Twice in a Blue Moon (10 page)

“It looks like the word is spreading,” Indigo said.

No uncultured hair-flip for Sondra; she did a one-finger slide across her shoulder to send her hair cascading down her back. “Retirees buy only critter wine. They attend tasting tours for a free buzz.” She looked Indigo up, then down. “You're not going to approach customers dressed like that, are you?”

Sondra could kill a good mood with two sentences. “I'm leading our spa's first yoga class in a few minutes.” She put a hand on her hip. “Did you actually have something you wanted to share besides wardrobe advice?”

“Yes. The sign at the road should be replaced. It's faded and does not show the winery in the best light.”

“Thank you. It's on my long list of things that need to get done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready.” Spine rigid, she did an about-face and walked away. Damned if she'd allow that wine snob to ruin her day.
Critter wine? What the heck is that?

She moved “wine terminology” to the top of her education list. It would take her years to match Sondra's knowledge, but if she could master the wine snob lingo, she'd have a shot at sounding like a winery owner. Besides, she'd need it for her marketing efforts.

Yeah, I'll squeeze that into my day between aphid assault and aromatherapy.

Passing her office, she stuck her head in. Not wanting Barney underfoot, she'd dropped him off this morning when she'd come down to retrieve the tractor. He lay in his bed, looking like he'd just had a long nap.

“Look alert, Barney. As the official mascot, you have greeter duty in five minutes.”

He stretched, stepped out of bed and trotted after her to the studio.

She arranged the mats in rows, put a soothing Celtic CD in her portable player, then opened the transom-style windows to let in the smell of the jasmine blooming beneath them.

“This is the perfect yoga room, don't you think, Barn?”

“Well, I don't know about Barney.” Jesse stood in the doorway. “But I like it.” She strode in, wearing an eye-searing yellow blouse tied below her breasts, leggings and Keds.

Four women, from young to elderly, trooped in after her. While Indigo took credit card numbers for the class, the ladies stood chattering like excited squirrels.

“Where'd she get those cute mirror tiles?”

“Celtic music. Don't you think Enya is the best?”

“Oh, how sweet, I love bassets!”

“Ladies, can I get your attention? We have a lot to do today, and I know some of you have limited time. Why don't you leave your purses and personal items in a pile by the wall and take a seat on any mat, and we'll get started.”

They complied, still chattering.

“Did you know Danovan DiCarlo works here now?”

“The lawn is beautiful, isn't it?”

“Is that really Harry Stone's wife?”

To give them credit, the last was whispered. They settled onto the mats and finally quieted.

She cleared her throat of the butterflies that clogged it. “I'm Indigo, and the furry one with the long face over there is Barney. I'm glad you came out today. I'm the owner of The Tippling Widow Winery and Spa. I have ten years' experience as a masseuse, aromatherapist and yoga instructor.” She took a breath and pulled a sentence out of her chest, where it hid behind her heart. “And, yes, I'm Harry Stone's widow.”

You could have heard wine fermenting in the silence.

The smile she pasted on felt a bit wobbly, but it would have to do. “Now, I'd like to hear about you. Will each of you please introduce yourselves? Tell me a bit about who you are and what you'd like to gain from this class.'

Jesse spoke up first. “You and I met at the café, Indigo, and God knows everyone here knows me.”

“I should hope so. You had a hand in more than one marriage in this room.” A long-legged blonde in cutoff jeans and a T-shirt advertising Pinelli Repair and Tow across her breasts scowled at the back of Jesse's head.

“Do not start with me, Sam.” Jesse flicked her nails over her shoulder. “We all know how that turned out for you. Anyway, I'm here to fight the middle-age spread before it gets a chance to settle in and get comfortable.”

“Smart woman,” Indigo said. “Done right, yoga is the hardest workout you'll ever have. Next?”

She looked to the black-haired, doll-like woman with milk-rich coffee skin beside Jesse.

“I am Bina Rani.” Her East Indian accent flowed soft and melodious. “I hope to gain tools to aid in relaxation. Between my psychology practice, my husband and my dogs, I need help in finding peace.”

“I find that yoga calms me.” Indigo smiled. “I'm still working on the peace part, but maybe we can find that together—for an hour, three times a week, anyway.”

Priss, the young mother from the drugstore, spoke up. “Oh, yeah, I can get behind that. Olivia and calm don't travel in the same circles.” She touched the arm of the elegant older woman beside her. “Not you, Olivia. I mean your hellion namesake.”

