Here With Me (33 page)

“Special day?” Pearl asked.

Bernard practically beamed. “Rebecca and I
are engaged to be married.”

George looked at Melody. She had her mouth
open but no sound was coming out.

George extended his hand to Bernard.
“Congratulations.”

Pearl was the next to come around. “Yes, of
course, my congratulations to you both.”

“Show ‘em your ring, honey,” Bernard
said.

Rebecca extended her hand. George didn’t know
much about diamonds but it looked big to him and if the look on
Melody’s and Pearl’s faces were any indication, Bernard had done
right by his woman.

Rebecca leaned down and gave him a brush of
her lips across his cheek. “I know this is our special day,
Snookums. But this is your area of expertise and I’m needed in my
own.”

She made it sound like she’d been called to
serve some kind of noble cause. It was easy, however, to ignore her
self-importance when he could see the satisfied look on Pearl
Song’s face.

Rebecca looped her arm though George’s. “What
is it that you want to make?” she asked.

He had no idea. He looked at Melody. She
stared at Rebecca and said, “Tarts.”

Rebecca did a pronounced shiver. “Oh,
excellent. I’ve got the most wonderful recipe for a cinnamon,
raisin, walnut, and apple tart.”

They’d reached the door of the wine shed. A
heavy rain had started to fall and the wind was picking up even
more. “We’ll have to make a run for it,” Rebecca said.

“You go ahead,” he said, dislodging her arm.
“I’ll help Melody. I don’t want her to slip.”

Rebecca looked at Melody. “I didn’t realize
you were coming,” she said.

Melody gave her a big smile. “I wouldn’t miss
this for the world.”

George waited until Rebecca had taken off
running toward the house. Then he turned to Melody. “I don’t see
anything good coming from this,” he said. “Do not leave me alone
with her.”

“Do I look crazy?” she said. She stood on her
tiptoes and kissed him. It was short, barely a brush against his
lips. Then she patted his chest in a comforting gesture. “Just a
word of warning, George. If she asks if she can pinch your buns,
run like hell.”

Once inside the house, Melody was relieved to
see that the kitchen was empty. She hadn’t been looking forward to
cajoling Bessie into abandoning her kingdom. The longtime cook came
in early and fixed breakfast for whoever wanted it. Then she’d
prepare sandwiches for the field workers to have for lunch as well
as get the evening meal prepared. After that, she always took a
couple hours off to visit her sister who lived in a nursing home in
Napa and then returned to put the finishing touches on dinner.

If everything went according to plan, they’d
be in and out before the woman ever came back. If not, well, then
she’d let George explain it.

Rebecca surveyed the kitchen with something
short of disdain and turned to George with a hopeful look on her
face. “I’d so much rather be doing this in my studio.”

Melody could have predicted the next
line.

“Maybe we should go there,” Rebecca said. “I
have my car here. Of course,” she said, looking at Melody, “it’s
just a two-seater.”

Melody started to see red.

George didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry,” he
said, “but since I’m filling in for Gino, I need to stay close. In
case I’m needed.”

Rebecca reached over, grabbed his hand, and
rubbed the top of it, like one might scratch the top of a cat’s
head. “Oh, what’s not to like about a man who takes his
responsibilities so seriously?”

Melody squatted down, pulled some
stainless-steel bowls and tart pans out of the cupboard, and banged
them down on the counter. “I think we ought to get started.”

“This is Chanel,” Rebecca said, motioning to
her pantsuit. “I hope you have an apron.”

Melody pulled three out of the drawer. George
looked at his with a raised eyebrow but he put it on. It had little
butterflies on it and what would have reached Bessie’s knees,
barely covered his waist.

“Cute,” Melody whispered as she brushed past
him.

He frowned at her.

Rebecca opened the refrigerator, leaning so
far over that her suit jacket pulled up and the top of her blue
thong, resting above her low-rise pants, was clearly visible. She
looked over her shoulder at George but he’d suddenly developed an
interest in his shoes.

