Somebody Like You (Starlight Hill Series Book 2) (4 page)

She veered right to the point. “What happened to my vineyard, Ted?”

“Oh, um, that. I meant to call you.”

“Start talking, Teddy-boy. I’m standing on the side of Chardonnay Avenue and there’s no time like the present.” A car whizzed by so close that her body was pushed a bit by the force of the wind.

“So you’ve been there?”

“I had to take a look at the grapes, didn’t I?”

He coughed. “I was going to tell you Friday. It was out of my hands, Brooke.”

“Don’t give me that. How did this happen? It takes thirty days to close escrow, to get loan papers signed.” Another car whizzed by, honked, and the driver shouted an expletive. Brooke rewarded him with her finger.

“There weren’t any loan papers.”

Brooke waited a beat. For there to be no loan, there had to be nothing but— cash. She might have known. Billy had plunked down cash, because he was Billy Turlock. “Crap.”

“Once he put up the cash, there was no talking to my boss. This vineyard has been costing us. We’ve been paying for the upkeep so as not to lose the grapes. They’re not a lot of buyers who can put down that kind money.”

Probably not, but a retired baseball playboy immediately came to mind. “Why this vineyard? He can probably afford one of the nicer ones that are already up and running.”

“You got me. Billy’s actually a great guy, Brooke. He signed a ball for my nephew and didn’t ever charge me for the autograph, and he posed for photos with everyone in the bank. Everybody loves Billy.”

She was familiar with that irritating fact. “You don’t have to tell me that. I went to high school with him.”

“Wow, yeah, so you know. It’s hard not to like him, but I did try if that makes you feel any better.” Ted coughed again. “So, about Friday night?”

Great. So this is what she got for due diligence, for taking her time and not rushing into such a huge decision with her future. Someone else had beaten her to the vineyard.

“Screw you, Ted.” She pressed ‘end’ on her cellphone, and felt a rush of satisfaction  from the gesture. She tucked it back in her jacket, and mounted her baby again, this time like a cowboy about to tame a bull.

Owning a Harley helped calm her tendency to speed, a fact she hated initially, but one which was relieved by the cruiser’s known cool factor. Should have cut down on her speeding tickets and it did. Most of the time. But not today, as Chief of Police Burt pulled her over, clocked her at ten miles over the limit and issued his citation along with a finger wag or two.

“I can’t afford this, Burt!” She waved the ticket at him.

“Then don’t speed anymore. Have nice day!” He smiled and got back into his cruiser.

Brooke made it back into the heart of town and headed to Mama’s Diner near the hospital, since Ivey and her husband Jeff had breakfast there every morning.

Brooke tore off her helmet, and threw open the door to the diner. She spied Ivey in a booth with Jeff. As usual, all over each other.

“Men suck!” Brooke shouted right after the bell over the door announced her entrance.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Em, co-owner of the diner, said from the register. Brooke marched over to Ivey’s booth and sat across from the two lovebirds.

“Thanks for that,” Jeff said from the other side of the booth where he sat entwined with Ivey.

Brooke wondered how they could eat that way. “You’re welcome.”

Em strode up to the booth, pad in hand. “What’ll you have, hon?”

“One hometown hero over-easy. Fry him till he screams!”

“How about coffee instead?” Nothing fazed Em anymore, it would appear.

“Yeah, that’s fine, too,” Brooke said.

“What happened?” Ivey finally asked when she’d managed to tear her attention away from Jeff for a second.

“I went to look at the old Mirassu vineyard on Hummingbird Lane. Guess who I ran into? None other than our old high school chum, Billy Turlock. I didn’t even know the man was back in town.”

“Don’t you read the sports section?” Jeff asked.

“Is he kidding?” Brooke asked Ivey. You never knew with Jeff.

“Not everyone reads the sports section, babe.” Ivey cupped Jeff’s chin. “Or knows what’s going on in the wide world of sports.”

“You do,” Jeff said, gazing at Ivey like she was the last piece of chicken at a picnic and he hadn’t eaten in a decade.

“Half the time I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Ivey blushed, probably because she could tell what he was thinking. Everybody with a pulse could tell. “I do remember hearing that Billy retired.”

“Super. But did you know the man fancies himself a vintner now? He bought the old Mirassu winery. Right out from under me, the bastard!” Brooke said. “I was going to buy that place.”

“The nerve,” Jeff said.

