Little Black Dress with Bonus Material (19 page)

“We're okay,” he replied, and I felt him kiss my hair.

I pressed my cheek against his cotton shirt, breathing in his scent, and I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more in life than to grow old with him.

“Your sister isn't like you at all, is she?”

“No,” I said. I had tried to tell him before in so many ways. “But she's a part of me. She always will be.”

He stopped pushing the glider and sighed. “She wants something, you know. I'm thinking it's money. She can't have much to her name, not after your dad cut her out like he did. And when he's gone, everything will be yours, Evie, the winery, the house, the land.”

“It doesn't matter,” I said when I itched to tell him,
It isn't that.

I'd realized early on what Anna had come back for, beyond Antonia and the vision. It wasn't Daddy's money, the vineyard, or the Victorian manse our great-grandfather had built. It wasn't even me, her big sister, the only one who tried to understand.

What Annabelle wanted more than all of that was a deceptively plain black silk frock. I could see it in her eyes the moment she'd asked, “So you still have it?” And I swore to myself that she would not get it, not until I had what I wanted as well.

D
usk had fallen by the time Toni put away the photographs and set the hatbox on the wing chair beside the black dress, which she avoided touching, too afraid it might give her another vision that she didn't need. Her mind flooded with questions about Anna and Evie and what had happened between them; but they'd have to wait until morning when Bridget returned. This evening, she had a mission, and time was a-wasting. So she pacified her growling stomach with a banana then bundled up in coat, hat, gloves, and scarf to head out to the vineyard.

With the defrost blasting tepid air on the windshield, she gripped the steering wheel and quickly covered the short distance. Even if she'd been away two years—hell, a hundred years—she could have driven the route blind. She'd been there so often from childhood through high school graduation.

Before she'd left Blue Hills for good, she'd visited her father at the winery. She had loved watching him work, whether he was checking fermentation tanks or walking through the rows of grapes, eyeing the growth of a new hybrid. He'd been so ingrained in the daily machinations of the winery that his spirit surely lingered, kind of like the taste of oak in a barrel-aged chardonnay.

I'm sure you realize how hard your dad's death hit her.

She was hit hard, yes. We both were. I'm sorry I wasn't here for her more.

She didn't blame you. She blamed herself for being neglectful, for not keeping an eye on the place.

Toni got goose bumps as she recalled her conversation with Hunter. Of course, she understood why her mother hadn't wanted to go to the winery day after day while she mourned the loss of her beloved Jon Ashton, a man who had truly been her soul mate. She understood, too, why Evie had gone outside the family for help. Something about Hunter Cummings had rekindled Evie's enthusiasm for the vineyard. Toni wasn't sure she would have made as big an impact if Evie had come running to her. What kind of ideas could she have offered for resurrecting the place, when all she knew about wine was that it tasted good with cheese?

Maybe it was because Evie trusted him that Toni had a gut feeling this particular “Cummings boy” wasn't the bad egg that Bridget had insinuated . . . if that's what Bridget honestly believed. Toni was beginning to question everything the woman had ever said to her, especially after finding the photos Evie had squirreled away.

Just as the defrost turned hot enough to clear the whole windshield and turn the car toasty-warm, she reached the winery's tiny parking lot and saw the familiar greeting to the left of the gravel drive:

WELCOME!

Her headlights splashed upon the weathered sign, its paint—a deep purple on white—touched up every year. It was at least as old as she was and had stood out front for as long as she could remember, telling visitors where they were and how much history was here:

MORGAN VINEYARDS

FAMILY OWNED & OPERATED SINCE 1888

She parked her VW and shut off the engine. For a moment, she sat there, gazing at the rambling whitewashed façade with the pillared porch, so proud of the winery's unpretentiousness. As far as she was concerned, it beat giant-sized billboards, Roman statues, reflecting pools, Tuscan-inspired restaurants, and fancy bed-and-breakfasts, hands-down. The main building housed a small shop and wine-tasting area. An addition to the rear held the equipment for pressing the grapes, for fermentation, and for filtering. Below both sat well-lit cellars with wide stone arches where the wine was aged in oak barrels. When Toni was young, the cellar had been one of her favorite places to hang out: forever cool and dim, even in the heat of a Missouri summer. Past the winery, nearer the vineyard, stood a large barnlike structure where heavy equipment was stored.

