Moonlight and Roses
Jackie Braun
Buying the Monroe family winery gave Zack Holland the fresh start he needed. But the business came with one determined woman, and he could see she wasn't going to hand over the reins easily. Jaye Monroe knew they had to work together to make the winery a success. But she couldn't bear to give up everything her family had worked for–to an outsider.Yet the attraction sizzled and, what's more, the mood was set with the heady mix of moonlight and the scent of roses! Soon Jaye started to wonder whether they could develop the perfect relationship–business and personal….
Jackie Braun
Moonlight and Roses
For my good friend, Tina Haas, who didn’t complain one
bit when I asked her to help me research a winery in
Leelanau County. And to the staff at Black Star Farms,
who made our stay there an incredible experience. Any
errors I made or liberties I took in writing this book bear
no reflection on their winemaking knowledge and skill.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
JAYE MONROE didn’t consider herself the sort of woman to swoon, but as she sat with her stepmother in the stuffy office, listening to the lawyer read the contents of Frank Monroe’s will, she definitely felt light-headed.
Not only was her beloved father gone, but he’d left their Leelanau County vineyard, along with its winery and tasting room, in the sole possession of his second wife of seven years rather the daughter who had toiled by his side for the past nine to help make the Medallion label an up-and-coming success.
Upon hearing this, Margaret sent Jaye a spiteful grin, but the older woman’s glee didn’t last long.
The lawyer was saying, “As for the house, the collection of original eighteenth-century artwork and all of the antique furnishings with the exception of those found in the master bedroom suite, Frank wanted you to have those, Jaye.”
“What?” both women shouted simultaneously.
Jaye straightened in her seat. Her stepmother slumped sideways.
“Mrs. Monroe?” the lawyer said, rising partway from his chair. “Are you all right?”
Jaye knew Margaret wasn’t the sort to swoon, either, but the older woman certainly enjoyed attention and had a flair for the dramatic.
“Water,” Margaret murmured, her heavily made-up eyelids flickering. “I need water.”
“What about you, Miss Monroe?” the lawyer asked. “Can I get you anything?”
Jaye considered requesting a shot of something potent to numb the pain and outrage she was experiencing, but she shook her head.
When he returned, she said in as steady a voice as she could manage, “This can’t be right, Mr. Danielson. You must have read that part backward. Dad wouldn’t leave the vineyard to Margaret. She doesn’t want it any more than I want a house filled with old paintings and gaudy antiques.”
“I paid good money for those old paintings and gaudy antiques,” Margaret snapped, apparently having recovered from her near collapse.
“Yes, you enjoyed spending my father’s money on anything that caught your eye.”
“He was my husband, so it was my money to spend,” the older woman retorted. Then she slumped back in her seat again. “I loved that man. What will I do without him?”
“Ladies, please.” Jonas Danielson raised a bony hand to silence them. “I’m sorry, Miss Monroe, Mrs. Monroe. I know this must come as a shock to both of you, but this is what Frank stipulated in the will he had drawn up just prior to his death last month.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Jaye persisted. “I have my own house, my own furniture.” All of which leaned toward the contemporary. “Dad and I built Medallion together. He can’t have intended to pull the rug out from under me this way.”
Mr. Danielson retrieved a couple of papers from a folder and handed one to Jaye and one to Margaret. “Perhaps this will help clarify the matter for you.”
It was the photocopy of a letter. Jaye recognized her father’s scratchy cursive immediately, and her heart began to race. The letter began: “Dear Margaret and Juliet.”
Juliet. Her father only used Jaye’s given name when she was in trouble, and boy was she ever, she realized, as she continued to read the words he’d penned.
I know that the two of you have never been close, which is a pity since neither of you really has anyone else. I want the two women I love the most in this world to look after each other and to work together after I’m gone. I think this is a good way to ensure that you will.
Juliet, Margaret will need help with Medallion’s daily operations. Margaret, I know you’ve never taken an interest in the vineyard, but you are a bright and capable woman. I think you will be an asset. In the meantime, I’m sure Juliet will allow you to reside in the house as always, and I ask that you allow Juliet to continue as head vintner at the winery. There’s no one I trust more to ensure the label’s quality and success.
I love you both and it saddens me to leave you. My only comfort is in knowing that you will have each other to lean on. Please, be good to each other.
Jaye traced his signature at the bottom of the page and then glanced over at Margaret, who was still busy reading, if the movement of her lips was any indication.
Be good to each other.
Jaye bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He might as well have asked them to flap their arms and fly. The two women had never been friends. Oh, they could manage to be cordial when the circumstances required it. On holidays, for instance, they sat together at the dinner table and exchanged polite small talk. But when it came right down to it, Jaye found the older woman vacuous and self-centered. Margaret was no fonder of Jaye, whom she’d often labeled as outspoken and a tomboy.
No, the women were not friends. They had tolerated each other for Frank’s sake. Now that he was gone so was all pretense, as Margaret’s next words made clear.
“I’m hiring my own lawyer. This is ridiculous.” She stood, crumpled up the letter and tossed it onto the lawyer’s desk. “Everything should be mine! I’m sure a judge will agree. I was his wife.”
“Of seven years.” Jaye stood as well. “I’m his daughter of nearly thirty. Yes, I can see how giving you everything, even the vineyard that you’ve never stepped foot in, would be fair.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “He loved me. That still kills you, doesn’t it?”
Jaye ignored the question, partly because it was true. Of all the women in the world for her father to marry, why did it have to be a silly bit of arm candy like Margaret?
