The Secrets She Carried (13 page)

Leslie watched another fork of lightning streak the sky. “I think you’re right. Well, thanks for dinner and the, uh…chat.”

She wasn’t completely sure she meant the last part, but one thing was certain as she sprinted across the lawn in a failed attempt to beat the rain. She knew a lot more about Jay Davenport than she had when she stepped off the back porch. And not all of it was bad.

Jay

J
ay shielded his eyes, surveying the slopes where the sun had already burned away the morning’s fringe of mist. For better or worse, it was real now, a fait accompli. Yesterday he had written a check to the now defunct Rock Ridge Winery, draining his bank account and leaving no escape hatch. They had wrangled a better price than he expected—forty grand for the stemmer, press, and tanks, another ten for the French oak barrels. A godsend to be sure at thirty cents on the dollar, but it was sobering to know that Rock Ridge was being sold off a piece at a time, and even more sobering to think that a year from now they could be in the same boat.

All that was left was to convince Leslie to come on board.

The prospect had worn a hole in his stomach on the drive home, a hole that had still been there when he woke this morning. Now, after a walk through the rows, he felt a little better. The fruit was coming in nicely; the barns and equipment should be ready in plenty of time for harvest.

There was a fresh bounce in his step as he left Block 3 and headed for Buck’s place. Angie must have seen him coming. He’d barely made it onto the porch when she stepped through the screen door, a dish towel over one shoulder.

“You’re up early. Come on back. Buck’s still asleep, but there’s coffee, or I can feed you if you’re hungry.”

The thought of breakfast held no appeal, but he could do with another jolt of caffeine. He followed Angie to the kitchen, where she filled a mug and pressed it into his hands.

“Buck said the trip was a success and that y’all got a great deal on the equipment.”

“It was, and we did. And how did you fare back on the home front all by yourself?”

“Oh, I wasn’t all by myself. Leslie came by.”

Jay fought to keep his face neutral. “And what did you think of the lady of the manor?”

Angie arched one brow. “I like her—a lot, as a matter of fact.”

Jay grunted into his mug.

“That attitude wouldn’t have anything to do with her coming back to claim her half, would it?”

“No,” he half barked. “It has to do with the fact that she waited a year to do it. She didn’t give a damn about Maggie. If she did she would have been at the funeral.”

“You’ve heard the talk about her daddy, about what folks thought when her mother died the way she did. Coming back here couldn’t have been easy.”

Jay set his mug on the counter more forcefully than he’d intended. “It was easy enough when she thought there was money on the table.”

Angie crossed her arms, chin jutting sharply. “It took her a year to get up the nerve to even come. When my aunt Rhonda died we had cousins coming out of the woodwork the next day, and she didn’t have a pot to piss in. Leslie isn’t that kind of woman.”

“I don’t need to be told about women like Leslie, Angie. I’m well acquainted.”

“I know you are,” Angie said softly, and laid a hand on his arm. “Which is why I think you aren’t being fair. She’s not Theresa, Jay.”

Jay felt the familiar grind in his belly at the mention of his ex-wife’s name. “You sure don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Not when I think you’re wrong, no. This is hard for her, Jay, so hard she doesn’t think she can stay, and you’re making it harder because she spoiled your plans. You never expected her to show up, let alone consider selling her half out from under you. Now that she has, you feel like she’s taken something that belonged to you.”

Jay’s head snapped up. “So she
is
going to sell?”

“She’s sure thinking about it—had a real estate agent here yesterday. And I can tell you, your attitude isn’t exactly helping her warm to the place. If you want to make this work, you’re going to have to give her a break and stop treating her as if she’s stealing half
your
land.”

“It’s not that. It’s not about her half or my half.”

“Then what
is
it about?”

“It’s about her waltzing back here like she was never gone, no apology, no explanation, just…here I am.”

Angie looked faintly stunned. “Why should she owe you or anyone else an explanation? Maggie was her grandmother, no matter how long she was gone. Maggie never forgot that. Maybe you shouldn’t either. She wanted her granddaughter to be happy. She wanted you to be happy too.” Her voice lost some of its edge. “You could, you know.”

“What?”

“Be happy.”

“Let’s drop it, all right?”

He was about to turn away when Angie grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t be mad. We’ve never talked much about your old life, but I know how much you gave up, and why. At some point, though, you have to stop
being mad at everything. That includes Maggie’s granddaughter. She came back here to start over. So did you, so get on with it.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Knocking on the front door felt strange after years of simply letting himself in through the mudroom, but something told him Leslie wouldn’t appreciate that kind of familiarity. It had taken him the better part of the afternoon to admit that Angie was right, that in his heart Peak had already belonged to him. Every plan he’d made, every step he had taken, was based on owning
all
the grapes, calling
all
the shots. Now there were forty-plus acres of prime fruit in danger of slipping through his fingers.

If Leslie chose to sell her half of Peak, her grapes would go with it, which meant he’d have to rethink everything. Without her half it would be a year, maybe two, before they could bottle enough to open the winery’s doors. The unpleasant truth was that he needed Leslie Nichols because he needed her grapes. And so far, he’d done himself no favors in that department. In the future, he was going to have to tread lightly, dust off a little of that charm he used to possess, and know when to keep his mouth shut, no matter how many of his buttons she pushed.

