Taming Theresa (10 page)

"We like it."

Looking around at the dining room again, he
said, "Pretty old building. What is it, maybe two hundred years
old?"

"It's an historic landmark, but not that old.
Maybe a century and a half. There are stories local folks like to
tell about it being a tavern during the American Revolution, but
this particular building was built later on. It replaced another
tavern on this property that burned down a long time back.

Tony took another sip of the scotch and
turned back to the bartender. "Why do you call it Paulding's
Rest?"

“You might say it's got some history behind
it. The old place, one that burned down, was a watering hole during
the Revolution.” Ralph gave the dark wood another polish. “John
Paulding was supposed to have come here to drink and celebrate
after he caught Major André."

"Who the hell are they?"

The big man stopped wiping the bar and
frowned. Glancing over to see if the men at the other end needed a
refill, he didn't answer right away. After a pause he said, "It's a
long story."

"Sure, maybe another time. Reason I'm here is
I represent DeLuca and Sons Property Development Corporation. It's
possible they might be interested in purchasing this building and
the adjoining land." He paused and took another small sip, and
swirled the ice cubes. "That is, if it were for sale." Like a
magician doing a card trick, he pulled a business card from a
jacket pocket and slid it over the bar.

The big man in the bartender's apron examined
it, front and back, and looked at the stranger quizzically, brows
raised in surprise. He scratched at the fringe of graying hair over
one ear. "Well now, it's interesting you should say that."

As he drove over the single lane wooden
bridge, John glanced down into the rapidly moving coffee colored
stream beneath. "Water's pretty high in the brook. Had a lot of
rain recently."

Theresa was looking out the window. "You were
right about one thing. It is pretty up here.”

“Yeah, we like it.”

The road twisted up a steep bank and at the
top split off to left and right. He took the left fork without
hesitation.

“You sure you know where you're going?”
Theresa asked, watching fields and trees fly by her window. “I
haven't seen any signs for the winery."

"There you go again. Don't doubt me. I've
lived here all my life and I know where I'm going." He pointed to a
sign directing them to the left turn that read, Blossom Creek
Winery. They rode in silence for a few more minutes before pulling
onto the winery grounds.

John hurried around the car to help her out,
but received only an angry glare for his trouble. She reached for
the crutches in the back seat.

"I don't need any help. I've got the crutches
and can walk on my own."

"Whatever, but you might want to move a
little faster," he said, watching the first large drops of rain
splatter on the windshield. He shrugged and turned toward the
house.

The heavens opened up and the rain came in
torrents just as she managed to struggle awkwardly in her high
heels and crutches, to the steps of the front porch. The door of
the old Victorian house opened immediately and a smiling heavyset
man threw it wide, beckoning them. “Come in, hurry before you get
drowned!"

"Just in time George, thanks," John said
stepping in and closing the door behind Theresa.

“Here, let me get you a towel.” George came
back with an old hand towel and John tossed it to her.

"You came to pick up the wine for the
Buonadies-Conners wedding, right? Got everything ready, but we
might want to wait until this passes. It's coming down like cats
and dogs out there." George peered through the window as the deluge
thundered onto the porch roof.

Theresa dabbed at her wet hair and clothes
before handing back the towel. “Thank you.”

“George, this is Vicky's cousin, Theresa
Buonadies, the maid of honor and a professional in the restaurant
business. She’s managing the wedding and the reception for them.
Theresa, this is George Green. Vintner Extraordinaire"

As she shook George's hand, Theresa beamed a
sincere smile his way, something John was seeing from her for the
first time that day.

“Please, call me Terry. All my friends do.”
John didn't fail to catch the meaning in the cool glance she shot
his way.

"Tell you what, while we wait for a break in
the weather, how about a little tasting? Everyone else is busy in
the other buildings. Your wine is here in the house and John and I
can load it into his truck in no time as soon as the rain lets up.
Come on into the kitchen and let's make ourselves comfortable."

John shot a questioning glance at Theresa.
"Do you mind? I'd rather not drive in this."

