Twice in a Blue Moon (5 page)

“I
was
.” Delicate sniff. “I enjoyed working for Robert, but since his death the place has gone downhill to the point where I was embarrassed to admit I worked there.”

Robert?
Uncle Bob was salt of the earth. He was no more a Robert than Indigo was a Bambi. “Well, I intend to change that. I have already hired a new manager, and I was hoping you would agree—”

“Whom?”

“What?”

“
Whom
did you hire as manager?”

Indigo had heard that I'm-dealing-with-an-idiot tone before, but never from an employee. She might live in the country now, but the taint of Hollywood uppity was still fresh in her nostrils. And it burned. Dammit, she'd come here looking for some respect. Why rehire a snotty employee? Indignation filled her chest, squaring her shoulders. She took a breath to tell Sooondra to pound sand.

Then a shotgun blast of reality hit her inflated chest, and all the indignation bled out.
You need this woman.
A complete staff turnover was more than The Widow could survive right now. After all, Indigo didn't know enough about wine to interview, much less hire, competent serving staff, and Danovan wouldn't have the time to interview
or
train them. “Danovan DiCarlo is the new manager.”

“Oh, reeeally?”

She would have given quite a bit to know what caused Sondra's surprise, but damned if she'd ask this woman for gossip. Loosening her jaw muscles, she bit her tongue.

Sondra sniffed. “I suppose I could consider that, though I am contemplating several other opportunities.”

“I plan to honor Bob's dream to make The Tippling Widow wines the pride of the region. Surely, given your years of loyal service, you'd want to be a part of that?”

“I would. For a ten percent increase in salary.”

You can't afford it. Besides, she's bluffing.
Indigo's gut told her she was right. She put a hand to that notoriously unreliable part of her anatomy.
But what if she's not?
You sure don't have the knowledge to do the job.
Not yet, anyway.

Sondra broke into her thoughts. “I'm waiting to hear about another position. Why don't I just call you back next week?”

One big mistake at this point could be the weight that sank The Widow. Figures streamed through Indigo's mind. “I'll give you five percent more, but only if you can convince the rest of the serving staff to return.”

Another haughty sniff. “They will follow wherever I lead.”

Without choke collars?
“Good. Contact them and all of you report for work at...” Blood pounded to her cheeks. “What time do you usually start?”

“Nine-thirty. The doors open promptly at ten.”

“I'll see you then, Sand—Sondra.”

“You will.”
Click.

Indigo stared at the dead phone, then dropped it onto the desk. Bob had made running the winery seem effortless, yet she'd not encountered one easy task since she'd set foot on the property. Well, hopefully that would change tomorrow when the new manager showed up. She imagined Danovan DiCarlo galloping up the drive on a white steed, skidding to a stop at the porch steps.

She snorted.
Like I'm some damsel in distress.
She glanced out at the empty porch. The cobwebs swayed in the breeze, and trash fluttered in the weeds. The tasks she was capable of doing could fill several pages of lists, but the ones she was incapable of could fill a book the size of Webster's dictionary.
Okay, so I am in distress. But it's not going to be a chronic condition.

She'd only need all of them—Danovan, Sondra and her crew—until she got her feet under her and some experience. Then, if any of them weren't working out, she'd fire them and start over.

The vow soothed her chapped ego. “Hey, Barn. Wake up.”

The dog opened droopy eyes.

“How'd you like a hamburger? We have to shovel out the cabin yet, but we need a break.”

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the gravel parking lot of the barn-red, low-slung building that the wooden sign declared The Farmhouse Café. She parked, turned off the engine, then sat frozen, watching two ghosts walk to the glass entrance door. The painfully young woman smiled up at the much older man as if he held the secret to life and was about to bestow it upon her.

Her savior. Her love. Her Harry.

In the suddenly too-hot car, the older but not much wiser woman sat mesmerized, swamped by yearning.

Harry's long gray hair was held in his signature ponytail, and his face was saddle-brown with white lines from squinting into location suns. The couple was too far away for Indigo to see his eyes, but she didn't need to. She remembered the sky-blue sparkle that had always been there just for her.

Harry had never seen her as the tainted mess he'd stumbled upon that horrific morning. He'd just picked her up, washed her clean and treated her like she was something special—like a diamond that someone had dropped in mud. And because he'd believed it, over time, Indigo was able to believe. Because of that look in his eyes.

