Полная версия:
Michael's Father
“I can’t believe you kept this from me for nearly five years. Why?”
Cori didn’t answer, just stared down at her hands. How could she shut off her emotions like that?
“You got your thrills with me and paid the price.” Purposefully, he pushed. “What? I’m not even good enough for an explanation?”
Her head shot up, eyes shadowed in the moonlight. “Good enough?”
“Don’t pretend. I was just the field hand to you. A distraction you couldn’t tell your family about.” He struggled to slow down, but the words came out anyway. “Was it fun to slum around? Was it thrilling enough for you? Was it?” Blake grabbed Cori’s shoulders, needing her to admit she’d used him. “Are you ready for another dip on the wild side?”
Instead of waiting for an answer, he brought his mouth down on hers. A second later Blake jumped back to his side of the truck.
What had he done?
Dear Reader,
Have you ever experienced the Sonoma County wine country? If you have, you may have stumbled across one of the smaller, family-run wineries, met the owner (grower/winemaker), his wife (tasting-room hostess) and his teenage son (souvenir-stand clerk). It takes a dedicated family to make a privately owned winery prosper. Cori Sinclair belongs to one such family, the Messinas, whose winery has found some measure of success and expanded beyond a tasting room in their driveway.
Cori dreams of escaping the all-consuming commitment her family’s winery requires and wants to prove herself on her own terms. She doesn’t plan to fall in love with Blake Austin, a man in search of family and stability, whose career hinges on the support of Cori’s grandfather, Salvatore Messina, and staying in Sonoma. When Cori finally achieves her independence, it’s not as satisfying as she’d hoped. Coming home, Cori must face Blake, the man she left behind, the man she still loves, the man whose career she could destroy—if she tells her family the truth about Michael’s father.
I hope you enjoy Cori and Blake’s story. I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at P.O. Box 2596, Turlock, CA 95381 or through my Web site at www.MelindaCurtis.net.
Enjoy!
Melinda Curtis
Michael’s Father
Melinda Curtis
With much love and thanks to…
My patient and supportive family (Curt, Mason, Colby, Chelsea, Mom, Dad, Paul and John), who don’t mind waiting for calls to be returned or suffering through pizza and bagged salad instead of home cooking.
Brian and Andrea Skonovd, who shared their vineyard growing stories and advice. Any mistakes are mine alone.
Lori Green, Karen Johnson and Sigal Kremer, for encouragement, reading time and promotion ideas.
Valleyrose, the Sacramento chapter of RWA, who helped me put all the pieces together.
Susan Floyd, Anna Adams and Jennifer LaBrecque, fellow authors who shared laughter, tears and dreams. Do Believe, ladies!
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PROLOGUE
“YOU ARE not pregnant!” Salvatore Messina railed at his granddaughter’s announcement.
Cori Sinclair had never seen him so angry. And growing up in a household with three generations of Italians, she’d seen plenty of her grandfather’s anger. Suddenly, she regretted blurting out her plight just before her college graduation.
Out in the hallway, the voices of eager Stanford graduates rang through the air. Inside Cori’s room, Salvatore Messina’s Italian loafers marched a stormy cadence across the beige industrial carpet. Her grandfather’s stride was still as strong and obstinate as the eighty-year-old man himself. Standing over six feet, olive-skinned, with lightning silver hair and black eyes and dressed in unwrinkled charcoal slacks and matching jacket, Salvatore overwhelmed the small room.
“This kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen to us,” he proclaimed, adding something under his breath she didn’t quite catch.
Shrinking into a corner of a worn red couch, Cori tugged at the hem of her short, blue dress, forcing a weak laugh past her parched throat. Clearly, her grandfather assumed she was as invincible as he saw himself.
“It could happen to anyone.” Even to those who used condoms. Cori represented that rare statistic where the latex had failed.
When her grandfather didn’t immediately answer, Cori gathered her tattered courage and looked at him. His jaw was clenched as tightly as his fists. With relief, Cori realized his cast-iron gaze and frown were directed at the black graduation robe hanging above the couch she sat on.
