Susan Mallery - The Sassy One

“The Chardonnay is ready,” she said. “We’ll get it all done in time.”

The bright sun made her pull her baseball cap over her forehead and squint to see, the vineyard stretching out for what felt like miles in every direction. The smell of earth mingled with the fragrance of grapes. The scent wasn’t rich as it would be at harvest, when simply walking through the vineyard could be intoxicating. But it held promise of a good crop and a great wine.

This was her home, she thought contentedly. This land, these vines all existed within the confines of the only world she had ever loved. It had taken coming back to discover that.

She knew now she should never have left. That taking what had seemed to be the safe choice had been a mistake she’d paid for over and over again during the past nine years. Now it appeared she would be paying the ultimate price when her grandfather sold the winery. If he sold the winery.

Brenna couldn’t get confirmation of the rumors, but there were so many of them, she couldn’t help believing them true.

“People are talking,” she began slowly. “About the winery. I’ve heard them say you’re considering selling.”

Her grandfather picked up a handful of dirt and let it run through his fingers. He rubbed a few leaves, then straightened and glanced up at the sun.

“A good day,” he said. “A good season.”

She didn’t say anything. Her heart seemed to have frozen solid in her chest. Despite the heat of the afternoon, every part of her was cold.

Finally he turned to look at her. “You asked me before. I told you. I’m not selling.”

She studied his weathered face. He was a stern man who ruled his family with outdated laws and discipline, but he didn’t lie.

Relief poured through her, hot and welcome. Her heart began to beat again. She sucked in a breath, then another. As long as she had the winery, she had a reason for living. It didn’t matter that her personal life was in the toilet and that she was twenty-seven and had just moved back home. The grapes were everything. They-

“Not yet,” he said. “Maybe soon.”

Brenna stared at him. “No,” she breathed. Sell? Marcelli Wines? Her chest ached as if someone had stabbed her. “You can’t. This land has been in the family for over seventy years. Why would you turn all we’ve worked for over to a stranger?”

“I’m an old man.”

“I’m not. I’m here and working hard.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “For now. But then what?”

They’d had this conversation before. The unfairness of it burned like a brand. All her life she’d been told her duty was to get married as soon as she turned eighteen. Which she had done. That relationship had taken her away from the vineyard she loved.

She turned and walked away. Her body ached, but that pain was nothing when compared with the emptiness of her soul.

Her grandfather blamed her for leaving. After all those years of telling her to get married, he now punished her for listening to him. Worse, Brenna almost couldn’t argue his point. She couldn’t figure out why she’d given up the vineyards to marry her ass of an ex-husband who was knee-deep in preparations for his wedding to wife number two.

Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry. Not over Jeff. Not anymore. She’d moved past hate, regret, and revenge. Now she simply wanted that chapter of her life over. Let him get married again. Let him get married a dozen more times. As long as she had the grapes…

She crested a rise and turned to look back at the land. She’d been born and bred to work the vines, and she had walked away from them all. If only-

The bright sunlight made her squint. In the distance, on neighboring Giovanni lands, she saw movement. Was it Nic? She was too far away to tell.

If only what? If only she’d listened to her heart instead of taking the easy way out and marrying Jeff? Things would not have turned out much better with her grandfather. There were no if onlys. There was now and the fact that she’d finally found everything she wanted only to lose it again if her grandfather sold.

She’d learned her lesson. Unfortunately the education had come too late. What did it matter now if she never again trusted her heart and soul to a man? Without Marcelli Wines she was nothing.

Francesca hadn’t spent much time in Montecito, an upscale neighborhood just east of Santa Barbara. She glanced at the directions she’d scribbled down, then back at the street signs and wondered what she was going to do if she got lost. No doubt the local police would want to impound her truck for being the wrong type of vehicle, the wrong age, and definitely the wrong price. In this neighborhood even the maids drove Volvos.

Francesca chuckled as she recalled her terror when Sam called and suggested a barbecue at his place, or what he’d referred to as Montecito’s best grill kitchen. Her first thought had been she couldn’t-she had faulty birth control. Her second had been wild temptation, followed by bone-numbing fear. Obviously she needed to get out more. Pitifully, she’d accepted his invitation when he’d mentioned a live-in housekeeper who would act as chaperon.

Less than five minutes later she found the right street and the right house. Make that the right gate. Both sides of the narrow street were lined with tall fences and gates. Some stood open, but others were firmly closed. Francesca pulled in front of Sam’s, then opened her truck window to press the button on the control panel.

After a couple of seconds a familiar voice said, “Hello, Francesca. Glad you could make it.”

Sam’s words made her heart flutter like hummingbird wings. She felt giddy and nervous, but excited. “Hi, Sam.”

“Come on in.”

The large double wrought-iron gates swung open, allowing her to drive onto the property. A few hundred yards later, after rounding a bend, she stopped in front of an old two-story house built in the 1920s. The mock Tudor facade blended perfectly with the formal gardens stretching out on either side.

So the security business paid well, she thought as she opened the door and stepped onto the cobblestone driveway. Despite Sam’s elegant offices and his title as CEO, she’d never considered their economic differences. If she compared family fortunes, she would probably be in the ballpark, but personally she didn’t have a penny. Marcelli Wines belonged solely to her grandfather.