“I’ll hire a lawyer, too,” she vowed. “We’ll see who ends up with what.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Mr. Danielson pleaded. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do? Litigation could take months, years. It will be draining emotionally, not to mention financially. Why not compromise? The solution in this matter seems obvious. If you don’t want the vineyard,” he said to Margaret, “and you don’t want the house and its furnishings,” his gaze moved to Jaye, “then perhaps you can make arrangements to transfer ownership?”
“That sounds reasonable,” Jaye allowed.
But Margaret was shaking her head, her expression far more shrewd than vacuous now. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “All of that acreage would fetch a pretty price in this real estate market, especially without a bunch of damned grapes growing on it.”
Jaye knew a moment of true horror. She wouldn’t put it past her stepmother to sell the vineyard’s prime property to the highest bidder. “I’ll give you everything my father left me, plus a fair sum.”
“Will you now?” Margaret’s smile bloomed.
“Yes. This was Dad’s dream, Margaret. The vineyard represents all of his years of hard work.” And mine, Jaye thought. And mine. “Promise me that you won’t sell Medallion to a developer.”
Margaret studied Jaye for a long moment before finally nodding. Still, Jaye didn’t quite trust the gleam in her eye. “Okay, Jaye. You’re right. This was Frank’s dream. So, I promise you that I won’t sell it to a developer.”
And she didn’t. Five months later, after Jaye had accepted an offer for her beachfront home and was busily scraping together the rest of the down payment for the vineyard, Margaret sold the Medallion Winery to a California vintner.
CHAPTER ONE
JAYE stood on the upstairs balcony of the house her father had left to her and watched the silver convertible shoot up the paved road that led to Medallion’s winery, tasting room and business offices. She caught a glimpse of sandy hair, ruddy cheeks and a cocky smile. The car’s top was down despite the fact that the outside temperature was flirting with fifty.
If it were later in the day, she might wonder if the fool driving had already imbibed a bit too freely at one of the area’s many other wineries. Since it was just past eight in the morning she doubted that was the case. Besides, she figured she knew exactly who was driving that fancy foreign number.
Zackary Holland.
Even thinking his name had her lip curling. The man had pulled up stakes at his family’s century-old Napa Valley vineyard and bought Medallion from Margaret before Jaye even had known a deal was in the works.
Jaye hadn’t met Zack yet, although it looked like she was going to have the privilege today. She wasn’t looking forward to it, even if she was anxious to get it over with and find out where things stood. Where she stood. She wanted Medallion back, and eventually she would have it. A man who would slough off his birthright surely could be talked into parting with this vineyard. In the meantime, she wanted to keep her job as head vintner.
Usually, Jaye wasn’t one given to snap judgments, but she doubted she would find she liked Zack very much and not just because he owned what by right should have been hers. Having traveled in wine circles, she figured she knew his type. She’d met more than one pompous, pedigreed vineyard heir who considered substandard any American wine produced east of the West Coast, a couple of New England vintages excepted.
As a child, Jaye had led a comfortable life thanks to her father’s keen knack for investment, but after college she’d earned her own way, putting in fifty hours or more each week at the vineyard to draw a paycheck. The Zack Hollands of the world didn’t earn their way. Some of them never bothered to learn more about the making of wine than how to assess their family’s finished product from pricy stemware.
She surveyed the acres of terraced grapevines that were spread out like the quaint pattern of a quilt on the surrounding hillsides. Cabernet, chardonnay, and pinot were among the varieties she’d helped her father graft and plant. In the distance beyond them, the maples and oaks were starting to change color, sprinkling the horizon with splashes of red and gold that heralded fall as surely as the crisp air that turned her breath white.
It was nearly harvest time and this year promised one of the best yields yet at Medallion. Jaye and her father had spent the past nine years toiling and sweating, first to establish the vineyard and then to earn recognition for their wines. Finally they were succeeding. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. All of that hard work, and her father hadn’t lived to see the fruits of their labor.
She swiped at the tears that streaked her face, irritated to find them there. Again. She wasn’t one to cry, although she’d done her fair share in recent months. She didn’t like it. After all, what was the point of crying? What had railing against fate ever changed for her in the past? Her mother hadn’t come back. Her father couldn’t. The vineyard? Time would tell.
She returned inside, plaited her heavy hair into its usual no-nonsense braid and dressed for work. Unless—or until—the new owner told her to clear out her desk and leave, she had a job to do.
Zack parked his car and got out. Then he stood, feet planted shoulder width apart, and grinned as wide as his wind-numbed face would allow. His previous visit to the vineyard hadn’t prepared him for the beauty to come. Oh, the area had been pretty in late summer with all of those shades of blue and green, but decked out in the bold hues of autumn it simply dazzled.
He’d arrived in Michigan late the evening before, taking a suite of rooms at a hotel in nearby Traverse City. Until he found a permanent home, he would be living there. When he’d awakened this morning, he’d felt like a child on Christmas, too keyed up to choke down more than a couple bites of toast before he’d hopped in his car and followed the highway that bordered the aquamarine waters of Traverse Bay. Halfway to the vineyard, he’d stopped to put down the top on his Mercedes. He’d wanted an unrestricted view of his surroundings.
He rubbed his stiff fingers before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He was paying for his impulsiveness now, but he didn’t care. He felt more alive than he had in years. Anticipation hummed inside him as he entered the tasting room at Medallion. This winery was his and his alone. He would set its course, decide its future, and call all of the shots. He wouldn’t have to run his ideas past anyone else for approval that ultimately would be denied. No. He was in charge.
He revised his opinion half an hour later when a woman stalked through the main doors of the tasting room. He pegged her age at about thirty and her mood as supremely agitated if the stiff set of her shoulders and grim line of her mouth were any indication.
