Let It Breathe (3 page)

“Only six months?”

“That’s common for a lot of white wines like Pinot Gris,” Reese explained. “Others—like our Chardonnay, which we’ll be tasting next—are aged in oak, so they take a little longer. And many of our red wines spend years in the barrel.”

There was much chatting and sipping, with the women commenting on notes of pear and apple. Reese shot a glance at Clay, who was still holding the end of the plywood steady. He smiled and Reese gave a small nod of thanks before reaching for the Chardonnay.

She cycled through the white wines and moved on to reds, pointing out a bronze-medal Pinot Noir and explaining that most of their wines were estate grown.

“What does that mean?” one of the women asked. “Estate grown?”

“It means we grow all the grapes right here in our vineyards. Except for the dessert wine we’re sampling at the end—that’s a blend of some grapes from Southern Oregon.”

She bent to retrieve a small brass bucket from under the wine rack, conscious of Clay’s eyes on her as she plunked it down on the bar.

“This is a rather long tasting list, so it’s perfectly okay to expel the wine. I’m sure you ladies know, but it’s not mandatory that you swallow wine to taste it. Go ahead and spit if you like.”

She shot a quick look at Clay, though if he’d seen the opening for a dirty joke about swallowing versus spitting, he hadn’t taken it. The old Clay would have at least smirked, but this one just stood there stone-faced, hands gripping the edge of the bar. Reese uncorked a Maréchal Foch and started pouring, wondering what the hell was taking Larissa so long.

The ladies chattered among themselves, one of them taking only a small sip of each wine before passing it off to the woman in the pink cashmere, who obligingly polished it off.

Reese continued to move through the list, her lips forming the words while her mind was a thousand miles away—well, more like three feet away at the other end of the bar. She kept stealing glances at his shoulders, those beautiful, chiseled arms, the way his narrow waist tapered into worn jeans that fit snugly over his—

“That’s it for the tasting list,” Reese said as they sipped the last drops of specialty Vin Glacé dessert wine. “Did you have any questions or want to sample anything not on the list?”

“I’d like to buy a case of this one,” announced the woman with the expensive handbag, jabbing a finger at the Reserve Pinot Noir. She fished for a wallet with her free hand and peeled out a credit card.

“Excellent choice,” Reese said, accepting the card as the woman leaned across the bar, making it sway again. “Let me just run this, and then I’ll help you carry it out to your car.”

“I can get it,” Clay said. Every female eye shifted toward him. “Which box is it?”

“Oh,” Reese said. “It’s right over there in that stack against the wall, but you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he said, waiting until the women pried themselves away from the bar before loosening his grip on it. Reese watched as he ambled over to the cases and hoisted one like it was filled with cotton balls.

“Ladies,” he said. “Would you mind pointing the way to the car?”

“Oh, it’s the gray Lexus right out here,” chirped the woman as Reese handed her credit card back. “Let me get the door for you.”

Clay smiled and followed after them. “If you’re not okay to drive, I’d be happy to give you a lift wherever you’re headed.”

“Aren’t you the sweetest,” one of them twittered. “Don’t worry, though, I only took tiny sips of everything since we all agreed ahead of time that—”

The door closed behind them before Reese got to hear the end of the sentence.
Was that really Clay Henderson giving a lecture on sober driving?

“Was that really Clay Henderson giving a lecture on sober driving?” called Larissa, bursting into the winery wearing a V-neck sweater that—thankfully—only showed the top quarter inch of her bra.

Startled, Reese began gathering up the glasses as Larissa tucked the white wines back in the chiller. “Yes, it was.”

“God, he’s still hot. Hotter than he was five years ago, and he was damn hot then. What’s he doing here?”

“Working, believe it or not.” Reese moved toward the kitchenette with Larissa on her heels, eager for details.

“No joke? He’s working here? Better lock up the good stuff.”

