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“Not if you confirm what I heard. Are you making champagne out of vines you brought back from France?”
She knew she shouldn’t confirm even one iota of a fact for him. But if she didn’t, she might not ever learn the real reason for his trespassing.
“Yes. I am.”
“No kidding?” A smile broke across his face and he slapped his thigh as he looked across at the rows of chardonnay vines. His smile dropped off his face in an instant. “How good is it?”
“I don’t know yet. Last fall’s harvest was adequate. My chef de cave, Louisa, has riddled some bottles. They have to age another ten months or so before we try the first bottle.”
Gabe seemed impressed, and Liz knew she’d gained his respect. “That’s amazing.”
“It’s good business,” she replied. “I’ve never been satisfied with the status quo. I want more. Much more.”
“I get that.” He nodded. “I really get that, actually.” He glanced to the south, his gaze going past her land into the distance. He was silent for a long moment.
Whatever he was thinking obviously didn’t please him. What was wrong with having ambition or challenging oneself? Liz wondered. She didn’t care what he thought of her plans for her future. She had the right equipment, vines and people to ensure her success. She only had the unpredictable vagaries of the wind, rain and sun to contend with, just like any other farmer. Gabe ought to know that much.
He looked back at her. “You’ll need a lot of luck, Liz. I wish you that,” he said.
She chortled. “Luck? You don’t think I’ll make it. You don’t know me very well, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’d like to change that.”
She felt surprise mingled with distrust. She leveled him with a glare hot enough to wither healthy vegetation. “Yeah, right.”
“Well, I do owe you an apology. I want to make up for trying to steal your dirt.”
“You know, Gabe, I would have given you a sample. Farmer to farmer.”
This time, he was the one to be cynical. “No, you wouldn’t, Liz,” he retorted sharply. “You would have asked me a thousand questions, just like you’re doing now, because you don’t know me. You know of me. I’m Angelo Barzonni’s oldest son. These days I run his business more than he does, truth be told. That’s all people know. They don’t want to know anything else.”
Liz could almost taste his bitterness, though he spoke with the calm and detached observation of a journalist, as if he were only recording his life and not living it. Her empathy nearly went out to him, but then he flashed his charming smile. He had practiced this masquerade. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling her in...but why?
“I’m going to ask you again, Gabe. Why are you really here?”
“I thought it was obvious. I want to pick your brain.”
She stuck her left hand into the back pocket of her cutoffs and slapped the bouquet of flowers against her thigh as if she could beat down her rising anger. “And the only reason you would want to do that is because you’re going into the wine business.”
Silence.
Gabe kept his eyes on Liz.
“You must think I’m a fool, or that I’d fall for your good looks—”
“You think I’m good-looking?” he interjected.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Look, I came here to taste that great chardonnay of yours. I wandered off to check out the grapes after a bunch of tourists left. I had a soil-gathering kit in my trunk and I went and got it. The gate was open.”
“It’s always locked,” she countered with a glare.
“It was open, okay? I told you. I’m naturally curious. Just as I was collecting the soil, you came up.”
“Caught you red-handed.”
He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Can’t you let it go? I’m sorry.”
She ground her jaw and glanced away, wondering why he unnerved her this much. “You better leave. We have nothing more to say.”
“Liz, come on.”
She shot him a stinging look. He shut up. “You want me to get my gun?”
“No!” He put up his hands. “I’m going. Okay?”
He started past her and as he reached her side, he stopped and leaned in close to her ear. “We have a lot in common, Liz. I can see it. Why can’t you?”
He walked away, got in his car and drove off.
Liz walked up the porch steps and stopped at the front door, noticing her grandfather was standing just inside. The door was opened just wide enough he could have easily heard their conversation.
“Hi, Grandpa,” she said with a wave of the bouquet.
Sam Crenshaw was as tall as Gabe, about six-foot-four, with a thatch of white hair that had thinned over the years and which no pair of scissors could ever tame. Liz always said she inherited her wild curls from Sam. He stood straight-backed and square-shouldered, as he always did when he sensed confrontation. Liz smiled to herself, validated that her grandfather also sensed the presence of a foreign substance. Gabe was like a sliver, Liz thought. Inconsequential at first, but the longer you took to deal with it, the more harm it could cause.
“So that’s Gabriel, huh?”
“Yeah,” she replied, glancing back as Gabe’s convertible left a dusty rooster tail in his wake.
“Good-looking kid. Resembles his mother.”
“I guess,” she said, moving inside.