The python of grief in her chest writhed, constricting her heart, squeezing a sob from her throat. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, trying to charm the snake back to sleep.

A cold nose nudged her elbow, burrowing until Barney's head lay in her lap. He let out a long sigh that ended in a whine.

She ran her hand over the velvet head. “We are truly a mess, Barn.” She leaned back in the seat. “This place has great cheeseburgers. What do you say we drown our sorrows in some grease?”

When she looked up, the ghosts were gone. She snapped a leash on Barney's collar, gathered him in her arms and clambered out. Not a graceful exit, but Barney's legs were too short to jump out on his own. Together they crossed the almost deserted parking lot to the door the ghost couple had entered.

She slipped the leash over a metal post at the entrance. “Sit, Barn. I'll be back with your burger in a few.”

A bell clanked against the glass door when she pulled it open and stepped into chilled air laden with the smell of bacon. Looking around, she noted the silvered wooden floor, the old pot-bellied stove in the corner—and the fact that she was the lone diner. Except for the ghosts, who sat in the booth by the window.

She turned away and walked to the long Formica bar with chrome and red vinyl stools. The cook's window framed a happy picture—a large man, white T-shirt riding up his ripped biceps, bent a blonde woman over his arm, kissing her. No, not kissing—consuming her.

Indigo's heart stuttered, then pounded heat through her: the base of her throat, beneath her breasts, at the back of her knees. A wicked whiplash of jealousy bit deep, and yearning spread, burning like alcohol on the cut.

She must have made a noise, because the couple turned their heads. They separated, and the woman put a hand to her poofed-up French twist.

“Oh, hello.” She trailed long nails down the man's throat, and Indigo saw his shiver. With a last private smile that said she knew exactly what that did to him, the blonde walked away, entering the restaurant through a swinging door. She smoothed her hands over the too-tight-to-wrinkle white pantsuit, her cheeks only slightly pink. “Hon, before you go getting the wrong idea, we're married.” She flashed a Hollywood-worthy smile.

Indigo slipped onto a stool. “Hey, don't mind me.”

“Welcome to the Farmhouse. I'm Jesse, and that sexy hunk back there is Carl.”

The giant waved a hand in her general direction, but ducked his head, suddenly busy, a bit pink in the cheeks himself.

“You're not from around here, are you, hon?”

“I am now.” Indigo snatched a menu from behind the napkin dispenser.

“Well, Widow's Grove is a great town. I'll bet you'll like it here.” She tilted her head and tapped a long carmine nail on her cheek. “You look familiar.”

“My husband and I used to eat here.” She resisted the urge to glance to the booth behind her. “Years ago.”

“Well then, welcome back...” Jesse raised a blond eyebrow.

“Indigo. Blue.” Seeing the cogs turning in Jesse's eyes, she ducked her head to scan the menu. “Could I have a veggie omelet?” The smell of bacon taunted her. “No, wait. Make that a bacon cheddar omelet.” She closed the menu, vowing to eat better—tomorrow. “And could I also get a hamburger patty without the bun for my best guy out there?” She glanced to the door, where Barney sat patiently waiting, watching her every move.

“Oh, what a cutie! Of course you can, hon.”

“Coming up,” the giant in the kitchen window said.

“Let me guess. You're settling in Widow's Grove because you missed our great cooking, right?” Jesse smiled, leaned a hip on the counter and waited.

Oh, she's good.

Indigo should know—she'd been grilled by the best reporters in Hollywood. Jesse's down-home style was much easier to take. She couldn't help but return the smile. “Only partially. I'm the owner of The Tippling Widow Winery.”

“You are?” Jesse's full lips pursed. “We were so sorry to lose Bob. He was a good man. One of the old guard around here. Did you know him well, hon?”

“Yes.” Indigo knew a small-town gossip when she saw one. She wasn't discussing her relations with a stranger. Especially since it would lead back to Harry. The snake in her chest shifted, and she rubbed her breastbone to settle it back to sleep. She took a breath and focused forward instead of back. “I'm going to make The Tippling Widow a winery Bob could be proud of again.” Local rumors spread fastest. The Widow's troubles wouldn't be news here.

