Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (22 page)

Mia wandered into the study. A brilliant blue-and-green bird was in a six-foot cage, swinging from perch to perch and doing flips as he traveled through the air, all in an apparent attempt to impress Pirate, Quinn’s one-eyed cat. Pirate was a cool customer. He sat on the corner of Quinn’s desk, watching the bird’s gymnastic feats, then raised a paw, licked it, and began to bathe himself.

Having lost his audience, Alfie shifted his attention to her. He jumped to the side of the cage. Wrapping his talons about it, he ran his curved beak over the wire. Mia wondered whether that helped sharpen it, the better to chomp silly people’s fingers.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” Tess said, entering the study and coming to stand next to her. “I’d only ever seen parrots in the zoo before I met Alfie.”

“Oh, hi! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Tess grinned. “It’d be hard to hear a marching band when Alfie’s putting on a show. Can you believe this house is even louder when it’s at full occupancy? But the rabbit’s healed and been released, and the opossum, too, thank goodness. Between you and me, I didn’t really care for the opossum.”

“That opossum was adorable, City Girl.” Quinn entered the room, holding a measuring cup filled with raw vegetables—carrots and something paler—and a fistful of peanuts.

“You need to get out more, Quinn,” Tess said, and crossed her arms. “Its tail looked way too much like a rat’s. Actually, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t like its face, either. It was freaky.”

Quinn shook her head in despair, but any further discussion of the merits of opossums was prevented by Alfie. Turning his head to fix a beady eye on Quinn, he flapped his wings and shrieked even louder. Joy rendered him inarticulate.

Mia cupped her hands about her mouth and shouted to Tess, “I brought some of our Pinot for dinner.”

With a grin, Tess gave her a thumbs-up and then signaled that the two of them should quit the study for the blessed quiet of the kitchen.

The dinner Tess provided was consumed with generous praise from Mia and Quinn. Very little was left of the tomato-and-onion frittata or the roasted zucchini, goat cheese, and pine nut salad. The first bottle of Pinot Mia brought was empty, and the three women were cheerfully working on the second while they savored the last bites of a peach crostata that Tess swore she’d made in less than a half hour. They’d taken the meal outside so that Sooner could gnaw a bone on the grass and Pirate could survey the world with his one eye.

Tess raised her glass and took a sip. “I’m loving your wine more and more, Mia.”

“Thanks. It paired nicely with the food, didn’t it?”

“It sure did. Reid mentioned he reserved a hundred cases of your latest vintage.”

“He made Thomas’s morning.” Mia remembered her uncle’s smile.

Tess pushed away her empty plate. “You know, I’m on Twitter a fair amount, for the ranch. I was thinking that maybe I could blast out some tweets about the winery and provide you with some promo.”

“Wow. That would be wonderful. Reid said it was important to increase the winery’s social-media presence. Thomas and I aren’t all that into the Internet.”

“That’s okay, Mia.” Quinn reached across the table and patted her arm. “Neither are any of us Knowleses. It’s just one reason why we’re so grateful to Tess. She doesn’t mind whipping out her phone, snapping pics and videos, and sending messages across the cyber universe. She’s freakin’ excellent at it. She did most of the promo for the cowgirls’ weekend. A ridiculous number of people are following her tweets and posts.”

“Are you buttering me up, Quinn?” Tess asked.

Quinn held her hands up in a gesture of innocence. “I’m just giving praise where praise is due. I also appreciate the fact that you’ve put a smile on Ward’s face. I like to see my brothers happy—even Reid.”

For a second, both Quinn’s and Tess’s gazes fixed on Mia. Just before Mia’s face went up in flames, Quinn reached forward and snagged the bottle to pour more wine into their glasses.

“But it’s time you demonstrated your cowgirl chops, Tess,” she continued. “How about we go riding tomorrow and you try a lope on for size?”

Tess rolled her eyes. “I knew you were saying all those nice things for a reason. I adore Brocco’s trot, thank
you very much. There is no need for me to try a lope on for size.”

Quinn grinned. “We’ll see. Mia, you should come riding, too.”

“You know how to ride?” Tess asked her.

“Hardly. I’m not sure I can even manage a trot without bouncing out of the saddle.”