“He give you those flowers?”
“Yep. I’ll throw them in the compost heap. It’s all they’re good for.”
Sam nodded resolutely. “Very wise. I’ve never met a Barzonni who wasn’t up to no good.”
Liz was surprised by Sam’s pointed comment. She’d never heard him mention anything in particular about the Barzonni family in the past, but judging from the way his jaw was set as if he’d just tasted something acrid, her curiosity was piqued.
Sam’s eyes had narrowed to piercing blue slits. Liz knew he used these discerning eyes when he needed to ponder a situation. She also knew he didn’t want to talk about Gabe, at least for the moment. Later, she might be able to coax an explanation out of him.
“I’ve got work to do.” Sam plucked his straw hat off the hall tree stand and stepped outside, leaving Liz alone.
Liz looked sadly at the summer bouquet.
It was the first time a man had given her flowers.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_852055c7-4745-511d-90d1-8f8ea6fb9b98)
GABE SAT ACROSS the kitchen table from Sophie Mattuchi and her parents, Mario and Bianca. Mario was of medium height and fit build, much like Gabe’s own father, Angelo. His black hair was veined with streaks of white, as if the man had been hit by lightning. His face was deeply lined and very tan from years of toiling in the sun.
However, Gabe quickly learned Mario had never been a farmer, as his appearance would suggest, but a car mechanic. Apparently, he was just as fascinated with Gabe’s Porsche as he was with the purpose of Gabe’s visit.
Bianca busied herself around the kitchen, bringing tall glasses of iced tea with lemon and homegrown mint to the table.
Sophie’s ninety-year-old grandmother, Bella, sat silently in a rocking chair in the corner near an enormous brick hearth. Despite the heat, she wore a colorful shawl around her thin shoulders while she watched Gabe with guarded crystal-blue eyes.
“Mario, as you and I have discussed, I haven’t told anyone about your condition,” Gabe said with compassion.
“Thank you,” Mario said, choking back emotion. “And thank you for taking me up on my offer.”
“Mario, you’re helping me make my own dream come true. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’m happy I could make this work for both of us.”
“I just never thought I would be in this position,” Mario said, looking from Bianca to Sophie.
Sophie smiled at her father. “You’re going to get well, Papa. And you’ll have many more years on the farm. By that time, Gabe will be making all kinds of wonderful wines. Right, Gabe?”
“Sure will,” Gabe replied, catching her upbeat tone. “So, Mario, I’ve had all the soil samples analyzed down at Purdue.” Gabe opened his briefcase and took out a plot map of the Mattuchis’ small farm and vineyard and placed it on the table. “This section here is the best.” He pointed at a spot on the map and glanced over at Bella. “You should all take a look. This is very exciting.” Sophie smiled at her grandmother and urged her to join them, but Bella shook her head violently and refused to move. Gabe noticed the very tight purse to the old woman’s lips and thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been negotiating with Bella.
Mario and Bianca leaned in. Mario pointed to the easternmost ridge on the map, where the land lay fallow. “This is what you wanted?”
“Yes.” Gabe smiled widely. “This section here, next to the Crenshaw place. I have reason to believe I can grow pinot noir grapes up there. These slopes are perfect.”
“We’ve never had anything grow there.” Sophie had pity in her eyes. “Are you sure you should do this, Gabe?”
“Sophie, I’m sure you’re the best darned cardiology nurse at the hospital, but I know about grapes and soil, and I’m telling you this section is worth the entire vineyard. I’m willing to buy the whole vineyard since Mario isn’t all that interested in expanding his operation.”
“Expanding?” Mario laughed. “Certainly not now, of course, but why would I want to compete with Sam Crenshaw? He’s got the best land around these parts, and plenty of it. That granddaughter of his has made all kinds of improvements and talked him into hiring experts from France, for goodness’ sake!” Mario gestured wildly.
Bianca handed an iced tea to her husband without saying a word. Mario took a long slug. The icy liquid appeared to have dampened his excitement.
Gabe nodded. “I have to agree. Winemaking these days isn’t a hobby. It’s big business. Very big business.”
Bianca shrugged. “We were never serious about it. We made the wine for ourselves. Sophie would give some bottles to her girlfriends as gifts. That’s all.”
“Mama. We made good wine. Gabe thinks he can make it better,” Sophie said.
“What I believe,” Gabe continued, “is that this line of apple trees is your problem. They block the sun too much—they won’t allow the grapes to ripen properly. Pinot noir grapes need morning, midday and afternoon sun. If I take these trees out...”
