Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (28 page)

“Yeah, Quinn’s devious. Always has a trick up her sleeve. She gets it from our mother.”

“Adele? No, your mom’s sweet. She was humming Celine Dion yesterday when she came down to the corral. She showed me how to bridle Glory before Tess, Quinn, and I went riding.” Mia thought Reid paled at the mention of Celine Dion, but she chalked it up as a typical male response to the singer. “But maybe you were in on the plot to turn me into a dog owner. After all, didn’t you tell me to keep my eye on Quinn and make sure she didn’t come home with a new cat to accompany Pirate on mousing expeditions or another dog for Sooner to boss around? I’m sure my own guard would have been up otherwise.”

“No, the credit goes to Quinn alone. She’s into equal opportunity—she wants everyone to adopt animals. But the way she tells it, she didn’t have to do any kind of slick maneuvering. Bruno adopted you.” Giving the dog a final pat, he straightened.

Recognizing that the belly massage was at an end, Bruno clambered to his paws, shook himself, gave his signature
woof
, and then went into what Mia had decided was his crazy-puppy-dog mode, racing about in tight circles. The performance lasted all of ten seconds. Then he came over to stand by Mia, his plumy tail wagging and his wide grin telegraphing how pleased he was with himself, with her, with Reid, and with the world.

Impossible not to share in his happiness.

“So, the grapes look good?” Reid asked, taking her hand as they walked up the path to the winery. Bruno already knew the route and ambled alongside them.

“The grapes look good.”

“How good?”

Her lips twitched. “Roberto and Paul are quite pleased.”

“And Ms. Bodell?” he continued as his thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. “Is she equally pleased with her inspection?”

“ ‘Guardedly optimistic’ would be a more accurate description.”

He laughed. “Coming from you, who defines perfectionism in all things vino, this is cause for celebration.”

Fighting a smile, she shook her head. “No celebration until the grapes are harvested, de-stemmed, and fermenting in the tanks. I’m superstitious.”

They’d reached the winery. Mia’s steps slowed as she saw the neatly graded rectangle. “Oh! You did such a nice job.”

“Mm-hmm. And I expect payment for my efforts.” The husky timbre of his voice was like a caress.

She rose up on her toes and kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth to dance slowly with his.

With a groan, he pulled her flush against him and slanted his mouth, deepening the kiss.

When at last they broke apart, she smiled into the sparkling blue of his gaze. “Thank you for prepping the patio area, Reid.”

His grin was crooked. “Kiss me like that again, and I’ll prep a football stadium or two.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. Lord, this man was good for her ego. He made her feel so powerful and sexy. Impulsively, she kissed him again, a light, teasing nibble of lips that ended in a peal of laughter when he tightened his hold about her waist and lifted her, spinning in a circle.

She was still laughing when he brought her feet back to earth. “Hey, you know what?”

“What?” he asked.

“We could hold weddings here.”

“Weddings?” From the look on his face, she might as well have said “torture sessions.”

“Weddings,” she repeated, her tone turning dry as dust. “For instance, if you had guests who wanted to be married in a vineyard, you could suggest our place as a possible venue. I realize it’s not as fancy as many Napa vineyards, but—”

“Not everyone’s into the Napa scene,” he finished for her. “I’ll speak to the powers that be about it. Tess broke our lousy track record for hosting weddings at the ranch when she planned Brian Nash’s—you might remember him from high school—to his girlfriend, Carrie Greer. I guess that means we’ll be booking more of them.”

She had to give Reid credit. He’d recovered quickly, even pretending enthusiasm for her idea. She shrugged. “It was just a thought. Having the visiting artists come and sketch and paint here got me thinking about other events that could benefit both our businesses.”

“It’s a good idea. Really. Like I said, I’ll talk to the others. And don’t stop brainstorming about what other special events we can offer to promote the vineyard. You’re good at it.” He lowered his mouth to kiss her.

The distraction almost worked.

But Mia couldn’t help recalling her conversation with Quinn and Tess at dinner when she’d doubted Reid had a discomfort zone.