She was tall, only a few inches shorter than his six-foot-two, and lean. What he could see of her figure beneath a bulky wool sweater and loose-fitting carpenter jeans might best be described as willowy. She certainly commanded attention, though. The workers stopped what they were doing, glancing around nervously. An unnatural silence fell, and even though no one moved, Zack got the distinct impression sides had been taken.
Hers had more.
“You must be Juliet Monroe.” No introduction was necessary, but he made one anyway. He believed in confronting awkwardness head-on. And so he extended a hand as he crossed to where she stood. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Zack Holland.”
Up close he realized her eyes were green and that the hair she’d scraped back into an unflattering braid was the color of freshly ground cinnamon. Something about her tugged at him, although he couldn’t figure out why. She wasn’t beautiful, at least not in the classical sense, or even in the chic sense like his former fiancée, Mira, who had turned heads wherever they’d gone.
Given Jaye’s prominent cheekbones, slightly flared nose and wide-set eyes, the best word to describe her would be striking.
Her mouth was on the broad side, too, and her lips might have been full, although at the moment it was hard to tell as they were compressed into a frown. They loosened slightly, but only so she could tell him, “I don’t care to be called Juliet.”
Zack managed to keep his smile in place despite her clipped tone. This meeting had to be difficult for her, and he didn’t mind letting her save face in front of the workers—as long as it didn’t come at his expense. Everyone needed to understand and accept that he was in charge now, Juliet Monroe perhaps most of all.
“What do you care to be called?”
“Jaye. I go by Jaye.” Her grip was firm to the point of being painful when she finally shook his hand. He half expected her to challenge him to a thumb war.
“Jaye.” He nodded once. The short, boyish name fit her, since there was little about her that seemed soft or overtly feminine, except maybe the long hair. What would it look like…? He tamped down his curiosity. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She nodded but didn’t actually return the sentiment. Instead she got right down to business. “I’d like to know what your plans are for Medallion.” She spread her hand out to encompass the room’s wide-eyed occupants. “And for its workers, of course.”
Around them people shuffled their feet and murmured. Zack cleared his throat. He hadn’t expected to be put on the spot. Nor was he used to being challenged by an employee.
“I’m going to hold a staff meeting at the end of the week to go over the particulars, once I’ve had a good look around. I have some changes in mind,” he said, being purposefully vague.
“Such as?”
The woman was tenacious; he’d give her that. Under other circumstances, he might have admired the quality. At the moment, though, he found it insolent and annoying.
“They’ll keep. But if you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”
He was well aware that everyone was watching them and cataloging Zack and Jaye’s every word, glance and gesture.
“I’m at your disposal,” she drawled.
Right, he thought. When she made no effort to move, he added, “Why don’t we go to my office?”
Jaye let Zack lead the way, even though she knew every step by heart. The business offices were located up a flight of stairs just off the tasting room. The biggest one was at the end of the hall. It made sense that it would be the one he’d claim as his own. Still, when the door closed behind them, Jaye felt her heart squeeze. The office, with its grand, panoramic view of the vineyard, had been her father’s.
Nothing of Frank Monroe’s belongings remained. She’d cleared out every last note card and paperclip after her stepmother announced the vineyard’s sale. But she could still feel him here. She could smell the tangy tobacco he’d smoked in his pipe, and it took no effort at all to envision his bulky frame sitting behind a cluttered desk wearing his usual uniform of wrinkled khaki trousers, a Greek fisherman’s cap and a navy button-down shirt, the breast pocket of which bulged from his glasses case and assorted other personal effects. Jaye swore her father carried more things in his pockets than most women did in their purses.
“Everything okay?” Zack asked.
The image dissolved. She glanced over to find Medallion’s new owner standing beside her. She’d forgotten all about him for a moment as she’d stared at the empty desk and remembered…mourned. Her father had been gone nearly six months, but the ache had not lessened. If anything, it seemed to grow worse as the reality of never seeing him again set in and festered like an infected sore.
She felt too raw, too exposed, to answer Zack’s question, so she asked one of her own. “What did you want to see me about?”
Zack leaned one hip on the edge of the desk. “I thought that would be obvious.”
She swallowed as a lead weight settled in her stomach. “You’re letting me go.”
“No,” he said slowly, hardly sounding decisive.
Jaye crossed her arms. “You mean, not yet.”
He ran a hand over the back of his neck and chuckled, but he sounded more frustrated than amused when he said, “You don’t like to make things easy, do you?”
She’d lost her father, their vineyard, and now her livelihood was on the line. “In my experience, nothing worth having comes easily.”
She meant Medallion, recalling the backbreaking hours she and her father had spent grafting vines to root stock, fixing trellises, warding off pests and praying for just the right mix of sunshine and rain to produce a good crop.
To her surprise, Zack nodded, as if he understood completely. But what could have been difficult for Mr. Silver Spoon to attain?
“I’d appreciate your cooperation, Jaye. This transition is difficult for everyone, perhaps you most of all, but it won’t become any easier if Medallion’s workers feel they have to choose between us.”
“I’m not asking them to choose.”
“No?” His brows rose.
“I care about them,” she insisted. “They’re good workers, good people. They have families to feed. I don’t want to see them strung along.”
“I won’t string anyone along. But I didn’t appreciate being put on the spot down there.” He waved a hand in the direction of the door.
“I’m sorry.” She tried to sound sincere, but she couldn’t resist adding, “If you felt that’s what I was doing.”
