Catherine Lanigan - A Fine Year for Love

He looked back at her. “You’ll need a lot of luck, Liz. I wish you that,” he said.

She chortled. “Luck? You don’t think I’ll make it. You don’t know me very well, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’d like to change that.”

She felt surprise mingled with distrust. She leveled him with a glare hot enough to wither healthy vegetation. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, I do owe you an apology. I want to make up for trying to steal your dirt.”

“You know, Gabe, I would have given you a sample. Farmer to farmer.”

This time, he was the one to be cynical. “No, you wouldn’t, Liz,” he retorted sharply. “You would have asked me a thousand questions, just like you’re doing now, because you don’t know me. You know of me. I’m Angelo Barzonni’s oldest son. These days I run his business more than he does, truth be told. That’s all people know. They don’t want to know anything else.”

Liz could almost taste his bitterness, though he spoke with the calm and detached observation of a journalist, as if he were only recording his life and not living it. Her empathy nearly went out to him, but then he flashed his charming smile. He had practiced this masquerade. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling her in...but why?

“I’m going to ask you again, Gabe. Why are you really here?”

“I thought it was obvious. I want to pick your brain.”

She stuck her left hand into the back pocket of her cutoffs and slapped the bouquet of flowers against her thigh as if she could beat down her rising anger. “And the only reason you would want to do that is because you’re going into the wine business.”

Silence.

Gabe kept his eyes on Liz.

“You must think I’m a fool, or that I’d fall for your good looks—”

“You think I’m good-looking?” he interjected.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Look, I came here to taste that great chardonnay of yours. I wandered off to check out the grapes after a bunch of tourists left. I had a soil-gathering kit in my trunk and I went and got it. The gate was open.”

“It’s always locked,” she countered with a glare.

“It was open, okay? I told you. I’m naturally curious. Just as I was collecting the soil, you came up.”

“Caught you red-handed.”

He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Can’t you let it go? I’m sorry.”

She ground her jaw and glanced away, wondering why he unnerved her this much. “You better leave. We have nothing more to say.”

“Liz, come on.”

She shot him a stinging look. He shut up. “You want me to get my gun?”

“No!” He put up his hands. “I’m going. Okay?”

He started past her and as he reached her side, he stopped and leaned in close to her ear. “We have a lot in common, Liz. I can see it. Why can’t you?”

He walked away, got in his car and drove off.

Liz walked up the porch steps and stopped at the front door, noticing her grandfather was standing just inside. The door was opened just wide enough he could have easily heard their conversation.

“Hi, Grandpa,” she said with a wave of the bouquet.

Sam Crenshaw was as tall as Gabe, about six-foot-four, with a thatch of white hair that had thinned over the years and which no pair of scissors could ever tame. Liz always said she inherited her wild curls from Sam. He stood straight-backed and square-shouldered, as he always did when he sensed confrontation. Liz smiled to herself, validated that her grandfather also sensed the presence of a foreign substance. Gabe was like a sliver, Liz thought. Inconsequential at first, but the longer you took to deal with it, the more harm it could cause.

“So that’s Gabriel, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, glancing back as Gabe’s convertible left a dusty rooster tail in his wake.

“Good-looking kid. Resembles his mother.”

“I guess,” she said, moving inside.

“He give you those flowers?”

“Yep. I’ll throw them in the compost heap. It’s all they’re good for.”

Sam nodded resolutely. “Very wise. I’ve never met a Barzonni who wasn’t up to no good.”

Liz was surprised by Sam’s pointed comment. She’d never heard him mention anything in particular about the Barzonni family in the past, but judging from the way his jaw was set as if he’d just tasted something acrid, her curiosity was piqued.

Sam’s eyes had narrowed to piercing blue slits. Liz knew he used these discerning eyes when he needed to ponder a situation. She also knew he didn’t want to talk about Gabe, at least for the moment. Later, she might be able to coax an explanation out of him.

“I’ve got work to do.” Sam plucked his straw hat off the hall tree stand and stepped outside, leaving Liz alone.

Liz looked sadly at the summer bouquet.

It was the first time a man had given her flowers.

CHAPTER THREE

GABE SAT ACROSS the kitchen table from Sophie Mattuchi and her parents, Mario and Bianca. Mario was of medium height and fit build, much like Gabe’s own father, Angelo. His black hair was veined with streaks of white, as if the man had been hit by lightning. His face was deeply lined and very tan from years of toiling in the sun.

However, Gabe quickly learned Mario had never been a farmer, as his appearance would suggest, but a car mechanic. Apparently, he was just as fascinated with Gabe’s Porsche as he was with the purpose of Gabe’s visit.

Bianca busied herself around the kitchen, bringing tall glasses of iced tea with lemon and homegrown mint to the table.

Sophie’s ninety-year-old grandmother, Bella, sat silently in a rocking chair in the corner near an enormous brick hearth. Despite the heat, she wore a colorful shawl around her thin shoulders while she watched Gabe with guarded crystal-blue eyes.

“Mario, as you and I have discussed, I haven’t told anyone about your condition,” Gabe said with compassion.

“Thank you,” Mario said, choking back emotion. “And thank you for taking me up on my offer.”

“Mario, you’re helping me make my own dream come true. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’m happy I could make this work for both of us.”

“I just never thought I would be in this position,” Mario said, looking from Bianca to Sophie.

Sophie smiled at her father. “You’re going to get well, Papa. And you’ll have many more years on the farm. By that time, Gabe will be making all kinds of wonderful wines. Right, Gabe?”

“Sure will,” Gabe replied, catching her upbeat tone. “So, Mario, I’ve had all the soil samples analyzed down at Purdue.” Gabe opened his briefcase and took out a plot map of the Mattuchis’ small farm and vineyard and placed it on the table. “This section here is the best.” He pointed at a spot on the map and glanced over at Bella. “You should all take a look. This is very exciting.” Sophie smiled at her grandmother and urged her to join them, but Bella shook her head violently and refused to move. Gabe noticed the very tight purse to the old woman’s lips and thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been negotiating with Bella.

Mario and Bianca leaned in. Mario pointed to the easternmost ridge on the map, where the land lay fallow. “This is what you wanted?”

“Yes.” Gabe smiled widely. “This section here, next to the Crenshaw place. I have reason to believe I can grow pinot noir grapes up there. These slopes are perfect.”

“We’ve never had anything grow there.” Sophie had pity in her eyes. “Are you sure you should do this, Gabe?”

“Sophie, I’m sure you’re the best darned cardiology nurse at the hospital, but I know about grapes and soil, and I’m telling you this section is worth the entire vineyard. I’m willing to buy the whole vineyard since Mario isn’t all that interested in expanding his operation.”