She looked up just in time to see the tumblers fall into place in Jesse's eyes. “Oh.” Sympathy replaced curiosity. “Harry Stone is—was—”

“Hamburger's up, Jess.” The Nordic hunk slid a small plate through the window.

Jesse retrieved the dish and set it on the counter.

“Excuse me.” Indigo grabbed the hamburger patty and hustled out the door to deliver it to Barney.

Dammit, she'd hoped to make a new start here, where no one knew her. She should have known better. Her name was so distinctive and Harry so famous... Squatting, she set the plate in front of Barney. He wolfed the burger, tail whipping.

Funny how it was easier to deal with Hollywood's ire than to endure sympathy from a well-meaning stranger.
On the flipside, if this woman is the gossip you think she is, she'll pass the word, and at least you won't have to explain to everyone you meet.
She stood and forced herself to grasp the door, wishing she could snatch Barney's leash and trot to the car.

CHAPTER FOUR

W
HEN
THE
ANTIQUE
clock over the mantel gonged twice, Indigo dropped the floor brush into the bucket and pulled off her rubber gloves.
Two in the morning and I still have to make the bed.
She sat back on her heels at the edge of the bathroom floor, then pushed to her feet. At least she had a fresh bed to fall into. She dug a knuckle into the cramping muscle in the small of her back. She'd earned it hauling the mattress in from its airing on the porch.

Her hard work had paid off. She walked into the great room of Uncle Bob's cabin, proud of the warm glow of lamplight on clean paneling. Someone would have to be hired to haul away the mountain of crap she'd tossed out the back door, but she'd worry about that tomorrow.

Burnished copper-bottom pots once again hung where they belonged over the stove. The starched gingham curtains were pulled back from a window that worked as a mirror, reflecting the room. After a rocky start, losing her breakfast after touring the bathroom this afternoon, her mood had lightened with every room she restored. Her body ached, and she might have to burn these clothes, but she'd been right—this was her job to do.

She ran a hand over the wooden grapes in the hand-carved mantel. “Welcome home, Uncle Bob.”

* * *

A
T
EXACTLY
NINE
-
THIRTY
that morning, a woman strode through the door of the tasting room, two women in her wake.

Sooondra.
She was willowy as a Lladró porcelain. Her perfectly straight ash-blond hair fell to the middle of a butt sculpted, no doubt, by hundreds of Pilates sessions. Her tasteful pencil skirt and crisp white tailored blouse were all business, and the high heels that tapped a staccato beat across the wood floor made the elegant line of her leg even longer. Her face was a juxtaposition of soft and hard that made it difficult to look away. Wide-spaced elongated eyes over sleek, soft cheeks ended in a chin that could slice paper. Stopping in front of Indigo, she flipped a sheaf of hair over her shoulder with a smooth, precise move. She looked like an Afghan Hound at a Westminster show: aloof, entitled, untouchable.

She sniffed and glanced around. “Well, it's still standing.”

Well, la-de-da. Ms. Perky Ass has arrived.
Indigo gritted her teeth in what she hoped looked like a smile. “It's a bit rough, but the cleaning crew won't be here until next week, so our first job will be getting this place ready for business.”

Sondra looked down her long nose. “You do not expect serving staff to do manual labor.”

Indigo shrugged, holding her hands out to the empty room. “I don't see any customers to serve, do you?” She dusted her hands, then offered one to shake. “I'm Indigo Blue. You're Sondra, obviously. Will you introduce me to your coworkers?”

Sondra shook the ends of Indigo's fingers, then turned, displaying the women behind her with a game show model's flourish. “This is Natalie Baddorf.” A petite brunette in soft camel slacks and a white blouse just like Sondra's, tipped her head. “She's a wine professional and server. Her expertise is eclipsed only by my own.” She turned to her other minion. “And this is Becky Stiles, the salesperson for the gift shop, and my cashier.”

My cashier?

Becky looked like a copper penny among diamonds, a fresh-faced redhead with a dusting of freckles across her nose. She smiled then burst forward to give Indigo's hand a firm shake. “I'm glad to be back, Ms. Blue.”

