Twice in a Blue Moon (6 page)

“Could we go over the financials later? I need to know where we stand so we can determine how many more employees we can afford to hire.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hope mingled with the dreams in her brown eyes before she walked away.

Lucky thing she didn't know what an unlikely hero she'd hired. But Indigo's enthusiasm was catching. Jitters gone, he walked into his office, his step light.

And for the first time in months, his spirits lifted from the floor of hopeless.

* * *

S
EVEN
HOURS
LATER
, Danovan returned the test tube of wine to the wire rack and jotted one last note. He'd found the testing equipment dusty and outdated. Apparently the last manager believed that tasting wine in large quantities was superior to using chemistry. And the wine quality showed it.

His stomach growled, protesting his decision to turn down his boss's lunch offer. But he'd been trying to get his arms around the production end of the business. He closed the spiral notebook. Time to fill her in on his armload of problems.

His steps echoed in the dim production building. No reason to burn lights in a deserted warehouse. The bottling line disappeared into gloom, and the fermenting tanks looked like boulders in a dark canyon. He passed through the barrel room into the lit-up tasting room. The long wood bar gleamed, the slate floor had been washed and there was not a cobweb or speck of dust to be seen. Looked like the retail employees had been busy. He flipped off the lights on his way out.

Pushing open the door to the private wing, he was surprised to find Indigo's office dark. Had she forgotten they were going to meet? Damn, he'd wanted to review those financials tonight.

As he walked to the door of his quarters, he figured he shouldn't have expected otherwise from a Hollywood A-lister.

Clang!
“Dammit!”

The sound came from across the hall. He pushed open the door to the long storage room.

All he could see of his boss was her jeans-clad legs. The rest was obscured by a stainless cylinder she lugged blindly across the floor.

He stepped forward. “Here, let me have that.”

She squeaked and dropped the fixture.

Luckily he made it there in time to catch it. “What are you doing?” He set the drum on the floor between them.

She put a hand to her chest. “God, you scared me.” With her other hand, she swiped hair out of her eyes. “Spring cleaning. This is going to be my yoga studio.”

An imprint of dirt streaked her reddened face and continued down her sweatshirt. Her smell bridged the gap between them—not sweaty, exactly, but more an intensification of her normal scent—earthy, natural. She must have been at this awhile, because the room was empty save this drum. Maybe he should rethink his A-lister assumptions. “Why didn't you ask for help?”

“Because what you were doing was more important than manual labor, which is about all I'm qualified to do.”

“Well, next time, come get me. This is heavy.” He lifted the drum. “Where do you want it?”

“Just out in the hall for now.” She held the door for him.

He set it to the side of the exit door and dusted his hands. “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“I'm starving. But it's too late for a run to town.” He tipped his head to the apartment door. “You leave anything to eat in there?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. I'll make us something. Come on.” He unlocked the door with the key she'd given him earlier.

She hovered on the doorsill a few seconds. Then, as if making up her mind, she stepped in, brushing by him. “Danovan, why don't you get your things from your car? By the time you're done, I'll have food ready.”

Good as her word, once he'd brought in the last armload of books, Indigo had soup and sandwiches on the small table.

“Looks great. Thank you.” He held out a chair for her then sat opposite.

“It's just grilled cheese, and soup from a can.”

“Sounds good to me.” He took a bite of the sandwich. The bread was tangy and crunchy, the cheese rich and hot. “Hmm. This doesn't taste like any grilled cheese I've ever had.”

“It's rye, with sharp cheddar and Swiss cheese. I used to make it all the time for...” Her lips twisted in a spasm. Then it was gone. “I used to make it all the time.”

“Well, it's damned good.”

“Thanks.” She sipped a spoonful of soup. “I called the unemployment office today, and I'll have a couple of warehouse workers interviewing tomorrow. I'm hoping one man can handle both stock and shipping. We can't afford specialists at the moment.”

“Good thinking.”

“How are we doing from your viewpoint?”