“I’m sorry,” Ivey said. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’ve no idea. I can’t afford anything else. Vineyards don’t come up for sale every day. This was a special deal. A once in a lifetime opportunity.” Brooke rested her forehead on the table. This was a crappy day. If only she had a rewind button.

“Heads up,” Em said as she filled Brooke’s mug with coffee. “And don’t worry about what some people are saying. We all know you’re perfectly sane.”

“Why? What are people saying?”

“Nothing much,” Em continued as the patted Brooke’s back. “Just that you might have had a nervous breakdown. But look at you. You’re fine. My sister Jackie had a nervous breakdown and she didn’t wash her hair for weeks. Your hair looks great.”

“A nervous breakdown?” Brooke squeaked out as Em walked away. Her lack of sanity had been greatly exaggerated. As usual. Just because she liked to jump out of planes and had once bungee jumped off the Merlot Bridge. “Well this is all I need.”

“Don’t worry,” Jeff said. “Some of us never thought you had such a firm grasp on reality to begin with.”

Ivey might have kicked him under the table, because he scowled.

“What am I going to do?” She turned to Ivey. “Who’s going to hire me if they think I’m nuts?”

“Maybe you should offer your services to Billy,” Ivey suggested.

Jeff’s pager beeped. “Gotta go.”

Brooke counted exactly six “bye, babe” with their corresponding kisses, because she had promised herself to scream if they reached number seven. By the grace of all that is holy, they didn’t.

Finally, Dr. Jeff Garner was off to the hospital where he could stop bothering his wife and go do something useful like save someone’s life.

“As I was saying, why not offer to run the place for him?” Ivey asked, taking a nibble off Jeff’s leftover bacon.

“You want me to help him? Why would I do that?”

“Because you need a job? And he owns a vineyard.”

“But it’s his fault I can’t have my own vineyard. This was my one chance to start one. The biggest dream I’ve ever had, and the timing was perfect. And then Billy showed up with his smile, his hot body, and all his money.”

Ivey lifted an eyebrow. “Hot body?”

Brooke groaned. “Don’t look so surprised. People started to fall all over themselves to give him what he wants. In other words, it’s high school all over again.”

New day, new problem. Now Pop couldn’t find the prizewinning grape tending tip from his oldest friend, the late Giusseppe DeNiro, not any relation to the actor.

They didn’t need the prizewinning grape tip now. They had rows of grapes to harvest.

Wallace and his crew had been at work on the manor house for three weeks, with Scott and Billy’s help.  The manor had started to shape up into a place he’d actually like to live in, and he’d given that some consideration. The country air would be good for him. So would the solitude.

“It was in this box,” Pops said as he sorted through the items in an old shoebox. Probably not where Billy would have put something special.

Billy turned another shoebox upside down, finding pictures and useless old bank receipts with faded ink. “Could it be in any other box?”

The Turlock family had congregated at the sprawling mansion he’d bought for Mom with his first multi-million dollar contract. On the outskirts of Starlight Hill on county land, it was the one place that had served as a refuge during the past few years and all the shoulder surgeries, each one more painful than the last.

Sure, he had his own apartment in the city but even if he had plenty of offers for after-care treatment, no one took care of him like Eileen Turlock. Right now he thought he could smell the pot roast stew wafting in from the kitchen.

It was time to discuss their next steps with Pop. He’d already been over a mock-up plan with his accountant and projections for salaries. “Hey, Pop. We’re going to need to hire a staff.”

“Sure, but we won’t want anyone knowing our secret. He almost took this one to the grave with him. He was one greedy son of a bitch, and my best friend.”

“I ran into someone who has a lot of experience. She used to work for the Serrano winery.”

Pops’ ears perked up at that. “The Serrano winery? They’ve won best of class for their Sauvignon Blanc the past two years.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“A very good thing. But you haven’t thought this one all the way through, son. She could be a spy.” Pop pointed to his head, narrowed his eyes.

Yeah. One too many James Bond movies. “A spy?”

“Someone at Serrano’s sent her over, maybe to find out just how much we know.”

“Kinda doubt she’s a spy.”

“You never know.”

“What I do know is that we need to harvest those grapes soon. Otherwise we’ll lose our window.” Okay, so he’d actually done some reading since running into Brooke. He was now the proud owner of acres of vines, and he hadn’t a clue. Calling Brooke and offering her a job, even if she’d been less than happy to see him, had become a real possibility. It was at least worth a shot.

Pop continued to dig through boxes.

At the risk of yet another baseball analogy, Billy offered up the truth in a way Pop would understand it. “It’s game time. We’re up to bat.” 

