The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 3 Read online

  “I’m sorry I startled you.” He bent down for her lighter. “But I thought I should let you know I was here before you continued your conversation.”

  He flicked the lighter on, studying her tear-stained cheeks and damp lashes in the flare. Her hands were shaking, so he steadied them.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he continued. “New place, new bed. Took a little walk. Want me to keep on walking?”

  It was breeding, she supposed, that prevented her from a fast, undignified retreat. “I don’t smoke. Officially.”

  “Neither do I.” Still he took a deep, appreciative sniff of the smoke-stung air. “Quit. It’s killing me.”

  “I’ve never smoked officially. So I, occasionally, sneak outside and sin.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m very discreet. Sometimes venting to a stranger works wonders.” When she only shook her head, he tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, it’s a nice night after the rain. Want to walk?”

  She wanted to run back inside, bury herself under the covers until this new mortification passed. She had plenty of reason to know embarrassments faded quicker when you stood up and moved on.

  So she walked with him.

  “Are you and your family settling in?” she asked as they fell into step together.

  “We’re fine. Period of adjustment. My son got into some trouble in New York. Kid stuff, but there was a pattern to it. I wanted to change the canvas.”

  “I hope they’ll be happy here.”

  “So do I.” He dug a handkerchief out of his jeans, silently passed it to her. “I’m looking forward to getting a good look at the vineyards tomorrow. They’re spectacular now, with a bit of moon and a hint of frost.”

  “You’re good at this,” she murmured. “At pretending you didn’t come across an hysterical woman in the middle of the night.”

  “You didn’t look hysterical. You looked sad, and angry.” And beautiful, he thought. White robe, black night. Like a stylized photograph.

  “I had an upsetting phone call.”

  “Is someone hurt?”

  “No one but me, and that’s my own fault.” She stopped, stooped to crush the cigarette and bury it under the mulch on the side of the path. Then she turned, took a long look at him.

  It was a good face, she decided. A strong chin, clear eyes. Blue eyes, she remembered. Deep blue that looked nearly black in the night. The faintest smile on his lips now told her he knew she was examining, considering. And was patient and confident enough to let her.

  And she remembered the way he’d been grinning when he’d had his arms around his children. A man who loved his children, understood them enough to point out their interests to strangers as he had to her mother, inspired Pilar’s trust.

  In any case, it was difficult to maintain pretenses when you were standing in your robe with that man in the middle of the night.

  “Make up your mind?” he asked her.

  “I suppose. In any case, you’re all but living with the family, so you’ll hear things. My husband and I have been separated for a number of years. He informed me recently, very recently, that we are getting divorced. His bride-to-be is very young. Beautiful, sharp-edged. And . . . very young,” she said again with a half-laugh. “It’s ridiculous, I suppose, how much that part bothers me. In any case, it’s an awkward and difficult situation.”

  “It’ll be more awkward and difficult for him if he ever takes a good look at what he let go.”

  It took her a moment to adjust to the compliment. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re beautiful, elegant and interesting.”

  And not used to hearing it, he realized as she simply stared at him. That, too, was interesting. “That’s a lot for a man to let go. Divorce is tough,” he added. “A kind of death, especially if you took it seriously to begin with. Even when all you’ve got left of it is the illusion, it’s a hell of a shock to watch it shatter.”

  “Yes.” She felt comforted. “Yes, it is. I’ve just been informed that the lawyers will legalize the end of my marriage very shortly. So I suppose I’d better start picking up the pieces.”

  “Maybe you should just sweep a few of them out of the way.” He touched her shoulder, leaving his fingers there, lightly, when he felt her tense and shift slightly away. “It’s the middle of the night. Some of the daylight rules don’t apply at three in the morning, so I’m going to tell you straight out. I’m very attracted to you.”

  She felt a little clutch in her belly. Whether it was pleasure or anxiety, she hadn’t a clue. “That’s very flattering.”

  “It’s not flattery, it’s fact. Flattery’s what you get from a guy at a cocktail party who’s thinking about making a move on you. I ought to know.”