He took a bite to avoid answering. He didn't want to ruin her dinner. Besides, he didn't have the whole picture yet. He swallowed.

He saw that look of hopeful watching.

She's your boss. You owe her the facts.

But that look made him hold back.

He couldn't help it. He loved women. Not necessarily in a lustful way, though there would be many who would dispute that. He just appreciated the gender. From toddlers to little old ladies, he was endlessly fascinated by the way their minds worked, so differently from his. He loved their organizational and multitasking abilities. He loved their delicate bones and envied their mental strength. He loved their softness, their chattiness, their smell.

He loved their smell.

“Well?”

“Do you mind if we discuss that tomorrow after I've reviewed the financials? I'd like to have the complete picture before I make suggestions for expenditures.”

Her brows pulled together, a sure sign of the worry he was trying to save her from.

He shifted in the chair.

“Okay. But first thing tomorrow, right?”

With his finger, he traced an X over his heart. “If you'd like, I can make out a list of things to be done.” He knew that would appeal to her bookkeeper soul. “I'll prioritize it.”

She picked up her spoon. “Good.”

They ate in silence for a minute.

“Why wine?”

He looked up. “You mean, as a career?”

She nodded. “Is your family in the industry?” Her tone was casual, but she didn't fool him.

She's digging
.
She doesn't trust you.

“Hardly.” He wiped his lips with the napkin. “My father is a federal appeals-court judge, and my mother is the headmistress of a girls' prep school in Georgetown. My brother is a Wall Street trader, and my sister is a partner in a big CPA firm in Seattle.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, no pressure being the youngest swimming in that gene pool.” Seeing she was done, he lifted both their plates.

She started to rise.

“I'll get the dishes and cleanup. It's my apartment now, after all.” He carried the dishes to the sink. “I didn't like school much as a kid. Didn't get why I had to know about ancient Greece and quadratic equations.” He located the dish soap under the sink. “But I always loved growing things. My mom says I drove the gardeners nuts, digging up the daffodils as a toddler.” He ran the water until it was hot, then plugged the sink, squirted in some detergent. “The wine bug hit in high school. My parents appreciated a nice red and it turned out I was lucky to be born with a sensitive palate.” He started with their dinner plates. “I was subscribed to
Wine Enthusiast
by tenth grade and couldn't wait until I could legally attend wine tastings.”

“I'll dry.” Indigo walked up, a kitchen towel in her hand. “I've heard high school drinking stories, but they didn't sound like that.”

He rinsed a plate and handed it to her. “You ‘heard.' Does that mean you didn't drink in high school?”

“I mean I didn't attend high school. I grew up on a commune in northern California. I was homeschooled. Nothing but natural, healthy living.”

He started on the soup pot. “Somehow that doesn't surprise me. You have a natural look about you. Sounds like an idyllic childhood.”

“It was.” Her smile was happy and sad all at the same time. “But, trust me, I made up for it later.”

“In Hollywood?” He wondered what was behind that bittersweet smile, but it winked out.

“Oh, I almost forgot the financials.” Her words came out snipped off at the ends. She wiped her hands on the towel and dropped it on the counter. “I'll go get them.”

Then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

Well, there's a no-fly zone if I ever saw one.
He finished the dishes and rummaged in the cabinets until he found where they all belonged.

She rapped on the door, pushed it open, but didn't step in. She reached across the small space to hand him a slim file folder. “Here you go. I've got to get back to the cabin and feed Barney. I'll see you in the morning.” She turned away.

“Hang on. It's pitch black out there. I'll walk you home.” He reached for his jacket.

“No, I've got it covered.” She waved a flashlight.

“It's no bother. I don't feel good about—”

“Look.” She put a hand on her hip. “I'm not helpless, or incompetent. I'm capable of walking a hundred yards in the dark by myself.”

He raised his hands. “Yes, ma'am.”

She turned and marched down the hall.

He closed the door. Better this way. He didn't need to know what shaped the soft and hard edges of Indigo Blue in order to work for her.