“Don’t worry, son. We’ll hit this one out of the park.”

Considering his batting average, Billy didn’t want to think that way. Sounded like a long shot at best. He wanted, needed, this venture to be a resounding success, and didn’t want to see any newspaper articles quoting their doubts that he could make this work. 

“I’m going to give her a call and see what this woman has to say. I’ll have her checked out, if it makes you feel any better.”

He heard Mom call out, ‘Dinner!’ and offered a hand to Pop. “You can go back to this treasure hunt later. Time to eat.”

Pop put the box down. “I’m a little tired. Think I’ll take a nap.”

“Before dinner?” It didn’t sound right. Was Pop getting weak on him?

“Not hungry. And tell Eileen not to save any leftovers for me either.”

Great. Even worse. He’d have to talk to Mom, and make sure Pop had been to the doctor recently for a full check-up. For now, he would let Pop think about other things besides grapes and vineyards. Truthfully, Billy could use a change of subject too.

*****

“I’ve finally got my boys all together for dinner,” Mom said. “Billy, seems like you get up in the morning, leave and I don’t see you until it’s time for bed.”

“We’ve been grabbing lunch and dinner on the go. But I’m looking forward to this.” He’d missed Mom’s home cooked meals. “Pop said he’s not hungry. Anyone know what’s up with that?”

“I’m not hungry, either,” Wallace said.

“Oh no, Wallace. Again?” Mom set a platter of something white on the table. “Dinner is served! Don’t worry, there’s enough for all of you.”

“What is this?” Billy stared at Mom’s dinner. This was not pot roast. 

“Tofu roast,” Mom declared. “We’re all eating healthy around here. Good for Pop, good for me, and good for my children.”

No wonder Pop had begged off dinner. “Mom, tofu and roast don’t belong in the same sentence together.”

“Word,” Scott said with a fist bump. “You’ve missed out on all the fun around here. Mom’s on a health kick.”

“And I’ve lost thirty pounds and lowered my cholesterol and my blood pressure.” Mom pointed her fork at him. “So no more complaining. Eat your greens if you don’t like my tofu.”

The greens looked like someone had taken a pile of grass, wet it, and put it on a plate. In the old days, Mom had cooked. Somewhere, somehow, something had gone terribly wrong. He put a spoonful of wet grass on his plate and passed the serving plate to Wallace.

Wallace held out his hand. “No.”

Billy scowled. If he had to put up with this, so should Wallace. “I’m meeting with some of the old vineyard crew tomorrow. The bank manager said they’d be more than happy to stay on with us.”

“I’ll be out there tomorrow, with my crew,” Wallace said. “We need to finish up the living quarters.”

“Should you spend all that money on that now? Who’s going to live there?” Mom asked.

“Me,” Billy answered.

“Don’t be silly. You don’t have to stay out there all alone. There’s plenty of room for you here, in my house,” Mom said.

“I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve been living on my own since I was eighteen. I love you, Ma, but I can’t live with you.” Especially not now, when he couldn’t even look forward to a good home cooked meal.

Anyway, he did want the quiet of the vineyard at night. Maybe there he could think. Make plans. Plans that didn’t involve baseball. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around that one. How was he supposed to get through the rest of his life without the passion that had driven him since he was seven years old?

“Fine. Have I told you how grateful I am lately, that you’re making Pop’s dream come true?” Mom asked.

“At least three times a day. But honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d do or where I’d be headed until Pop suggested the idea.” Where did a washed-up ball player go when he hadn’t even had the foresight to get a college degree? When he’d gone straight to the minor leagues to the majors without a second thought? Where the wind blew, apparently.

“I’ve got to say I’m proud of my Scotsmen, doing something out of the ordinary. Why can’t the Scottish be successful in the wine making business?” Mom asked.

“I like a good Scotch, myself.” Wallace said with a deep sigh.

As it happened, so did Billy. But he’d learn to love wine if it killed him. “Maybe I should give Brooke a call.”

“Please, bro. Do that and I won’t ever ask you for anything else again,” Scott said, then swallowed a bite of tofu with a pained expression.

This spoke volumes, since Scott mostly inhaled food.

“You mean Brooke Miller?” Mom asked as she tried to place some more roast on Scott’s plate. “She’s such a pretty girl. I see her every now and then at the farmers market with her mother. She always remembers to say hello.”

“She’s in the running to be your daughter-in-law if I have anything to say about it,” Scott said, pulling his plate out of Mom’s reach.