The elderly lady smiled and patted Priss's hand. “I'm Olivia Preston. I broke my hip about two years ago. I want to increase bone density and improve my balance. The American Council on Aging suggests yoga.”

“Yoga can definitely help, Olivia.” Indigo stepped to the boom box and turned up the music. “Well, it sounds like you're all in the right place. Let's get started, shall we?” She returned and sat cross-legged on the mat, facing her students. “This is the Lotus Pose.”

Before she knew it the hour had flown past. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed teaching, and it was nice to work with other people. The last time she'd hung out with a group of friendly women was—her mind skittered away from the Brenda Stone crowd—when she was a kid.

She ended class with her customary palms-together bow. “And may peace follow in your footsteps.”

Her students were slow to give up the Shavasana relaxation pose and sit up.

“Wow, that was amazing,” Priss said, extending a hand to her mother-in-law.

Olivia took it and was lifted to her feet. “My hip didn't hurt at all.”

“God, do I
have
to go home? Can't I just stay and drink?” Jesse rolled her shoulders.

“You're always welcome to do that. The front patio is amazing. And oh, before I forget, The Tippling Widow is having a grand reopening party. I'll fill you in on details as I know them, but please spread the word, will you?”

“A party?” They all laughed at Jesse's squeal. She bounced on her toes. “You're having a party?” She put her arm around Indigo's shoulder. “Girlfriend, we need to talk.”

Sam shook her head. “Oh, you've done it now, Indigo. You don't know it yet, but you've just unleashed a force of nature.”

CHAPTER NINE

I
NDIGO
HESITATED
AT
her client's flinch. “Does that hurt?”

“Just a bit, but don't stop. I started spring yard work this week and I'm sore.” Carley Beauchamp dropped her head back on the massage table.

Thanks to either her flyers or the little birds in her yoga class, Indigo had booked a few massage appointments the past week. It was only a drop in the bottomless bucket that was The Widow, but it made her feel good to contribute to the revenue. She added a dab of almond oil to her palm and kneaded Carley's calf muscle.

“I hear that Danovan DiCarlo is working here now.” Her voice was a bit muffled due to her face being planted in the oval face rest.

“Yes, he's my manager.” Her sonar went on alert, pings echoing in her brain. “Why?”

“I'm glad to hear he landed on his feet. I'm a mother of two, and the thought of losing a child... Well, I just can't imagine.”

Danovan lost a child?

“How old was...?” Like hairdressers and bartenders, masseuses developed data-mining skills.

“Esperanza— Oh, wow, that is heaven.”

Indigo moved down to knead the spot just below the ball of Carley's foot. “Esperanza, the poor little angel, was only five months old.”

“Oh, that's terrible. What happened?”

“Crib death. It wasn't Danovan's fault, but wouldn't you feel guilty regardless, if you were the only adult around when it happened?”

When Indigo rolled Carley's toes in her fingers, the woman moaned. “I wish I could teach my husband to do that. He'd get more sex than he could handle.”

“I'm glad it feels good,” Indigo said, before moving the conversation back to Danovan. “So he was alone with the baby?” Her voice came out squeaky. No wonder his eyes held such sadness. Poor Danovan.

“Yes. Can you imagine?” Carley's skin pebbled into gooseflesh.

She patted Carley's foot. “You can sit up now. We're done.”

Carley pulled the towel around her trim body as she sat. “And it's shameful what the family put that poor man through. To say that he was trying to— Well, suffice it to say I'll never buy another bottle of Bacchanal wine.”

The sonar pings were now so close together that they blended to a high-pitched whine zooming around her skull. “What did they say he was trying to do?”

Concern must have shown in more than her tone, because Carley looked away fast, as if just realizing she was discussing this with Danovan's employer. “Um. Sorry. I really shouldn't say. You'll have to ask him if you want to know more.” She scootched off the table and laid a hand on Indigo's forearm. “But don't believe everything you hear. Danovan is a good guy.”

Once Carley had dressed and left the room, Indigo set the area to rights, wiping down the table, turning off the rainforest CD and dousing the aroma candles. Until she could afford a contractor to wall off a separate room, she was using a privacy screen in the yoga space that she'd picked up at a garage sale. The peacocks that decorated it were a bit tacky, but she thought the fake gold leaf was pretty.

As she tidied everything, her brain sorted information as fast as a veteran postal employee sorted mail. Poor Danovan, losing a baby. Even worse, on his watch. Her mourning heart now ached for him too.

Why would the Boldens speak badly of him?
Danovan hadn't wanted her to contact them for a reference...and he must have had more reasons than he'd admitted.