But he wondered, just the same.

CHAPTER FIVE

“U
NHHH
.” I
NDIGO
COLLAPSED
in a heap on her yoga mat, paying for neglecting her morning routine. The Firefly Pose, one of her favorites, was now beyond her.

Barney just watched, head on his thick paws.

She untangled her arms and legs to lay with her head on her hands, two inches from his nose. “That's it, Barn. Starting today, we're back on our workouts.”

He licked her face.

She swiped her cheek then sat up. “Yeah, I know you like them.” Why shouldn't he? She'd logged a ton of miles jogging the Hollywood hills, hauling him behind her in a wagon. “Lucky for you, I found a wheelbarrow in the junk from what will be my yoga room. I actually think it'll work better than our wagon. We'll try it out tomorrow.” She pushed herself to her feet. “We'll get weird looks, but we're used to that, right?” That was saying something. She'd been considered odd in Hollywood, where eccentricity was an art form.

She padded to the kitchen to make a latte. Luckily, her espresso maker had been a Christmas gift from Harry, so the Wicked Witch couldn't claim it. Starting today, it would be the only indulgence she allowed herself. She closed her eyes as the milk began to steam, the sound propelling her back to the mornings when she'd make two. She and Harry would drink them while they traded sections of the paper in bed. Her dream ended with a last hiss and sputter.

The coming sun was only an aura on the horizon. As she stepped barefoot onto the wood boards of the porch, the crisp air hit her exposed skin and damp leotard. Shivering, she set the cup on a small wood table and scooted back inside to grab a sweater. Barney trotted ahead on the return trip, then down the stairs to examine the vines that began ten feet from the porch. She settled in the Adirondack chair, pulled her legs up, wrapped the bulky sweater around her knees and took a deep breath of dirt and early morning air.

It doesn't get any better than this.

She sipped her coffee, and hope rose with the progress of the sun. Doubtless the day would bring more worries to pile on the old. But right now—in this moment—her jumble of emotions bowed before the perfect day. The home that Bob built at her back, Harry's sweater wrapped around her and the view of the grapevines they'd all loved sent tendrils of peace spreading through her core, unfurling in her dark, empty places. She savored it, trying to trap the feeling inside for later, when she'd need it.

Maybe it would all work out; she just needed to give it time to—

“Holy shitballs!” Danovan popped from behind a grapevine four rows in to her left.

“Jesus, dog!”

* * *

W
HEN
SHE
RECOVERED
from surprise, she called, “Barney, come!” The thump of big feet came closer and, ears flapping, her laughing dog barreled around the last row, vaulted the steps and skidded behind her chair. “What happened?”

Danovan strode to the end of the row, annoyance plain on his face. “Damned dog stuck his cold nose in my crack!”

She couldn't help it. Hiding her face in a fistful of sweater, she giggled. “Shitballs? Really?”

His face turned a shell pink that matched the last tint of sunrise at the horizon. “Sorry.”

After a final indelicate snort, she forced herself to stop. “Thanks for the laugh. Feels like I haven't done that in forever.”

Today he wore a blue jacket and his jeans were dark below the knee, stained with dew. He stopped at the rail of the porch and leaned on it. “Can't you keep that mutt on a leash?”

“Aw, Barney was just being friendly.”

“Well, he and I don't know each other well enough to be on butt-sniffing terms.” And from his tone, they never would be.

“You don't like dogs?”

“Not particularly.”

How could you trust a man who didn't like dogs? “Whyever not?”

“They're always jumping on you, wanting attention. They're just so...easy.”

“You have a problem with easy?”
Not from the way I've seen women react to you.

Though she had to admit, she could understand the attraction. Something about the hardness of the planes of his face and the softness of the look in his eyes as he surveyed the rows tugged at her. That and the sadness clinging to him...

He turned toward her and stared straight at her. There were gold flecks in his eyes. And interest.

