3 Savor Page 7

  Margaret reached up and rubbed her palm along Adam’s whiskered cheek and pulled his face down for a kiss. His lips pooched out as though to kiss her but his eyes remained glued on the television screen. She sighed and extricated herself from his arm.

  “I can’t compete with a superhero,” she grumbled. “I’m going down to the cellar to work.”

  When she was halfway to the kitchen, they both exploded in laughter and she turned around. Davy had climbed up on the couch beside Adam and they were grinning at the screen like twin zombies. Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

  Her cell rang and she picked it up where she’d left it on the kitchen table. “Hello.”

  “Margaret Parker?”

  The voice sent shivers down her spine. She pulled the phone away and glanced at caller I.D. but it said Unknown. He was dead. There was no way he could be calling.

  “Hello?” the voice asked again, the Italian accent so familiar and yet… a slight deepening, as if more years had been added. “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” she said, barely able to breathe. “Who is this?”

  “Scusami. I didn’t mean to upset you. I have been told that my son and I sound much alike. Did sound much alike,” he corrected, and cleared his throat. “I am Edoardo Salvatore. Your son’s grandfather.”

  He couldn’t have said anything more terrifying.

  Margaret glanced back into the den and saw Adam watching her. He always seemed to be attuned to her mood swings. Apparently, he wasn’t as oblivious as she’d assumed. He stood up and crossed the room toward her.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked softly, eyes narrowed with interest.

  She pressed her lips together and nodded.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked the stranger on the line, the man whom she’d once blamed for Agosto’s desertion, and the man Agosto said he hated, but respected more than any other. The only grandparent her son had left.

  “I was hoping to meet my grandson,” he said. When there was no immediate response from her, he continued. “Perhaps we should meet first. Alone. Discuss boundaries and expectations?” He put it as a question, but she knew that just as Agosto was unable to take no for an answer, his father would be unaccustomed to the process as well. It would be better to meet with him one on one and get it over with.

  “Are you coming to the states soon?” she asked, wondering how much time she had to prepare herself. She moved to the sliding door and flipped the outside patio light on. A small rodent went scurrying off into the bushes.

  “As a matter of fact, I flew into San Francisco this morning. My day is wide open tomorrow,” he said, leaving the ball in her court.

  “I see.” She turned around to find Adam still watching. His concern was sweet, but distracting. “Can you meet me in Yountville at Antonio’s? Say, two o’clock?” She was delivering Carl’s monthly order of wine anyway and she would feel more comfortable knowing her brother’s friend was within calling distance.

  “Perfect. I was planning to make a trip out to see my nephew sometime while I was here. Now I can kill two birds with one stone.”

  The old idiom was not comforting. In fact, it was rather insulting. She swallowed down the harsh retort that came to mind. “Fine. I look forward to meeting you,” she lied, and ended the call.

  Adam leaned on one hip, eating a leftover slice of pizza from the box on the table. “You don’t sound very excited about the date you just made,” he said, curious but not wanting to probe.

  Sometimes she wondered how men survived, unable to ask direct questions. They’d wander aimlessly for days instead of asking directions and Adam would apparently chew off his own right arm before asking her who she was meeting.

  She glanced into the den. Davy now lay stretched out on the couch with Rambo curled next to him, watching the end of the movie. There was plenty of movie noise to block their conversation, but her son was a curious sort himself and he might just be listening without appearing to do so. She lowered her voice. “I’m not. Agosto’s father is in town,” she said, her voice tense with worry.

  Adam swallowed the last bite of pizza and licked his lips. “Is this the first time he’s contacted you since…”

  “Yes.” She shook her head slowly, trying to understand a father who would have strangers ship his son’s body home to Italy and never inquire as to the circumstances of his death. Or maybe he did and he just couldn’t handle seeing her or Davy at that point, knowing they were the reason his son came to America in the first place.

  “What did he say?”

  Margaret stepped into Adam’s embrace and slowly released the breath she was holding, allowing her fears to dissipate into the comfort of her kitchen in the arms of the man she loved. After soaking in the realization that she’d just admitted to herself something she’d refused to acknowledge up till now, she leaned her head back and smiled. She wasn’t sure about being the one to say the words first, but she was positive the feeling wasn’t going away. “You know,” she said matter-of-factly, basking in the warmth of his brown eyes, “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  She couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d announced her engagement to Sammie. His mouth dropped open and she felt his arms go slack for a moment before he pulled her close and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “I can’t believe you’re finally telling me this now – with your son watching from the next room,” he muttered softly.

  She giggled and tried to peer over his shoulder to see if Davy was actually paying any attention to them, but Adam caught her face between his palms and kissed her until she was breathless. Rambo suddenly appeared below them, rubbing against her leg and purring his contentment at the situation.

  “You guys missed the best part of the movie,” Davy said from across the room. Taking a quick run, he slid across the kitchen tile in his socks, bumping into them and sending them tottering. “Whoa! Did you see how far I slid? That was awesome!”

  “Sorry bud, I was a little busy,” Adam admitted, slowly releasing Margaret back to reality. “Your mom and I were discussing dessert.”