She glanced down at the simple sundress she’d worn. She’d taken the time to curl her long hair and put on a little makeup, but other than that, there wasn’t much she could do to dazzle anyone. Funny how she found herself wanting to dazzle Sam.

She crossed to the front door, which opened before she could knock.

“Hi,” she said before she got a good look at him. Which was well timed, because after she looked, she wasn’t up for much in the way of conversation.

She’d been picturing him in a suit, not that she’d wasted her entire day dreaming about him.

He wore a red polo shirt tucked into worn jeans and no shoes. Somehow the sight of his bare feet shocked her-as if she’d stumbled into his bedroom and accidentally seen him naked. They were just feet, she told herself. Big feet.

She held in a smile as she thought of what her sister, Brenna, would say about her observation on the feet front.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, smiling at her.

She found herself getting lost in those tawny-colored eyes she’d admired last night. His dark blond hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it. What was it about a slightly rumpled man that women found appealing? Why did he seem more dangerous now than he had before?

“Thanks for the invitation.” She glanced around the foyer. “So this is the great grill place, huh?”

“Actually the grilling magic happens on my back patio. There’s going to be a write-up in Food and Spirits next month.”

“You’re going to be busy. I’m glad I could get in before the rush.”

“I’d make room for you.”

“You mean in time I could get my own table?”

“Maybe a chair, if you’re good.”

This is the place where a sophisticated, experienced woman would purr something about always being good. The words hovered on Francesca lips, but she held them back. Throwing herself into the deep end was one thing, but promising an Olympic performance instead of the ungainly flailing that was likely to follow seemed like a mistake.

“I’ll give you the nickel tour,” he said. “You can meet Elena, so you’ll know I wasn’t lying about her, then I’ll take you out to the patio and impress you.”

His low voice seemed to brush across her skin like warm velvet. She found herself wanting to move closer, to stretch until all the kinks were out, then rub against him. Maybe she could purr without words.

He took a step, then paused. “Take your shoes off if you want.”

Francesca hesitated a second, then slipped out of her sandals and dropped her bag next to them. Somehow the thought of both of them barefoot was more than a little scandalous, but she was playing with the big guys now.

She followed Sam across the hardwood floor of the entryway, past a large living room. She caught a glimpse of a library, a home office, and a dining room.

“Big place,” she said. “I can see why you have live-in help.”

Sam smiled at her. “I didn’t used to. Somebody came in and cleaned. My grandfather lives a couple of miles from here. He’s getting up in years and needs more help than he used to. Not that he’ll admit it. I wanted to get him someone, but he’s stubborn and wouldn’t agree. So I complained about wanting to hire a full-time person and not having enough work. He pretended to believe me. Elena spends most of her time with him, but she has a suite of rooms here. It’s a game my grandfather and I play, but it works.”

They crossed by the kitchen and entered a small hallway at the back of the house. Sam knocked on a closed door.

“Elena? Francesca is here.”

A small, redheaded woman in her early fifties opened the door. She was casually dressed in sweats and a T-shirt.

“Elena, this is Francesca. Francesca, Elena runs the house. My grandfather and I would be lost without her.”

“Nice to meet you,” Francesca said.

“You, too.” She grinned at her employer. “Okay. I agree. This one was worth the wait.”

Sam sighed. “You weren’t supposed to say anything to get me in trouble.”

Elena’s smile broadened. “Me? What did I say? Did I mention a word about a man living alone for too long with only an old woman for company? No. Not a word. Did I say it was time he found himself a good woman? Not even close. I mind my own business. That’s what I’m paid to do. I keep my mouth shut.”

“Speaking of shutting,” Sam said, interrupting her. “I’m closing your door now. You sure you don’t want me to cook you a steak?”

“Yes. Red meat will kill you.”

“Without it, life isn’t worth living.”

“You need to eat more vegetables.”

“Good night, Elena,” he said and drew the door closed.

“Good night,” she called. “Have fun.”

Sam shook his head, then led the way back to the kitchen. “She makes me crazy.”

“You adore her.”

“I do. She’s great with Gabriel. He can be a real curmudgeon, but she doesn’t mind. As you may have noticed, she gives as good as she gets. He thinks she’s great, although he’d rather eat worms than admit it.”

Francesca glanced around at the spacious rooms they passed on their way through the house. “Do you rent out rooms?”

“I could. If the security business ever tanks, I’ll think about it.” He led the way into the kitchen.

She had a brief impression of bleached cabinets and tiled counters. French doors led to an open deck with the ocean in the distance. But she was more distracted by Sam’s words than the view. Very nice, she thought. Too nice. If Sam was so all that, why wasn’t he married with six kids?

“What are you thinking?” he asked as he took a step toward her.

“Nothing much. I’m in observation mode.”

“Exploring your environment?” he asked as he moved a little closer.

“Sure.” And him. Flawed or not, she wouldn’t mind exploring him.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grinned. “You like my ‘executive at home’ look?”

“It doesn’t stink.”

He chuckled, then stepped in front of her and rested his hands on her waist. She had a half second of warning before he bent low and kissed her.

The light brush of his mouth made her sway toward him. Body parts slowly stirred to life. She rested her fingers on his shoulders, feeling the strength and heat of him.

Her insides warmed, then melted. Legs quivered. She sighed and leaned into him. This was going to be good.