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“Now, Zoe,” Frank boomed. It was clear he had no need of a microphone—that voice of his resonated in Zoe’s bones without any kind of amplification. “It’s your turn to come up and say a few words about your grandfather.”
Zoe tried again, unsuccessfully, to take a deep breath. She waved him off, even as a spattering of applause began, encouraging her to take the microphone. Zoe had done plenty of public speaking, led talks in front of many large groups—wine appreciation societies in the main. But now? Invisible bands tightened around her chest and her heart skipped and thudded as if it were about to grind to a halt.
“Come on, Zoe. Everyone wants to hear from you. Just a few words. Come on, lass.”
“I—I have to get out of here…” she stammered to Patricia. “Fresh air…” She couldn’t breathe; the temperature in the room had just gone up ten degrees.
“Leave the girl alone, Frank,” Patricia called out. “She’s had enough to deal with today.”
She had to get away. Escape from the staring and the accusations and draw a breath. Zoe rushed from her seat and took a hurried step toward the nearest door. That was when the room blackened around her and her knees buckled.
CHAPTER THREE
HUGHHADBEENWATCHING proceedings from the sidelines. It had taken him a while to calm down his hot-tempered chef, furious that Hugh had sprung catering for a crowd of at least fifty on him with about ten minutes’ notice. And right before a fully booked dinner service, too. As the chef had railed about the insanity of the idea, Hugh had been on autopilot, placating him while at the same time he was internally agreeing with him.
He’d made up some rational-sounding reasons, but the whole thing was crazy. Why was he doing this? As a tactic to warm Zoe Waters to the idea of selling Waterford to him, it had already failed miserably—her reaction in the car had told him that as much as her forced smile from across the room did now. He couldn’t pinpoint why he’d thought it might work in the first place.
Mack Waters and he had certainly never been friends. The bitter enmity between Mack and Hugh’s father, Pete Lawson, hadn’t ended at his father’s death—it had simply been transferred to Hugh. And, if anything, Hugh had even more reason to dislike the stubborn old goat. The cantankerous-but-kind-at-heart-if-you-look-hard-enough man people were speaking of today was not someone Hugh had ever known. Mack Waters had been cranky, vengeful, rude and argumentative.
Hugh had gone out of his way to try to move on from the past, to offer assistance as it became clear that Waterford was foundering under Mack’s failing health. Mack hadn’t even pretended to listen.
It didn’t help that whenever he and Mack had tried to talk business they seemed to be stuck in a time warp. When they were forced to interact, Mack always treated Hugh as if he was still seventeen and Hugh found himself responding in kind. It frustrated him no end that no matter what he’d achieved in life—the money he’d made, the wine he’d created and sold around the world—as far as Mack was concerned, Hugh was still the boy who’d taken his granddaughter’s innocence.
Hugh had never bothered to correct him, but in truth it had very much been the other way around. Zoe Waters had been like a thrilling adventure park in comparison to Hugh’s sheltered upbringing and good-boy persona. She’d introduced him to sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll—not necessarily in that order. Mack Waters had made it clear that he blamed Hugh for Zoe’s troubles. How the old man didn’t see that those troubles had begun long before Hugh had come on the scene—and that Mack himself had had a significant role to play—Hugh would never know.
He gritted his teeth and surveyed the room of people cheerily drinking his wine, toasting the old man whose presence just across the fence line had cast a shadow over Hugh’s whole life. He wouldn’t be joining in the celebration. He’d get on with his life, just as he had all these years. And maybe now his long-held plans to possess the Waterford Estate would finally come to fruition.
There was just one fly in the ointment. She was sitting across the room from him right now, a strained smile on her face.
Watching Zoe, he was again struck by the difference between the wild child he’d known and the woman who appeared before him. A woman who, if she’d been anyone else, Hugh could admit he found attractive. Very attractive.
Her hair was its natural shiny brunette, none of the bright purple or fire-engine red she’d experimented with from time to time back at school. There were some lighter streaks in it now, probably the result of the California sunshine. Her makeup was restrained, no dark circles of kohl. She’d once liked to draw those on him, as well. She’d insisted it looked cool and that all the male rock stars wore makeup, but Hugh knew Tangawarra and knew that the town wasn’t ready for boys in eyeliner. He’d always washed it off before anyone else had seen.
A smattering of freckles had appeared across her nose—they were new. Otherwise, her skin was still the pale creamy porcelain that he remembered.
Very pale.
A surprising stab of sympathy for Zoe shot through him as Frank appealed to her to get up and speak. He knew she’d hate doing anything of the sort. When he looked across at her, the stark terror on her face sent an unexpected wave of protectiveness through him. Even as he told himself to stay out of it, he found himself stepping forward, about to take the microphone from Frank to save Zoe from the spotlight.
But then she stood up and the blood drained from her face. Hugh knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. It was just like that day right before she’d left town when she’d had fainted in the corridor—only this time he wouldn’t be carrying her to the school nurse.
In a few quick strides he was by her side, scooping her into his arms as her knees collapsed and she fell.