Zack inhaled deeply, but apparently decided to drop the matter because he changed the subject. “I’m impressed with the operation here. It’s well run, and the finished product shows incredible potential. I understand from the workers that you’re largely responsible for making this a first-class facility.”
She wasn’t comfortable with the compliment. “I played a small role. It was my father’s doing. He loved Medallion and liked nothing better than seeing it succeed against bigger and supposedly better wineries both here and around the world.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. I understand that he died this past spring.”
“Yes.” The pain of hearing those words still surprised her, but she managed a polite nod. “Thank you.”
“I met your father once.”
This news had her full attention. “You did? When was that?”
“A few years back at a wine competition in San Diego. It must have been the first year Medallion entered. Your chardonnay did well as I recall.”
Jaye wrinkled her nose. “Honorable mention. I thought it had a shot at silver. Bronze at the very least.”
“It was pretty good,” he said, as if he really remembered.
“Holland Farms took the gold.”
“Yes.” She thought he might gloat over his family’s win, but he didn’t. Instead he said, “I liked your father. We had dinner one night. Frank Monroe listened to some ideas I had.” His expression turned thoughtful. “He was a really good listener.”
Her throat ached too much to speak, so she merely nodded. She and her father had spent many afternoons in this very room, talking, and not all of their conversations had centered on wine.
“I don’t recall seeing you there,” Zack said.
“San Diego?”
“Uh-huh.”
Jaye wasn’t one to get dolled up, let alone mix and mingle. She was more comfortable in casual pants and loafers than in cocktail dresses and high heels. What’s more she’d never understood the point of making small talk with strangers or chatting about the weather—unless, of course, the local forecast was calling for something that might harm the grapes.
Frank Monroe had often bemoaned the fact that he’d turned his only daughter into a tomboy, so much so that as an adult she was more interested in grafting vines than going out on dates. But Jaye had no regrets. Oh, she liked men and she did date, ending things amiably when her suitors turned serious. She wasn’t commitmentphobic, as her best friend, Corey Worth, claimed. Jaye just didn’t see the point in settling down and starting a family. To her way of thinking, it was better to know now that she wasn’t the wife and mother type than to do what her mom had done: marry, have a child and then take off for parts unknown with nary a look back.
“I’m not a very memorable person,” she told Zack.
He surprised her by replying, “I don’t know about that. You make quite an impression.”
His gaze was direct and it made her oddly uncomfortable. For the first time in memory, Jaye felt self-conscious and wished she’d taken a little more care with her appearance. What exactly she would have done differently, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that compared to Zack, who stood before her in tailored trousers and a designer shirt that screamed expensive, she felt drab and outdated.
She noticed other things about him then. What filled out his clothes wasn’t bad, either. He had broad shoulders, long limbs and narrow hips. He appeared fit, as if he might work out regularly. But he wasn’t overly muscled.
While his body was definitely a prime specimen, it was his face that could make a woman forget her name. Paul Newman–blue eyes peaked out from beneath a slash of brows that were a good two shades darker than the sandy hair on his head. The hair had a nice wave to it, the kind women paid big money to achieve. And he wore it longer than most professional men did. Not quite long enough to pull into a ponytail, but it brushed his shirt’s collar in the back and gave him a slightly dangerous look that was in stark contrast to his otherwise tidy appearance.
Jaye resisted the urge to fiddle with the end of her braid. “Actually, I didn’t go with my dad that time. I stayed behind to look after things at the vineyard.”
“That explains it then,” Zack said. “I never forget a face.”
“I never forget a wine. Your chardonnay was exceptional that year.” It was a relief to return to the subject of grapes. She always felt on firm footing when the discussion centered on business.
“Yes, Holland’s was,” he said. Again, he seemed to distance himself from taking any credit. “I think Medallion’s has the potential to be even better.”
“Really?” she asked, too intrigued to act blasé.
“I wouldn’t have bought this vineyard if I felt otherwise,” he replied.
The reminder of the winery’s change in ownership tempered her enthusiasm. “I see.”
“I was disappointed I didn’t get a chance to meet you when I toured Medallion before making my initial offer,” Zack said.
“I was out of the country at the time.”
He nodded. “A buying trip. France, I believe your mother told me.”
“Margaret is my stepmother.” She snapped out the correction. “I was not informed of your visit until well after my return. In fact, I wasn’t informed that the vineyard had changed hands until after the deal was done.”
He blinked in surprise. “I…I didn’t realize.”
Jaye saw no point in beating around the bush. “Medallion should have been mine.”
“But your father didn’t leave it to you.”
His equally blunt statement had her bristling. “Dad thought he could micromanage a peace treaty between his second wife and me from the grave. He was wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your pity,” she replied.
“Actually, that was an expression of sympathy,” he said, making her feel small.
Jaye paced to the window in an effort to regroup. Her anger, justified as it was, was of no use here. So she moderated her tone and said evenly, “I want the vineyard, Mr. Holland. I’m prepared to offer you what you paid plus a little something extra for your trouble.”
“Why don’t you call me Zack? And it looks like we have a problem.” He joined her at the window. “I want Medallion, too. I’m not interested in selling.”
His reply was nothing less than Jaye had expected. After all, she had made the same offer to Margaret without success. Yet the disappointment of hearing him say the words nearly leveled her.
“Is that going to be an issue for you?” he asked.
She swallowed her outrage along with a good helping of pride. “I don’t have much choice but to accept that you’ll be the one calling the shots from now on.”
To her surprise, he laughed out loud. “Gee, that sounds convincing.”
“I said I would accept it. I didn’t say anything about liking it.”
“Ah. Thanks for the clarification.”
