Under A Harvest Moon (4 page)

A low laugh erupted behind her. She swung around, surprised to find she wasn't alone.

"Good morning," an older Hispanic man called out.

"Hello."

Dressed all in tan, he wore a straw hat. She guessed his age to be around sixty. In his hand he held pruning shears. A basket of wilted roses sat next to his feet.

Danielle bent to inhale the scent of a glorious crimson red and silvery white rose. The sweet scent took her right back to her nana. She remembered Nana's kisses, her homemade donuts coated with sugar and cinnamon, the fun they'd had cutting out paper dolls. A sudden sharp longing for her nana seized her. Her nana had lovingly tended the roses herself, teaching Danielle the names of each bush.

"I remember the name of this one," she said. "It's called Fire 'n Ice."

"Yes." He nodded and smiled. "The roses were very important to Mr. Whitney. I take good care of them."

"I can see that," Danielle said. "The grounds are gorgeous and even more beautiful than I remember. What's your name?"

"Juan." He cut a rose, carefully removing the thorns before handing it to her. "For you."

"I'm Danielle." She accepted the flower. "Thank you, Juan." Danielle inhaled the perfume of the rose before continuing on her walk. She left the yard and made her way to the grapes. Here the scenery changed. Rows of grapevines filled the landscape as far as the eye could see.

She passed two young Hispanic men as they pruned the vines.

"Good morning, Mrs. Rankin," one of the men called. The other man raised his gloved hand in greeting.

She nodded. "Hello." Their smiles were wide and welcoming, something she hadn't expected. How much did they know about her? Did they wonder why she'd never visited her father? Did they see her as some kind of gold-digger?

When she spied Nico hunkered down pruning the underside of a vine, she did an about-face and headed back in the direction she'd come. She didn't want to talk to him. Her conversation with him last night had left her feeling raw and uncertain about her decision to sell.

When she reached the driveway, she started toward the offices. She figured the vineyard headquarters was about a fifteen-minute walk. Already the sun was hot, making her skin moist. She wished she had a straw hat like the workers wore.

At the sound of a motorized vehicle, Danielle turned. A golf cart came toward her, Nico in the driver's seat. She groaned.

He pulled up beside her. "Trying to avoid me?"

"Of course not." Seeing him stirred all her emotions: her guilt over selling, her upset over being home, her complicated feelings for him.

"How about a short tour?" His tone, soft and unsure, coaxed her.

She was curious about the place, about the winery her father had built while she'd been absent from his life. Curiosity won out.

"All right." Danielle got in the golf cart.

Nico made a U-turn, starting back toward the fields.

He drove past the workers she'd already met, then took a sharp turn. They drove down a dirt road that skirted the edge of the planted vines. Dust rose around them. Danielle couldn't help but be sucked in by the beauty. The grape leaves stirred as they passed, the dusky green leaves supple and tender. She filled her lungs with the scent of earth and fresh morning air.

To her surprise, she realized the golf cart was climbing. They'd driven out to the edge of the property, to the place where the land became the foothills of the Blue Mountains. The hillside was fully planted with grapes, the vines reaching up and worshiping the sun. When the road came to an end at the base of the foothills, Nico stopped the cart.

"Come with me," he said.

Danielle followed him. They hiked up a steep, narrow path, and she wished she'd worn sturdier shoes instead of leather sandals. The day had warmed considerably. A trickle of sweat ran down her back inside her blouse. Great. She'd have to go back to Whitney House and change before her meeting with the employees.

When they reached the end of the path, Nico stopped. "Turn."

Danielle swiveled around. Her breath caught in her chest.

Whitney Vineyards unfolded in a velvet tapestry of deep greens and warm browns below her. Row after row of grapevines filled the landscape, from here the look of the fields soft and lush. In the distance, Whitney House sat, like the queen of the vineyard, tall and proud. To the right, winding through the valley like a bright blue ribbon, the Snake River flowed, an oasis in the dry, desert land.

But it was the grapes themselves that stunned Danielle. So many. She'd had no idea. The word awesome popped into her mind, but the word wasn't big enough to describe the beauty. Her father had built a kingdom, a beautiful, breathtaking kingdom.

"What do you think?" Nico asked in a neutral tone.

"It's glorious," Danielle said.

"Does it make you want to change your mind about selling?" His eyes held a challenge.

She understood his need to make sure of her plans. He wanted the vineyard. She wasn't going to disappoint him, no matter how much his indifference to her disappointed her.

"No," she said. "It's gorgeous, but I'm not going to stay."

He nodded, and his obvious relief filled the space between them. "I had to know, to show you what you'll be giving up."

"Where did it happen? Where did he die?"

Nico pointed to the left. "In Block 8."

Her heart flooded with unexpected pain. Unable to stop herself, she asked, "What happened? I know it was a heart attack and that you were with him. But why? Had he been sick?"

"I'm not sure." Nico glanced away. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" she repeated, sure now that he was hiding something from her. "Did you know he wasn't feeling well?"