Hugh took no notice of the collective gasp or the mutterings of concern in the room. Heading straight for the side door, he carefully maneuvered them out onto the small walkway that led into the Lawson Estate homestead and to his personal suite of rooms at the back.
He was aware of footsteps following him, but he didn’t pause until he had carefully lowered Zoe onto the navy blue quilt of his bed.
“Is she all right?” Hugh turned and saw that Patricia was watching nervously from the doorway. She seemed to have adopted her neighbor for the time being.
“I think she’s just fainted,” Hugh said. “I’ll just get Morris to—”
“I’m here.” A burly man with a weathered face, Lawson Estate cap and graying beard appeared in the doorway clutching the estate’s sizable medical kit. Morris was Hugh’s foreman, in charge of the day-to-day operations of the Lawson Estate vineyards and had been for as long as Hugh could remember. He’d tended every kind of emergency Hugh could imagine, from tractor and machinery accidents to the scrapes and bumps of guests who’d overindulged and overbalanced. The man had also been witness to all the ins and outs of the Lawson family—from the minor to the traumatic—over the years.
Hugh stepped back to let Morris look over Zoe, while Patricia nattered on about Zoe not eating and having had a stressful day.
Hugh’s stomach churned with a concern he didn’t want to admit to. He sucked in a breath and blew it out, hating the faint nausea that had begun to stir in his gut.
He’d honestly thought he’d put everything to do with Zoe Waters and their tempestuous relationship behind him. The strength of his reaction to her was a surprise. Maybe he hadn’t been so successful at processing all that history as he’d thought.
On one level it was impossible to comprehend that Zoe was lying on his bed, her hair on his pillow, her skin against his sheets. She was no longer the sixteen-year-old girl he’d seen lying like this in the nurse’s office. She’d gained weight in the past ten years, but that wasn’t quite the right way of putting it. It was more like she’d filled out—the curves that her teenage body had hinted at were fully developed now. A lush, hourglass figure was outlined by her clingy top and tight skirt, cinched at the waist with a skinny, patent leather belt. The skirt had hitched up as he’d carried her and a set of stunning legs in black stockings were on display.
Part of him wished she was just another customer—someone who’d overindulged on chardonnay or stayed out in the sun too long. He could patch her up, get her on her feet again, then ask for her phone number. They could go on a date and have the kind of short-lived, intensely physical relationship he preferred.
He cursed under his breath. He shouldn’t have brought her to his bedroom—he wouldn’t have brought any other guest here.
“She’ll be all right,” Morris declared matter-of-factly, bringing Hugh back from his daydream. “I’d say her blood sugar’s a bit low. Just needs to eat and drink something when she comes ’round. I’ll get the kitchen to organize something.”
“Good,” Hugh said, feeling a genuine rush of relief at Morris’s words.
“You need me to hang around awhile?” Morris asked. There was a strange inflection in his words and Hugh looked at him sharply.
“Why?”
“No reason. Just askin’. You look like you—”
“Everything’s fine,” Hugh interrupted harshly. He had no desire to hear what Morris thought. Unusual, because Morris was one person whose opinion Hugh trusted implicitly.
Thankfully, Morris didn’t do more than twitch an eyebrow at Hugh’s imperious tone before giving a short nod acknowledging his boss’s bidding.
“You must be busy, Hugh. I’ll sit with her,” Patricia offered.
“No.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated to be once again losing his usual cool because of Zoe Waters. “I mean, it’s fine. Patricia, please go back and tell everyone that Zoe’s okay, but that it’s time for the party to come to an end.” He turned to his foreman. “Morris, once you’ve placed the order with the kitchen, show everyone out and then organize the staff to get the dining room cleared and reset before the dinner crowd arrives.” The world calmed a little as he gave orders and took control.
“Of course.” Patricia shuffled out with a pleased look on her face. Hugh knew she couldn’t wait to get back to the restaurant and have her little moment of fame as everyone hung on her news. Patricia meant well and did a lot for the town, but sometimes her tendency to gossip overwhelmed her common sense.
Morris gave a brusque nod and went off to carry out his orders.
Hugh pulled up a chair and sat heavily. He waited for a moment, watching Zoe’s breasts rise and fall, trying hard not to wonder whether they’d changed, too. He made his voice as unaffected as it could be. “It’s okay, they’re gone now.”
Zoe blinked, and after a moment shuffled on the bed a little, rearranging her skirt more modestly and propping her head up on the pillow. “How did you know?” she asked, not looking at him.
“You started holding on.” She’d been a dead weight until they’d reached the bedroom, then she’d stirred against him; the arm that had been thrown around his shoulders had gripped him tightly.
“Ah.” She didn’t sound surprised.
“It’s just like last time,” he said, not understanding the impulse.
She stiffened. “No, it’s not.”
One of his staff members appeared with a tray. “Mr. Lawson? Morris asked me to bring this up. Is the lady awake? He wanted to know if she was still unconscious.”
“I’m awake,” Zoe answered before Hugh could.
“Leave it and get out,” he ordered.
“Uh, fine.” The waiter looked startled at the harsh words from his usually friendly boss, put the tray at the end of the bed and beat a hasty retreat.
