Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (29 page)

Watching Mia move from barrel to barrel, Reid now believed he understood what had been hidden behind Thomas’s seeming self-absorption. Despite all appearances, he’d orchestrated his departure carefully to ease Mia into her new role as winemaker.

Sampling the barrels offered a snapshot of how the wine was developing, so the vintner could then decide how best to shape it—whether to rack it again, blend its contents with other barrels, or let it develop on its own with no further adjustments. Thomas knew Mia well. He’d have recognized that if he left Mia the job of taste
testing the young wine, she’d become excited about this final but important stage in shaping it. And while she was tasting this vintage, discovering its flavors and strengths, she would already be envisioning possibilities for the grapes she and her crew would be harvesting in a couple of weeks’ time.

Reid realized he was witnessing a special moment: This afternoon Mia was coming into her own as a vintner. It was fascinating to watch her apply her formidable knowledge as she held the glass to the light to evaluate its clarity and color, swirled the ruby contents to allow it to aerate, and lowered her nose deep into the bowl to inhale its bouquet.

And then she sipped, that first taste telling her volumes.

When Reid sampled wine, he could kind of, sort of, talk about its characteristics, identify some of its flavors, and make a pronouncement about its finish.

When Mia tasted a young, unformed wine, it was a whole different story. She could see its future, predict what it would look, taste, and feel like in five years’ time. Her skills didn’t end there. She could also recall with stunning clarity the taste of a specific barrel, even after sampling several others, and know which barrels would blend well together and which should be left to mature on their own.

It was great to see her channel her understanding of the grape and decide what combination of notes would make a really special Pinot that reflected its origin.

But for Reid, there was an added kick in watching her.

He saw her innate sensuality, recognized it from their lovemaking, when she set her senses free to savor and delight in the taste and texture of him, to absorb him deep into her body until they became one.

It occurred to him while he took his own sip of the
young wine—very fruity and rich in tannins—that Mia was like the finest vintage, full of notes and subtleties, strong and complex. Haunting. Unique.

Yeah, she was amazing. She was also gloriously, wondrously sexy.

T
HE AFTERNOON
’
S SAMPLING
was over. Mia had helped Leo and Johnny wash and rinse the glasses and thieves while Reid took Bruno outside for a quick walk so the canine could sniff and mark his favorite bushes, a job he took very seriously.

The cellar put to rights, they went outside. Reid was lobbing a ball for Bruno. When Bruno saw Mia, he came over and dropped the ball at her feet. She picked up the slimy thing and tossed it. It didn’t go very far, barely past the neatly raked rectangle that marked where the terrace would go.

Leo and Johnny laughed at her attempt.

“Hate to break it to you, Mia, but you can’t throw a ball worth spit,” Johnny said with a grin.

“That’s all right. Bruno doesn’t mind. See?” she said as the dog trotted back, dropped the ball, and gave her hand an encouraging lick.

Leo finished stowing his bike on the rack attached to Johnny’s Subaru. They were off to a barbecue at Echo Vineyards, a small farm that produced Sauvignon Blanc and Gavi.

“You want to come along, Mia? It should be a fun crowd, lots of wine folk,” Leo told her.

“Reid should come hang, too. You know the Koenigs’ place, don’t you?” Johnny asked him.

Reid nodded. Bending over, he gave Bruno a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll leave the decision up to Mia. She’s the one who’s been working this afternoon.”

Mia cast him a grateful look. It was nice that Johnny and Leo had accepted her—and Reid—into their group, but now that the tasting was over, she just wanted to relax. “If it’s okay, I’ll take a rain check. I’m still unwilling to leave Bruno alone for too long. Send the Koenigs my best.”

“Sure thing. So when do you want to sample the remaining barrels? Tomorrow?” Johnny asked.

Mia nodded. They’d tasted fifteen of thirty barrels. More, and her impressions of the young wine would have lost the necessary definition and become muddied. “Yes, let’s plan on finishing up tomorrow afternoon, so we can decide which blocks to blend when it comes time to rack the wine.”

