Once tasted a silver cre.., p.7
Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel, page 7
Another round of whoops pierced the air, this one followed by laughter and applause. A crowd of women—many more than she’d expected—had congregated in the corral nearest the horse barn. In the center of them, three men—Reid, Ward, and Pete Williams, the ranch’s foreman—worked their lassos. The ropes danced, twirled, and jumped like live things.
At a signal from Reid, the three ropes came together, each twirling, one directly below the other. Mia had no idea how the men kept them from becoming entangled. The “oohs” from the guests showed she was not alone in being impressed. Pete reeled in his rope first, Ward followed next, while Reid kept his in the air. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he caught the loop. Applause erupted. The three doffed their Stetsons.
Settling his dark-beige hat on his head, Ward addressed the audience. “Thank you, ladies. Now, we’ve gone over the basics of roping, and tomorrow we’ll practice some more both on the ground and in the saddle, but we thought we’d end our session with one last demo by Reid here. You ready, Reid?”
With a nod, Reid sent the rope into the air again. It circled above him like a spinning wheel.
“So this next trick is in honor of my fiancée, Tess, and her friend Anna, who’s come here from New York City. Say hi, Anna,” Ward instructed with a grin.
A woman stepped forward and waved. “Hi, everybody,” she called cheerfully.
Cheerful “hi”s echoed back.
Ward resumed speaking. “Now, there’s a story behind how my lovely Tess came to Silver Creek Ranch. It involves a blindfold Anna tied over her eyes before Tess placed her finger on a map of California. Anna made Tess promise that wherever her finger landed would be her destination.” He grinned at the “aww”s that resounded. “So you all can imagine how pleased I was when Anna presented me with the very scarf she’d used on Tess.” From his back pocket, Ward pulled a black-and-white-patterned silk scarf.
“So how about we put this blindfold over my little brother’s eyes and see how well his roping skills hold up. Do you mind, Reid?”
“I’d say I stand a better chance than you of roping something, Ward,” Reid replied, adding with the supreme cockiness Mia knew so well, “blindfolded and with both hands tied behind my back.”
Ward flashed a smile, and Mia bet most of the women wished this tall, dark, and handsome cowboy wasn’t engaged to be married. Of course, with Reid standing next to Ward and looking like a sun-kissed god, their disappointment was probably short-lived.
“Strong words, bro. Let’s see whether you can back them up.” Ward quickly folded the scarf over itself until it was a wide band. “Ready?”
Reid looked at Ward and flashed a grin. “Always.”
Placing the scarf over Reid’s eyes, Ward made a show of knotting it behind his head. “Can you see anything?” he asked.
“Not a damned thing.”
The words were a catalyst. Despite how hostile Mia felt toward Reid and his new role in her life, knowing that he couldn’t catch her staring was too great a temptation. She looked her fill.
He stood easily and confidently, a smile playing over his lips, as if it didn’t matter that he was blindfolded in the middle of a corral, surrounded by a group of women, all of whom were staring as avidly as she. The wind toyed with the ends of his hair, causing them to brush against the collar of his light-tan shirt. He was still twirling the lasso in the air, and she saw the corded muscles beneath his sun-burnished skin flex and jump. The rest of him was just as leanly and beautifully sculpted, she thought, her gaze traveling down the length of his body.
Ward’s voice startled Mia out of her absorption. “Ladies,” he said. “We’ll need four volunteers for this demonstration. That’s right. Don’t be shy. Want to round ’em up for us, Pete?”
Pete Williams was someone Mia knew from perusing the wire selection at Wright’s Hardware, from waiting in line at the bank, and from their shared love of Spillin’ the Beans’s Colombian roast. Pete walked over to the semicircle of women, every last one of them waving her hand in the air, eager to volunteer for anything that included Reid.
With the skin around his brown eyes creased with devilish mirth, Pete took care to prolong the communal excitement by spacing his selections out. He hadn’t even gotten to “three” by the time he reached the far end of the horseshoe formation, where Mia waited for the demonstration and for the entire blasted evening to end.