  He grinned at her now, wide and easy, the way he’d been grinning when she’d first seen him. The clutch came again, harder and deeper this time. She realized, stupefied, that it was pure, animal attraction.

  “I’ve scooped out plenty of flattery along the way. Just as I imagine you’ve deflected plenty. So I’m telling you straight.” Now the grin faded, and his eyes, dark in the shadows, went quiet, serious. “The minute you opened the door today, it was like I was hit by a thunderbolt. I haven’t felt that in a long time.”

  “David.” She took another step back, then came up short when he reached for her hand.

  “I’m not going to put any of those moves on you. But I thought about it.” He continued to watch her, steady, intense while her pulse began to sprint. “Which is probably why I couldn’t sleep.”

  “We barely know each other. And I’m . . .” A fifty-year-old virgin. No, she thought, she damn well wasn’t. But close. Close enough.

  “True enough. I didn’t intend to bring this up quite so soon, but it seemed the moment. A beautiful woman in a white robe, a sprinkle of moonlight in a garden. You can’t ask a man to resist everything. Besides, it gives you something to think about.”

  “Yes, it certainly does. I should go.”

  “Will you have dinner with me?” He brought her hand to his lips—it seemed like the moment for that, too. Enjoyed the light tremor of it, the subtle scent. “Soon?”

  “I don’t know.” She tugged her hand from his and felt like a foolish and fumbling young girl. “I . . . good night.”

  She rushed back down the path and was breathless by the time she reached the steps. Her stomach was fluttering, her heart skipping in her chest. They were sensations she hadn’t experienced in so long, it was almost embarrassing.

  But she no longer felt angry. And no longer felt sad.

  It was just midnight in New York when Jeremy DeMorney took the call. He considered the person on the other end of the phone no more than a tool. One to be wielded as necessary.

  “I’m ready. Ready to move to the next stage.”

  “Well.” Smiling, Jerry poured himself a snifter of brandy. “It’s taken you a considerable amount of time to make up your mind.”

  “I have a lot to lose.”

  “And more to gain. Giambelli’s using you, and they’ll toss you out without a flinch if it suits their purposes. You know it, I know it.”

  “My position is still secure. The reorganization hasn’t changed that.”

  “For the moment. You’d hardly be calling me if you weren’t concerned.”

  “I’m tired of it, that’s all. I’m tired of not being appreciated for my efforts. I don’t care to be watched over and evaluated by strangers.”

  “Naturally. Sophia Giambelli and Tyler MacMillan are being groomed to step into the traditional shoes, whether they earn it or not, they’ll wear them. Now there’s David Cutter. A smart individual. La Coeur is sorry to lose him. He’ll be taking a serious look at all areas of the company. A serious look that could very well turn up certain . . . discrepancies.”

  “I’ve been careful.”

  “No one’s ever careful enough. What do you intend to bring to the table now? It’s going to h
ave to be more than the ante we discussed previously.”

  “The centennial. If there’s trouble during the merger, bleeding over to the next, banner year, it will eat at the foundation of the company. There are things I can do.”

  “Poisoning an old man, for instance?”

  “That was an accident.”

  The panic, the hint of whine in the tone made Jerry smile. It was all so perfect. “Is that what you call it?”

  “It was your idea. You said it would only make him ill.”

  “Oh, I have a lot of ideas.” Idly, Jerry examined his nails. La Coeur paid him for his ideas—his less radical ideas—as much as they did because his name was DeMorney. “You implemented it, friend. And bungled it.”

  “How was I to know he had a weak heart?”

  “As I said, no one’s ever careful enough. If you were going to kill someone, you should have gone for the old woman herself. With her gone, they couldn’t plug the holes in the dike as fast as we could drill them.”

  “I’m not a murderer.”

