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“You bought it?”
“Actually, Santini Brothers did.” He drove past Isaac Wells’s property, and Tiffany felt a chill as cold as death when she wondered what had happened to the old man. Where was he? And what, if anything, did Stephen know about his disappearance? Nothing. He knows nothing! Remember that, Tiffany. Trust your son.
A little farther up the road J.D. turned into a winding drive that was little more than two graveled ruts. Tall weeds grew along the sides of the lane and between the tire tracks, scraping the bottom of the Jeep. A few cattle stood in the surrounding fields, and a creek, little more than a trickling stream in the late summer, wound its way into a tiny valley where the house sat, its windows shut tight, the curtains drawn.
“What made you choose this place?”
“Size, price, proximity to the freeway, the general appearance of the land and a gut feeling.” He slid her a knowing glance as he parked the Jeep near an ancient oak tree with spreading branches. “It’s not a done deal yet,” he said, “but it looks like it should fly.” His mouth drew tight at the corners, and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Just what Dad was looking for.”
She didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to tell him adios so that she could get back to living her life the way she wanted, without Santini eyes watching her every move and judging her. Another part had decided that she liked having him around, that he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as his father, that he really did care about his niece and nephew. Yet another part—one she didn’t scrutinize too closely—wanted him to stay because she was fool enough to love him. An ache had already begun to settle around her heart, and she tried desperately to ignore it.
“So you think you can grow grapes down here,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted, while a part of her was withering inside.
“Not just grapes. The best grapes.”
“Oh, right.” She couldn’t even summon a laugh. He was leaving. Leaving. A cold wind swept through her soul, and she suddenly felt empty and desolate inside.
“Well, Santini Brothers won’t be the first winery. There are quite a few vineyards between Bittersweet, Ashland and Jacksonville. We’ll just have to see if we can make our mark.”
“And grab your share of the market.”
“If Carlo has his way.”
“He always does, doesn’t he?” she said, and for a second he hesitated, as if he wanted to tell her something that hovered on the tip of his tongue. Clearing his throat, he looked away and lifted a shoulder. “Most of the time. Come on. I’ll show you around.”
He reached into the back seat and pulled out a backpack that he slung over one shoulder before getting out of his Jeep. “For the celebration,” he explained as they walked to the house, a stone cottage that was nestled in a grove of trees. A swing set that had seen better days was rusting by the side of the house, and an herb garden, now going to seed, had encroached upon a flagstone patio that overlooked the creek.
“It’s beautiful—well, it will be.” Forcing her thoughts away from the heart-wrenching fact that she’d have to patch her life back together without him, Tiffany tried to show some interest in her father-in-law’s next project. She looked past the obvious need for repairs to the house and grounds. On the far side of the cottage, away from the shade, a vegetable garden with an arbor flanked an orchard of fruit trees and a small raspberry patch. A breezeway separating the garage from the house was trimmed with lattice that stretched into a grape arbor.
“The first season’s harvest,” J.D. joked, lifting one of the hundreds of clusters of tiny green grapes. He grabbed her hand, linking their fingers and causing a silly little thrill to climb up her arm.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. For once, enjoy the moment. He’ll be gone soon, and then where will you be? Alone. Again. Hasn’t every man who ever was a part of your life left? First your father, then your husband, now J.D. Her throat turned to cotton, and a pain, needle sharp and hot, ripped through her heart.
She told herself that she was being a ninny, that he didn’t care for her, had never cared for her, and any feelings she was harboring for him were just silly, romantic whimsies.
Remember, Tiffany, you can’t love this man. You just can’t!
But she did. The simple, unalterable and painful fact was that she loved him. Wrong or right For better or worse. Cringing inside at the turn of her thoughts, she was just a step behind him as he showed her around the grounds, pointing out reasons this farm was better than the others he’d seen.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the few clouds hanging low over the western hills blazed brilliant orange and magenta as J.D. followed a path from the house to the barn. Swallows were nesting in the rafters and screeched their disapproval of anyone in the vicinity. A few frogs began to croak, and in the distance a coyote sent up a lonely howl.
“It’s peaceful out here,” she said. “Different from the city.”
“Just a tad.” The barn door was on rollers, and he shoved it open. It creaked and groaned, as if protesting their entrance before finally giving way.
“Needs a little oil,” she observed.
“A lot of oil. The whole place needs work. Obviously, but not more than I expected. Both the house and this barn are over a hundred years old, and even though they’ve been updated, the wiring’s shot, plumbing needs to be redone and the house reroofed. But with some time, money and effort I think the cottage could be restored and turned into a gift shop, and this place could be converted into a wine-tasting room.” He motioned to the musty interior with its time-darkened beams, wide stalls and hayloft. High overhead a round window let in the last shafts of daylight, and an owl, disturbed, fluttered in the rafters.
J.D.’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as if he were already imagining what the converted farm would look like. He led her through a back door where the pasture dropped off steeply into a natural bowl. “This could be tiered and landscaped into a natural amphitheater that could be rented for parties, or summer concerts or weddings.”
“Just like the vineyard where you and I met,” she said automatically, then felt like a fool for mentioning something so personal.
“The same idea.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t think you remembered.”
“How could I forget?”
He eyed her for a second, as if trying to read her mind. A small smile toyed at his lips. “You were catering the wedding and trying your best to look grown-up.”