“Some of those barrels were damned close to awesome, right?” Leo said.

“Yeah, they were,” she replied, exchanging a smile with her assistants. Wow, she thought, as realization struck. At some point this afternoon she’d truly begun to consider Johnny and Leo as her crew rather than Thomas’s.

With a wave goodbye, Johnny and Leo climbed into the car and drove off.

“They’re nice guys,” Mia said, after the bumper-sticker-covered car had disappeared down the drive.

“They are. And, man, do they love the wine they’re helping you make.”

“True,” she said with a laugh, adding, “and they’re actually smart. I like how Leo thinks about a wine. He gets it. Thomas picked well.” She gave a small sigh.

Reid’s hearing was too sharp. “What?” he asked, and he turned to face her. “What are you thinking?”

“Oh, it’s, well …” She gave a shrug, unsure whether she could explain it to him. “The vintage we tasted today—it’s young and has a lot of growing up to do. But, Reid, it’s
good
. I think Thomas hit another one out of the park.”

“Yeah, even with the tannins I sensed that—in my very inexpert way.” He smiled. “So why the sigh, Mia? Where’s the problem in this picture?”

“The problem is, I wonder if I can make a wine that comes even close to any of our previous vintages.” She sighed again, no longer able to hide her anxiety. “It’s not guaranteed.”

“Where would the fun be in a guarantee? You might as well be making Twinkies, then.”

“Twinkies?” She raised her brow.

“An extreme example of relentless sameness, of scary uniformity. You know even better than I that wine should never be like that. Hell, not even meat loaf should taste the same every time you make it.”

She smiled. “Okay, I’ll grant you that point. But then there’s the question of money.”

“Money?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “Need I remind you that your family has invested a substantial amount of it, in the belief that I can produce a wine that’s as good as what we tasted today or as the one that you went and bought a hundred cases of before it was even bottled? Crappy wine doesn’t move.”

“Well, I seem to remember from the talk you gave our cowgirl guests that the most important ingredient in making great wine is the quality of the grape—”

“My God, you were actually paying attention?”

“Brat,” he said, and swatted her rear, making her laugh. “May I continue?”

“Please.”

“By your own admission, this year’s harvest stands to be excellent—”

“I believe I merely said I was optimistic—guardedly so.”

“Right, which translates into ‘excellent’ by anyone else’s standard. So if the weather holds, you’re on your way to crafting a superior wine. The money will come.”

She looked at him. “That was neatly argued,” she said, and smiled in spite of her worry.

He stepped closer and cupped her chin. “You’re going to make great wine, Mia. I saw it today.” He kissed her lightly. And again, lingering longer, this time molding his lips to hers. “I liked watching you work today.”

Like champagne, his kiss fuzzied her brain. “Really?”

At her dazed tone, amusement danced in his eyes.

“Really.”

Having him tease her only made her feel as if she were floating higher. “I don’t see why you would. My work isn’t very interesting to observe. It’s not like when you’re cutting cattle with Sirrus and the two of you won’t let a thousand-plus-pound steer even contemplate a step in the wrong direction, or when you’re breaking one of the young horses—”

“Uh, Mia,” he interrupted. “We prefer to use the term ‘gentling’ to ‘breaking.’ ”

“Oh! Right, sorry. Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine anyone at Silver Creek ever trying to
break
a horse,” she said. “But to continue, and though it pains me to admit it, even when you’re horseless and just tossing a lasso, you’re pretty awesome. Very watchable.”

“Now, those are words I never thought I’d hear.” A grin stretched his tan face and made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Don’t be so modest.”

“And you should be prouder.” He raised his finger and lightly traced her brow. “Thomas would have loved seeing you test the wine today. He’d have been as impressed as I was. You should call him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” She stepped back and began to walk toward the house, Bruno ambling beside her. She dug her fingers into the thick ruff of his neck.