  Margaret pulled away and started straightening up the kitchen, throwing away the pizza scraps and napkins and putting their glasses in the sink. She hummed as she worked and didn’t realize until she saw Adam’s grin stretch wide, that she was humming the song he’d written and sung for her at Handel and Billie’s engagement party.

  “Dessert?” Davy made a funny face. “I thought we only get dessert on Sundays.”

  “Sometimes we need to make exceptions to the rules,” she said, wondering if she’d always been so rigid or if she’d gotten worse after Davy’s kidnapping. Seeing his face light up at the simple suggestion to have dessert on a different night, she decided it was time to loosen up. She didn’t want her son to grow up thinking life was only about following rules and being safe. Sometimes you had to take chances, to choose extraordinary rather than ordinary. “Who wants ice cream?” she asked, holding up the metal scoop like a sword.

  “I do,” they both said simultaneously and Davy yelled, “Jinx!”

  It was an hour past his usual bedtime, following bowls of chocolate ice cream all around and lots of laughter, that Davy finally trudged off to bed. He was so tired that when Margaret went up to check on him, he was already fast asleep with the light left on in his room.

  She turned off the lamp and shut his door on her way out. The clock at the end of the hall chimed the half hour as she slowly descended the stairs. Adam was stretched out on the couch in the den, his hands clasped behind his head. A sappy grin turned up the corners of his mouth, his gaze following her crossing the room.

  “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” she said, shutting off the television. “It is getting pretty late. I mean, if you’re too tired to go home, I guess you can crash here on the couch.” He’d taken an apartment in town to be closer to the clubs where he played at night and to give Billie and Handel the privacy they deserved as newlyweds. He told her that living in his s
ister’s extra room was awkward enough before the wedding.

  “I’m not tired,” he said, reaching for her as she laid the controller down on the coffee table. He grasped her wrist and gently tugged her toward him. “In fact, I’m rather wide awake.” He pulled her down until she was leaning over him, her hands braced on the cushion seat on either side of his lean, hard body. He reached up to release her hair from the clip that held it off the back of her neck. Long blonde strands fell between them, brushing his chest. “You are so beautiful, Meg. I’ll never be able to get enough of you.”

  His words could have been the words of any number of young men hot for some girl, and in the past she would have brushed them off as nothing more than sexual desire talking. But tonight her heart heard what he was trying to say rather than what he was saying. She smiled and lowered her head to kiss him.

  “Wait,” he said, covering her lips with two fingers. “I need to say this. I’ve wanted to say this for a long time, but you weren’t ready to hear it.”

  She sighed, eased back to sit on the coffee table facing him and waited.

  He scrambled up to a sitting position and pushed his hands through his hair as though to tame the mess, but it had grown out a bit too long and unruly for that. If he had on a kilt he would’ve looked like a wild highlander from the hills of Scotland. She gave him an encouraging smile.

  He hesitated as though searching for the right words before taking her hands in his. His dark eyes glistened in the lamplight. “I never thought I’d find a woman like you, Meg. You’ve encouraged me to be the best I can be, to take chances and follow my heart. You have an inner strength that I admire tremendously; an ability to survive whatever is thrown your way, and yet even with all you’ve been through, you still possess a gentle, loving heart that makes you even more amazing.”

  Feeling a bit embarrassed by his glowing praise, she opened her mouth to say something.

  He shook his head. “It’s my turn. You already sent my world spinning off its axis tonight. Let me finish.” He lifted a hand and gently brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “I’ve never fallen for a girl so quickly, so thoroughly, and so finally. I love you, Margaret Parker.”

  “Are you done?” she whispered, tentatively leaning in toward him.

  His lips covered hers and she moaned as his kisses deepened into desire. It had been so long since she’d felt this way about any man. She ran her fingers through his hair and drew him closer still, craving his touch like a sandy beach craves the incoming tide. Logically she knew this feeling wasn’t sustainable. Love had different moods, different seasons, just like wine grapes. The passion of first love was all consuming but didn’t have to be the beginning and the end. Time would tell whether their lives would merge into a deeper blend of love that could be savored, but right now she wanted more than a sip. She wanted…

  He suddenly pulled back and looked down into her face. A slow grin turned up his lips and then he was laughing.

  Margaret looked at him in bewilderment, her brain still spinning, emotions spiraling into annoyance. “What?”

  “You were doing it, weren’t you?” he said, still amused at something beyond her comprehension. “You were thinking about wine and how it relates to our relationship. I could actually hear the wheels spinning in that crazy winemaking head of yours.”

  She felt a blush rise up her cheeks, giving her away. There was no use trying to deny it. Adam had heard her hypothesizing more than once about the similarities between love and wine. “What if I was? Wine is romantic after all. More than I can say for you. Laughing at me while we’re…we’re…” she sputtered to an end, jumped up, and stalked off to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” Adam called, laughter still edging his voice. He followed her and tried to put his arms around her again, but she shrugged him off.