Looking frustrated, she turned back to the
refrigerator. She hauled out butter, a sack of apples, and the egg
carton. She handed the sack of apples to Melody. “Perhaps you could
start on these,” she said.

George pulled out her chair for her. When she
sat down, she leaned very close to his ear and said, “She’s making
a mistake if she gives me a sharp knife.”

“George, you can help me with the crust,”
Rebecca said. She handed him two sticks of butter. “Be a dear and
melt this in the microwave.”

It was the closest thing to panic that she’d
ever seen on George’s face. He stood motionless.

Melody pointed to the built-in microwave that
was above the stove. He walked over, studied it for a moment, and
then finally opened the door. He laid the butter sticks inside and
closed the door.

“Uh, George,” Melody said. “You’re going to
want to put those in a dish of some kind. Otherwise, Bessie is
going to kill you when she opens the door and there’s melted butter
everywhere.”

His face turned pink and he didn’t look at
her as he pulled a dish out of the cupboard and placed the sticks
in it. Once he’d shut the microwave door again, he simply stood
there.

Fortunately, Rebecca was rummaging around in
the cupboards pulling out sugar and flour and she wasn’t paying
attention. Melody pushed her chair back, walked over, punched in
thirty seconds, and pushed the start button. How had the man
managed to be in his thirties and never used a microwave?

“You never made much popcorn at the sheriff’s
office, right?”

He shook his head. When the buzzer rang on
the microwave, he opened the door, and started to reach for the
bowl. “It’ll be hot,” she warned.

He nodded and carefully grabbed for the edges
of the bowl. He sat it down next to Rebecca, looking every bit like
a man about ready to run for the nearest exit.

“Excellent,” she said, smiling at him. She
handed him a sack of walnuts. “Chop these up in the food
processor.”

His sigh was silent but Melody could see his
chest fall. She pushed her chair back again. “I’ll show you where
Bessie keeps it,” she said.

She pulled the appliance out of the cupboard,
plugged it in, set the blade at the right level, dumped the bag of
walnuts in, and stepped back. All he had to do was turn the switch
on, which he did in an able fashion.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No problem.” She dumped the almost-crushed
walnuts into a bowl and pushed it toward him. “I’ll just be over
here with my apples.” She went back and sat down.

Rebecca had mixed the ingredients for the
crust and dumped the ball of dough into the center of the tart pan.
“Come here,” she said to George. “You look like a man who’s good
with his hands.”

Oh, good grief. The woman was as transparent
as plastic wrap. Melody heard the telephone ring. And continue
ringing. Where the heck was Tilly? She was the one always racing to
answer the phone lately. On the fifth ring, Melody shoved her chair
back yet again.

She walked to the kitchen door but before she
opened it, she made a point to catch George’s eye. She switched her
gaze deliberately to the knife she’d left on the table, then back
to him, this time focusing on the area right below his belt.
“Behave,” she mouthed and walked out.

She picked up the phone on what had to be the
tenth ring. “Hello.”

“Pearl Song, please.”

It was a man. Not that that was so unusual.
Any number of male friends and neighbors regularly contacted her
grandmother. But she knew her grandmother would not want to be
bothered during the blending trials.

“I’m sorry. She’s unavailable right now. May
I take a message?”

“Who am I speaking with?” he asked.

“This is Melody Song. Song-Johnson,” she
added. “I’m—”

“Pearl’s granddaughter. Of course. This is
William Beagle. I’m your—”

“Grandmother’s attorney,” she said, finishing
his sentence. William Beagle had taken over his father’s law
practice some years ago and Grandmother liked to refer to him as
Young Will Beagle, her handsome legal eagle.

“Yes, that’s right. I really need to talk
with your grandmother. It’s very important.”

She didn’t want to take the chance that her
grandmother had been waiting for this call. “If you hold for a
moment, I’ll get her,” she said.

She put his call on hold and pressed the
intercom bottom that would allow her to overhead page in the wine
shed. They’d installed the technology several years ago and had the
same capability with the gift shop and tasting room. “Grandmother,”
she said, “you have a telephone call on line one.”