“And how about you, miss?” he asked a woman standing a few yards from her.
The woman’s response was identical to that of the two others Pete had selected: unfettered glee. After hopping up and down like a game-show contestant—a hop that made her truly impressive breasts bounce beneath her rhinestone-studded shirt—the woman sashayed into the inner circle of the corral, in jeans so tight Mia wondered how she could breathe, let alone sit in a saddle.
Preoccupied with observing the woman’s progress, Mia didn’t realize that Pete had moved closer. “And how about you for number four?”
Mia looked around and then realized with horror that he meant her. “No, I really don’t—”
A chorus of women’s voices went up, drowning her out. “Come on, it’ll be fun!” And “You go, girl!” A hand even gave her an encouraging shove.
A stunned Mia found herself stumbling forward. Then Pete was herding her into the center of the ring as if she were a wayward sheep. Pete had always seemed like a nice guy, ready to shoot the breeze about the week’s weather forecast as they waited for their java fix, so this struck her as an unexpected betrayal.
There was a lot of that going around today.
Ward acknowledged her presence with a grin and a nod. But before she could plead to be returned to the audience, he spoke to Pete. “Let’s get the ladies in position.”
Since Mia was closest to Pete, she was the first to be escorted—or, rather, marched—to her designated spot. Hers was directly behind Reid. She had no idea what this game entailed, but she figured that hers might be the best place to be. The thought made her breathe a little easier.
Reid’s nose had begun to tickle, but he wasn’t about to scratch it. He had his dignity to consider. He felt foolish enough already. What the hell was Ward thinking, egging these women on with some last-minute trick involving him and a blindfold? They hardly needed encouragement. A number had already taken pains to let him know which cabin they were staying in—as if he or anyone in his family would ever get involved with a guest. That path led to a manure pile the size of Mount Everest.
Tomorrow he’d figure out a way to sic the women on Ward. It’d be satisfying to turn the tables on his brother and see how much he enjoyed being chased around the guest ranch by females looking for a roll in the hay with a cowboy. Of course, Ward had cleverly preempted any overenthusiastic overtures by mentioning his fiancée a couple of hundred times.
From the bursts of high-pitched giggles, he figured Pete and Ward were having a fine time with the women. He didn’t know what Ward had planned. Didn’t care at this point. He only wished they’d pick up the pace. Mia would be arriving soon. He didn’t want to look like an idiot standing with an Italian scarf wrapped around his head.
“All right, Reid. The ladies are in their places.”
It took you long enough, Reid retorted silently.
“You’re a lucky guy to be surrounded by such beauty. Now, Pete and I have placed the ladies at twelve, three, six, and nine on the clock. Each one is standing about twenty feet away from you. Your job is to see whether you can lasso one blindfolded.”
Tricky but doable. Sometimes Reid, Ward, and their father would get into competitions—pissing contests, really—with the ranch hands. They’d used bandannas on occasions to up the ante. But it had been ages since he’d last tried to lasso anything blindfolded. Luckily, he was good with a rope.
“So, Reid, what’s your favorite hour?”
He caught a giggle in front of him and equally annoying titters to his left and right. Behind him, though, nothing, just blessed silence, even when he strained his ears. Yet somehow he sensed the woman’s presence more strongly than that of the others. Interesting.
“You know, I’ve always been partial to the midnight hour. Crazy magic happens then.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Reid spun on his heels and, picturing the distance in his mind’s eye, let the lasso fly. He felt the weight of the rope in his hand as it descended and waited an extra millisecond—damned if he was going to catch the woman by the neck—before giving a quick jerk of his wrist.
He was met with solid resistance. Oh, yeah, that was a body caught snug in his rope. Satisfaction pierced him as a round of hearty applause went up. With a grin, he pulled off the blindfold, all set to make an extravagant bow to the captured lady.
Instead, he froze. Oh, fuck.