She snatched her gaze away. It wasn't as easy to do as it should have been. “Never mind.” She put her feet down. “You want coffee?”

“No, thanks. I've got to get—”

“I'm talking fresh brewed latte.” She waved her cup. Barney walked from behind the chair, tail waving. She put a hand on his silky head. “Besides, Barney insists. He's sorry.”

The corner of Danovan's mouth lifted. “Well, maybe one.”

“Come on up and have a seat while I get it.”

Holding the sweater closed, she opened the screen door and stepped in. She kind of owed him after cutting him off at the knees last night. But when he'd pushed...she'd balked. The cabin was so isolated and it had been dark. She didn't really know Danovan DiCarlo.

She cleaned out the press, refilled it and snapped it back into the machine. While the coffee brewed, she ran to the bedroom and threw on sweat pants, a sweatshirt and fluffy slippers. She refused a look in the mirror on her way out of the bedroom. After all, he wasn't a guest. He was an employee.

From his glance when she returned, he noticed the quick change. She handed the latte over the porch rail. “Don't you want to sit?”

The cup almost disappeared in his long-fingered hand. “I'm good here, thanks.”

Had he picked up her fear last night? Or was he worried about keeping a professional relationship? “Any time. Nothing better than enjoying this view with a latte.”

“You're right about that.” He sipped, studying the vines like a king surveying his kingdom. “I love the peace I get from checking my vines as the sun comes up.”

The willpower she'd discovered this morning gathered in her upper chest, hardening, pushing back her shoulders to make room. His proprietary gaze on her vines flash-froze that willpower into crystals of resolve.
His kingdom, only for now.
“Can I get those textbooks from you today?”

He turned to her, the tiny tilt of his head conveying surprise. “Sure thing.”

She was eager to discuss the state of the business, but wouldn't do it in slippers. “I'm going to catch a shower. I'll meet you in your office in, say, twenty minutes?”

* * *

T
WO
HOURS
LATER
, Danovan looked from his list to his boss. The downward tilt of her eyes gave her a perpetually sad look, but as he recited the winery's long list of problems, her face changed to an expression as mournful as her dog's.

She dropped her head onto the desk. “It's hopeless, isn't it? You can tell me. I can take it.”

He snorted. “Yeah, you look like you can take it. But luckily, you won't have to. This is all fixable.”

She lifted her head, disbelief narrowing her eyes. “Really?”

“With a lot of work.”

Her shoulders lost some roundness. “I'm not afraid of work.” She leaned back in the chair.

Those smooth, manicured hands were testament to what she considered work. Most likely her former “work” was planning Hollywood parties and supervising housekeeping staff. But that opinion he'd keep to himself. “Good. That'll help.”

He stood and stepped to the white marker board behind him. He uncapped the black marker and made three columns. “Let's categorize and prioritize the most time-critical items, so we can make a plan.” He wrote WINE at the top of the first column. “Last year's product has faults.” He pointed the marker at Indigo. “Not flaws. You'll learn in the wine chemistry book I loaned you that faults are repairable. Flaws go down the sewer.” He wrote the first bullet point. “Our merlot is not acidic enough, the Chardonnay is too acidic. Thankfully it's in the final racking stage and not yet bottled. I can fix this in a day. We'll add more items to this list, but this is the most time-critical.”

He moved to the second column and wrote VINES at the top. “We need to aerate the soil and fertilize. Like, yesterday.” He wrote the bullet point. “I haven't found any fungus, but we have to keep a close eye on the humidity and the water content of the soil. But first, there's the cleanup we talked about the other day.” She scribbled more notes. “This should already have been done, and we have no vineyard rats.”

“At least there's
some
good news.” She shuddered. “I hate rodents.”

He covered a smile with his strict teacher's glare. “Those are employees. We call the vineyard workers rats.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “And I suppose we have to pay that species?”

He turned back to label his third column, RETAIL. “Sales are down. We'll need a marketing plan and an advertising budget.”