Bull. She remembered the song her mother used to sing.
Believe half of what you see, son, and none of what you hear.
Her brain told her that Danovan was a superb winery manager. Her gut told her that he was the charming, funny, arrogant, frustrating, nice guy he appeared to be.

But your gut is prone to epic failure.

“So? Ask him what you want to know.” She grumbled, glancing around to be sure she hadn't left a candle burning. But how do you begin
that
conversation?

She'd keep her eyes and ears open, her sonar on standby.

When she unbuttoned her smock, her phone buzzed from the pocket. She lifted it out. “Indigo.”

“It's your party planner.” Jesse's perky voice rang in her ear.

“I was going to call you later. The serving staff is getting excited about the grand reopening.” Well, two of them were, anyway. Sondra had made it clear that their wine would be better suited to a dressy reception than a barbecue.

“Well, I have good news. The Kiwanis Club will let us borrow their barbecue trailer.”

“That's awesome. You've taken the hors d'oeuvres off the menu, right? With no way to estimate attendance, I just can't take the chance. My budget is...firm.” More like concrete boots, but she wasn't telling Jesse that.

“Yep. Anyway, it'll be perfect with just cheese trays, you'll see. Now, let's talk about the tables.”

* * *

A
WEEK
LATER
, sun searing through his shirt, Danovan bent to examine a vine. Aside from a daily walk-through, he'd turned over full vineyard duties to Indigo, only supervising when she had questions or when he had to teach her a new skill.

The most recent lesson had been leafing—strategically removing leaves to allow the budding grapes the perfect amount of sunlight. He brushed a hand over the leaves. They were healthy and perfectly thinned, not a sucker to be found. He squatted and checked the soil at the base of the vine. Just right—enough moisture to sustain the plant but not enough to foster the mildew. He straightened. Who would have guessed a girl from Hollywood would have a green thumb? Well, she had told him she grew up on a commune, but—

Her dog trotted, collar jingling, down the row toward him. Lovely. Why did dogs always gravitate to people who didn't like them?

Barney stopped, turned and plopped his butt on Danovan's foot.

“Get off, dog.”

Barney looked up with adoring, bloodshot eyes.

The darned thing was so ugly, you kind of had to feel sorry for it. He leaned down and touched its head. Soft.

The dog leaned onto Danovan's leg and sighed.

Danovan stroked a silky ear.

Barney flopped onto his back in the dirt, his long ears spread, almost touching the vines on either side. He whined.

“You could play a little hard-to-get, dog.” He scratched the freckled belly. “Have a little bit of pride.”

“I knew you couldn't resist Barn's charms forever.” Indigo's head peeked around the vines at the end of the row.

When the dog rolled to its stomach, his front dewclaw caught on Danovan's wrist. “Ouch! Damn, dog!”

Unaware, the dog trotted to his mistress, who strode the row toward them. “What's wrong?”

Danovan raised his bloody wrist. “He cut me!”

“No way!” She skidded to a stop next to him. “It must've been an accident.”

He held out his arm. The cut wasn't deep but had slit the small veins near the surface. Blood trickled down the side of his forearm.

Her air whooshed out. “Oh, Danovan.” She leaned over his arm to look closer. The gold highlights in her brown hair caught the light, making him want to touch it. Her clean jasmine scent drifted up, filling his head. His body reacted.
What the hell?
He stepped away. “I'm fine.”

“No, you're obviously not. Let me see.” She reached again.

“It's a scratch. Forget it.” He took another step back, praying she didn't notice the jut in his jeans. “That mutt's had all his shots, right?”

“Of course he has.” She put her hand around his wrist. “Come to the cabin. I'll clean it and—have you had your tetanus shot?”

“I told you, I'm fine. Stop fussing.” He pulled his arm away, but the skin still tingled where she'd touched. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Okay, if you're sure...” Her confused gaze roamed his face, searching for explanations.

All he knew was that the heat he felt wasn't due to the sun. “I've gotta check on orders before the new warehouse kid ships them.”

“Okay.” She grabbed Barney's collar. “Come on, you.”

The beast had the audacity to wag its tail as she led it away.

Danovan knew he should leave, move on with his work. But something held him in that spot, feet as rooted as the vines beside them.

When the pair made it to the porch, Danovan saw Indigo swipe off her hat and sit on the top step, facing the dog. Though Danovan couldn't hear the words, her wagging finger marked a lecture in progress.

What had just happened?

He'd stepped across the line, that's what. His body had betrayed his own vow.

But a physical reaction doesn't mean I'm getting involved. It's simply a chemical reaction. Instinct. Brain stem stuff.