While Zack appeared amused, Jaye was dead serious when she said, “I’m very good at my job. I…I would appreciate it if you would allow me to stay on.”
He nodded. “I’d like that. You know the local people, not to mention the regional quirks of the Great Lakes growing season, far better than I do at this point. I’d like you to manage things.”
“But I’m the head vintner. Tom Worley manages Medallion’s operation.”
“Not anymore. He’ll be reassigned or offered a compensation package. Think you can handle it?”
She bristled at his tone. “There’s not a job at Medallion I haven’t done at one time or another. My father thought it was important to know the business inside and out. He didn’t believe you could be an effective leader without understanding the jobs of the people you were leading.”
“Is that a subtle barb?” he asked.
“Of course not.” Before she could censor the thought, she added, “I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
She expected him to be annoyed, perhaps angry. Instead he laughed.
“Do you think I’ve never worked a harvest or shoveled grapes into a crusher?”
“Have you?” Jaye asked.
“Yes. But I don’t think I have to work every job to understand its demands or to appreciate the people I pay to perform it.”
“Fair enough. So, if I’m no longer head vintner, who’ll be in charge of winemaking?” she asked.
Zack only smiled.
“You?” Her tone was incredulous, so much so it bordered on insulting.
“No need to look so shocked. I have some prior experience,” he informed her.
Jaye wasn’t impressed by his claim. All she could see was that she would have her hands full in the coming months, likely pulling double duty while he dabbled. She cleared her throat. “I believe in being honest.”
“That’s good to know,” he said slowly.
“I’ll stay on, managing and assisting with the winemaking when necessary—”
“You’re already assuming I’ll need your help?”
“I said I believe in being honest.”
“Yes, but what about tactful?” he asked wryly.
“I’ll work on it.”
“Fair enough,” he replied.
“As I said, I’ll stay on, but I won’t be doing it for you or even for the paycheck.”
His eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“I’ve got an investment here that goes well beyond money. Your name might be on the deed now, but make no mistake, Mr. Holland—”
“Zack,” he said, for the first time sounding truly annoyed. “My name is Zack.”
“Fine. Zack. I want Medallion. And I plan to keep making you fair offers for its sale until you finally accept one. I don’t give up easily.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Then his expression turned oddly grim. “Do you love it that much?”
“Love it?” Jaye shook her head, not surprised in the least that someone who could walk away from his family’s land would fail to understand the attachment she had to hers. “This vineyard is everything to me.”
“Everything? It’s just a place. It’s not…people.”
“No. It’s more reliable than people.” She hadn’t meant to say that. Thankfully, he didn’t understand her meaning.
“It’s dirt and vines. It’s real estate, an investment,” he countered, blue eyes glittering like ice.
“Is that all it is to you?”
Zack didn’t say anything, although for a moment she thought she saw something contradictory flicker in his expression. Then it was gone.
“Well, that’s not all it is to me.” She glanced back out the window. Her voice was low, her tone reverent when she added, “My dad and I built Medallion from nothing. It’s…it’s my life.”
CHAPTER TWO
ZACK spent the following week getting acquainted with the winery’s day-to-day operations and the people who performed them. As he’d told Jaye on the first day, other than the manager and the vintner, he didn’t have any immediate plans to let people go, change their duties or make new hires, but neither did he intend to maintain the status quo. He saw potential at Medallion for greater profit, just as he saw potential for a superior product. He planned to achieve both.
Zack had something to prove.
He was sitting at his desk late Friday going through invoices when the telephone rang. It was his mother.
“I thought I’d call since you haven’t.” Judith Holland’s tone held teasing censure as well as a little hurt. He regretted that. It wasn’t his intention to wound her.
“Sorry. It’s been a busy couple weeks. The harvest is beginning,” he said.
“Here, too.” It was her subtle way of saying she didn’t buy his excuse.
“How is it looking?” he couldn’t help asking. Hearing her voice had made him a little homesick for California and the vineyard he’d left behind. Winemaking was in his blood. It had been in the Holland blood for three generations.
“Good,” she said. “Ross says it will be a better yield than last year, especially for the Sangioveses.”
“That must please Dad.” The Italian varietal was one of his father’s personal favorites.
“It does. Phillip thinks we should expand that section of the vineyard and increase our production, given the rise in popularity of the wine.”
“Of course he does.” Zack’s mood soured. He’d suggested the very same thing to his father two years ago without success, but only because Phillip had been against it at the time.
Phillip was Zack’s cousin but the two men were more like brothers. They had been raised together after a car accident had left a four-year-old Phillip orphaned. Zack had been two at the time. Over the years the pair had butted heads often, enjoying what his mother termed sibling rivalry. It had run deeper than that. Now as adults, Holland Farms and their opposing visions for it posed the biggest source of friction.
No matter what innovations or changes Zack proposed, to make the staid winery stand out in a changing and ever more competitive marketplace, his cousin effectively vetoed them. It wasn’t that Phillip had any more say or power than Zack did. No, what he had was more damning. He had Zack’s father’s ear. He’d always had his father’s ear.
“How is old Phil these days?” Zack drawled. “Still sitting to the right hand of the father?”
“Zackary.” Judith’s tone sounded more weary than scolding.
“Sorry.” And he was. He hadn’t meant to put his mother in the middle.
She seemed satisfied with the apology. “Your cousin is well.”
“And Mira?”
“She’s well, too.” The words came out slowly.
“They’re still together then?” he asked.
