Twice in a Blue Moon (9 page)

Her head came around, her eyes narrowed, wary.

“If you don't mind my asking.”

“It was awful.” She lowered her sandwich to the plate. “And wonderful, all at the same time.”

“What was the awful part?”

Her sigh held too much world-weariness for a woman so young. “Everyone thinks they want fame and fortune, but they don't know the cost. Living in the spotlight only looks fun from the outside. It leaves no room for being human. The second you step out of the house, you're on, fresh meat for the jackal paparazzi.”

“But it was your husband who was famous, right?”

“Yes. I should have been in the background. A nobody. But I wanted to give Harry as normal a life as possible, so I limited the press's access. They didn't like that.”

He hadn't known a small smile could hold such sadness.

“So they wrote things about me—about us—that were untrue. Nasty things.” Her lips thinned. She pushed her shoulders against the chair back. “But it was worth it.” She nodded as if agreeing with herself.

“You loved him, didn't you?”

She speared him with a look. “The surprise in your voice is the awful part I was referring to.”

“Sorry.” He hid his nose in his tea glass and took a sip. “I deserved that.”

“He was the wonderful part.” Her gaze on the vines was wistful. “I loved him very much. A love like ours only comes along once in a blue moon. I was lucky.”

Silence lay soft on the porch as they ate their lunch. He'd have liked to know more. Like what made a young, beautiful woman fall in love with a man forty years her senior. But he didn't want to intrude on the cherished memories he saw in her profile.

Bees droned, and the breeze played in the dead leaves. He'd never known a woman so comfortable in silence.

“How about you?” Her brown eyes regarded him. “Have you ever been married?”

Shit. He knew these “getting to know you” conversations were always tit for tat. His curiosity had made him forget.
What to say?
His mind was like a frantic mouse working a maze, choosing avenues that ended in blank-wall dead ends or in black stinking pits where he didn't want to go, much less share with her. But she'd answered his question. “I was.”

“That sure sounds more to the awful side than the wonderful.”

“It didn't have to be. But, yeah, that's how it ended up.” Before she could ask the next question, he blurted. “Damn, Memory Lane can be studded with land mines, can't it?” He set his empty glass on the table and stood. “I'd better get back to work. Thank you for lunch.”

* * *

F
OUR
HOURS
LATER
, echoes of tractor vibrations resonating in her bones, Indigo stepped onto the porch of the winery, sweaty, sun-sapped and spent. But for the first time in a long time, an ember of optimism warmed her chest. They'd made progress today.
She'd
made progress today. The rows between the vines were swept and pristine, and thanks to Danovan's tutelage, she'd learned to tie up the tendrils, training them to the wires that would support them as they grew.

She rounded the corner of the front porch. A brightly spandexed flock of bicyclists sprawled in chairs, their charges leaning against the railing. She wiped her hands on her jeans and walked up to them, hand extended to the nearest one. “Hello. Welcome to The Tippling Widow. I'm Indigo.”

The lean man looked surprised but shook her hand. “We're just resting a few minutes before we head back to town.”

She put on a friendly smile and raised her voice so all the riders could hear. “You're welcome at The Widow anytime.” She winked. “Including for wine tastings, weddings and other special occasions. We'll be offering a new menu of services within the next week—yoga classes, aromatherapy and massages.” She stepped to a young man in the middle of the group with his back to her. “Wouldn't a massage after a ride feel great? May I?” Putting her hands on his shoulders, she pressed her thumbs into the tight muscles next to his spine, then rolled his trapezius in her palms.

When he moaned, his friends laughed.

“Please spread the word to your wives and friends. The Tippling Widow is back in business.” She held the smile all the way to the door. “Enjoy the rest of your ride!”

The cool air kissed her face as she walked in and stood beside the door until her eyes adjusted. Sondra and Natalie were both engaged with three customers at the wine bar.

One more than yesterday. Not a crowd, but it's progress.

Unfortunately, adding one customer here and there was not going to save the business.

“Excuse me, Ms. Blue?” Becky popped from behind the cash register to Indigo's right. “Business is a bit better today.” A frown negated her small smile. “Sondra asked us to spread the word in town about The Widow getting better—um, I mean, being...” Red spread from the collar of her white shirt upward.

“I know what you mean. It's okay.”