She breathed deeply before swallowing what was left of her pride and apologizing, but just then a wave of nausea hit, sending Cori stumbling for the little private bathroom. This was a humbling experience she was starting to get used to.
As she pulled her head out of the toilet minutes later, a large, gnarled hand dropped to her shoulder, then tentatively stroked Cori’s spine. She took a deep breath, moved by the uncharacteristic display of affection. He removed his hand and she shivered, trying to find the strength to stand and face her problems.
The hand returned, lifting her and cleansing her face and neck with a wet cloth, demonstrating a gentleness Cori would never have expected from her grandfather. Eyes closed, she sighed and rested her head on her forearm.
This is how families are supposed to act.
For the first time in weeks, Cori’s spirits rose. Everything was going to be okay.
“You should have told me sooner,” her grandfather said quietly.
He couldn’t know how she’d agonized over how to tell her conservative, Italian family, and the baby’s father, about her predicament. Or how she’d watched her dreams of independence, which had seemed so close, slip away.
“It’s not too late to correct this.”
Cori gasped and lifted her head gingerly, not sure what she’d heard. Her gaze collided with her grandfather’s cold, black eyes and she realized he was proposing the unthinkable.
He wants me to have an abortion.
Footsteps and joyful conversation moved past Cori’s dorm room, heading toward the commencement ceremony. This wasn’t one of the lighthearted practical jokes her grandfather was known to pull on her. If there’d been anything left in Cori’s stomach, she would have given it up.
Unexpectedly, his dark eyes fell to the floor. “You’ll marry the boy.”
Cori’s heart sank, pulled by the combined weight of relief and dread. Relief because she’d misunderstood him, and dread because her grandfather’s statement made it sound as if a resolution were simple. But Cori knew better. Her grandfather was the founder of Messina Vineyards, one of the most prestigious wineries in Northern California. He’d built the winery all by himself, without the backing of venture capitalists, lawyers or movie producers. He’d succeeded by snaring those around him within his intricate plans for success, disregarding their personal goals or dreams while pursuing his own. If she allowed her grandfather to force her into marriage with her baby’s father, his life—all of their lives—would never be their own again. Proud and independent, her former lover would never forgive her. It would be a shell of a marriage, despite the love for him that she still guarded.
Rising unsteadily to her feet, Cori shook her head, unable to speak past the tangle of hurt and disappointment. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror, knowing what she’d see—a pale, straggly haired blonde with hollow cheeks and dull brown eyes that should be radiating happiness and hope for the future on this, her graduation day. Instead, everything about her was thin and sunken after two weeks of morning sickness.
On shaky legs, Cori almost made it back to the small red couch before Salvatore Messina spoke.
“I want you to consider this carefully, because I will not support a bastard.”
His words dropped heavily between them. A line was being drawn.
Slowly, Cori turned to face her grandfather, trapped by the determined look in his eyes, emphasized by silver brows drawn low.
“He doesn’t want me.” The words, no less than the truth, still had the ability to wound her. After the awful things she’d said to her lover, the hurtful way they’d parted, she was sure he never wanted to see her again. He certainly hadn’t called since the night their baby had been conceived. Cori was convinced that their love had blossomed at the wrong time. They were young; they each had goals. Goals that were too divergent for even love to overcome.
Cori hadn’t thought her grandfather’s expression could get any darker.
“Then, we’ll buy this baby a name. Everyone has his price.” Salvatore Messina pushed past Cori and began to pace the small room once more. “We’ll find his, just like we did with John Sinclair.”
“No.” Dismay guided Cori’s hands over the slight swelling of her belly as if she could cover the ears of the little one growing inside her. She’d picked up hints over the years that her grandfather and her long-estranged father, John Sinclair, hadn’t gotten along, but to have her grandfather confirm that Sophia and John Sinclair’s marriage had been forced shook Cori’s composure. Was that why John Sinclair left them without a backward glance, abandoning his young family and a promising career in the wine industry? Cori couldn’t let this happen to her—or to her baby’s father.