"Why not? That's a great idea. I'd love to
sample the wines. Thanks George."

"No problem.” He reached behind him for some
wine glasses.

“And we really appreciate you providing the
special labels for the wedding,” said Theresa.

“We’re happy to do anything for Jack Conner
and his lovely bride. We use some apples from their orchards in our
apple wine, but we've seven other grape varietals, and new this
year, a blackberry wine."

After spending two very pleasant hours with
George Green and watching Theresa sample Blossom Creek's finest,
John was once more driving down the country lane, away from the
winery. He drove slowly with wipers flinging sheets of water to
left and right. The rain had only let up just long enough to allow
them to load the wine. The Buonadies-Conner customized labels
displayed a picture of Jack and Vicky in the apple orchards with a
backdrop of fruit laden trees.

Theresa seemed to be in a much more pleasant
mood after sampling the Blossom Creek vintage. "Very nice wines and
the labels are perfect," she said. "Great picture of Jack and
Vicky, don't you think? I like the apple best. It's almost like a
Chardonnay, but fruitier, of course. Do you have a favorite?"

John was peering intensely at the standing
water ahead on the roadway. "I'm mostly a beer guy, but I
appreciate a nice wine now and again. Besides, I like to support
our local businesses." As he approached the little bridge, he
slowed and then came to a full stop. "Uh oh, this doesn't look
good."

"What?" asked Theresa. "What is it?"

"Look at the bridge, it's under water." Sure
enough the little bridge had a swiftly flowing stream coursing over
and around it."

"Can't you just drive through it?" she
asked.

"No way. Can't tell for sure how deep the
water is and who knows but what the bridge is damaged. You don't
want Vicky's wine to go floating downstream do you?"

"So, what do we do now?"

"No problem," he said. "We just go back a
different way."

He spun the wheel and turned, heading back
the way they'd come. At the fork at the top of the hill, he turned
to the right.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?"
she asked, the first notes of panic in her voice.

"Relax, I told you I've lived here all my
life. This isn't a problem."

For another ten minutes, he drove on through
the pooling water, neither of them saying anything. As the rain
increased even more in intensity, he pulled over and came to a
halt.

"You're lost, aren't you,” she accused.

The roar of the storm made it difficult to
hear without shouting.

"No, I'm not lost,” he yelled. “I'm just
stopping because it's impossible to see through this rain. We'll
just wait for a minute until it dies down."

"Yeah sure, mister 'I've lived here all my
life, I know where I'm going.' I'll bet you're lost. Now what are
we going to do?"

He leaned back and put his arm over the back
of the seat. "We're going to sit here until it lets up a little,
okay? Is your ankle all right?"

"I'm fine," she said with a sigh.

"Aren't you glad you didn't try to do this in
your car?"

Theresa smiled back weakly. "Yeah, I guess I
am. Thanks for doing this. I'm sorry I've been so bitchy. It's just
that nothing seems to be going right. I thought I'd come up here,
take care of Vicky’s wedding, and make it easier for her. I do this
kind of thing all the time at our restaurants, so I assumed it
would be a piece of cake."

"Life is like that. Shit happens and there's
nothing you can do about it," he said with a casual shrug of his
shoulders.

"Hey, what's with the bumper stickers?"

He turned and looked at her curiously.
"What?"

"The NRA stickers I get, but the pink things,
the 'Save the Ta Tas'. What's that all about?"

He leered at her breasts and smiled. "I like
Ta Tas. What can I say?"

"I should have known." She sighed in
disgust.

"Look at that rain come down."

"I hope we can get back before dark, said
Theresa staring into the downpour."

"We'll be okay," he said trying to sound
unconcerned.

"Not to change the subject, but did you know
that your father figured out it was you that gave me the black eye?
He thanked me for not telling your mother. Said she wouldn't
understand."

Theresa laughed. "Daddy always seems to know
everything. No one can ever hide a secret from him. Sometimes it's
totally scary, the way he knows things."

