Catherine Lanigan - A Fine Year for Love

“Expanding?” Mario laughed. “Certainly not now, of course, but why would I want to compete with Sam Crenshaw? He’s got the best land around these parts, and plenty of it. That granddaughter of his has made all kinds of improvements and talked him into hiring experts from France, for goodness’ sake!” Mario gestured wildly.

Bianca handed an iced tea to her husband without saying a word. Mario took a long slug. The icy liquid appeared to have dampened his excitement.

Gabe nodded. “I have to agree. Winemaking these days isn’t a hobby. It’s big business. Very big business.”

Bianca shrugged. “We were never serious about it. We made the wine for ourselves. Sophie would give some bottles to her girlfriends as gifts. That’s all.”

“Mama. We made good wine. Gabe thinks he can make it better,” Sophie said.

“What I believe,” Gabe continued, “is that this line of apple trees is your problem. They block the sun too much—they won’t allow the grapes to ripen properly. Pinot noir grapes need morning, midday and afternoon sun. If I take these trees out...”

“You’re going to cut them down?” Sophie asked in horror. “I climbed them when I was a child! I love those trees.”

Gabe shook his head and reached over to pat her hand. “No, I’ll move them to the southern end, where we’ll plant the pinot gris. The apple flavor will enhance that of the grapes. I’ll also plant some pear trees there. I won’t get rid of anything on the property. My intention is to make everything better.”

Sophie glanced down at her hand, which was covered by Gabe’s larger one. She smiled.

Gabe caught her smile and took back his hand. He edged the map closer to Mario, but didn’t miss Bianca throwing Sophie a quelling look.

Gabe was sure Bianca didn’t want her daughter to blow the deal. Sophie had a reputation for going after guys and then tossing them in a heap after a few days.

Gossips around Indian Lake said the same kind of thing about Gabe because he’d never dated anyone seriously. He simply didn’t have the time. Gabe had never told a woman he loved her. He’d never asked anyone to be his girlfriend or fiancée. He’d steered very clear of relationships that smacked of anything permanent.

Gabe liked to go to dance, but he preferred to leave alone.

He had his sights set on his future, and to attain the kind of international success he wanted for himself as a vintner, Gabe had to stay focused on his goal.

As he turned back to the map, Gabe felt his heartbeat accelerate. This vineyard, and the possibility of seeing his own name on a wine label, filled him with euphoria. There wasn’t a feeling on earth like it.

“In addition to restructuring the rows of vines and bringing in new varieties, I want us to do some high-density planting.”

“How high?” Sophie asked, her eyes widening.

“Twenty-two hundred vines per acre.”

Mario whistled.

Sophie bit her lower lip. “This is no hobby.”

“Let me show you how serious I am,” he said, pulling a manila folder out of his briefcase. He opened it, revealing engineering drawings, machinery blueprints and a second land survey. “This is the equipment we’ll need by next year’s harvest in order to maximize our winemaking. I’ll keep the oak casks you have to age the wine, but we’ll need these stainless steel tanks in order to ferment it. We’ll build the barrel cellar along with the first fermentation barn. Since you’ve used your small barn for fermentation before, we’ll connect the plumbing from there to the new barn. There will be a radiant cooling system in the cellar roof. With this design you see here—” Gabe slid a set of photos across the table “—we’ll be one of the most modern wineries around. But we’ll keep the rustic charm, too. You’ll note the barn’s wood frame still has traditional hand-joinery. It’s done just as it was in the 1880s—probably when your first barn was built. Am I right?”

“Yes. It was built in 1882,” Mario replied. “I love that old barn.”

“We should capitalize on its charm.”

“What about a tasting room like Liz has?” Mario asked.

“Too soon,” Gabe said. “We’re a long way from that. I may pool our wines with the tasting rooms up in Saugatuck. Right now, I’ll be investing in fermentation barns, underground cellars and staff.”

“Staff?” Sophie and Mario said in unison.

“Absolutely. I’ll need help. I still have my father’s business to help run. Rafe has his mind on racehorses, and Mica would rather be designing some new piece of machinery than running the farm. That leaves the bulk of the Barzonni business squarely on my and my dad’s shoulders.”

“Angelo is a good businessman,” Mario said quietly as he studied the drawings and plans.

Gabe nodded. “He is. But he’s slowing down a bit these days.” He gave Mario a pointed and inquisitive look, but the older man quickly glanced away.

“Sophie told me Malbec wine is very popular with her friends,” Mario said. “It’s a big seller. Will you make Malbec?”

“I do want to give it a try. After all, vintners in the southwest of France and Argentina shouldn’t have a monopoly on that market.” Gabe gestured to the eastern side of the vineyard on the plot map. “These blackberries will enhance the wine. We’ll also add some black pepper flavor to give it an open texture.”

“Lovely,” Bianca said, folding her hands in her lap.

Gabe could read body language well enough to know that Bianca, for one, was itching to get a hold of his cashier’s check. He could only imagine the medical bills that had been piling up. Mario was on the mend after his surgery and was starting chemotherapy in a week. He would get well. They all had to believe that. Still, his treatments had put a strain on the family’s finances. Gabe was surprised by the sense of pride he took in being able to help them.

“Mario, this set of drawings is for you and your family. I want you to continue to look them over. I know we’ve talked about what I hope to create out here, but I need to be sure you’re happy with this deal. Do you still want to sell to me?”

Mario didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately and thrust out his hand. “Yes, we do, Gabriel. I’m very pleased you are going to make my little vineyard into a modern operation.”

As they shook hands, Gabe smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. This was more than a very exciting day in his life. And it felt very, very fine.

Gabe signed the papers, then handed them to Mario. “Congratulations to us.”

While Mario countersigned them, Gabe took out the cashier’s check and handed it to Bianca.

She smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you.”

As soon as the paperwork was done, Gabe would own roughly twelve acres of vineyard, most of which contained the same soil that was on Liz Crenshaw’s land.

This tiny parcel wasn’t even a speck of lint on the hundreds of acres, both planted and fallow, that Liz and Sam Crenshaw owned, but it was a start.

Since his freshman year at UC Davis, when he’d taken his first classes in viticulture and enology, he’d known that the tomatoes, soybeans and corn his family grew would never hold the allure for him that grape-growing and winemaking would. He had not only excelled in his classes, but also seemed to know as much or more than his professors. He remembered everything he read about wine as if the information had been burned into his brain. He was obsessed with California—the weather, the soil, the rock, the grapes, the other fruit and the estates. Gabe was drunk on the knowledge that flowed into him. Like the casks of wine he someday intended to make, Gabe knew he had to bide his time. His dream had to be held in reserve. Aged and not rushed. He’d returned to Indian Lake that summer, forever changed.