Pete had had the bad judgment to include Mia, of all the women in attendance, in this roping stunt? Of those four, Reid had had the atrocious luck to pick her? Usually he was the kind of guy who rolled with it, able to see the humor in life’s little jokes. He wasn’t laughing.
Neither was Mia.
Torso and arms bound by the lariat, she stood as stiff as a board and half as fun. If looks could kill, he’d be dead and buried. And if Mia had her way, she’d see that he spent an eternity rotting in hell.
He was accustomed to her looking down her nose at him with her nostrils pinched, as if he’d stepped in a cow patty. She wore that signature look now. It was no surprise she was annoyed that he’d had the lousy luck to catch her in his lasso. The feeling was mutual. But there was something else, more than just condescension or even outrage in her expression.
Her face was drawn and pale.
Damn. So Thomas had delivered the news that he was leaving Acacia for France.
He didn’t want to feel sorry for her.
Aware that there were far too many pairs of eyes on them, he forced a grin. “Mia,” he said loudly. “So nice to see you.”
He was met with stony silence. Oh, man, this didn’t bode well. Any longer with her standing there looking like a grim priss in her tan skirt and olive top and clogs—Mia was the only woman he knew who would wear clogs to a cowgirl event—and these paying guests would be demanding their money back.
Best get this over with. He resurrected his grin—a miracle—and kept his gaze fixed on her chin. This was not the time to be caught checking out her breasts. A pity. With the rope tight about her, this was a rare opportunity to actually see them.
Determined to turn an awkward moment into an entertaining one, he gave the rope a yank and began to reel her in. Mia, being Mia, performed perfectly and predictably. She resisted him every step of the way.
A complex dance ensued. Reid forced Mia to yield to his superior strength without causing her to trip or fall as he drew her in, inch by inch, foot by foot.
“And this, ladies, is how we catch a wild one!” His voice rang with forced joviality. “May I introduce you all to Mia Bodell? Mia’s family owns the vineyard next door. She’s going to be telling you about some really great local wines and her family’s approach to winemaking. That is, if I can bear to free her.”
It didn’t say much for the intelligence of the assembled cowgirls that they seemed to eat this last bit up. Their applause grew louder with every reluctant step that Mia took. Of course, Reid was the only one close enough to see the fury burning in her eyes.
“Listen,” he said, knowing that the other women wouldn’t hear him over their whoops and hollers.
She cut him off. “You knew,” she accused through gritted teeth. “You knew about Thomas’s plan back when you came to visit. You just love humiliating me, don’t you?”
They both knew the last accusation encompassed far more than Thomas’s confiding in Reid. “What could I have done? Blurt out the news? Like that would have gone over well. Listen, you’re upset. I understand—”
“You don’t understand anything about me.”
“I think I do. Thomas has thrown you for a loop.” He winced. Bad choice of words. “I’m sorry about it, but it’s not my fault.”
“Of course not. You never take responsibility.”
The words cut deep. Had she guessed that comment would hurt more than any other? “Now who doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”
“I know enough not to like what I see,” she replied flatly.
Abruptly, he realized that they were standing virtually nose-to-nose as they exchanged barbs. A part of him wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her for her obstinacy; another part wanted to haul her into his arms and let her cry out the rest of her shock and hurt over the blow Thomas had dealt. From the bright sheen in her red-rimmed eyes, he figured the tears were about to breach the dam. And he did know Mia. Knew her well enough to guess how much she would hate to let even a single tear fall in his presence.
He made a final attempt to reason with her. “Will you just listen? You don’t have to give this wine talk. I’ll—”
“What? Replace me?” She sniffed scornfully. “So now that your parents have invested in the winery, you’re an expert?”
“For Christ’s sake, I didn’t—”
“You may think you know something about wine. You’ve certainly fooled Thomas into believing you know enough to help advise us on how to promote our winery. But you know what I think? That I’m going to be stuck working with a shallow playboy cowboy whose knowledge of wine couldn’t fill a spit cup.”