Zack’s fiancée’s affections had soured quickly when he began talking about selling off his share of Holland Farms and shopping for his own vineyard. Soon after ending things with Zack, she’d turned up on Phillip’s arm at his family’s annual charity ball. It had been a hell of blow to his ego to learn that she’d considered the vineyard to be Zack’s most appealing attribute.
“Yes.” Judith cleared her throat before continuing. “In fact, she and Phillip recently became engaged.”
It wasn’t heartache he felt. He’d moved beyond that. What was left was bitterness. “Proof that one Holland is as good as the next as long as he comes with a stake in the land,” he sneered.
“Zackary, please. It’s been nearly a year. Don’t be like that.”
“Like what, Mother? Honest?” He snorted. “Apparently I’m the only one so afflicted in our family. Everyone else just tiptoes around the fact that my cousin has always taken what belongs to me.”
She didn’t dispute that. Instead, she said, “They love one another.”
“They love Holland and the lifestyle it affords them,” Zack countered.
“You used to love Holland, too.”
“Yes. I loved it enough to want to see it evolve.” He let out a sigh. “It’s not worth getting into again. Not over the phone and not with you, Mom.” She’d always been in his corner. “I know you supported my ideas.”
“I did and I still do. I know you’ll do well.” There was a hitch in her voice when she said, “I just wish Michigan weren’t so far away.”
“It’s just a plane ride,” he said lightly.
“Yes, just a plane ride,” she repeated. Then, “Are you upset about Mira?”
“Not the way you think.”
“Good. Mira is a nice young woman, but she wasn’t right for you, Zack. You never would have been happy married to her,” Judith said.
“That much we can agree on. So, when are they planning to make it official?”
“In the spring.” She hesitated a moment before asking, “You’ll come home for the wedding, won’t you?”
“What and ruin my black sheep image?” His laughter held no humor. “Sorry, Mom. I think I’ll send my regrets.”
“There will always be a place for you here.” Judith’s voice was low, broken.
“I know that’s how you feel, Mom, and I appreciate it. Really, I do.” Left unsaid was that his father and cousin had long made him feel like an outsider. Mira’s defection had been the final straw. There would be no going back, at least not until he’d achieved some of the ambitious goals he’d set for himself.
“Are you happy?” his mother asked quietly.
“I’m getting there.” The reply wasn’t only for her benefit. Zack meant it.
“That’s good. I want you to be happy even more than I want you here. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
After hanging up, he decided to call it a day. The sun had set already, and he was tired and not likely to get much more done—especially now. He felt too unsettled, too restless to sit behind his desk and sift through papers. His stomach rumbled noisily and he realized he was also hungry.
When he stepped out of his office, he noticed that Jaye was still in hers. Through the open door, he could see her hunched at her desk, reading a report. Her hair was in its usual utilitarian braid and she wore a flannel shirt that looked to be at least a couple of sizes too large. A bottle of spring water sat open next to her elbow, and she was munching on a granola bar.
He stopped at her door. “Please tell me that’s not your dinner,” he said.
Jaye glanced up at the sound of his voice and blinked as if trying to focus. In the past week Zack had learned one thing about her: she was no slacker. The woman put in long hours and gave everything she worked on her undivided attention.
“Sorry? What did you say?” she asked.
He motioned toward the bar of rolled oats and raisins she held in one hand. “I was just wondering if that was your dinner.”
“Oh?” She shook her head. “A late lunch, actually.”
“It’s going on seven.”
She glanced in the direction of the window, as if just realizing it was dark outside. “A really late lunch, then,” she said.
He leaned against the doorjamb. “I can see how you manage to stay so slim. Got something against real food?”
“This is real food, but to answer your question, no. I just didn’t have time to stop for a meal today.”
He nodded and straightened, intending to be on his way. But he found himself saying, “I was thinking about grabbing a bite to eat before I head back to my hotel. Would you like to join me?”
Jaye eyed him the way a scientist might study an acutely contagious test subject and said nothing.
“You know, you’re hell on a man’s ego,” Zack drawled, snorting out a laugh afterward.
“Sorry. I just…I just don’t think that we should—”
“What?” He cocked one eyebrow in challenge. “Be friendly? I’m not asking you out, Jaye.” Thinking of Mira and all of the pain and disillusionment she’d caused, he added with great feeling, “Believe me, I’m not interested.”
“And you have the nerve to say I’m hell on the ego,” she replied dryly.
He closed his eyes, rubbed them and sighed. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”
“Bad day?”
Zack shook his head. “Just a long one. A long week, for that matter.” Now the weekend yawned before him. More than likely he would spend it in his office. Better there than alone in a hotel room with nothing to do. “Well, I’ll leave you to your late lunch. See you Monday.”
He was turning to go when Jaye said, “Friday is pizza night.”
He angled back. “Pardon?”
“It’s Geneva’s night off. She’s my housekeeper. She plays bridge with her friends on Fridays, so I make pizza.”
“From scratch?” He was having a hard time picturing Jaye puttering around in a kitchen. She didn’t appear to be the domestic sort, given her affinity for men’s shirts and steel-toed work boots.
She shrugged. “It’s not like it’s rocket science. Besides, I buy the dough already made from a pizzeria in Sutton’s Bay. Saves me time.”
“I see.” He motioned with one hand. “So, are you extending an invitation to me or are you just sharing information?”
His ego took another beating when she took her time answering. “I’m extending an invitation, one coworker to another.”
He decided not to point out that technically he was her boss. “Gee, glad we have that straight.”
Jaye tossed the uneaten portion of her granola bar into the trash. “Give me five minutes to finish up here.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Jaye didn’t know what had possessed her to invite Zack to dinner, and at her house no less. She didn’t want him in her home, invading more of her space. But there was no use wasting time regretting it now. The deed was done, and unless she planned to uninvite him, which she didn’t, she was going to be spending the next couple of hours in his company.