“He’s not working in the winery, he’s building the tasting room. And he’s not drinking, either. He went to rehab.”

Larissa blinked. “Wow, that’s hard to believe. He used to be wild. I remember one time—”

“Larissa, could you hold down the fort in the tasting room for the rest of the afternoon?” Reese interrupted. “I told Clay I’d show him around, give him the lay of the land.”

Her cousin gave a wicked grin. “Considering the way those women were sizing him up, you won’t be the only one offering him a lay.”

“God, that’s just what he needs. Sexual harassment from our customers while he tries to get his life back on track.”

“Clay’s a big boy. I’m sure he can handle it.”

Reese nodded, annoyed with herself for feeling irritated at the thought of Clay handling anyone. “So you’ve got the tasting room covered?”

“No problem.”

“Oh, and FYI—Dick Smart at Larchwood is back to telling people our tasting room is never open. We need to have another talk with him.”

“Asshole.”

“Pretty much.”

“I’ll pay him a visit. He likes staring at my legs. Maybe if I distract him, he won’t notice when I hit him over the head with a bottle of Chardonnay.”

“Thank you.” Reese paused, her hands frozen in the soapy water clutching a wineglass. “Hey, Larissa?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m miserable?”

Larissa looked surprised, then studied Reese long enough to assure her the answer wasn’t a simple
no.

“Miserable how? I mean, you could add some highlights so your hair isn’t so brown and blah, and you’ve got those great boobs no one ever sees since you’re always wearing those baggy shirts—”

“I don’t think he meant miserable
looking
, but thank you for that.”

“He who?”

“He Eric,” Reese said as she toweled off the glasses and avoided her cousin’s eyes. “He said I work too much and my life has stagnated and I need to find passion and excitement and start dating again so I can be ridiculously happy like he and Sheila are.”

“He got the ridiculous part right.” Larissa paused. “I thought you never wanted to get married again.”

“I don’t.”

Much
,
Reese amended silently, thinking about the scene she’d witnessed behind the barn after breakfast. Her mother had been teaching her father to play smashball with the wooden paddles they’d bought for family events at the vineyard. Her dad had said something that made her mom throw her head back and laugh before Jed grabbed her around the waist, swooping her in circles until they both toppled laughing into the grass.

I’d only get married again if I could do it like that.

“Can’t say I blame you,” Larissa mused, still tracking with the original conversation. “Tying and untying the knot within a twelve-month span before you hit twenty-five would make anyone swear off marriage.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Reese set down a wineglass, not sure if she meant the marriage or the divorce.

“Did it? Getting married, I mean. I’ll never understand why you did it. You and Eric had zero chemistry.”

“You might have pointed that out
before
we walked down the aisle.”

Larissa shrugged and began to wipe down the counter with a rag. “I figured you knew. If you wanted to pledge eternal devotion to a guy who seemed more like your brother than your lover, who was I to tell you not to go through with it?”

Reese toweled off another glass and wondered for the millionth time why she
had
gone through with it.

Because you thought marriage was the ticket to happily ever after.

Because your parents made it look easy.

Because you needed to forget about
him
.

“Anyway, why do you care what your stupid ex says?” Larissa asked, jolting her back to the present.

“I don’t, I guess. I just thought if I was giving off a miserable vibe, I’d want to know.”

“I wouldn’t say
miserable
,” Larissa said, setting aside her rag to reach for the dried glasses. “But you haven’t changed much in the last decade. You should probably get laid more.”

Just then, Clay pushed through the door. He nodded at them. “Ladies.”

“Hey, Clay,” Larissa said, shooting Reese a knowing look before turning to walk the glasses back to the bar. “You’re looking good.”

“Thanks, Larissa—you, too. Reese, did you want to go over to the building site now?”

Reese nodded as she dried her hands and folded the towel over the edge of the counter. “Sure thing. Let me just—”

The door burst open again, cutting off the rest of her sentence. Her mother stood there with flushed cheeks and a wild look in her eyes.