Toni couldn't imagine ever wanting to glitz up the place. She figured it was perfect just the way it was.

“Hey, old girl, you're holding up beautifully,” she said, smiling. Perhaps in the bright light of day, its cracks would show; but, at around 120 years old, it had aged well enough. Hardly a wrinkle in sight.

Everything seemed quiet enough for a Sunday past five o'clock. Except for her car, the lot was empty. The building looked dark save for the discreetly placed landscape spots that led her up the sidewalk to the porch.

She paused before the brief steps. Her expelled breaths made icy puffs as she looked up into the evening sky, now a hazy gray blanket, obscuring any flicker of stars. The cold sliced through to her bones, and she hurried beneath the cover of the porch just as the clouds let loose and white flakes began drifting down, sticking to the grass and hedge of boxwoods.

As a child, she used to love to run outside at the first sign of snow. Wrapped up in winter gear, she'd spin in circles, trying to catch the flakes on her tongue. Now, her grown-up self frowned and hoped it wouldn't make the roads too slick to get back to the Victorian. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck at the winery overnight when she wanted desperately to be home when Bridget showed up first thing in the morning.

You worry about things well before they happen,
her mother's voice chided her.
Do what you came to do, and you'll find exactly what you need.

“All right already,” she muttered and let herself in with the key she'd taken from the labeled rack in her mother's kitchen.

She stomped her boots on the mat inside as she closed and locked the door. A night-light glowed behind the counter in the anteroom where the wine tastings were held, and she grinned, remembering a Sunday afternoon spent here with her father. He'd patted a stool at the bar, said, “Saddle up, kiddo,” and he'd poured her a glass of grape juice to sample. “Swirl and sniff,” he'd instructed, demonstrating with his own long-stemmed goblet. “Then roll it around in your mouth. If it were wine, you'd spit it out. But go ahead and swallow.”

She had swirled, sniffed, and tasted. Then she'd said, mimicking things she'd heard him utter when drinking wine at the dinner table, “Fruity but sweet. I think I detect a little floral.”

“Brilliant review,” he'd said and laughed.

Toni unwound the scarf from her neck and headed toward the back of the building where the offices were situated. She'd take a quick look at the computer, copy any interesting files to her flash drive, then bring them back to the house to peruse on her own laptop. If she found anything out of the ordinary, she'd deal with it later.

“Ack!” She caught movement across the room and stopped in her tracks, her hand on her heart. “Is someone there?” she asked, but only silence ensued.

She took a few steps forward and peered through the mostly dark space, past a host of wrought-iron chairs and tables, laughing as she realized her mistake. She was seeing ghosts again.

“Boo!” she said and sheepishly waved at her reflection in the wall of windows that ran across the rear of the four-seasons room. In the late spring and summer, the glass was replaced by screens, and tourists could sit here comfortably, gazing out at the vineyards, sipping the Morgan family's latest chardonnay or chablis.

About to turn on her heel, she gave the windows a second glance, walking closer and squinting out as she detected motion that wasn't her own. Somewhere beyond the glass, below the glow of floodlights hidden beneath the eaves, she saw people.

Beneath the hazy white of falling snow and between the rows of brown spiderlike vines, there were dozens of plastic baskets and a dozen or more men dressed like Eskimos, picking frozen grapes.

What the hell?
Who in their right mind did a harvest in the dead of winter?

She cupped her hands to the glass and leaned into them as though they were binoculars. Before she completely fogged up the spot with her breath, she zeroed in on the candy-cane-colored knit cap that one of the men was wearing. He gestured at the others, clearly in charge of their shenanigans.

Hunter Cummings.

“Unbelievable,” she said quite loudly, watching a pickup truck appear. Instantly, its bed was crammed with full baskets.

Tell Miss Evie when you see her that I won't quit on her, even if her daughter doesn't like me much. Let her know I've got the crew ready for Sunday night . . . It's the first real hard freeze so we can do the harvest we've been waiting on.

Hadn't she specifically told him to nix this crazy-ass plan until Evie was back on her feet? Clearly, he hadn't listened.

“Smug bastard,” she muttered, forgetting about the steamy and confused thoughts the black dress had put in her head.

She re-wound her scarf, yanked up her hood, unlocked the door from the four-seasons room to outside, and slammed it hard behind her. Her cheeks hot despite the frosty air, she marched down the steps and across grass slick with fallen snow. Her breath puffed before her, much like the exhaust from the rear of the pickup. She felt as much as heard the growl of its engine.