“I knew I liked you for more than your wine.” Tess raised her glass and took an appreciative sip. “I’m surrounded by champion riders, and none of them understand that I’m grateful to make it back to the barn in one piece. So you can come riding with me anytime—as long as you don’t get it into your head that we have to start loping or barrel racing or acting in any way like cowgirls.”

“You have my word,” Mia said.

Tess smiled. “Good. Now, back to business. A website for the winery will help a lot—and I know from the meetings we’ve had that Reid knows what a site like yours will need, and he can find you a designer—but being able to send out a tweet about a special event is where Twitter really comes in handy. For instance, we have an event coming up later this month. I’ll be tweeting lots about it.”

“Are you talking about your artists’ weekend?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah.” To Mia, Tess explained, “Last February, we had a guest who wanted to sketch the newborn lambs. Her artwork was beautiful. Now Madlon Glenn—the guest—and I have become friendly. We cooked up this idea to hold an artists’ retreat weekend devoted to capturing the different landscapes around Acacia.”

Mia didn’t hesitate. “Would you like them to come and sketch or paint our place?”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea! Don’t you agree, Quinn?”

“Brilliant and convenient. It’ll mean we won’t have to shuttle the guests too far. Bravo, you,” Quinn said to Mia, raising her glass of wine and toasting her.

Tess was clearly taken with the idea. “I’d already thought of having sessions at Silver Lake and the forest preserve, as well as setting up the artists near the cattle and sheep pastures. Sheep and cattle are super picturesque, but the problem is, they
move
. And your goats, Quinn—forget about ’em.”

Quinn smiled. “Mia’s grapevines would be much better behaved, I’ll grant you that.”

“And the trellised rows of a vineyard are so pretty. Madlon and the instructors conducting the workshops will love the idea, I’m sure of it.” Tess’s dark eyes shone.

Mia felt her own excitement grow. The dinner had been fun, a sisterly camaraderie she didn’t experience often. But even more, she was pleased to be able to suggest something that might benefit the guest ranch in return for all that Reid and his family—Tess included—were doing for the winery. “In the past, we commissioned an artist to paint a rendering of the vineyard for our wine labels, but she moved away. Maybe we could do something similar for your guests?”

“Oh my God, yes!” Tess exclaimed. “We could hold a contest. If you liked the artwork enough, you could ask the winner if she or he would be willing to have the picture made into a label for your next vintage—but only if you liked the image, Mia. No pressure.”

“I think holding a contest could be really fun. The only hitch is that I don’t know how much I’d be able to pay the winner,” she said.

Tess waved off her concern. “I’m pretty sure that the thrill of having one’s artwork chosen would be enough for most of these participants. You could offer a case of the wine, too. What do you think, Quinn?”

“I think you two are going to make Dad and Mom sleep easy.”

“And Reid—do you think he’ll be pleased?” The question was out of Mia’s mouth before she could stop herself. Used to keeping all her thoughts of Reid locked away where no one could smile knowingly, it shocked her how easily the lock had sprung.

“Definitely. Cross-promotion is what great partnerships are all about,” Quinn said. When Pirate jumped on her thighs, she caressed his black-and-white fur and he settled into a sphinxlike pose.

“It’s just that Reid’s doing a lot of hands-on stuff.” As Mia’s cheeks warmed at the memory of how very busy Reid’s hands had been the other night, she hurried on. “He graded the driveway yesterday, and then this afternoon we went over my ideas for the winery. He said he can get some stone slabs for the visitors’ patio at a good price. I feel like he’s calling in favors left and right.” Somehow she’d thought his involvement would be more removed, along the lines of developing a business plan.

Unfazed, Quinn shrugged. “That’s the name of the game.”

“Absolutely.” Tess nodded in agreement. “I think this partnership is great for Reid. It’s shaking things up for him and taking him out of his normal routine—out of his comfort zone.”

“I wouldn’t have thought Reid had a
discomfort
zone.” Not once had Mia ever seen him struggle.

“Sure he does,” Quinn said.

“Figuring out what gets your wine into as many glasses as possible will be a challenge, no doubt about it,” Tess said. “But a good one,” she added.

Quinn nodded in agreement. “It’s all good, Mia. You’ll see.”

* * *

While she helped Quinn and Tess gather up the dishes and set the kitchen to rights—not a difficult job, since Tess had cooked everything at Ward’s—Mia replayed the dinner conversation in her mind. She hoped Tess and Quinn’s assurances were proved right.