FURY COULD CARRY Mia only so far before stage fright took hold. Resentment could last only so long before chagrin set in. As angry as she was at Thomas for dropping his bombshell on her, and as much as she disagreed with his plan to form a partnership with the Knowleses, it was unfair to lash out at Reid. Yet so far he’d been the sole target of her bitterness.
He didn’t deserve the words she’d hurled at him in the corral, didn’t deserve to be treated like a verbal punching bag. Her excuse—that this was one of the worst afternoons of her life and, after being lassoed and hauled across a dirt-filled corral like a stubborn heifer, one of the more embarrassing ones—didn’t hold water.
She hated being in the wrong. But apologizing to Reid was impossible when she was in the middle of a talk—or, rather, when she was in the middle of screwing up a talk that she should be able to give in her sleep, and probably had.
She should have been telling the women clustered around the teak tables on the flagstone patio how much fun it was to grow Pinot Noir grapes, the most challenging varietal of all. She should have told them how Pinot was referred to as “the heartbreak grape,” as its delicate skin made it particularly vulnerable to frost and rot, two enemies of vintners.
She should have talked about how rewarding it was when her diligence in the vineyard’s blocks and Mother Nature’s indulgence came together to make a perfect black and sweetly juicy grape.
She should have talked about Thomas’s and her efforts to grow grapes in a responsible, sustainable manner. She could have told them about the birds they’d encouraged to live on the twenty-five-acre property—songbirds and owls—by building houses and nests. They welcomed bats, too, since they, like the birds, ate the pests that gorged on grapes and destroyed vines. Filling the sky with the soar and dip of winged creatures was far preferable to filling the soil with chemicals.
She should have talked about the joy and excitement of the harvest, from the picking to the de-stemming to the press. She could have told them about the expensive French oak barrels they imported because of the unique flavor, with hints of vanilla and spice, they gave to the wine aging inside.
She supposed she did actually speak about all these points. Kind of, sort of. The thing was, whenever she mentioned the vineyard and the vision Mia and her uncle shared for it and the winery, a sadness as heavy as wet cement weighed upon her. It made her lose track of her thoughts, exacerbating her stage fright. Her recourse was reflexive. She relied on the technical terms of graduate school seminars and presentations. Arid words like “Brix” and “malolactic fermentation” and “active acidity” and “pH scales” began to litter her sentences.
The worst wasn’t how badly she was flubbing the talk; it was her listeners’ politeness. They were so courteous and respectful. These women who’d been laughing boisterously and having such a good time just minutes ago in the corral now sat with the blank-faced tolerance reserved for visits to one’s crotchety ninety-year-old aunt.
It was possible that on another day she might have been able to switch gears and save the talk from mind-numbing tediousness. But not today. Fortunately for the women gathered around the tables with their hydrangea and calla lily centerpieces, Tess Casari and her friend and scarf-lender Anna Vecchio came to Mia’s rescue.
Just as Mia was about to launch into an explanation of what tests were run to determine a wine’s readiness—because these ladies were clearly dying for a chemistry refresher—Tess raised her hand.
“Mia, my friend Anna and I are eager to hear more about the vineyards around Mendocino, and I’m sure these ladies, too, would love to have an insider’s guide. And while you’re telling us about the wines you’ve picked out, we could all begin tasting them.”
“Oh—of course!” Caught up in the miserable hash she was making of her presentation, she hadn’t recognized the easiest solution to her dilemma: to let everyone enjoy the grape.
The bottles were aligned in neat rows in front of her on a long table. “Well, we have one wine here that’s made less than a mile away: It’s our Bodell Family Vineyard Pinot Noir. Then this is a very nice Merlot, an excellent Cabernet Sauvignon, and a Petite Sirah that’s a really lovely summer wine.”
She moved down the table to where the white wine sat chilling in miniature-sized oak barrels—such a nice touch and utterly in keeping with everything the Knowleses did at the guest ranch—and continued. “And for you white-wine lovers, we have a Chardonnay, a Sauvignon Blanc, and a Viognier. Viognier is a less well-known varietal but one I think you all will enjoy.”