“History repeats itself,” Salvatore said, as if reading her thoughts. His pace quickened and his eyes speared madly about the room as if looking for a target. He pulled a slim, chrome cell phone out of his pocket. “You can’t represent Messina Vineyards on the wine tour this summer unmarried and pregnant. Tell me his name and I won’t totally ruin him.”
Cori drew an unsteady breath, knowing she couldn’t divulge his name now. Her grandfather didn’t make idle threats. Destroying someone’s career in the wine industry would be easy for him. He’d hound Cori until she slipped and told him what he wanted to know. How was she going to protect her former lover? Mama had intervened between Cori and her grandfather in the past. Cori grimaced, imagining the disappointed expression on her mother’s face when she realized Cori was repeating her mistakes. A forced marriage? No way. Yet what could she do?
And then Cori knew. There was only one way to protect everyone. But it would only work if Cori was brave enough to stand alone. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To finally be independent, not an appendage of Messina Vineyards? To make something of herself without standing in her grandfather’s shadow?
“There won’t be any unmarried pregnant women on the wine tour,” she said, hoping she could support her convictions, and follow her dreams.
“Good. It’s not the way of you young people, but it used to happen a lot. And in this case, it’s for the best.” Her grandfather took a deep breath and smiled at her. As smiles went, it wasn’t one of his warmer ones. “We’ll call the priest this afternoon, after the ceremony.”
He’d misunderstood her rebellious statement. “No, Grandfather. I’m having this baby alone.” Ignoring her roiling stomach, Cori drew herself up. “And I’m not going on the wine tour.”
His smile faded.
“I’ve taken a job in L.A. I start in two weeks.” Until that moment, Cori hadn’t found the courage to tell him she was accepting a job at a public relations firm. In fact, since she’d discovered her pregnancy, she’d all but given up on the job and her own goals. She just hadn’t had the heart to officially turn down the offer.
“Like hell you are!” His eyes found their mark. Her. “If you’re having that baby, you’ll be married and home where you belong.”
For the first time since Cori had admitted her condition, she felt the full force of her grandfather’s anger directed upon her. His scorching ire had her nearly breaking out in a sweat. Never having stood up to her grandfather before, Cori’s determination slipped. It would be so much easier to let him have his way. Her baby would never want for anything.
“Without me, you won’t be able to support that child alone in Los Angeles. You won’t see a penny from me.” He glared down at her, a triumphant smile on his face—as if he’d discovered her weakness. “His name, Corinne.”
Cori’s resolve wavered. What was she thinking? Single parenthood was going to be hard enough. How could she hope to launch a career at the same time? She did still love him. Maybe they could work out their differences. Maybe…
When she didn’t answer, her grandfather’s voice crackled with fire. “Didn’t you learn about birth control at any of those expensive schools I sent you to?” He waved a hand in the direction of her stomach. “Damn it, Corinne, I won’t stand by and see you ruin what I’ve built with this—this mistake of yours.”
“Ruin what you’ve built?” Cori’s words were a weak echo of Salvatore’s venomous declaration. “How could I possibly ruin what you’ve built?” In Cori’s estimation, nothing could shatter the success her grandfather had created. Certainly not an illegitimate great-grandchild.
Her grandfather leaned over Cori, his face coming within inches of hers. “Illegitimate babies tear families apart. This is a family venture, and you won’t destroy it because you let some boy have his fun. At least your mother recognized what she had to do.” Her grandfather pulled back and glanced at his Rolex. “Everyone’s waiting to see you graduate. Pull yourself together and meet me downstairs in five minutes. We’ll take care of this later.”
It took Cori a few minutes to collect herself after he left—a few minutes to try to erase the image of her grandfather walking out of her life.
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU’RE NOT HAPPY to see me.” Cori Sinclair could have sworn the house she’d grown up in stared down on her, dark and forbidding. “Maybe I’m not so happy to see you, either.”