Yeah. Right over Billy’s cold and dead body. ”The point is she can help us.”

“She can help me,” Scott said. “Without a doubt.”

Billy ignored the hot spike of anger that hit his stomach. It couldn’t be the food since he’d barely touched it. No, it was Brooke, all right— even if she wasn’t his and never had been.

“Hiring her, after you bought the place out from under her. It’s not going to be easy,” Wallace said.

Not easy at all, but then again had anything worthwhile ever been?

*****

“Hey Billy, is it true you’re planning a comeback?” A reporter called out from the edge of the steep driveway.

Okay, that one made him laugh. He’d barely retired.

“How’s the shoulder?” Another reporter shouted.

Great as long as I don’t throw a ball. No more surgeries. Did you hear?

“Slow news day, guys?” Billy asked, as he climbed into his convertible. He’d been going between the vineyard and his mother’s house for the past few weeks mostly avoiding them, but today they’d found him. An easy thing to do if someone was looking for a Turlock in Starlight Hill.

All the better that he didn’t plan on staying with Mom much longer. She didn’t tolerate reporters, even if the woman was practically a saint. But from the first time one of them had called Billy a “has been” she’d painted all of them with one broad brush. Speak ill of my child and you will die a slow death, Mom said. In other words, she was a typical baseball mom. Hopefully these guys would follow him and leave Mom’s tulip garden alone, or the whole town might come to regret it. Billy sighed and backed out of the long driveway.

Baseball loved an underdog story, but as much as he might wish for it, it wouldn’t happen for him. He’d had his run. Maybe hadn’t ended the way he’d hoped, but he’d been luckier than most. And even if he’d miss baseball every day for as long as he breathed, it was over for him. No turning back.

What might happen today, though, would be a meeting with one Brooke Miller. It wasn’t difficult to locate anyone in Starlight Hill, particularly not with his long reach. Within hours of asking his investigator to check into it, he had Brooke’s personal email, cellphone, home address and places she loved to frequent.

Not that he would stalk her. He only wanted to ask her politely if she’d care to take on the position of general manager at the vineyard. She’d probably refuse, but then he’d have done his best. And he’d get another glimpse of her too.

He’d been a bit shell shocked to see her pull up on that Harley, and since then she’d headlined a few fantasies of his own. Brooke remained, and always would be, the one that got away. Not that he would let her know that. He could only imagine how she’d greet the news that a washed-up ball player had the hots for her. But he should still proceed with caution or Gigi might show up. She always did when she smelled women, bless her evil heart.

Billy figured he’d lost the reporters, all four of them, when he pulled in front of the old diner named Mama’s. This was where he’d been told he would either find Brooke, or her best friend Ivey.

All right, so he’d give this a try. If Brooke wasn’t here, he’d try somewhere else. In the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to hang out with some locals and take some photos. It was necessary and expected, and he’d never be too good for it.

He opened the glass-paned door, and the overhead chimes sounded. A waitress had her back to him and called out, “It’s self-seating. I’ll be right with you.”

He took off his shades and when the waitress turned he saw Brooke Miller for the second time in ten years. The black apron skirt didn’t manage to take away any of her appeal, though he could much better see her in a French maid costume.
Okay, Billy, enough already. Front and center
.

But Brooke, a waitress?

“I suppose you want a big enough table for you and your entourage?” She glared behind him.

He turned to see the reporters had caught up to him. “They’re not with me.”

For the next few minutes he was greeted by everyone in the establishment with a hug and a request for an autograph. Again, he posed for a few pictures. One of them with Si, the chef, and yes he’d agreed that Si could hang the photo in the diner and say Billy Turlock had eaten here. Signed a little boy’s casted arm after his mother nodded in approval, and gave a few pointers to a kid trying out for the varsity team next season.

Brooke ignored him, pouring coffee and wiping down tables. When he took his seat at a booth, she slapped down a menu without meeting his eyes.

All four reporters had settled into a booth nearby. She threw down menus for each of them. “Everyone here is going to have to order something.”

“You heard the lady,” Billy said.

“What’ll you have, hotshot?” Brooke turned to ask him.

He had half a mind to ask for the waitress, well-done, but no. If they were going to do this, it had to be professional. Brooke would never go for it any other way. 

So he ordered from the menu, which his old trainer (and now his mother) would call Heart Attack Alley. Everything sounded good, but he settled on the Santa Fe skillet with eggs over-easy.

A few minutes later, Brooke set his platter down and tried to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist. “Can we talk?”