  “I’m tired,” she said, which was true now that her hormones had lost that loving feeling. “I think we should just call it a night.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, babe. I actually think it’s pretty cool how the craft of winemaking is so much a part of you that you even process situations accordingly. That’s how I am about my music. ” He regarded her crossed arms pose with a crooked smile. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I was singing Jungle Love in my head while I was kissing you?”

  She laughed and shook her head, unable to stay miffed at him for long.

  He started playing an air guitar and singing, “Jungle love, it’s driving me mad. It’s making me crazy, crazy…”

  Rambo had been asleep on his bed in the corner of the kitchen, but their intrusion had not gone unnoticed. He got up, obviously indignant, stretched, and coolly stalked off to the den where it was quieter.

  Margaret put a finger to her lips. “Shhh! Now look what you’ve done. You’ve woken up the cat. Next, Davy will be down here singing along.”

  “He could use the practice if he’s going to be a winemaking musician someday.”

  Davy’s newest career path was to combine the best of both worlds. He loved winemaking and had already learned a lot from both her and Billie, but since he’d heard Adam play on stage, he thought that would be an awesome choice as well. Thankfully, he still had a good eight years to dream before the specter of college entered his world.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall.

  Adam followed her gaze and grimaced. “All right,” he said, “I’m leaving.” He gave her a quick kiss and headed for the front door. “But don’t think I won’t be back to try again. And next time, Jungle love may just rock your winemaking world,” he teased.

  “I’m counting on it.” Smiling, she closed the door softly and turned the deadbolt.

  She parted the drapes and watched him through the front window. He waved before climbing in his car. She waved back, and then pulled the drapes closed and shut off the lights. As she climbed the stairs to her room she remembered her appointment with Edoardo Salvatore the next day and a sense of doom temporarily overshadowed the thrill of being in love.

  Chapter Five

  Despite the bright noon sun outside, the cellar was dark and quiet, and just what she needed to be able to think. Billie moved across the room to the work counter where she’d first learned about winemaking from her uncle. She reached beneath to the racks of dusty bottles and let her fingers brush past each one like a child walking along a picket fence.

  Dr. Berger had warned her back in the early days of her therapy that if she wanted to banish the bad memories of the cellar and reestablish the joy that was lost, she would have to return to the scene of the crime day after day and make new memories. Sweet memories. Memories that far outweighed the bad. And she’d done just that. She’d brought Davy here and taught him how to stomp grapes and mix wine and all the things her uncle had taught her. They’d laughed and talked and teased and slowly but surely the cellar was redeemed.

  The room was much different than it was when she’d first returned to the winery. The old desk and antiquated machines were gone now and the crates had all been sorted through, their contents given away or disposed of. Billie had purchased a new desk, all metal and glass, no drawers or secrets anywhere. Her keyboard and mouse sat on top for when she brought her laptop down to work. She also had a comfortable reclining chair where she sat sometimes to read wine industry magazines or just to rest her eyes.

  Davy insisted he needed a beanbag chair for when he dropped in to chat for a while, so they’d shopped for just the right one. It was black and white like a checkerboard, and when he brought Rambo with him, the cat seemed to blend right in.

  Out of respect for her uncle, she’d hung one of Jack’s paintings on the wall behind the desk, but was glad her back was mostly to it. She didn’t understand why a man with so much talent painted the way he did. Couldn’t he have whipped up a nice landscape of the vineyard or something?

  She sat now in her comfy over-stuffed chair and leaned her head back. Track lighting had been installed above the work area so th
at the naked bulb that once graced the middle of the ceiling was no longer needed. A reading lamp stood beside her chair but she left it off.

  Other than financial woes that kept cropping up every quarter, the winery had become a place of comfort and peace for her. She no longer worried that she’d made the wrong decision moving to California and leaving her law practice behind. The sweet smell of ripening grapes, heavy on the vines, was like ambrosia to her heart.

  Why then did it suddenly feel as though a black cloud had settled around her? After speaking with Handel about the man at the winery and his implied threat, they’d called Officer Torn again. He reassured them that he would look into it. Whatever that meant.

  Someone wanted her scared and hiding and she didn’t know why. Handel spoke with his client on the phone but Mr. Kawasaki had no idea why she would be targeted. He found the idea ludicrous; told Handel that if someone had that kind of vendetta against him, they’d kill him in jail, not have his attorney’s wife tormented.

  Handel had tried to lighten the situation, to convince her that it was a fluke, but she could see he was worried. This morning he’d once again gone into his office to work, but this time he shut the door. She heard him on the phone, his voice abnormally tense and angry, and wondered who he was speaking with. Instead of confronting him, she left the house to come here.

  So much for the messy junk drawer of their lives. Whoever was targeting her had already nixed that idea. She and Handel were holed up in separate places, trying to solve a mutual problem… apart.

  “Hey, babe.”

  She raised her head; surprised she hadn’t heard Handel come down the stairs. He was wearing exercise shorts and dripping sweat from head to toe. “You weren’t out running, were you?” she asked, pushing up from the chair. “I thought we were going to go for a walk together. Later. The doctor has not signed off on you exercising hard yet.”