"I suspected." He looked her square in the eyes. "I asked him to see the doctor, but he refused."

"Why didn't you make him go?" she asked, surprised by the protective surge she felt.

"He was a proud man," Nico said with respect. "No one made Phillip do anything he didn't want to do. If you'd been around more, you'd know that."

Danielle balled her hands into fists. "That was low, Nico." Anger burned in her chest, anger at Nico and at her father. "You don't know anything about me and neither did my father."

She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms with her hands. Something softened in Nico's eyes and he stepped toward her. She backed up.

"Don't." She shook her head. "Don't touch me. Not now. I'm too upset."

"Danielle -- "

"Take me there," she said.

"Where?" Nico's brow creased.

"To Block 8."

"Why in God's name do you want to go there?" He looked at her as if she were some sort of deranged mental patient.

"Will you take me or not?" She stiffened her spine.

Nico gestured to the golf cart. "Come on."

Danielle followed him down the path. They didn't speak on the short drive to Block 8. Nico turned the cart down a row, and Danielle's stomach clenched. The path was littered with broken vines and dropped grapes. Clearly the emergency vehicles had driven down the narrow path. What had her father's last minutes been like? How did one greet death: with fear or with peace?

Nico stopped the cart. Just ahead, pounded into the ground was a plain, white cross, a wreath of grapevines hanging on it.

Danielle climbed out of the cart on shaky legs. When Nico moved to follow, she whispered, "Please, give me a minute."

She walked to the cross, staring at the crude wood, letting the image burn into her brain. Her father was really dead. Seeing the cross made it seem so final, so much more real than the funeral. Oddly, she didn't feel like crying even though her insides heaved with sadness. Phillip Whitney had died with his beloved grapes; it was a fitting ending to a life that had revolved around the fruit.

"Are you all right?" Nico called from the cart.

"I will be," she said, surprised to find she meant the words. She would be fine once she got the hell away from Sun Grove. "Will you take me back to Whitney House? I need to freshen up before the meeting."

Danielle slid into the passenger seat, and Nico started the cart.

"I'm sorry if coming here upset you."

"It's funny," she said, "you are just as much of a pawn in all of this as I am."

"What do you mean?" Nico glanced over at her.

"Nothing," she said, regretting her words. "Let's just forget this morning ever happened."

For a moment their eyes met, then Nico looked away, shifting the cart into reverse. The cart shot back in a cloud of dust, heading out of Block 8, away from the ghost of Phillip Whitney.

***

The offices for Whitney Vineyards were small, but modern. Decorated in the style of old Italy, the woods were dark, the artwork showcasing the vineyard, the floors Italian marble. Nico stepped inside the building, the air-conditioning a welcome balm to both his heated skin and his bad mood.

"Hi, Nico," Joyce, the receptionist greeted. Near forty, with faded blonde hair and bright blue eyes, Joyce always had a smile for everyone. She possessed fantastic people skills, making her an instant hit with the others in the office and with the public.

"Morning, Joyce."

"Any idea what the meeting is about?" Joyce asked. "We're all wondering if we'll have jobs after today."

"You'll have jobs," Nico said but he wondered what effect seeing that white cross had had on Danielle. She'd been eerily silent on the drive home. "Is Jacques here?"

"In the conference room." The phone rang and Joyce excused herself to pick up the call.

Nico strode to the back of the building where the offices were to the formal conference room where the meeting would take place.

"Well? What happened last night?" Jacques asked the minute he saw Nico. He sat at the long table, a cup of coffee between his suntanned hands. At fifty-eight, Jacques looked years younger. He had a wiry runner's body. His face was anchored by a hawk-like nose, and hazel eyes that missed nothing. Those eyes searched Nico. "Did you talk?"

"Yes." He frowned. "She wants to sell."

"So why aren't you smiling?" Jacques asked.

"It was too easy," Nico said. "She came to see me last night. She seems agreeable to me buying the vineyard, but she won't wait around past the ninety days. It's going to be tough for me to secure the capital in that short a time."

"You can do it. Take on a partner if you have to."

"I don't want a partner; what I need is an insurance policy. I need to keep Danielle happy until I'm ready to buy."

Jacques sipped his coffee. "Did you take her to the mountain, show her the view?"

Nico nodded, unconvinced his plan had worked.

"If she didn't change her mind about selling after seeing the view, you're probably safe." Jacques grinned.

"I don't know," Nico hedged. "She loved the view, but then she asked me to take her to the place Phillip died."

"Did you?"

"Yes. After that, I'm not sure. She didn't say a word on the drive back. I can't begin to guess what she was thinking. I just hope she hasn't changed her mind. I guess we'll know in a few minutes." Nico paced over to the window. "Phillip's death was so sudden. I wasn't prepared. And Liz. I've placed calls to her, but she's not calling back. Even if she does call back, I'm not sure I want to sell the house. You know how unstable Maria's been. I'm afraid that losing her home will send her right back to where she was when Liz and I first split up. She's come so far."