Reid’s long legs kept stride. “He’s back in France now, isn’t he?”

“Yes. If I understood the dates right, he returned last week. But he hasn’t called, so …”

“He’ll want to hear from you, Mia.”

She bit her lip and kept her gaze fixed on the house.

“I was thinking about him earlier while we were sampling the barrels. It occurred to me that his departure might not have been as impulsive as it appeared.”

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter,” she said with a small shrug. It still hurt to recall the days leading up to his rushed and distracted goodbye at the airport.

“It does matter, Mia. Think about it. Thomas only left for Europe once he was fairly confident that this year’s grapes were coming along as you all hoped. He also waited until the vineyard’s latest vintage was safely bottled. I bet he timed it all so that you could have a chance to find your footing before the craziness of the harvest.”

It was possible Reid was right. “I miss him so much,” she blurted, unable to keep the words back, knowing he could hear the pain in them.

“Of course you do. So call him already, damn it. He’s your family.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed a boulder-like lump.

“Come on, Mia. Give the guy a break. Nobody’s perfect.
He may not have handled leaving here well, but I’m sure he was trying to do the right thing.”

With a loud sniff, she pulled herself together. “Okay,” she said with a wobbly smile. “I’ll call him.” She checked her watch to calculate the time difference. “And you’re right. He’ll want to hear how things are going.”

“You want me to take off?”

“No—no! He’d love to talk to you, too.”

“All right.” He nodded agreeably. “Why don’t we do this? You get his number. I’ll open some wine and scrounge up something for us to eat. I’m bloody starving. I’ll also feed your hairy beasts. Then if Thomas wants to regale me with tales of the Aegean or life in Bergerac, I’ll get on the phone.”

The
“Allô, oui?”
that came across the line in a near shout was classic Thomas. Hearing his voice made her heart squeeze with gladness. “Thomas? It’s me.”

“Mia, my love! You’ve called! How are you getting on? Has Vincent been taking good care of you? Tell me everything.”

And there it was, their connection reestablished. They fell into the easy back and forth of decades: him quizzing her on what the weather had been like, how the grapes were tasting and looking in the different blocks, and when she anticipated the harvest would begin; her hearing about the wonders of grilled sardines and black olives and feta and that the terroir in Pascale’s vineyard was different and exciting to work with. Thomas was worried about the recent rains, however. This last week had been full of them, and the downpour had been heavy. More storms were predicted.

They were still talking when Reid returned to the
porch with a platter of cheese, some sliced salami, cherry tomatoes, and thick slices of seeded bread—roughly the entire contents of Mia’s pantry and refrigerator. He’d also brought a bottle of Cabernet and two glasses.

He raised his brows inquiringly. She couldn’t help but smile. With a superior grin, he motioned for her to rise. Then he sat down in her chair, pulled her into his lap, and began to entertain himself by toying with the ends of her hair as Thomas chatted in her ear.

“And how’s that rascal Reid? Is he proving his weight in gold?” he asked.

As heat crawled over her cheeks at the thought of all the ways in which Reid had obligingly proved himself, the rascal in question tugged her hair to the side so he could plant a kiss against her neck.

“Oh, yes, he’s been quite helpful.” She cleared her throat in an effort to sound less like Minnie Mouse. “We’re setting up an outside tasting area to the right of the winery. Reid found a company to lay stone slabs for us. They’re coming tomorrow. Actually, Thomas, Reid’s right here. He sampled the barrels with Johnny and Leo and me today. Do you want to speak to him?”

“Of course! Pass the phone to the boy. And, Mia, next time you call, I want us to Skype—you do know how, don’t you?—I want to see that beautiful face. I miss it.”

“I miss yours, too, Thomas. Um, here’s Reid.” Passing him the phone, she slipped off his lap and went to sit on the top step of the porch, where she could toss one of Bruno’s toys for him and still catch most of what Reid was saying.