The idea wasn’t completely without appeal. She told herself that was because they had winemaking in common, which meant at the very least the conversation would be easy and interesting. Besides, what was that saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Zack wasn’t her enemy exactly, but under the circumstances, neither was he her friend.
Downstairs, the tasting room had closed a couple of hours earlier and all of the employees had long since gone home. Stemmed glasses had been washed and put up, the hardwood surface of the large circular bar had been wiped down, and any opened bottles of wine properly stored. The security lights glowed softly, giving the large space with its vaulted ceiling and exposed oak beams a more intimate feel.
“Zack?” she called out.
“Over here.” He stepped from behind a display of bottles that had been stacked on their sides to keep the corks moist.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“My mom told me never to show up at someone’s home empty-handed, so I’m looking for a little something to go with our dinner.” He flashed an engaging grin that, along with the reference to his mother, made him appear far younger than the midthirties she knew him to be.
Jaye pointed to the next shelf over. “How about the house red?”
“It’s good.” He scratched his chin. “But I was thinking of something a little more…elegant.”
“To go with pizza?”
Zack shrugged. “Is there a rule against that?”
“I guess not.”
“Good. Besides, I feel like celebrating.”
“Let me guess. Ownership of the vineyard?” Her tone was tight.
To her surprise he shook his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of freedom.”
His lips twisted on the last word, as if it had left a foul taste in his mouth. Jaye didn’t press him, even though the cryptic answer certainly made her curious. Freedom from what? Or the more intriguing question: Freedom from whom?
It was none of her business, though. So she asked instead, “If it’s a celebration you have in mind, then how about our 2004 pinot noir?”
“Ah. Now you’re talking.”
He grinned again. This time there was nothing remotely boyish about the way he looked. He was all man, fully grown and way too easy on the eyes. Jaye swallowed. Friend? Enemy? For a moment her traitorous libido seemed interested in drafting an entirely different classification. She chalked it up to long work days and a virtually nonexistent social life, especially when it came to members of the opposite sex.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” she told him, and hastily retreated, happy to stand alone in the frigid moonlight while her pulse returned to normal.
Jaye was leaning against his car when Zack finished locking up the building’s main doors. Unless she had appointments that took her away from the vineyard during the day, he’d noted that she walked the short distance from the house to work.
“Car’s unlocked,” he called. “I should have thought to give you the keys so you could start it up and get the heater going.”
The air held an extra bite tonight, but she didn’t look cold. In fact, her jacket remained unzipped.
“That’s okay. I was just enjoying the peace.”
“It’s like this at night back home, too,” he commented as he drew closer.
“Like what?”
He motioned with the bottle of wine to encompass the dark countryside beyond the lighted parking lot. “Isolated and quiet. It’s easy to forget the rest of the world exists beyond the vineyard once the visitors go home for the day and the sun sets.”
“My dad used to claim I did that even when it was light outside.”
“A bit of a homebody?” Zack asked as he joined her on the passenger side of the car.
“I date.” She sounded slightly defensive.
“I don’t believe I said otherwise, Jaye.” He opened her door. The basic courtesy that was so common on the dates she claimed to go on had her brows lifting. Still, she said nothing as she folded those long legs of hers inside his Mercedes. He wasn’t sure how, but she managed to look graceful even wearing oversize cotton, abused denim and a pair of muddy boots. He took a moment to thank providence for the rubber floor mats he’d installed just the week before.
“It’s just that I work a lot of hours,” she was saying.
“Same here.”
“It’s hard to get out.”
“At times.” Mira, of course, had enjoyed spending time with him at Holland. He frowned.
“Not everyone understands the kind of commitment a vineyard requires.”
“No. Not everyone does,” he agreed. “Of course, there’s a fine line between commitment and obsession.” He moved to close the door, but she put a hand out to stop him.
“Which are you, Zack? Committed or obsessed?”
“I’m…driven,” he replied, deciding there was a difference. This time she let him close the door, but the conversation wasn’t over.
When he settled in behind the wheel, she said, “So, you straddle the line between the two.”
Straddle? “I…no.”
“Come on. Isn’t that what driven is? Half obsession, half commitment?”
He wasn’t sure how she’d managed to put him on the defensive, but he felt the need to explain himself. “I want to make a superior product. I want to prove—” He broke off abruptly. He wanted to prove to his father, to Phillip, come to that, to Mira, that his ideas had merit, that he had worth.
“What do you want to prove?”
“Nothing.”
“You know what I want? I want another Judgment in Paris this time with Michigan wines, specifically Medallion wines, taking top honors,” she said, referring to the 1976 blind tasting of California wines by French judges in which they won in every category against French wines.
“You aim high.”
“Anything wrong with that?” she asked.
“Not a thing.”
Zack started the engine. They arrived at her home barely a minute later. Thanks to moonlight and clever landscape lighting, he was able to admire the architecture inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, with its wealth of rectangular windows and geometric motifs.
“I’ve got to tell you, this is a great house.” Zack switched off the ignition and pocketed the keys.
“Dad liked it.”
“But not you?” he asked.
“It’s…big.”
Something about the way she said it made him think the word was synonymous for lonely.
“It has seven bedrooms,” she was saying. “My housekeeper is livid. My house only had three.”
“I’m not following you.”
“I owned a house on the water, a three-bedroom bungalow with an incredible view of the bay. I sold it and moved in here after…after I inherited the place. I don’t really need all of this space.” She blew out a breath. “But it’s mine now.”