She knew that she was being overanxious. Reid and his family would definitely be getting something out of the partnership—a chance to make a sizable profit. Somehow, though, she wanted the deal between their families to represent more than a dollar sign to Reid.

And wasn’t that woefully naïve of her? a sharp voice questioned, as she said good night to Quinn and Tess and made her way to her truck.

The internal dialogue or, more precisely, lecture continued as she rolled down the darkened private road. She needed to be careful to avoid indulging in wild fantasies where Reid was concerned. Otherwise she’d run the risk of losing her sense of perspective all over again.

It was essential she remember the facts of the situation. They were involved in a business venture, not a romantic one. So while it was true that they’d succumbed to an impulsive round of sex, lots of people did that. Yes, the night spent in Reid’s arms had been great for her—better even than her dreams. But there was a simple reason for that. The Mia Bodells of the world didn’t often find the Reid Knowleses in their beds.

The mistake would be to believe their night together signified anything.

But what about the kiss he’d given her last night? It had been sweet and tender.

The rational voice inside her head was relentless. Why shouldn’t he kiss her? He was a man who liked women and sex a lot. He was a sensualist.

Then he’d used the word “beautiful” today.…

Ah, now they’d come to the root of the problem. He’d been talking about the winery,
not
her, the sharp voice reminded.

But for Mia, hearing Reid utter that single word transported her into the rosy realm of the precious dreams she’d spun around him so long ago. Her girlish script had filled the pages of her diary with fantasies of his kisses and melting caresses. But more powerful than imagining the press of his lips against hers had been the story line she weaved, one where Reid assumed the role of the handsome prince encountering the plain and terribly lonely orphan girl. Descending from his noble steed, he swept her into his arms and whispered that she was beautiful.

Well, she simply had to remember that “beautiful” was a trigger word and to not begin spinning silly dreams again. Dreams that might be forgiven a lonely adolescent would be beyond foolish now.

It took awhile for Reid to realize his neck muscles had gone as rigid as steel rods and that his fingers were sore from drumming them impatiently on his thighs. He wasn’t usually slow to notice things. The evening had started with the classic camaraderie Ward, Brian, and he had enjoyed ever since their high school days. That’s when Brian and Ward’s friendship was born, forged by blood and steel when a knife was thrust into Ward’s ribs as he stepped in to save Brian from a gang of toughs.

Brian still treated Ward with a touch of hero worship, which Reid knew bugged Ward to no end, but now Bri had an additional reason to be in Ward’s debt. This past June, Ward and Tess had pulled off an admittedly amazing wedding ceremony for Brian and his then girlfriend, Carrie.

Brian and Carrie were living in Boston. Thanks to the
genius of FaceTime, Brian’s ugly mug grinned back at them from the laptop computer propped on Ward’s wood-and-iron coffee table, and the exchange of BS and genial ribbing flowed as easily as ever. But there was something new to the mix: It was the rich dollop of happiness in their voices. It was as thick as whipped cream when they jawed about Ward and Tess’s January wedding in New York.

Reid dropped his head against the back of the leather sofa and stared at the exposed timber beams of the living room’s ceiling, impatiently waiting for them to move on.

They didn’t. That’s when he realized they were really
enjoying
talking about the guest count, about the church in Astoria, Queens, Tess’s old neighborhood, and about the priest who would be performing the ceremony, a good guy who’d been a pillar of support to Tess’s mother over the years.

The conversation improved when they discussed the restaurant where the wedding dinner would be held (Anna Vecchio’s new trattoria in Brooklyn, of course), because Anna was a damned fine cook. But the topic they should have been focusing on—namely, which bars and clubs to hit on the night of Ward’s bachelor party—was very much secondary. Ward didn’t seem to care, either.

When the talk veered once again into Tess and Carrie Land, the answer finally flashed before Reid’s eyes.
Love
was responsible for his brother’s and their friend’s happiness.

He told himself it wasn’t envy that was making him so churlish. Considering how great a life he had, he’d have to be a real loser not to kick the green-eyed monster to the curb as soon as he felt it working on him. Why would he begrudge either Brian or Ward their
bone-deep satisfaction? What worked for them didn’t necessarily translate into a recipe for bliss for him.