“Hey!” she yelled from ten yards out, every indrawn breath stinging her lungs. “Just what the hell do you think you're doing?”

The head with the peppermint-striped cap jerked up, and Hunter yelped her name in surprise: “Antonia?” He flashed her that lopsided grin and began walking toward her. “Did you change your mind about me? Because you know I had to go through with it. I couldn't let Miss Evie down.”

If he thought that invoking her mother's name was going to soften her, he was dead wrong. Her heart pounded. “You've got some balls, coming out here—”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, closing the gap between them, “it's freaking cold, but this is how it's done. How's your headache, by the way? I wanted to call the house and check on you, but I wasn't sure if your sweetie would appreciate it.”

“He's not my sweetie,” she snapped, and he looked surprised to hear her say it. Nearly as surprised as she. Because she honestly didn't know what Greg was to her anymore, didn't know how she felt about him. Her chest felt tight with emotions she wasn't sure what to do with, and it only made her madder.

“You do look a lot better with pink in your cheeks.”

“I can't believe this!” she sputtered, desperate to lay into him, to let out her frustration. She waved her arms around like a goose about to take off. “You are freaking nuts—”

“To be out in this weather? Yeah, I know,” he cut her off, “but the fall was so warm, more like an Indian summer, and the winter's been mild until now. This is the first night we've had that's hit anywhere close to eighteen degrees, which is as damn near perfect as it gets.”

Perfect?
The guy was loony. Toni couldn't even feel her nose.

“It's supposed to be like this for the next two days, thank God, so we can get the few acres Evie set aside for ice grapes harvested before it warms up again.”

“I'm— I'm . . .” She didn't know what she was going to do. Call the cops? Go back inside where it was warm and let him freeze his butt off?

“You're anxious to help?” he said, putting words in her mouth again as snowflakes stuck to his unshaven cheeks before quickly melting. “We can always use an extra pair of hands, 'cause we've got a lot to do by morning.”

“Help?” Toni gulped. No, no, that wasn't in her plans.

But Hunter caught her arm, whisking her toward the frozen vines. “C'mon, city girl, this'll be a new experience for you. Something to tell your kids someday,” he said before she dug her heels in, forcing him to stop. His lopsided smile faltered. “Look, if you could stay for a while, that'd be great.” He leaned in close to whisper. “Good for the crew's morale, and mine, if truth be told.”

Several of the men had ceased working and straightened up, looking at her. Toni turned away, embarrassed. “Hunter, I'm not sure—”

“—if you can be out in the cold for too long, yeah, I get you,” he said, “but that's okay. Just stop when your hands go numb and step inside for a spell. I'll be in and out plenty anyway, since we have to crush the grapes ASAP. Believe it or not, we use the same Old World basket presses your dad and your granddad used, even your great-granddad in his day.” He put a gloved hand to his heart, making an “um” sound as he told her, “I can virtually guarantee, this lot of ice wine's going to be sweet as honey. I'll reserve a case for you when it's ready.”

Toni stared dumbly at him. So this is the idea that was supposed to save the winery? The project that would keep the wheels rolling until the place was certified organic?

Damn it.

She hated the fact that she thought it was brilliant. Why hadn't he just explained it all to her yesterday? Why did everyone in this town have to act so evasive?

“You're making ice wine,” she repeated.

“Yep.” He tucked his hands beneath his armpits, nodding. “Its popularity is only growing, and the niche hasn't been oversaturated yet.”

“Spoken like a man who's researched his market,” Toni said and rubbed her nose to be sure it was still there.

“You sound almost convinced.”

“I almost am.”

“Hey, that's a start.” He looked genuinely pleased. If he'd been a puppy, his tail would be wagging.

“Yeah, well, you're very persuasive,” Toni said grudgingly. She couldn't help admiring his passion. He reminded her of herself when she'd finally summoned the nerve to leave the society rag and start Engagements by Antonia. Even before that, she'd been so anxious to strike out on her own and make her mark in the world. It had been hard living in Blue Hills where everyone knew her as Jon and Evie Ashton's daughter. She'd wanted to prove herself so badly. Maybe it was the same for him.

She shoved gloved hands in her pockets and looked around them. “I should book more weddings and parties down here. I'd forgotten how beautiful it is.”