“Reese—come quickly! It’s your grandfather.”

CHAPTER THREE

At the panicked sound in June’s voice, Clay yanked his cell phone from his back pocket. “Should I call 911?”

“No!” shouted the three women.

Clay froze, phone in hand, wondering if they’d all lost their minds.

June took a step forward, shaking her head. “No police. Please don’t make this worse than it is.”

“But if Albert—um, Axl—needs help—”

“No one’s hurt,” June said. “Not yet anyway. Reese, come on, hurry.”

Reese moved to follow her mother out the door, and Larissa scurried after them, clearly not wanting to miss anything. Clay hesitated. No one seemed distressed in the way he might have expected if Axl were having a heart attack. Still, maybe they’d need help lifting him or something.

The whole family helped you out when you were at your worst. The least you can do is lend a hand now.

He fell into step behind them, though it was obvious they’d forgotten he was there.

They trudged up a grassy slope past several rows of spindly vines just beginning to sprout for the season. At the end of the rows was a thick forest buzzing with insects. Clay remembered Eric telling him Reese nurtured certain bugs to keep the less desirable ones off the vines, and he wondered if that’s what he was hearing.

Between the forest and the vines stood Axl, with a shovel in one hand and a tape measure in the other.

“Gramp—dammit, Axl!” Reese yelled. “Stop right now. What are you doing?”

The old man whirled around and frowned. “What does it look like I’m doing? Planting. Been doing it on this land since before you were born, and I can still—”

“What are you doing to the goddamn vines?”

The heat in Reese’s words was enough to halt even Axl in his tracks.

“Figuring out where to put my plants, that’s what,” he huffed.

“
What
plants?”

June touched her daughter’s elbow, looking grim. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. Your grandfather wants to grow marijuana next to the Muscat vines.”

“Not all of them,” Axl protested, looking like a defiant teenager. “Just this section right here. It’s an experiment.”

“An experiment,” Reese repeated, looking incredulous.

“An experiment,” Larissa said, looking eager.

“Hell, yes,” the old man said. “Don’t you remember back when June planted lavender beside the Riesling vines, and for a few years after that, all the wine reviewers went on and on about the ‘delectable hints of lavender in the bouquet’?”

Reese stared at her grandfather. Even from three feet away, Clay could see the muscles in her jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Okay, Axl, not to split hairs or anything,” Reese said slowly, “but last time I checked, it was
legal
to grow lavender.”

“It’s legal to grow weed, too!” Axl insisted. “This is Oregon, remember?”

“I’m aware of that, but I also know you need special permits to grow large amounts. It’s regulated by the government, and there are all kinds of rules for growing it. You can’t just start a pot plantation in your backyard.”

“I got that covered, sweet pea.” The old man grinned and reached into the back pocket of his pants, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He held it out triumphantly, shaking it in front of his granddaughter.

Reese just stared at it like he held used toilet paper. She finally took it, and Clay watched as her eyes traveled back and forth over the page.

“Medical marijuana?” she said.

“That’s right,” Axl said. “It’s big business these days.”

Larissa tried to peer over her cousin’s shoulder at the words on the page. “Why is ‘medical’ spelled with two
L
s?”

“Because it’s a forged form,” Reese said, handing it back to Axl, who scowled as he took it. “And even if it were legit, there are limits on how much you can grow and where you can grow it. I really don’t think a vineyard is the best place, and right here next to the forest and my Muscat vines—”

“Well, where am I supposed to do it, then?” Axl snapped. “I thought you’d be happy about infusing your wines with a little extra somethin’-somethin’, if you know what I mean.”

The old man tried to wink, but the gesture seemed to throw him off balance, and he started to tip. Clay caught him by the arm before he could go toppling down the hill.

“Hands off the goodies, son,” Albert said, stepping back and brushing off the arm of his jacket. “But thanks.”