  “I beg to differ.” You’re exactly that, Jerry thought. And because of it you’ll do anything, everything, I want now. “I wonder if the Italian police would be interested enough to exhume Baptista’s body and run tests if they happened to get an informative and anonymous call. You’ve killed,” Jerry said after a long pause. “You’d better be prepared to do whatever’s necessary to back yourself up. If you want my help, and my financial backing to continue, you’ll start showing me what you can do for me. You can begin by getting me copies of everything. The legal papers, the contracts, the plans for the ad campaign. Every step of it. The vintner’s logs, Venice and Napa.”

  “It’ll be risky. It’ll take time.”

  “You’ll be paid for the risk. And the time.” He was a patient man, a wealthy one, and could afford both. Would invest both, to bury the Giambellis. “Don’t contact me again until you have something useful.”

  “I need money. I can’t get what you ask without—”

  “Give me something I can use. Then I’ll give you payment. COD, friend. That’s how it works.”

  “They’ re grapevines. Big deal.”

  “They’re going to be a big deal for us. The grapevines,” David informed his sulking son, “are what’s going to buy your burgers and fries for the foreseeable future.”

  “Are they going to buy my car?”

  David glanced in the rearview mirror. “Don’t push your luck, pal.” “Dad, you can’t live out here in Nowheresville without wheels.”

  “The minute you stop breathing, I’ll check out the nearest used-car lot.”

  Three months before—hell, David thought—three weeks before that comment would have resulted in his son’s frozen silence or a snide remark. The fact that Theo’s response was to clutch his throat, bug out his eyes and collapse gasping on the backseat warmed his father’s heart.

  “I knew we should’ve taken those CPR classes,” David said absently as he turned into MacMillan Wineries.

  “It’s okay. He goes, it’s more fries for us.”

  Maddy didn’t mind being out early. She didn’t mind driving around the hills and valleys. What she did mind was having nothing to do. Her greatest hope at the moment was that her father would break down and buy Theo a car. Then she could nag her brother to drive her somewhere. Anywhere.

  “Pretty place.” David stopped the van, got out to look over the fields and the workers steadily pruning vines in the frosty morning. “And this, all this, my children,” he continued, sliding an arm around each of them when they joined him, “will never be yours.”

  “Maybe one of them has a babe for a daughter. We’ll get married, then you’ll work for me.”

  David shuddered. “You’re scaring me, Theo. Let’s go check it out.”

  Ty spotted the trio heading down through the rows, and swore under his breath. Tourists, he thought, hoping for a tour and a friendly guide. He didn’t have time to be friendly. And he didn’t want outsiders in his fields.

  He started to cut over to head them off, stopped and studied Sophia. This, he decided, was her turf. Let her deal with people, and he’d deal with the vines.

  He crossed to her, noted grudgingly she was doing the job, and doing it well. “We got some tourists heading down,” he told her. “Why don’t you take a break here and steer them to the winery, the tasting room? Someone should be around to give them the standard tour.”

  Sophia straightened, turned to scope out the newcomers. The father and son were pretty much out of L.L. Bean, she concluded, while the daughter had taken a left turn into Goth-land.

  “Sure, I’ll take them.” And get a nice hot cup of coffee for the trouble. “But a quick look at the fields, and a brief, informative explanation of the pruning phase, would lead nicely into the winery and make Dad more inclined to pop for a couple bottles.”

  “I don’t want civilians tromping through my fields.”

  “Don’t be so territorial and cranky.” She put on a bright smile, deliberately grabbed Ty’s hand and dragged him toward the family.

  “Good morning! Welcome to MacMillan Vineyards. I’m Sophia, and Tyler and I would be happy to answer any questions you might have. It’s winter pruning time at the moment. An essential, even crucial part of the winemaking process. Are you touring the valley?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” She had her grandmother’s eyes, David thought. The shape and the depth of them. Pilar’s were softer, lighter, hinted of gold. “Actually, I was hoping to meet both of you. I’m David Cutter. These are my children. Theo and Maddy.”

  “Oh.” Sophia recovered quickly, taking David’s offered hand even while her mind leaped forward. Checking us out, she thought. Well, that would work both ways.