This could be a strong team.
Sondra and Natalie's expertise and high class would impress the wine aficionados, and Becky's charm and girl-next-door looks would keep newbies from being intimidated. “I'm glad to meet you all. We're going to have to roll up our sleeves because it's up to us, along with our new manager, to turn The Tippling Widow into a winery Uncle Bob would be proud of.” She lifted from the bar three dark green aprons with the winery's logo across the breast: the name in script, with the
I
's
in
Tippling
and
Widow
the stem of a wineglass. “And we're starting today.” She handed out the aprons, then slipped the last one over her own head, crossed the strings behind her and tied them in front.

Sondra's chin lifted, and she eyed the apron in her fingers with an arched brow.

This was the moment Indigo had worried over. And over. If Sondra wouldn't follow orders, this wasn't going to work. What would happen then, Indigo didn't want to contemplate. Uncle Bob had trusted these women, and Indigo didn't have the knowledge to even interview for these positions. She stilled herself, though she could almost hear the stress humming through her like electricity in a high line.

Natalie and Becky stood holding the aprons, watching their boss's cue for what to do next.

Sondra gave a theatrical sigh. “We can't work in this filth, regardless.” She dropped the apron on the bar. “I won't need this to supervise.” She glanced at her charges and clapped her hands. “Well, ladies, what are you waiting for? We don't have a minute to spare if this tasting room is going to be fit for customers.”

Barney's collar jingled when he trotted into the room.

“Is that a
dog
?” Sondra made it sound like
cockroach
.

Barney skidded to a stop at Indigo's feet, and she leaned over to play with his ears. “This is our mascot, Barnabas. Barney to his friends.”

“Oh, how cute!” Becky bent to pet him.

“Do not touch that. You cannot have an animal in the serving room. It's a clear health-code violation.”

“It's an FDA recommendation, not a hard rule. It's up to the owner's discretion.” She straightened and leveled a stare at Sondra. “And I'm the owner.”

The area at the base of Sondra's nostrils went white. Her gray eyes went dark. She stared back.

No one moved, even at the sound of boots clumping across the wooden porch.

“Hey, look who's here! My old pal Sandy.” Danovan strode up and enveloped Sondra in a huge hug. “I knew there was a beautiful woman missing from my life.”

Sondra air-kissed both his cheeks and smiled up at him. “Danovan DiCarlo, you big flirt. I should have known that if a woman inherited a winery, you'd be working there.”

He released Sondra as if she'd just scalded him. When he turned to Indigo, his cheeks were pink. “Reporting for duty, Ms. Blue. Er—Indigo.”

He wore nothing special: suede boots, chinos and an ivory cotton button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled on his tanned forearms. But he still managed to look like a cover model with his sexy eyes, a crooked smile and the testosterone that he wore like cologne.

Indigo pulled herself from the shock of seeing Sondra tease. “Morning, Danovan. Let's go to my office to talk.” She turned to Sondra and her entourage. “Nice meeting you, ladies. We'll catch up later.” She led the way across the floor to the wooden door marked Employees Only. He was there to open it before she could reach for the handle.

She felt back in control once she sat behind her desk. Danovan took the office chair. “You're a friend of Sondra's?”

The incredulity must have bled into her tone, because he smiled. “She and I worked together at another winery. Sandy's a pussycat.”

She blew back her bangs. “So is a panther, but I wouldn't want to try to pet one.”

He laughed.

With his charm, he probably
could
tame a wildcat. “Let's get started.” She gathered her bullet list of questions from the desk. “Since I'm not even sure where to begin, I think it best if I just shadow you for now, don't you?”

“That's a good idea.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I'd like to inspect the vines first, then move on to the production facility. Before anything else happens, I need to assess where we are so we can put together a plan to get The Widow back on her feet. All right?”

“I'm right behind you.” She stood. “Oh, by the way, the manager's quarters are clean and ready for you to move in.”

“Thank you. I'll do that after work today.” He stood and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

* * *

H
E
NOTED
A
fine tremor in her hand when she reached for her notes.
She hides it well, but she's nervous.
At least I'm not the only one.
Hopefully the last-chance jitters he put on with his clothes this morning would wear off as the day went on.