“No problem, sir—uh, Axl.”

The old man sighed. “All right, then, where am I going to put my doobage?”

The cracking of twigs snapped everyone’s attention to the edge of the woods. A man was standing there with his arms folded over his chest and an expression Clay would’ve called a “shit-eating grin” before he gave up swearing.

Reese’s jaw clenched. “Dick,” she snarled.

Clay looked at her, a little surprised at the curse until he realized it was probably the guy’s name.

“Reese,” the guy replied. “Planting a new crop?”

“No,” Reese said. “Just checking the progress on the Muscat this season.”

“Hmm,” Dick replied. “You’ve never had much luck with Muscat here, have you? Such a shame, seeing how it seems to grow so well in my vineyard.”

Larissa snorted and took a step closer to her cousin. “Too bad your Pinot comes up short.” She sent a pointed glance at the guy’s crotch, effectively doubling the insult.

“My Pinot is none of your concern,” Dick snapped. “What
is
my concern is what you’re planting in this area, seeing how my property abuts yours right along that ridge over there.”

“Abuts,” Axl grunted. “That’s definitely the first word that comes to mind when I think of you, Dick.”

June put a hand on her father’s shoulder as Dick glared at them. Reese folded her arms and matched the glare with one of her own.

“I’m aware of the property lines between Sunridge and Larchwood, Dick,” Reese said. “As you can see, we’re safely on our side.”

“And at the moment, you’re on
our
property,” Axl added. “Those woods are ours—always fuckin’ have been, always fuckin’ will be, and if you’re here to badger me about selling again, the answer is no. ’Scuse me, the answer is
fuck no
.”

Dick ignored him and sneered at Reese. “I’m watching you. Don’t think I don’t know about that little event you’re hosting out here later this month.”

Larissa rolled her eyes. “
Everyone
knows about the event. We sent out a press release. It was on the front page of the newspaper.”

“Well, I certainly hope you know how to contain your guests.
And
your plantings, whatever they may be.”

He cast a dubious look at Axl, who spat on the ground at his feet. Then he turned on his heel and stomped back into the forest.

“Asshole,” Larissa muttered before the guy was out of earshot.

Reese sighed and waited a few more seconds for Dick’s footsteps to retreat before turning back to her grandfather. “Look, you’re not planting medical marijuana here. No way. Not with Dick watching and questionable paperwork. It’s too close to the property line.”

Axl was glaring into the woods after Dick. “Asshole better not step on my ’shrooms,” he muttered before turning back to Reese. “So where the hell do I put my weed?”

Reese waved an arm down the hill. “There’s the pole barn where we used to do the grafting. I think I’ve even got some old grow lights down there. Why don’t you go do some research on indoor grow operations? And find out exactly how much you can have and where you can put it and—”

“I’ve got all that, Peanut Butter Cup. I’ve been doing my research on the interspace.”

“Internet,” June said with a sigh.

“That’s great, Grandpa,” Reese said. “I’ll do some research, too, okay? Just to make sure everything’s legal.”

Axl frowned a little at that but didn’t say anything else. June reached out and took the shovel from him. “Come on, Dad—I’ve got some brownies in the oven down at the house. What do you say we have a few of those with some milk?”

“Brownies?” Axl seemed to perk up at the suggestion. “I was just reading up on a new recipe for brownies with a
special ingredient
, if you know what I mean.”

Clay braced himself to catch the old man if he tried to wink again, but Axl was apparently done. He allowed June to take him by the elbow and steer him down the hill. Reese and Larissa and Clay stood staring after the pair as they headed into the house that had stood at the edge of the vineyard property for more than forty years.

The sound of an approaching car drew their attention to the gravel road beyond the house. They all watched as a blue hybrid SUV crunched its way toward the winery.

“Someone’s here for wine tasting,” Reese said. “Larissa, could you—”

“I’m on it,” she said, already wobbling down the hill in a pair of ridiculously high heels.