When his third knock still brought no response, he shifted the bottle of wine he was carrying and pushed inside. The drapes were drawn, the house murky and still. He called out as he stepped into the parlor but got no response. Then he heard the clatter of glass against glass. He followed the sound to the kitchen, where he found Leslie sorting through a collection of jars in the refrigerator, iPod on her hip, backside swaying enticingly as she crooned along to Alannah Myles’s “Black Velvet.”

For a moment he just stood there, vaguely guilty about playing the
voyeur but not quite ready to interrupt the show. Why it surprised him to learn she could sing he had no idea. He knew nothing about her, really, except that she’d somehow managed to win over Buck’s wife, which was no small feat considering Angie Shively’s bullshit meter was more finely tuned than an FBI agent’s. She was winding up for the big finale when he finally cleared his throat and made his presence known.

Leslie rounded on him as she yanked out her earbuds. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did, as a matter of fact. You probably couldn’t hear me—nice voice, by the way.”

Leslie pulled the iPod from her waistband and laid it on the counter, her cheeks distinctly pinker than a moment ago. While she collected herself he took a moment to survey the chaos. Every drawer and cabinet seemed to be open, and there wasn’t an inch of clear counter space to be found.

“What are you doing?”

“At the moment, I’m cleaning out the refrigerator. There must be ten jars of apple jelly in here, all of them nearly empty. And there’s at least a hundred empty bread bags wadded up in these drawers, and twice as many twist ties. They’re everywhere.”

She paused to huff a strand of hair out of her eyes. When that didn’t work she made a second attempt with her forearm. Finally, Jay stepped forward and pushed the strand off her brow, tucking it neatly behind her ear.

Leslie stepped back, murmuring an awkward thank-you. “Was there something you needed?”

“I talked to Angie this morning.”

Leslie blinked at him. “And?”

“She thinks I should give you break.” No words, just another long stare. Finally, he had managed to render her speechless. “Every now and then Angie Shively feels the need to kick my ass, and it seems today was one of those days.”

Leslie eyed him skeptically. “Why should she care about me?”

“Because apparently you two hit it off. I’m just repeating what she said, which is that she thinks I need to give you a break.”

“And what do you think?”

Time to turn on a little of that charm. “Well, I haven’t completely made up my mind yet, but there’s still room on my to-do list.”

Leslie actually smiled. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me you’re considering giving me a break? And is that bottle behind your back a peace offering?”

Jay set the wine on the counter and nudged the refrigerator door closed. “Something like that. I thought it was time we had a grown-up conversation. I’m here to ask for your help.”

Leslie’s smile dimmed to something resembling wariness. “What kind of help?”

“I want you to taste something.”

After rooting through a drawer or two he managed to locate a corkscrew, then produced a pair of wineglasses from the cabinet beside the sink. He filled both and handed Leslie a glass, waiting until she sipped before he did the same.

“It’s wine,” she said finally, licking the last traces from her lips.

Jay tilted his glass to the light, twirling the stem between his fingers. “It’s a Chardonnay, to be precise, and it’s ours—Maggie’s and mine—and yours, if you want in.”

He watched as she lifted her glass to the light, turning it as he had. “I thought you only grew the grapes. I didn’t know you made wine. This isn’t bad.”

“We haven’t been producing commercially. Until now we’ve only been able to make enough to play around with. But we’re ready now. Yesterday I bought the last of what we’ll need to finally produce our own label. The permits are through, the tanks and the crusher are in the barn, and the barrels are on their way. All that’s left is to harvest and crush.”

Leslie tucked another stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “I hate to rain on your parade, Jay, but Gavin isn’t exactly wine country. I think you’d do better with some mason jars and a still made from old radiator parts. I mean, have you actually thought this through?”

Jay bit his lip, determined to ignore her snarky sense of humor. “Actually, I have thought it through, which is why I’m here talking to you. Until now, we’ve always sold the bulk of the harvest and turned the cash back into the vineyard. Now, finally, we’re on the brink of making the next move.”

“And that would be?”

“A full-fledged winery right here at Peak. Right now it’s just whites—Chardonnay, Seyval, and a pretty fair Riesling—but we’re really close on the reds. The only glitch is we need your grapes.”

Leslie’s brow scrunched, forming a small V-shaped furrow. “My grapes?”

“Half the grapes out there belong to you. That means you can sell them and pocket the cash, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You’d still have your half.”

“We’ll still need to sell a portion of the yield to launch and then keep us afloat until we’re on our feet. That’s where your grapes come in. If we pool our yields, then sell half for working capital, we’ll still have enough to bottle and launch.”

“And if we don’t…pool our yields?”

“Then I sell my grapes like I’ve done every year, and I’m out forty grand worth of equipment.”

Leslie folded her arms and gave a low whistle. “No wonder you were miffed when I showed up. You had it all planned out.”

Jay felt the air go out of the room. It wasn’t exactly the response he’d been hoping for. “That’s true. I did have it all planned. And I was miffed. I never expected you to show up, but you’re here now, and that’s how Maggie wanted it. It’s your decision. You can sell your half and pocket the money. I’ll set up the sale if that’s what you decide.”