“You’re going to cut them down?” Sophie asked in horror. “I climbed them when I was a child! I love those trees.”
Gabe shook his head and reached over to pat her hand. “No, I’ll move them to the southern end, where we’ll plant the pinot gris. The apple flavor will enhance that of the grapes. I’ll also plant some pear trees there. I won’t get rid of anything on the property. My intention is to make everything better.”
Sophie glanced down at her hand, which was covered by Gabe’s larger one. She smiled.
Gabe caught her smile and took back his hand. He edged the map closer to Mario, but didn’t miss Bianca throwing Sophie a quelling look.
Gabe was sure Bianca didn’t want her daughter to blow the deal. Sophie had a reputation for going after guys and then tossing them in a heap after a few days.
Gossips around Indian Lake said the same kind of thing about Gabe because he’d never dated anyone seriously. He simply didn’t have the time. Gabe had never told a woman he loved her. He’d never asked anyone to be his girlfriend or fiancée. He’d steered very clear of relationships that smacked of anything permanent.
Gabe liked to go to dance, but he preferred to leave alone.
He had his sights set on his future, and to attain the kind of international success he wanted for himself as a vintner, Gabe had to stay focused on his goal.
As he turned back to the map, Gabe felt his heartbeat accelerate. This vineyard, and the possibility of seeing his own name on a wine label, filled him with euphoria. There wasn’t a feeling on earth like it.
“In addition to restructuring the rows of vines and bringing in new varieties, I want us to do some high-density planting.”
“How high?” Sophie asked, her eyes widening.
“Twenty-two hundred vines per acre.”
Mario whistled.
Sophie bit her lower lip. “This is no hobby.”
“Let me show you how serious I am,” he said, pulling a manila folder out of his briefcase. He opened it, revealing engineering drawings, machinery blueprints and a second land survey. “This is the equipment we’ll need by next year’s harvest in order to maximize our winemaking. I’ll keep the oak casks you have to age the wine, but we’ll need these stainless steel tanks in order to ferment it. We’ll build the barrel cellar along with the first fermentation barn. Since you’ve used your small barn for fermentation before, we’ll connect the plumbing from there to the new barn. There will be a radiant cooling system in the cellar roof. With this design you see here—” Gabe slid a set of photos across the table “—we’ll be one of the most modern wineries around. But we’ll keep the rustic charm, too. You’ll note the barn’s wood frame still has traditional hand-joinery. It’s done just as it was in the 1880s—probably when your first barn was built. Am I right?”
“Yes. It was built in 1882,” Mario replied. “I love that old barn.”
“We should capitalize on its charm.”
“What about a tasting room like Liz has?” Mario asked.
“Too soon,” Gabe said. “We’re a long way from that. I may pool our wines with the tasting rooms up in Saugatuck. Right now, I’ll be investing in fermentation barns, underground cellars and staff.”
“Staff?” Sophie and Mario said in unison.
“Absolutely. I’ll need help. I still have my father’s business to help run. Rafe has his mind on racehorses, and Mica would rather be designing some new piece of machinery than running the farm. That leaves the bulk of the Barzonni business squarely on my and my dad’s shoulders.”
“Angelo is a good businessman,” Mario said quietly as he studied the drawings and plans.
Gabe nodded. “He is. But he’s slowing down a bit these days.” He gave Mario a pointed and inquisitive look, but the older man quickly glanced away.
“Sophie told me Malbec wine is very popular with her friends,” Mario said. “It’s a big seller. Will you make Malbec?”
“I do want to give it a try. After all, vintners in the southwest of France and Argentina shouldn’t have a monopoly on that market.” Gabe gestured to the eastern side of the vineyard on the plot map. “These blackberries will enhance the wine. We’ll also add some black pepper flavor to give it an open texture.”
“Lovely,” Bianca said, folding her hands in her lap.
Gabe could read body language well enough to know that Bianca, for one, was itching to get a hold of his cashier’s check. He could only imagine the medical bills that had been piling up. Mario was on the mend after his surgery and was starting chemotherapy in a week. He would get well. They all had to believe that. Still, his treatments had put a strain on the family’s finances. Gabe was surprised by the sense of pride he took in being able to help them.
“Mario, this set of drawings is for you and your family. I want you to continue to look them over. I know we’ve talked about what I hope to create out here, but I need to be sure you’re happy with this deal. Do you still want to sell to me?”