Indigo looped some strands of hair behind one delicate ear. Though her face's profile was stern, it softened something in him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You can't bullshit a bullshitter, DiCarlo, especially when the bullshitter is you.”

His physical reaction might be instinct, but his feelings weren't. Somewhere along the way, he'd recognized the woman behind his boss.

He admired her. And obviously not just in a professional way. She'd taken on this wreck of a business, rolled up her sleeves and done what had to be done without bitching, without drama. How refreshing was that? His ex was the entitled only child of a legendary winery. Lissette had been sweet, but spoiled. Indigo, on the other hand, might have arrived from pampered southern California, but her roots were more humble, and he'd found her as opposite of arrogant as could be.

She was modest, resourceful and tenacious.

And delightful. And handsome.

Did you really just describe a woman as handsome?
But it was true. Indigo Blue wasn't a classic beauty. Her mouth was too wide, and her eyes, with their sad tilt...made him want to protect her.

He snorted. Oh yeah, he was known for protecting women. Just ask the Boldens. He shook his head and finally made himself walk away.

* * *

T
HAT
AFTERNOON
,
HE
was working on The Widow's TTB Form 5120.17 when Indigo stuck her head in his office. “How's your wrist? Did you put antiseptic on it?”

“It's perfectly fine. Forget about it.”

Her frown told him that had no chance of happening. “Any luck getting in touch with your distributor contact?”

Heat shot from his chest, and the sandwich he'd had for lunch took a slow, greasy roll. “Uh, yeah.” He arranged his face, trying for cool and composed. “They're completely booked. Not taking on new clients. I'm sorry.”

“It was a long shot anyway.” She leaned on the door casing, crossed her arms over her breasts and worried her bottom lip a moment. “Can I ask you a question? It's personal, but I need to know. For the business.”

Oh shit. Here it comes.
The guilt-worm in his stomach had teeth and was trying to get out. “Um. Okay.”

“I heard some gossip, and I just wondered...” Her eyes looked sadder than usual but held a determined glint. “What really happened at your last job?”

“I...” No words followed. Only a picture. A sepia picture of moonlight, pouring over a crib. A crib that held a wax-like doll. A perfect, motionless, beautiful... “I...” His voice cracked under the enormous weight of guilt and grief. “I'm sorry.” Turns out, the worm had claws too. He rubbed his stomach. “I'll tell you sometime. Would it be okay if it's not now?” In spite of the writhing in his soul, he made himself meet her gaze. “I swear. It was nothing that could hurt The Widow. Can that be enough for now?”

“Of course it can. I'm sorry to pry.” She pushed away from the doorjamb. “Anyway, I was considering visiting some local restaurants. I'd think our clever name would be a good selling point with the public. Then, of course, once they taste our wine...” Lightening the mood, she rubbed her hands together and smiled. “We'll have them right where we want them.”

Her smile went through his professional facade like a car through a plate glass window.

“Of course. That goes without saying.”

“But I need some terminology lessons, or I'll look like an idiot in front of the restaurant owners.”

“Sondra could—”

“No.” Her smile faded. “No way I'm exposing my throat to that she-wolf.” She straightened. “Anyway, we can sort this out later because that's not why I stopped by. I'd like to invite you to dinner at my cabin. I wanted to make up for Barney scratching you today.”

This is not a good idea.
After his reaction in the vineyard this morning, better he kept a professional distance. Even though his brain stem disagreed. He shook his head. “Can't we just forget about it? Move on?”

“I can't. It was a frigging worker's comp injury. You could sue. It's the least I can do.” Her teeth captured her bottom lip again.

Damn, she's cute.
His brain stem took over the decision-making. “I could sue, huh?” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “Maybe I should rethink this.” He squinted at the ceiling. “Let's see, dinner or a lawsuit.” He shifted his study from the ceiling to his boss. “I guess it depends on what you're cooking.”

“Homemade pizza. From scratch.”

This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. “What time?”

* * *

I
NDIGO
HEARD
SNUFFLING
at the back screen door. “I hear you. You're still not coming in.” She'd banished Barney to the screened-in porch. “I know you didn't mean to, but I think it's best to ease you back into the picture with Danovan.”

Scooping sauce out of the pan, she used the ladle to spread it on the dough. Her dog's behavior was merely the excuse she'd given for inviting Danovan to dinner. Carley's story still ran through her mind—through her heart. Harry's loss had been devastating for her, but he'd had a full, wonderful life, and she'd shared that life with him for almost seven years.