He led the way to the vines, noting the drainage, exposure and sheltering along the tree-lined border. It was obvious that Bob Stone understood grapes. Nurturing delicate vines was a labor of love that required a scientist's knowledge, a shaman's intuition and strong parenting skills. He squatted to inspect a vine, gratified to see strong bud nodes and new shoots while his boss rattled off facts she must've looked up since he last saw her.

“The vines are a hybrid with the European
Vitis vinifera
, which I understand to be a good thing.”

“The best. What else do you know?” He dug his fingers into the too-hard soil.

“Our grapes are Cabernet Sauvignon and merlot on the red side, and a Chardonnay on the white. Those are European. Uncle Bob was experimenting with a few American zinfandel varietals before he passed away.”

He grunted a reply and brushed dead leaves from the base of a vine to inspect for bugs.

“I think it looks pretty good out here, no? A little tidying maybe...” Her voice trailed off to a wish.

He brushed the dirt from his hands and straightened. His boss stood pen in hand, ready to make more lists. He hoped she'd brought enough paper. “It looks like nothing has been done since pruning last winter.” He gazed over the messy rows that sprawled down the slope of the hill. “The debris from last year's crop needs to be removed, and the soil tilled. We're already late putting up this year's trellis and tying the tendrils to it. All the support posts need to be tested and loose ones pounded back in. We need to put together a spray schedule for fungus and determine what fertilizer the soil needs. Do you know when the last soil analysis was done?”

She scribbled fast, her tongue caught between her teeth. “Um...soil samples?”

“Never mind. I'll find them. Let's go.”

She finished writing then jogged to catch up. He led the way to the covered outdoor grape crush pad and press, noting that they were at least clean. They wouldn't be used until the crop was harvested in the fall, but all looked in order.

When they reached the production facility, he held the door for her.

She ducked under his arm. “When I arrived ten days ago, the AC was out. Luckily, it had just happened.” She pointed to the ceiling. “The repairman finished replacing the whole thing earlier this week.”

Shiny aluminum ductwork snaked across the ceiling. “What'd it cost?”

She named a figure that was a third higher than it should have been.

He cleared his throat. “That is...”

She scanned his face with a look of innocent hopefulness, like a young girl who just asked for verification that there
was
a Santa.

“Fine.” He cleared the gruff from his throat. She would have enough to worry about by the time he was done. No need to make her feel bad about a decision that it was too late to rectify.

She led the way through the shipping area. Cardboard boxes stacked on pallets filled the floor.

“Where are your—our warehouse employees?”

She glanced to the empty shipping tables and the abandoned forklift beside them. “We'll have to hire some.”

“No shippers? Don't we have orders waiting to be filled?”

“Not so much.” She put her lists and her pen down on a case and turned to him. “Look. I'll be upfront with you. The last manager was a lazy drunk. The employees quit. I haven't asked around about our reputation, but the trickle of orders tells me what I don't want to know.”

She jammed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, which squared her shoulders. And pulled the green apron tight across her chest. “Getting The Widow in shape is going to take a lot of work. I know it. Now you know it.” Her chin came up. “But it'll be so worth it. I can tell you exactly what it's going to be like.” She looked off into the warehouse, but he was sure she wasn't seeing metal walls or new ductwork. “We'll have a pond in front with those fancy goldfish. Customers sipping wine on the front porch will be able to hear the ornamental waterfall. We'll have wedding receptions on the lawn. I'll teach yoga classes and aromatherapy and do massage.” Thick brown hair curtained her face when she ducked her head, but not before he saw her pink-stained cheeks. “I have ideas. I know looking at it now makes all this sound crazy. But this could be so much more than just a place to sell wine.”

“Well, with you and me working together, we'll make that dream happen.”

She had her aspirations. He had his. He imagined a dark bottle with a black label that read: DiCarlo Select Merlot.

He shook his head. This dreaming thing was contagious. “We'd better get started if we're going to get all that done.” He smiled at her and got a tentative one in return. She was a naïve dreamer, but damned if she wasn't a good-looking one.

Rein it in, DiCarlo. That's what got you in trouble last time.
He'd learned the hard way that work and women didn't mix.

He stopped at the glass wall of his office, overlooking the bottling line. He'd love to begin work in the adjoining lab, but first things first. “I'm going to find those soil sample reports and see what other information was left by the last manager.”

“All right. I'll be in my office, trying to scare up a couple of warehouse employees.”