Clay’s mind flashed back to the first time he met Larissa, fresh-faced and eighteen and teetering in the same sort of silly shoes. She’d been a new freshman, while he’d been gearing up to drop out of school, already hell-bent on fucking up his life with booze and bad decisions. Larissa had stood there smiling and earnest, gripping her cousin’s arm like her whole world revolved around Reese.

Clay could relate. Both then and now.

“See you at dinner later, Reesey?” Larissa called over her shoulder as she moved down the hill.

“Maybe,” Reese said. “I might be working late on some contracts. Don’t forget to top the bottles with the argon gas when you close up, okay?”

“I know, I know.”

Larissa made her way toward the winery, and Reese stared after her for a moment. When she turned and looked at him, Clay felt the full force of those blazing green eyes like an electric jolt to the spleen.

“Still sure you can handle this?” she asked.

It took him two beats to realize what she meant. “You mean being surrounded by alcohol, drugs, and possible illegal activity conducted by members of your crazy family?”

“Right.”

“I think I’m safe.”

Reese smiled, not a huge smile, but enough to make Clay want to make her do it again.

Dude, get a grip
, he reminded himself.
Your best buddy’s ex, remember?

As if hearing his thoughts, Reese cleared her throat. “Shall we get down to business?”

As they strolled the site of the new tasting room and event pavilion, Reese watched the careful way Clay jotted notes and took measurements. Several times they stopped so he could ask a question or pace off an area. She studied him as he bent down to rub the red clay soil between his fingers. The sleeve of his T-shirt rode up, exposing the tattoo she’d glimpsed earlier. She leaned closer, trying to make out what it said.

“You read Latin?”

Reese jumped at the sound of his voice. “What?”

He smiled. “The tattoo. It’s Latin.”

“Oh. No. I mean—what does it say?”

He looked at her for a moment, then stood up. “Come on, let’s go review that materials estimate.”

Flushing a little, Reese turned and headed back toward the winery. She led him to the back door where the tiny office held all the paperwork and blueprints for the new facilities.

“Coffee?” she offered, clearing a stack of books off one chair so he could sit down. “Or there’s juice or water or—”

“How about two shots of Irish whiskey and a beer chaser?”

She frowned. “Can you really—?”

“I was kidding.”

“Right. Well, I have Cran-Apple juice and—”

“I’m fine, Reese. Let’s sit. Please.”

He hesitated, and she realized he was waiting for her to take a seat first.
How gentlemanly
. She sat, feeling like a moron, not sure why she was so rattled. It was just Clay. It’s not like she hadn’t seen him on the floor in his boxer shorts hugging the toilet in her guest room.

Needing a distraction, Reese retrieved the bottle of formula in the small warmer on the corner of her desk. “Give me just a second to screw on the nipple,” she told Clay.

Reese winced as the words left her mouth.

Screw? Nipple? Seriously, Reese?

She waited for the dirty joke, but Clay just cleared his throat. “Need help?”

“Would you mind grabbing Oscar out of the cage there?”

Clay nodded and gently unlatched the wire door. She watched his work-roughened hand scoop the warm bundle from inside. The baby opossum wiggled as Clay handed it to her, and Reese brought the bottle to the tiny creature’s mouth.

“So you’re still saving the world’s wayward creatures,” he said.

Reese nodded. “It’s a little different now than in college. I got licensed through the Department of Fish and Wildlife to rehabilitate small animals a few years ago, so I’m all certified.”

“Oh, good. I’ll phone the police and let them know they don’t need to send the SWAT team after all.”

Reese laughed and tilted the bottle to get a better angle. “I still have that raccoon you brought me. The one you found on the side of the road that spring?”

“He’s still alive?”

Reese nodded, keeping her eyes on the baby opossum as he greedily emptied the bottle. “He mostly lives in the woods now. Axl taught him to fetch.”