She leaned forward in the chair and propped her forearms on the paper-strewn desk. “That's something I
can
do.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Marketing or a budget?”

“Both.” She didn't buff her fingernails on her shirt, but the pride in her voice was the equivalent.

A Hollywood showcase wife/marketing exec/accountant?
Either she was delusional, or there was more to Indigo Blue than could be found in a Tinseltown gossip rag.

“I'll rough out a budget, Danovan, but I'll need your requirements for the first two columns.” She closed her notebook. “That'll determine my budget for the last column.”

“What do you say we circle back this afternoon? I'll do some research and have the numbers for you then.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She stood, eyes on the marker board. “I'll see you later.”

* * *

I
NDIGO
KEPT
HER
head up walking out, but once out of view of Danovan's glass-fronted office, her feet slowed, dragging cement blocks of hopelessness. She remembered driving here, going north along the coast, envisioning walking amid the sun-kissed vines, wearing gardening gloves, a floppy hat and a swingy skirt, a wicker basket over her arm.

How naïve she'd been.

Well, I'll just have to learn faster.
She forced her spine straight.
It's important for the owner to project confidence.

She traversed the barrel room. At least here there were signs of progress. Through the window-wall she could see the tasting room; clean, light and airy, the high wood-beamed ceiling and slate floor gave a welcoming look.

We have customers!
Her step lightened. She pushed open the door. An older couple stood at the bar, heads bent, listening to Natalie while sampling wines. A bright flash of color on the porch caught her eye. A group of spandex-clad bicyclists sprawled in the chairs on the porch, laughing and talking.
There must be fifteen of them!
Her smile started in her chest and rose to her mouth.

Sondra slipped from behind the bar and glided over.

Indigo even smiled at her. “Well, it's a start, no?”

Sondra gave her a condescending look. “Two customers hardly constitute a start.”

“But...” Indigo pointed to the porch.

“They're not customers. They're resting from their ride. Bicyclists drink Gatorade, not wine.” Sondra had turned releasing a long-suffering sigh into an art form. She put a hand on her waist. “What do you plan to do about this? It's hardly worth our time, waiting on two customers every four hours.”

Cables cut, the elevator of joy in Indigo's chest plunged. But an identical one full of indignation rocketed. “I'm working on that. Any suggestions you or your staff have would be appreciated. It would also help if you'd begin spreading the word in town that The Widow is open for business again.”

Sondra's lips tightened.

“And in the meantime, I am paying you, even if it is to wait on only two customers every four hours.” Indigo slammed her mouth shut before she could vent more frustration; she turned and strode for her office.

She couldn't work on a budget until she spoke with Danovan again. So she picked up the first tome on the large stack that he'd left on the edge of her desk.

The Chemistry of Wine
. She rifled through pages filled with atomic diagrams and twenty-letter words. “Not titillating, but if this is what it takes...”

When she settled in her chair, Barney whined from his bed in the corner.

“I don't know what you're complaining about. I'm not making you read it.”

Three hours later, the grinding of her stomach pulled her attention from the book. She finished a note, laid down her pen and stretched. She was pretty proud of herself. Skirting her way through the hard-core chemistry and dry-as-dust prose, she'd managed to glean a basic understanding of flaws, faults and fermentation. She put her notes in her stopping place and closed the book. “Barney, did you realize that 2,4,6-trichloroanisole is responsible for cork taint? Who knew?”

Barney yawned.

“Don't you dare go back to sleep.” She lifted her purse from the drawer and the flyers she'd created from the desk. “We're going to town. We have things to do.”

She felt like a coward, but that didn't stop her from leaving by the side door to avoid the ninja throwing stars in Sondra's gaze. Those damned things cut deep, shredding her confidence, her dignity and her carefully constructed owner facade. Barney led the way around the back, and they jogged up the hill to the car like kids playing hooky.

Such a pretty day. The sun-dappled road wound under the trees, and when they broke out of the shade, the light almost blinded her. She grabbed her sunglasses and hit the button to lower the windows.