"I really am sorry I made that dumb comment
the other day in the tavern. Don't know what I was thinking, but
you looked so amazingly hot."

"Okay, thanks. Forget it. I was there to talk
to Mr. Spangenberg about the reception. He was afraid that the room
wouldn't be large enough. Vicky isn't having a terribly big wedding
though. Maybe fifty or sixty people. Jack doesn't have much family
and neither does she, except for all the Buonadies."

"Ralph is one of the good guys. Everybody
loves him. We all have a soft spot for that old tavern too. Do you
know the history, why it's called Paulding's Rest?"

"Ralph mentioned it to me when we were
planning the menu. He told me he's getting too old to take care of
a restaurant and wants to sell the place so he can retire and move
to Florida. Even has a lady friend down there that he met on line.
Did you know that?"

"Yeah, I've heard.” John sighed. “He told me
about it, but I hope he doesn't sell. Hell, I'd like to buy it
myself if I could scrape together that kind of money. Property is
worth a couple of bucks."

"Hmm, interesting thought," purred Theresa.
"I wonder..."

"You wonder what?" he asked.

"I wonder...do you think an Italian
restaurant could be successful in Pippin's Grove?"

John felt a twinge of panic at the thought.
"No, we wouldn't want to change the tavern at all. We like it, the
food, the atmosphere, and everything, just like it is. You're not
thinking.... No way! I can't see it."

"She smiled at him and teased, "Why not? You
told my mother you love Italian food, and then you said something
about loving the Italian women who fix it. You were really sucking
up."

"You're messing with my mind aren't you?
You're doing this on purpose."

"So, why not? Maybe I can talk Daddy into
buying it, if Ralph wants to sell. We can open another Buonadies
Italian restaurant. I kind of like the idea, don't you?"

"No, I think it's a bad idea. I'm sure your
father wouldn't want to have anything to do with it."

She laughed. "No, I'm not serious, but it’s
really personal with you. The history of the tavern and keeping
things 'same old same old', isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it is. There's a connection
with my family, going way back."

Her voice and her facial expression softened.
"I understand. Family is important."

Staring ahead at the downpour that showed no
signs of letting up, John found he enjoyed talking with her. That
low sultry voice was velvet on his ears. Her laughter was almost
musical, against the steady drumming of the rain. He turned his
head and looked straight into her dark eyes. They were so large and
beautiful with long lashes. Her hair was deep brown and flowed in
waves over her shoulders.

"Theresa, what are you thinking?"

"Oh, I don't know, about the tavern I guess.
Being in the restaurant business, I look at it from a manager's
viewpoint. It’s a little run down. If we were to buy it, which
we're not, and if I were in charge, which I'm not, maybe a coat of
paint here and there, maybe some new furniture."

"No no, we like it just the way it is. The
place is...I guess you'd call it charming."

"What, you don't think I could manage a
successful business? I think I have an eye for it. There's lots of
room for improvement in there, believe me."

"I'm not saying that. I know you're good at
what you do."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter really. Ralph
didn't seem as though he were in any big hurry to get rid of it."
She looked over at him and their eyes locked.

"Theresa, the other night, remember when we
fell on the bathroom floor?"

She didn't respond, but kept watching
him.

"When we fell on the floor, you were lying on
top of me and you kissed me. Did I dream that?"

"I didn't kiss you," she retorted. "You
kissed me. That was entirely you. Believe me; I would never
have...,"

He leaned back as far as the cramped space in
the vehicle would allow, casually draped his arm over her
shoulders, and studied her. "Okay, I was wondering. Would you mind
if we did it again?"

"Did what?"

"If I kissed you. Would you mind that?"

She turned and stared out the window, tears
in her eyes.

Oh crap, I've pissed her off again. Why do I
always say stupid things? He sighed and looked at the gravel road
and trees blurred by the downpour. When he looked back, the tears
were down Theresa's cheeks. Oh God, here we go. Rummaging in the
back seat, he finally produced a small packet of tissues.