“Drink this.”
Hugh reached for the coffee mug on the tray and handed it to Zoe. She sat up and pushed a pillow behind her back, accepting the cup meekly.
She grimaced after taking a sip. “Ew, too sweet.”
“You need the sugar. Drink it.”
Zoe took another few sips and Hugh was relieved to see some color return to her cheeks. She reached for a plate of biscuits and nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie.
“I guess you’re right,” Hugh said, returning to the conversation that had been interrupted when the waiter had arrived.
Zoe’s forehead crinkled in a frown. Was she deliberately avoiding the topic?
“It’s not like school,” he said. “After all, we’re adults now. Grown up. Responsible for our own actions.”
Her frown deepened. Hugh himself wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say.
Zoe’s eyes dropped from his and she shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I’m fine, so I guess I’ll—” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and began to stand up, staggering almost as soon as she was on her feet.
Hugh jumped up and put a restraining arm around her shoulders. Now he knew exactly what he wanted to say. “Don’t be an idiot. You fainted a minute ago. Sit down.” He pushed her back down, but he didn’t need to use much force. She was trembling and as weak as a kitten. Once she was leaning against the pillows again, she drew a shaky breath.
Hugh tugged his chair closer to the bed and sat. Anxiety was still unsettling his gut, although he couldn’t put his finger on why.
She managed a weak, mocking laugh. “Don’t worry, Hugh, I’m not about to throw a tantrum or pull out a razor blade.”
He cursed himself for being so easy to read. But then, to her, he always had been. He’d just thought he’d learned to hide his inner thoughts better in the intervening years. “I want…I want you to be okay,” he finished lamely.
She smiled then, sad and sweet. “You always were too nice,” she said, almost to herself.
“Not really,” he said.
She studied him curiously for a while and Hugh couldn’t bring himself to look away. If it was possible for ten years of hurt to be conveyed in someone’s eyes, then Zoe had mastered it.
When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Hugh, it was all a long time ago. We’re both very different people now.”
He certainly hoped so. They were going to have to find a way to deal with each other without this massive lump of history coming between them. He wanted to buy Waterford—that meant discussions, negotiations, meetings. Interactions he intended to conduct as an adult, not an angry and broken-hearted seventeen-year-old.
But despite his best intentions, a flash of fury from back then revived itself somewhere deep inside him. It was wrong, so wrong, to be angry with someone for something they couldn’t control. Zoe had been sick. Mental illness was a disease just like cancer—intellectually he understood that. Emotionally, the idea that she’d tried to take her life again after she’d promised…
“Mack told me you were lucky to survive,” he said. So much for leaving the past in the past.
Her eyes became glassy. Not with tears, but with a sadness that was beyond crying. “That’s not quite true. It took a few weeks to recover, but I was eventually okay—healthwise.”
He noted her modifier, didn’t know what to say about it. “Good. I’m, uh, glad to hear it.” Cringe. Hugh scrubbed a hand across his mouth. His business goals evaporated. Suddenly, more than anything, he needed to talk about it. Let her know how hard it had been on him—how doing the right thing had felt like the worst thing possible. He wasn’t sure if talking would make it any better, but it would be something.
“Zoe? I…” He blew out a breath. “Christ, this is hard.”
“Don’t say it.” She looked almost…frightened.
Of what? “What?”
She looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting together. “Don’t apologize. I couldn’t bear it. Not now.”
Apologize? No, that wasn’t what he’d been about to do. “But I—”
She didn’t let him finish. “It’s too late,” she said simply.
His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I know.” She was right. They should leave it alone.
A thick silence fell over the room.
“Why?” Her voice was barely more than a breath.
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you come for me? I called so many times, wrote letters when my emails to your account bounced…”
He ignored the email comment—he’d deactivated his account on instruction from his father and Mack. But letters? “I didn’t get any letters.”
“You didn’t…” She sighed heavily. “Your dad.”
Hugh nodded. Pete Lawson would have made sure that any mail from Zoe didn’t reach Hugh. He’d probably thought he was helping. “Yeah, I guess.”
“But I called.” Her voice held no accusation; it was a simple statement of fact.
“I know. But, Zoe, I was doing what I thought was best. They told me it would be better for your recovery if I didn’t speak to you. And…” Oh, this was hard. On a scale of one to ten, this sucked pole.
“You still believed what Jason told you.”
It sounded so juvenile now. Hell, it had been juvenile at the time, he’d just been too young to realize it.
“What is Jason up to these days?” Zoe asked mildly.
“Accountant. Married, with a kid, I think. Lives in Melbourne. I don’t see him much. He came out here a couple of years ago to visit the winery—that was probably the last time.”
“You guys were best friends.”
“Yeah.” The friendship hadn’t survived Zoe’s betrayal—fictional or otherwise. And it certainly hadn’t survived Hugh’s guilt. He and Jason had stopped being friends the day after Zoe’s collapse.
“I didn’t, you know. Not with him. Not with anyone else when we were together. Just in case you were still wondering.” She sounded so calm.