It was a long time to be cast out of a family. Nearly five years had passed since that fateful day in June when her grandfather had issued his ultimatum. Since then, she hadn’t spoken to her grandfather, and had kept only limited, infrequent contact with her mother and brother, who were still as committed to the family business as she had once been. Her family’s dedication kept them immersed in the Messina Winery in Sonoma, California. For most of her life, Cori had thrived on that feeling of purpose and belonging. Until she realized she needed to prove herself on her own terms, without her grandfather’s guidance.
She wasn’t ready to face her past, wasn’t ready to step through the black, double doors into the depths of the three-story mansion with its multi-angled roof, dark-gray brick facings and coal shutters, wasn’t ready to step away from the small freedom her dented yellow Mustang represented. Cori hadn’t even been able to bring herself to park her car in the garage. She’d pulled up on the far side of the front entry as if she were a guest, then stood in the warm spring sun, waiting, fighting her dread, and wondering.
Cori’s gaze trailed away from the house, toward the main highway. The drive to the Messina compound was beautiful and winding, lined with ancient oak trees and rows of neatly tended grapevines just getting ready to burst forth with spring life.
Home. After so long, Cori still thought of this as home.
Cori bit her lip and, not for the first time that day, pondered her choice of attire. She’d wanted to wear something stylish and feminine for her mother, something to show her grandfather he didn’t control her anymore.
What had she been thinking to have donned the deep red, form-fitting sheath with its teasing neckline and short hem? Add the high-heeled, scallop-edged scarlet pumps she’d slipped into upon her arrival and there was no way Cori looked as if she’d come home to fit in with her conservative wine-making family.
But Cori wasn’t here to fit in. She had to remember that. She was here to help Mama, but was not home to stay.
Her boss Sidney, had approved her request to telecommute and reduce her public relations workload so that she could return home indefinitely. Cori had a successful career guiding public relations for several imported beer brands distributed by Bell-Diva, including Nightshade, the hottest beer in the clubs this year. It just about killed her to work outside the wine industry, but she couldn’t bring herself to work for another winery.
The sound of a door being opened drew Cori’s attention back to the house. She stiffened as she recognized the man closing the imposing front door.
He looked up toward the driveway, freezing for a moment when Cori came into his line of vision. Then his chin dropped slightly and he stared at her in a way that made her feel she had his complete attention. The gesture was so familiar that Cori’s heart immediately scaled up her throat. With effort, she forced herself to be calm, to look as if he were just another one of Messina’s field managers.
Despite his bulky work boots, fluid strides carried him closer. Her eyes drank in the changes to his body, easily discernible through his faded blue jeans and T-shirt. He’d filled out since she’d seen him last, but he was still lean and muscular. His red-brown hair, cut short on the sides, longer on top, glinted in the California afternoon sunlight.
“Miss Sinclair.” He stopped five feet away from her, hands on his hips as if he owned the place.
He was far enough away that she could tell things hadn’t changed between them, but close enough for her to note how his ice-gray eyes stroked impassively over her red dress, down her legs to her pumps and back over her dress…pausing in the area of her cleavage.
Maybe not so impassively.
For once, those ten extra pregnancy pounds she hadn’t shed didn’t seem so bad. With more courage than she had felt moments before, Cori met his gaze.
“Blake Austin, isn’t it?”
Blake’s jaw clenched. Cori allowed herself a small smile, then tossed a hand through her hair for good measure. She was, after all, the woman in red.
“Back for a visit after all this time?”
The bravado drained out of her. “You know why I’m back,” she replied flatly.
Blake glanced toward the house, then pinned Cori with his chilling eyes.
“She needs people around her to be strong.”
“And you think I’m not.” Smoothing her dress with her hands, Cori tried to hide the tremor of apprehension that made her knees weak. She questioned her own resolve. Am I strong enough to handle Mama’s cancer one more time?
Blake shrugged unapologetically. “If the shoe fits.” He glanced significantly at her red heels, then moved closer to the Mustang.
“You’re still driving this? What is it? Four years old?”
“Five.” It was the last car her grandfather had bought for her, a graduation gift. Living in Los Angeles, she’d been unable to afford anything else while paying exorbitant rent and day-care costs.