  Thus far, her research had only unearthed that David Cutter was a divorced, single parent of two who’d climbed the corporate ladder at La Coeur with a steady, competent hand over two decades.

  She’d determine more in a face-to-face. “Well, welcome again. All of you. Would you like to come into the winery or the house?”

  “I’d like to take a look at the fields. Been a while since I’ve seen a pruning in process.” Gauging the mood, caution and resentment, David turned to Tyler. “You’ve got a beautiful vineyard, Mr. MacMillan. And a superior product from them.”

  “You got that right. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You’ll have to excuse Tyler.” Setting her teeth, Sophia wrapped her arm through his like a rope to hold him in place. “He has a very narrow focus, and right now all he sees are the vines. Added to that, he has no discernible social skills. Do you, MacMillan?”

  “Vines don’t need chitchat.”

  “All growing things do better with audio stimulation.” Maddy didn’t flinch at Ty’s annoyed expression. “Why do you prune in winter?” she demanded. “Instead of in the fall or early spring?”

  “We prune during the dormant season.”

  “Why?”

  “Maddy,” David began.

  “It’s okay.” Ty took a closer look at her. She might dress like an apprentice vampire, he thought, but she had an intelligent face. “We wait for the first hard frost that forces the vines into dormancy. Pruning then prepares for the new growth in the spring. Pruning over the winter decreases the yield. What we’re after is quality, not quantity. Overbearing vines produce too many inferior grapes.”

  He glanced back at David. “I guess you don’t have a lot of vineyards in Manhattan.”

  “That’s right, and one of the reasons I accepted this offer. I’ve missed the fields. Twenty years ago, I spent a very cold, wet January in Bordeaux pruning vines for La Coeur. I’ve done some fieldwork off and on over the years, just to keep a hand in. But nothing like that very long winter.”

  “Can you show me how to do it?” Maddy asked Tyler.

  “Well, I . . .”

  “I’ll start you off.” Taking pity on Tyler, Sophia radiated cheer. “Why don’t you and Theo come with me? We
’ll get a close-up look at how this is done before we go into the winery. It’s a fascinating process, really, though this phase appears to be very basic. It requires precision and considerable practice. I’ll show you.” She herded the kids out of earshot.

  “Theo’s going to trip over his tongue.” David let out a sigh. “She’s a beautiful woman. Can’t blame him.”

  “Yeah, she looks good.”

  The warning tone had David struggling with a grin. He nodded soberly. “And I’m old enough to be her father, so you’ve got no worries in that direction.”

  From his viewpoint, Cutter was just the type Sophia usually went for. Older, slicker, classier. Under the rough gear, there was class. Being a farmer didn’t mean he couldn’t spot it.

  But that was beside the point.

  “There’s nothing between me and Sophia,” he said, very definitely.

  “Either way. Let’s just clear the air here, okay? I’m not here to get in your way, or interfere with your routine. You’re the vintner, MacMillan, and I’m not. But I do intend to do my job, and to keep abreast of every step and phase of the vineyards.”

  “You’ve got the offices. I’ve got the fields.”

  “Not entirely, no. I was hired to coordinate, to oversee, and I was hired because I know the vines. I’m not just a suit, and frankly, I was tired of trying to be one. Mind?”

  He plucked the pruners out of Tyler’s belt sheath and turned to the near row. Gloveless, he lifted canes, studied and made his cut.

  It was quick, efficient. And correct.

  “I know the vines,” David repeated, holding the tool out to Tyler. “But that doesn’t make them mine.”

  Irritated, Tyler took back the tool, shoved it into its sheath like a sword into a scabbard. “All right, let’s clear some more air. I don’t like someone looking over my shoulder, and knowing he’s going to be giving me grades like I was in high school. I’m here to make wine, not friends. I don’t know how they did things at La Coeur, and I don’t care. I run this vineyard.”

  “You did,” David said evenly. “Now we run it, whether we like it or not.”

  “We don’t like it,” he said shortly and strode away.