Becky's fingers worried a receipt pad, ruffling the pages. “I had an idea that might help get the word out.” She hesitated as if waiting to be cut off. Knowing Sondra, it wasn't hard to understand why.

“Great. I'd love to hear it. It's going to take all of us to get The Widow back on her feet.”

“Okay. So I was thinking, we're telling everyone about The Widow's reopening and reinvention, but it might mean more if we showed them. You know, like a grand reopening party.” Pages snapped faster.

“A party?”
Why didn't I think of that?
She pictured tables set on the lawn, with food...maybe a barbecue? Yes, a barbecue. That would be perfect.

“It's probably a dumb idea.”

“Becky, I think it's brilliant.”

The young woman beamed like a spelling bee winner.

Sondra's leadership style was more Mussolini than Lennon; speaking up had taken guts.

“Becky, you're from Widow's Grove, and you know the culture. Would you be willing to help me plan this event?”

“Oh, yes ma'am, I'd love to.”

“Great. And I'm not ma'am. I'm Indigo.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

D
ANOVAN
WASHED
HIS
hands at the sink in the lab. Showing Indigo how to till the soil had taken less time than yesterday's vineyard rat lesson. She'd even perfected changing implements on the tractor. Her rotary harrow tracks were now as straight as his. She learned fast.

Good thing, because she's got a lot to learn.

But he had to give her credit. She was the opposite of what he'd expected from a woman with a 90210 zip code. She wasn't afraid of dirt, hard work or sweat, and it was clear she took this business seriously. She'd refused to lend the winery money, and her tone made it clear she meant it. Though, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. Surely a widow with her money and contacts could find something better to do. If he didn't know better, he'd think the winery was all she had.

From the questions she asked, it was clear that she was studying the books he'd loaned her, too. Even the drier-than-tomb-dust chemistry text.

He walked to his office and settled in his chair, pulled his cell from his jeans pocket and looked up the phone number he needed.

“Western Wines. How can I help you?”

“Could I speak with Stu, please?”

“Sure. Hold on.”

Thirty seconds of classical music later, a drill sergeant voice barked, “Rowland.”

“Stu. It's Danovan DiCarlo.”

Silence.

“I don't know if you heard, but I'm no longer with Bacchanal.”

“Oh, I heard.”

Danovan's stomach dropped. Would this shit never end?

Technically, distributors worked
for
a winery, but due to the market's competitiveness, they were as courted as customers. Unless you were as large as his last employer, in which case distributors like Western would fall all over themselves to work with you. There was nothing more coveted than a wine that practically sold itself.

“You shouldn't believe everything you hear. But that's not what I'm calling about. I'm now working with The Tippling Widow here in Widow's Grove, and—”

“The...what?”

He ground his teeth to hold back a smart-ass retort. “The Tippling Widow.”

“Never heard of it.”

“We're a boutique winery, about fifteen acres, and we've got some really special—”

“We've got no openings for new wineries. Sorry.”

Oh yeah, I can tell.
“Why don't I send you a bottle of our merlot? I think you'll find it—”

“Won't do any good. We're booked, I'm telling you.”

He should keep selling. He should beg.

Bullshit. He wanted to reach through the phone and teach this guy some manners. With his fist. He leaned forward in the chair. “You know, Rowland, I've worked with you for three years, and I've gotta tell you—your customer service skills suck. You should read
How to Win Friends and Influence People
. Maybe you'd have a shot at becoming human someday.”

A dry chuckle. “You could be right. But at least I'm loyal. I don't try to screw over my employer.”

Click.

Danovan hit End. That was the problem with a modern phone. You couldn't give it a satisfying slam. “Loser.”

What was he going to tell Indigo? Well, Rowland had said they weren't taking new clients, so he wouldn't have to lie. He just wouldn't tell her the other part. It was immaterial anyway.

He strode to the production facility to walk off some pissed. He'd imagined the lies the Boldens were spreading, but hearing the actual words seared them like hot metal into his pride. He rubbed his chest, where they burned. It wouldn't do any good to defend himself. Every word out of his mouth would only make him sound guiltier.

Not that he would ever explain to an asshole like Rowland.

People could accuse Danovan DiCarlo of many things, but one thing he
wasn't
was disloyal. Dammit, he'd given his sweat and blood to that family. Maybe a bunch of it he owed to them, but the rest he'd given freely. He'd
earned
his place there.