Lo and behold, she’d found it. The “W” word was it. So weddings—and, by extension, marriage—made him twitchy. She had a hunch he’d break out in hives if she were to utter the “L” word.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise. After all, she’d been the one to formulate the famous chocolate theory. She’d also overheard him warning Quinn not to encourage
Adele in any wedding planning for him. And what was the word he’d used to describe what was between them? A “thing”—not a relationship, not an affair, not even a fling. How many different ways did she need to understand that he was commitment-averse?

The sex between them was obviously exceptional. The man was a master at giving her earth-shattering orgasms. Could she blame him simply because being with him meant more to her than physical bliss?

She knew he liked her and that she mattered to him. Was it right to demand more? Was it fair to expect him to give her his heart just because he had hers?

Maybe not, but love wasn’t fair. She longed to hear him say the words. She needed them to free her own. Although she’d come a good way in beating back her insecurities, she couldn’t pretend they hadn’t left their mark. As full as her heart was, she couldn’t bring herself to voice the wonder of her feelings—not if it meant exposing herself to the crushing blow when Reid couldn’t respond in kind. The awkward smile, the hemming and hawing, would devastate. She would once more be the lonely, pathetic girl who had dreamed too big.

Reid’s mouth was still on hers, kissing her with devastating thoroughness. His hands roved, shifting to the small of her back, massaging it and then moving down to cup her rear and bring her into perfect alignment with his erection. At the contact, her own desire spread like flames licking dry kindling.

Lord, he was so very good at this. The thought was tinged with sadness.

At last he raised his head a fraction. “So what’s on the agenda now, or is my favorite vintner’s work done for the day?” he asked. His eyes glittered with a light she’d come to know well.

She forced her sadness away, banished the worry that
the intense chemistry between them might be all he really wanted from her. She made herself focus on the relationship they
did
have: business.

“Actually, Johnny, Leo, and I are taste checking the barrels. Do you want to join us?” She had asked the guys to run the routine lab tests on the aging wine, but it was time to also perform a sensory test. She needed to know the wine as well as Thomas had.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She took his hand. “Come on, then.”

Christ, he’d come close to blowing it, Reid thought, as they walked in to the winery. Thanks to Tess and Ward, the word “wedding” had been bandied about constantly. Yesterday his brother and fiancée had made a date to meet with the priest who’d be marrying them in New York. For some mysterious reason, that had sent his mother into preparation overdrive. Convinced that Reid’s shoulders had broadened since he last wore his tuxedo, she’d badgered him into trying it on.

Damned if she wasn’t right. His thighs were more muscled, too. He supposed he should be thankful she hadn’t harped on that. But the end result was that he’d had to pick out a tux from the styles Tess had selected. Luckily, she had good taste. The tuxes were all black, the lapels not over-wide, the shirts plain, and the bow ties and cummerbunds unadorned.

His role as best man had required Reid to call Brian and Greg Ralston, who would be serving as Ward’s groomsmen, and make sure they were okay with his selection.

By his tally that had brought the “wedding” word count far too high. It buzzed about like an annoying fly that wouldn’t die. But he couldn’t lay the blame for his clumsy reaction solely on Ward and Tess. It was partly
his fault. He’d been steeped in Mia and not thinking clearly.

When she’d glowed with pleasure at the neatly raked area for her future patio and then thanked him with one of her sweet and unbelievably hot kisses, he’d responded as always: with a pounding heart and piercing need.

Then, with no warning, she’d begun talking about how they might hold special events—
weddings
—at the vineyard. With the word still hovering in the air, he’d been slammed with a vision of Mia in a long white wedding gown, her head crowned by a simple ringlet, her amazing hair flowing free about her shoulders, her smile radiant as she approached her fiancé—who just happened to bear a striking resemblance to him.

It was like being sucker punched, a feeling Reid didn’t care for.

He’d already acknowledged that Mia was special and that she’d made him feel something no other woman had. And the past two weeks had been great, no doubt about it. But marriage? A covenant meant to last forever? That was a hell of a scary vision.

So, yeah, he’d flinched. It was normal to recoil at the prospect of losing one’s freedom. Some guys would have jumped right out of their skin. The only reason his reaction bothered him was the suspicion that Mia, whose clear gaze saw far too much, had identified what spooked him.

Yet she hadn’t called him on it.

As he held open the door to the winery for Mia and Bruno, he wondered why she hadn’t spoken up. She’d never hesitated to point out his weaknesses before.