“I like the way it takes advantage of its setting.” The lower level and a three-car garage protruded from the side of a gently sloped hill. Rocky, terraced flowerbeds lit with small hanging lanterns angled sharply up to a wide, L-shaped porch that was braced with intermittently spaced square columns. “I bet these gardens are something in the summer.”
“My dad’s doing. He had a real green thumb, whether it was with grapes or herbs or black-eyed Susans.”
That made twice she’d mentioned Frank. This time, Zack heard the sorrow in her voice. He envied the closeness they’d obviously enjoyed, even if he didn’t envy her grief. Before he could think of something suitable to say, though, she was opening her door and getting out of the car.
He followed her up the steps to the porch.
“This is a Craftsman, right?” He’d always been a fan of that style of architecture with its solid look and angular lines.
“Yes. My dad had it built the year we moved here from the Detroit area.”
“It’s a very masculine design,” he said.
“I manage to like it, anyway,” she remarked dryly.
“It suits you.”
“Oh?”
“No offense,” he said quickly. “It’s just that you’re not, well, you’re not a…”
“A what?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “A frilly sort. And neither is the house.”
“You only say that because you haven’t been inside yet.”
“Pardon?”
“You’ll see.”
Jaye opened the front door, ushered him inside, and Zack understood exactly what she’d meant.
Beyond the foyer he could see into the formal dining room. Busy floral wallpaper and a cabbage-rose area rug obscured the dark plank flooring and high wood baseboards. Not that either design element had much of a chance to shine in a room that had been stuffed with so much furniture. In addition to a mahogany sideboard and matching server, a massive curved-leg table stood surrounded by a dozen ornately carved, high-back chairs.
“The decor is very…unexpected,” he managed when he recovered the power of speech.
“Unexpected? I call it hideous.”
He let out a discreet sigh of relief. “I was trying to be tactful.”
“No need. I’m not the one responsible for cluttering up the house’s clean lines with all of these spindly legged antiques. I detest the stuff.” She sloughed off her coat and tossed it over the scrolled arm of the English mahogany hall chair for emphasis.
“So, the entire place is decorated this way?” Zack hung his on the brass coatrack that stood next to the chair.
“Every room except the kitchen. Margaret wasn’t much of a cook.”
“You know, with the right furniture, this house would be a real showplace.” He offered it as a casual observation even as an idea formed and excitement bubbled beneath the surface of his calm facade.
“Yeah, well, my stuff is in storage at the moment. Once I sell off all of Margaret’s flea-market finds and auction-house antiques, the place will be decorated in a style more suited to its contemporary look.”
“So you plan to continue living here?” he inquired. “I thought perhaps you would sell it since you don’t need all the room.”
“I’d like to sell, but I can’t really bring myself to do it. It’s so close to Medallion. It wouldn’t be right to have someone else living here and enjoying the view.”
He made a little humming noise as he processed her response. It wasn’t what he’d hoped to hear, but he was relieved it wasn’t an outright no. He glanced toward the stairs. “And you said it has seven bedrooms?”
“Actually, eight. Margaret turned one into a showroom for her dolls. She collects the kind that have eyes that open and close. Thankfully, she took all 212 of them with her when she left. The things gave me the creeps.” Jaye shuddered.
Zack was only half listening. It just kept getting better and better. Jaye’s house was perfect, absolutely perfect, for his plans to add a sumptuous, spa-style bed and breakfast to the winery.
He’d tried to convince his family to do something similar with the century-old mansion that had belonged to his great-grandparents. The massive Italian Renaissance–style structure at the southern edge of the vineyard had sat empty for the better part of three decades. It was in need of major repairs and renovations to make it habitable. With a little more investment, though, Zack saw it as a profitable venture. When he pitched the idea of an inn to his father and cousin, though, they’d shot it down quickly.
“We’re winemakers, Zack, not innkeepers,” his father had said.
Phillip had stood at Ross Holland’s side, the positioning apropos. The two men always seemed to be in synch, while Zack felt out of step.
“Why are you constantly trying to push Holland Farms in directions that distract from our product?” Phillip had asked.
Zack didn’t see the addition of an inn as a distraction. He saw it as a complement, and a necessary one as competition grew fiercer for space on store shelves and in restaurant wine cellars.
One way or another, Medallion would have an inn, but he didn’t want to cut into the vineyard’s prime acreage to build one. He wouldn’t have to if he could convince Jaye to sell. That realization had him frowning.
“Have you lost your appetite?” she asked.
Zack cleared his throat and reined in his thoughts. “Sorry. No. Just…thinking.” He sent her the charming smile that had always distracted Mira. Jaye’s eyes narrowed, so he changed the subject. “Which way to the kitchen?”
“Follow me.”
As Jaye had said, the kitchen was generously proportioned and gorgeous, its decor leaning toward modern with granite surfaces and professional-grade, stainless steel appliances. It was big enough, functional enough to accommodate a chef’s needs.
“Much better,” he murmured.
“Not a fan of antiques?”
“They have their place, but not in a house like this. Anything Victorian clashes with its architectural style. But your stepmother acquired some pretty pricey pieces from what I could see. They should bring in a decent sum when you sell them.”
She eyed him warily. “You know antiques?”
“What can I say?” Zack shrugged. “My mother is a fan of late-eighteenth-century French furnishings. I started going to auctions with her when I was in grade school.”
Jaye grunted out an oath. “No wonder Margaret picked you to buy Medallion.”
He cleared his throat then, wanting also to clear the air. “About that, Jaye. She never told me that you wanted to buy the vineyard.”
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