And now that place was as gone as gone could get.

He made himself shrug it off. There was too much to be done in the present to focus on something he couldn't fix in the past. Better to put that energy into working with Indigo to pull this winery off the trash heap.

He scanned the shipping area, looking for the new warehouse employee. It was past time they began bottling last year's crush.

And anyway, success was the best revenge.

* * *

T
HANKS
TO
R
OSALINA
and her cleaning crew, the tasting room patio no longer resembled a Halloween set. Indigo sat at one of the small square tables at dusk, sipping a diet soda and inhaling the luxuriant scent of freshly cut grass. The landscaping service she'd hired had worked all day, but the transformation was worth the money. The roses were trimmed and neat in their new cedar bark beds, and the lawn rolled to meet the road in alternating stripes of Crayola green and emerald.

She could just imagine a bridal party in white, posing next to the pond she planned to build. Maybe a small stream too, with an arched bridge leading to a gazebo where they'd exchange their vows. She'd arrange folding chairs for the guests in curved rows around it, and—

Barney sneezed.

“What, you think that can't happen?” She rubbed his stomach with her foot. “Better believe it, bud.” All it would take was buckets of sweat.

And cash.

She rolled her shoulders to ease the ache between them. She'd really enjoyed her day, running the tractor down the rows, the smell of turned-over earth and worms. Vineyard rat was a physically taxing job but an easy mental one. Everything was black or white; no personnel issues, no worry about her untrustworthy gut. Tomorrow, Danovan was going to show her how to test the soil for nitrogen and water content. Tonight, though, she needed to catch up on the books, much as she'd have liked to avoid it.

As she stood, her phone rang. “This is Indigo,” she answered quickly.

“Indigo, this is Jesse Jurgen. You left a flyer about yoga classes at my café?”

It took a few banging heartbeats to get over her surprise. “Jesse, of course. Good to hear from you.”

“I wanted to know when classes begin. I've spoken with a few of my friends who are interested.”

“Oh, that's great. Um. I can begin anytime you'd like. Does an evening class work for your group?”

“Well, actually, noon would be best. Most of us work, but we can scoot out for lunch. Is that doable?”

It would mean getting up even earlier so she could work in the vineyard, then squeeze in a shower before noon. But at least she'd get her yoga workout. “Yes, I can do that. What day would you like?”

They worked out the details and fees, then hung up. So delighted to have a group of six students, she'd agreed to a Wednesday class.

And tomorrow was Wednesday. She had a lot of work yet to do.

First, she had to do the books and balance the checking account, then the grunt work. “Come on, Barney, miles to go before we sleep tonight, dude.”

Two hours later, she and Barney walked to the room next to her office. When she flipped on the lights, the one-way glass windows reflected back the empty room. Well, empty save for the sprawling pile of yoga mats, the rolls of mirrored tiles, a bucket of adhesive and a paintbrush.

Seeing something taped on top of the cellophane-wrapped sheets, she bent and peeled off Tim's business card. A blue ink arrow in the corner made her turn it over. His cell phone number was written on the back, along with a scrawled note inviting her to call anytime.

Harry had had “the” conversation with her in bed one night. Well, not really a conversation; he talked, and she tried not to listen. His soft voice in the dark said she had to face facts: barring an accident, she was going to live much longer than he. He told her that once he was gone he wanted her to go on and make a new life. With a new man. Even have children someday.

What he said was logical. Sensible. Her brain got the whole circle of life thing. But her heart didn't. He'd kept after her that night until she was in tears. Until she promised she'd try. And maybe someday she would, when her heart got the memo. Right now, it slumbered, dreaming of happier times. With a sad smile, she wadded up the card and dropped it to the floor.

Luckily, the mirror sheets were four-by-four, and the wall height was eight-and-a-half feet, making the math easy. She retrieved a ladder from the production facility and got to work.

By midnight, though her shoulder muscles screamed in a soprano chorus with her back, she had the bottom sheets installed. They were beautiful, but damn, they were
heavy.

A safe distance away, Barney snored.

“No, Barn, thanks for the offer, but you rest. With your short legs, you couldn't reach anyway.” She'd love to trudge home to bed, leaving the top ones for tomorrow night, but that wasn't an option. If she was going to make an impression and pull in more clients, this place would have to look amazing for class tomo—no, today.