“Kind of passé, isn’t it?”
At least she knew now what he thought of her. Cori squared her shoulders. Blake didn’t know what she’d been through these past few years. “It runs great and it’s paid for.”
He snorted, irritating her.
“I bet you still drive that beat-up, old truck,” she snapped, regretting the words as soon as they spilled from her lips. The memory of Blake’s taut body, of tangled limbs and an ill-placed steering wheel suddenly made it hard to breathe.
His eyes held her gaze, and Cori’s entire body stilled. Silently, they acknowledged their shared past.
Blake broke the moment first, looking toward the car.
“I’ve never known a Messina to drive a car longer than two years. I know you can afford ten of these. Why are you really driving it? What, has it got crushed, red velvet interior or something?” Blake leaned into the open window for a closer look, his dark blue T-shirt caressing the lean muscles of his back as she once had done.
Belatedly realizing what Blake was about to find, Cori tried to stop him. “Don’t—” But she was too late.
A thin scream cut through the air.
Cori hadn’t planned to tell him like this. She wasn’t ready.
“Mommy, get me out! Mommy!”
The high-pitched plea startled Blake so much that he hit his head as he pulled out of the car. “What the hell?” He rubbed the back of his scalp with one hand.
“Mommy!”
“Coming, Michael.” She opened the door, then with practiced ease moved the passenger seat forward, reached in and released the belt on her son’s car seat. His little face was scrunched up, his eyes tightly shut. But Cori knew Michael considered himself awake. The sooner she freed him, the less likely Blake was to experience one of Michael’s tantrums.
“It’s okay, baby.” He’d only fallen asleep about thirty minutes before they arrived, which was one reason why she’d postponed braving the mansion. Cranky didn’t begin to describe Michael when he hadn’t slept a full hour.
Cori pulled him out and into her arms, guiding his head to her shoulder, away from Blake’s view. Michael settled easily against her, relaxed and content to be free. She rubbed his little back and kissed the crown of his head, familiar gestures meant to reassure her son.
“He’s yours?” Blake frowned at her, his eyes dipping to her legs.
“All thirty-five pounds of him.” Realizing her dress was riding up, she held Michael’s bottom away from her with one hand and smoothed her skirt with the other.
Cori blushed. Actually blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Of all the ways she’d imagined seeing Blake Austin again, flashing her panties hadn’t made the list.
“I heard about someone named Michael. I just…” His frown deepened.
“I’m not married. Never was, if that’s what you’re asking.” Where had that come from? Blake certainly wasn’t asking, much to her heart’s dismay.
She wasn’t ready for this. Granted, Michael was small for his age, so Cori didn’t think Blake would suspect the boy was his son. Heaven knows, he would be furious if he guessed the truth before Cori had a chance to tell him. She just wanted to tell Blake when things were right. Looking at his disapproving frown, she didn’t think this was the time.
Blake’s expression became closed and unreadable as the moment turned excruciatingly awkward. “And the kid…” Blake stepped to his left, craning his neck to see Michael’s face.
“Michael.” Cori stepped slightly back and away, her hand on Michael’s head as she shielded him from view. She didn’t like Blake referring to Michael as the kid.
Blake paused. Scratched his head.
Cori hadn’t been prepared for this kind of reception. So much for her fantasy of Blake seeing Michael and claiming them. Hugging Michael tighter, Cori fought back the tears. Only Michael mattered. And Mama. “Your point?”
Blake looked as if someone had sucker punched him, as if he didn’t know what to say. Then he blurted, “I wasn’t expecting a kid, that’s all.”
“His name is Michael,” Cori said through a throat so tight she struggled for air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see my mother and get settled.”
Cori stepped past Blake and marched with as much dignity as she could muster on high heels while holding thirty-five pounds of angel. She was practically bent over backward to keep her balance.
“Who is that man, Mommy? I don’t like him.”
“No one we need to worry about, Peanut.” Half of her wished Blake had heard her words.
