine,” he said, still not
a big coffee lover but unwilling to admit it when she was offering this
tentative hand of friendship.

She handed him a mug of steaming
coffee and sat across from him, wrapping her fingers around her mug. “So, why
did you really come here?”

He blew out the breath of a laugh.
“You don’t make small talk, do you?

She shrugged and sipped her coffee,
waiting.

“I have an accounting degree, but I
really want to play my music. I hoped that maybe here I could do both.”

“What kind of music do you play?”
she asked, the hint of a smile lighting her eyes.

“I play a little jazz and
classical, but I formed my calluses on rock and roll.”

“Yes!” Davy yelled, pumping his
arm. “I knew it.”

“Davy…” his mother sent him a
withering look and he went back to eating his fruit.

“So what do
you
want to be when you grow up?” he asked.

“I’ve wanted to be a wine vintner
since I was ten. Jack told me I could work for him when I got out of high
school but,” she glanced at Davy, “life happened. I’ve taken some college
courses online for business and agriculture but I think experience is most
important in this business.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I know
absolutely nothing about wine or grapes, except that I like them. I want to be
able to help Billie, but I don’t know what I can do.”

“That’s no reason to run off. You
should stay and support her and do whatever she asks you to. Even a
green-behind-the-ears accountant should be able to help with the Crush.”

“Crush? I keep hearing that. You
mean, walking on the grapes?”

She grinned. “Crush is another word
for harvest. We bring in the grapes and crush them for wine. It’s a time for
hard work and celebration. Everybody pitches in at a small winery like
Fredrickson’s.”

“Will you be there too?”

“I usually come and help out. But I
have my own grapes to harvest as well. Enough to keep me fairly busy for a
time.”

“Mom lets me help,” Davy said.

“I bet you’re good at it.”

“Yep!”

“I guess you two have a mutual
admiration society going on. Davy seems to think you’re an extraordinary soccer
player.”

He grinned over at Davy who was
turned around on his stool, watching them. “Extraordinary? I don’t think so.
I’m a passable soccer player. Good enough to play more than I sat on the bench
in college, but nothing special.”

Margaret raised her brows,
obviously amused. “That’s not what I heard.”

“Yeah! You bounced the ball off
your head and knees just like those guys on TV.” Davy jumped down from his
perch to go through the motions. He looked like a miniature mime without the
white makeup. “Want me to get the ball so you can show Mom your cool moves?” he
offered.

Margaret burst out laughing and
then clamped a hand over her mouth as though to stance the flow, but her eyes
continued to sparkle with mirth.

Adam shook his head. “No thanks. I
think she gets the picture.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“Davy! What have I told you…” she
began.

“Not to invite people without
talking to you first? But you’re right here… so can he?”

Adam loved seeing the pink color
stain her cheeks, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome, so he let her off
the hook. “I have to get back to the winery. Billie had me doing some bookwork
and I never really finished. But thanks for the invitation,” he said, rising
from his chair. He met Margaret’s surprised look with a smile. “Maybe you’ll
give me a raincheck?”

“What’s that mean?” Davy asked.

“It means that Adam is welcome to
come for dinner tomorrow night if he’s available,” she said, not looking away.

“I’d love to.” Adam moved to put
his nearly full cup in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee and for showing me the
view.”

Outside on the steps, he turned and
took one more look at the beautiful woman standing inside the screen door, her
son beside her. “See you tomorrow night then.”

She nodded.

As he opened the car door and slid
into the seat he heard Davy say, “Oh shoot! Tomorrow I’m going to the winery to
work with Billie after school and she’s making tacos for dinner.”

“So? You love tacos,” he heard Margaret
say, before they moved away from the door and out of his hearing.

 
He twisted the key in the ignition and
the engine revved to life. It felt like his heart restarted as well. He pulled
the door closed and slipped the car into reverse. She’d known full well they
would be dining alone tomorrow. He imagined she didn’t do anything without
thinking it through. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel. Lucky or
leery?
 
Maybe a little of both. She
was a complicated woman. But he couldn’t help smiling as he pulled onto the
highway and drove the half mile down the road to Fredrickson’s.

*****

“Where have you been all
afternoon?” Adam demanded when his sister strolled leisurely into the office a
quarter after six. Sally had already left for the day and other than the
cleanup crew in the tasting room, he assumed he was the only one still working.

She looked a little too happy to
have spent the last hours discussing her failing business with Handel. She
didn’t reply, but dropped her purse on Sally’s desk and flopped down in the
swivel chair, a grin stretching her lips like a Cheshire cat—or like a
cat that ate a canary—he wasn’t sure which.

“So you’ve got nothing to say after
deserting me at that restaurant with a woman who clearly abhorred me and
running off with your boyfriend like a teenager in heat?”

“Sorry,” she said, not looking
sorry at all. “I meant to be back earlier, but you know…” She held her hand out
toward him and waggled her fingers, loaded down by a diamond ring that sparkled
wickedly in the fluorescent office light.

“What the…?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Sally
said, bursting through the door and grabbing Billie’s hand to stare at the rock
on her finger. “I can’t believe Handel finally popped the question. It’s been
long enough!”

“Where did you come from?” he
asked, “I thought you went home.”

“Thanks for your invaluable
vigilance, newbie, but I was just in back talking to Loren and picking up a
bottle of wine for my date.” Sure enough she held a bottle of Fredrickson’s
against her chest with one arm while clinging to his sister’s hand with the
other.

He rescued it from her and set it
carefully on the desk. With both arms free, she threw them around Billie and
hugged her tight, mooning over the ring like it was the first engagement
diamond she’d ever seen.

“It’s beautiful! Did he get down on
one knee? Did you make him beg? Was it the most romantic moment of your life?”

The rapid-fire questions seemed to
take his sister aback. She continued to grin, wordlessly.

“Hey, slow down there, red. Can’t
you see Billie’s not firing on all cylinders? As a divorce attorney, I’m sure
this whole marriage thing has her tied up in knots. One of them must be
shutting off her voice box.”

Billie scowled at him while
managing to extricate herself from Sally’s clutches. She stood up and gently
pushed her over excited friend away. “Handel’s proposal was probably everything
you’ve ever dreamed of. I’ll leave it at that.”

Her cryptic reply only made Sally
more curious. “What? No details?”