What Rosalina had discovered under the grime and neglect had made Indigo smile—a basketball-court-worthy polyurethaned wood floor that leant the room a warm, cozy glow.

And standing here admiring it isn't getting you closer to bed.

She positioned the ladder, stepped up with the bucket of adhesive and prepped the wall for the first sheet. Then came the hard part. She set the adhesive on the floor, hefted a rolled sheet of tiles and climbed the ladder. Once unrolled, it became heavy and awkward. She'd have to center it, not touching the adhesive until it was lined up perfectly. She leaned in, arms shaking under the weight. If she was off at the top, it wouldn't—“Ahhhh!” Overbalanced, the ladder tipped and bumped the wall. Her feet slipped off the step. She hit ass-first. The heavy sheet fell on her chest like a mirrored blanket. “Shit!”

Startled from sleep, Barney howled.

Butt throbbing, she lay stunned.

Barney's nails clicked, and his long face appeared over her.

A bumping sound came from the hall. Then the door slammed open. “What the f— Are you okay?” Danovan rushed over and fell on his knees next to her. “Don't move. What hurts?” His fingers ran through her hair to the back of her skull, where he probed gently. “Did you hit your head? Are you dizzy?”

Barney licked her face.

“Ugh. Stop.” She put up a hand to fend off more slobber. “Quit, both of you. I'm fine.”

Danovan ran his hands over her arms, feeling for breaks. “Are you sure? Does anything hurt?”

His gaze was clear, but his eyes were puffy, his hair rumpled, and he had a pillow crease on his cheek. He wore sweats but was barefoot. She could see the ghost of a backward UC Davis logo on his faded T-shirt—he'd put it on inside out.

“Only my pride.” She sat up and winced. “And my butt.”

He sat back on his haunches and ran his hands through his own hair, mussing it further. “You scared the crap out of me. It sounded like we were being invaded. What the heck were you doing?” For the first time, he looked around.

“I'm sorry to wake you.” She leaned onto her unbruised cheek and stroked Barney's ears to calm him. “My first yoga class is tomorrow. I have to get this room finished.”

“Jesus, woman, why didn't you come ask for help?” He stood and offered her a hand up.

She took it. “This isn't in your job description. Besides, it's late and you work so many hours already.”

His body stilled, but his soft brown eyes scanned her face. It was an intimate touch. “I thought we were getting to be friends.” He didn't let go of her hand.

Something about his eyes caught her. Though her nerves fidgeted, she couldn't look away. Then, with a start, she realized why. The bones of Danovan's face were hard, but the look in his eyes was soft as suede. There was true-blue caring in those eyes. Only one man had ever looked at her that way—her husband. Her heart knocked her breastbone once. Twice.

She knew what Harry would say. But since he wasn't here, it was easier to ignore him. Besides, Danovan was offering friendship, nothing more.

And boy, could she use a friend.

“Friends. Yes, I'd like that.” She smiled. “Very much.”

He nodded, as if sealing a pact. “Good.” He turned to assess the damage. “Now, let's get this done, so we can get to bed. We'll have another long day tomorrow.”

* * *

I
NDIGO
'
S
STEP
WAS
light in spite of having only four hours of sleep and running a sprayer since sunup. Freshly showered, she jogged down the hill to the winery.

Thank God for Danovan. She never would have gotten those top mirrored sheets up without him. While they worked, she'd entertained him with movie outtakes and pratfalls from her Hollywood life until, punchy with exhaustion, they'd both fallen on the yoga mats, tears of laughter running down their faces.

Behind Danovan's work persona, she'd discovered a nice guy. He seemed interested, sincere and charming. So what was with the tiny finger of mistrust poking at the back of her mind? She was no longer the artless wide-eyed teenager, assuming every friendly person was a friend. She well knew the price of innocence, and she wouldn't pay it, ever again.

But so far, he hadn't been anything but exactly what he purported himself to be.

Maybe she was just jaded.

She jogged past a white shuttle bus in the parking lot. The side of it read, “Parkland Active Retirement Community. Don't just live with us—participate with us!”

Stepping into the tasting room, she counted ten white heads either sipping tiny glasses of wine at the bar or wandering the gift shop. She'd have clapped her hands and skipped if it wouldn't have appeared unprofessional. Still, she giggled inside. Her smile didn't even dim when Sondra stepped from behind the bar and glided over.