She half expected her grandmother to demand
who had the audacity to interrupt her at a time like this but
instead, what she heard was, “Thank you, I’ll pick it up.”

Melody turned off the intercom and watched to
see that the blinking red light on the phone turned to a solid red,
indicating that the line had been answered.

She went back to the kitchen. George was
patting dough into baking dishes and Rebecca was watching him. He
stood on one side of the counter and she was on the other. She had
her arms braced on the countertop and was leaning forward.

The woman had opened another button. George,
if he chose to look, had a very nice view.

This was getting ridiculous. The woman had no
shame. She was openly flirting with him while his pregnant wife was
right there.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

George looked up and she swore he was
relieved to have her once again safely at his side. She didn’t know
if it was because he was the most inept man she’d ever seen in a
kitchen or whether he was slightly afraid of what Rebecca might try
next.

“We’re ready for your apples,” Rebecca
said.

“I’m on it,” Melody replied. She walked over,
picked up the bowl of sliced apples, and handed it to Rebecca. “So,
you and Bernard are engaged. When’s the wedding date?” she
asked.

Rebecca didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at
George. “Watch closely,” she said. “First I’m going to put the
raisins and walnuts in. Then I’ll add a layer of apples and top it
off with the sugar-and-cinnamon mixture.”

She reached for the raisin-and-walnut
mixture. George grabbed it first and pulled it toward him. “I
believe my wife asked you a question,” he said. He said it very
seriously and even Rebecca was smart enough to realize he wasn’t
fooling around.

Melody’s heart was so full of love for George
at that exact moment that it was about to burst out of her
chest.

Rebecca turned to Melody, and said, “We
haven’t set a date. But soon. Neither one of us wants to wait.”

“Do you plan on living here?” Melody
asked.

Rebecca looked surprised, then perhaps a
little offended. “My television show
is
taped in San
Francisco.”

It suddenly dawned on Melody that Rebecca had
no real intention of ever marrying Bernard. That, for this woman,
it was all about the chase. Specifically, men chasing after her. It
made Melody furious and she was just about to press the issue,
because after all, her husband would make the woman answer, when
they heard the front door open and then the sound of Grandmother’s
and Bernard’s voices. Then it was quiet.

Rebecca pulled her car keys out of her pants
pocket. “Anyway, just put the layers together the way I described,
bake it for forty minutes, and serve it warm.”

She was gone before they could reply, like
she couldn’t get away fast enough. Melody was sure her suspicion
was correct, and her heart ached for Bernard.

Melody looked at George and he shook his
head. “I don’t know what her game is.”

“Me either. All I know is that we’re going to
need to be here for Bernard when it all falls apart.”

“We will be.”

She liked the sound of that. “By the way,
thanks for sticking up for me. I mean, I’ve got at least twenty
pounds on her. I probably could have taken her, but it was nice not
to have to.”

“I’d have held your coat for you.” He pulled
her into his arms and rubbed his nose against her nose. “You had
some flour on your nose.”

She kissed him. It was a soft kiss, offering
up promises of what was yet to come. “You’re sort of sexy in
butterflies,” she said.

He put his hand under her shirt and gently
cupped her breast. She felt the heat of his skin through the thin
material of her bra. “You’re mighty appealing yourself when you
don’t have any clothes on at all,” he said.

She kissed him again. Then she backed away
and his hand fell to his side. “Let’s get this tart in the oven and
get this mess cleaned up,” she said. “I think we’ll still have time
for a
nap,
if you know what I mean, before dinner.”

He started carrying dirty bowls to the sink.
He washed and dried dishes while she finished putting the tart
together. Within ten minutes they were done. They left the kitchen
and were headed upstairs when Melody saw Bernard sitting in the
family room. He wasn’t reading or watching television. He was just
sitting, staring off into space.

Even though all she really wanted to do was
go upstairs, she sat down next to him. “How did it go this
afternoon?”

“Fine. Your grandmother is right. This may be
our best vintage ever.”

If so, she’d have expected a little more
excitement. “Rebecca had to leave,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t
have to provide too many details.