None of the answers that came to mind were particularly flattering. But that didn’t mean he was going to broach the topic of what they meant to each other or where they where headed. Not until he had to. Not until he’d figured it out.

Besides, he’d always held to the belief that actions spoke louder than words. In that respect, he’d proved himself beyond a doubt.

So Reid quit wondering why she hadn’t gotten bent out of shape or shown him how irritated she was by sticking her pretty nose in the air, as the Mia of old would have done, and focused instead on the fact that she’d invited him to taste the wine aging in the barrels. Including him must mean things were basically copacetic.

After the heat of the late August afternoon, the winery was refreshingly cool and, as usual, spick-and-span, the floors clean enough to eat off. The large steel fermenting tanks that stood in the processing area to his right, which soon would be filled with crushed Pinot Noir grapes, were equally spotless. The Bodells were meticulous about the equipment. One of Leo and Johnny’s most time-consuming jobs was keeping it all clean and sanitary. Reid had often entered the building and found them using the ozone machine on the tanks and barrels or scrubbing and hosing down the equipment and valves, the rinse water flowing into the channel-like drain that ran the entire length of the processing room’s concrete floor.

They crossed the open area in the front of the winery where Mia wanted to set up a tasting room. A wall of thermal glass divided the space. On the other side was the “cave”—the wine cellar—where large French oak barrels lay in neat rows.

Leo and Johnny were inside the cellar, waiting for them. Spying Mia and him, they waved.

Mia pointed to a large dog bed. “Go lie down, Bruno,” she said. The number of beds for Bruno had multiplied since Mia brought home her very lucky dog.

Bruno ambled over and stepped on it. He circled four
times, then sank down onto the corduroy-covered foam and began to gnaw one of the dozen nylon bones Mia had purchased along with a miscellany of toys.

“Good boy,” Mia said with a smile.

Bruno looked up, thumped his tail, and went back to gnawing. Reid was pretty sure the dog knew exactly how good he had it with Mia. He hadn’t gotten Quinn to admit it, but he was certain she’d scoured the rescue shelters to find Mia a perfect match. Already Mia loved the dog as if he were her baby.

She was going to be a terrific mother.

Whoa, where the hell was he getting these thoughts? They did
not
belong in his head.

Making sure none of his bizarre preoccupations showed in his expression, he greeted Mia’s cellar assistants. “Afternoon, Leo, Johnny.”

“Hey, Reid, you here to give your senses a treat?” Johnny asked. A cart was at the ready. It held wineglasses and a bunch of “thieves”—turkey-baster-like tubes used to siphon the wine out of the barrel’s bung-hole. Using a thief prevented air from entering the barrel and oxidizing the wine.

“That’s the plan,” he said.

“Sweet.” Leo nodded his bandanna-wrapped head amiably. “We’re all set, Mia. I’ll just grab a few more glasses for Reid.”

Reid was glad that Leo and Johnny had accepted his presence, though it had to be said that they were pretty mellow dudes, relaxed about everything—except when it came to the art of winemaking. But Paul and Roberto, older and gruffer, who’d worked the vineyard for far longer, seemed to be coming around, too. All four doubtless appreciated that Reid wasn’t stupid enough to try to tell them how to grow grapes or make wine. He only wanted to help them sell it.

That he’d repaired the road and saved their cars’ suspension and Leo’s bike tires helped.

Leo returned with more glasses and set them on the cart. “Here we go.”

“Thanks, Leo.” Mia smiled. “Shall we begin, gentlemen?”

There were all sorts of barrel tastings. Reid had been to a number, had even sampled aging wine with Thomas in this very cellar. Today’s tasting was different. Mia wasn’t just working. She was donning the mantle of winemaker. Like everything that happened in the vineyard, this would now be her domain. Hers would be the final decision in the handling of each barrel’s contents. And in two to three weeks, depending on the weather and how quickly her grapes ripened, she’d be running the harvest, overseeing every aspect of the process.

Apart from being astonished at Thomas’s gushing over his new love, Pascale, and being vastly irritated with his friend for giving Mia so little warning about his intention to decamp to France, Reid hadn’t given much thought to Thomas’s decision in terms of the timing of his departure.