A Fine Year for Love. Catherine Lanigan
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wipe him off that particular planet. Now they were going to be neighbors. He wondered if she would ever come around to being neighborly toward him. And if she did...
Would she be willing to sell her fallow land to me?
Gabe rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. The Mattuchi acreage was no more than a starter garden in the grand scheme Gabe had painted for himself. He needed something exceptional, and Liz Crenshaw had just that. She was experimenting with several different wines, including an ice wine. But how far did her imagination and drive take her?
If he could combine Liz’s harvest with imported Argentinian grapes, he would be able to create perfection.
This had been Gabe’s plan all along. But until his recent exploration to the Crenshaw tasting room and onto the land itself, he’d had no idea how valuable the Crenshaw plot truly was.
Sitting on a protected pocket of land where the earth, sun, wind and humidity combined to create a vintner’s paradise, Liz Crenshaw reigned over one of the most priceless slices of winegrowing land in the United States, outside of California.
Gabe nearly squirmed in his seat thinking about it.
He could just come right out and ask Liz if she would be willing to sell, but after their initial encounter, his best guess was she’d kick him off the land, shoot him, or both. No, he had to be careful with Liz. He had to take his time. He had to use some charm and plenty of wit. She was perceptive, bright and suspicious. A bad combination, if he was trying to swing a land deal.
He needed to win her trust first. He would make her a very fair offer—even more than fair. Both of them would come out on top.
If he were dealing with any other businessperson, the way he did at the farm and the corporate canneries, Gabe would have felt his usual confidence. But oddly, the thought of negotiating with Liz filled his gut with butterflies.
It was going to take a lot of convincing to win her over.
LIZ LAY IN BED staring at Gabe’s bouquet. She’d put them in her mother’s favorite crystal vase. They would find their way to the compost heap soon enough, so she might as well enjoy them first. It wasn’t the flowers’ fault they were from Gabe.
She stared at the single salmon-pink rose in the middle of the arrangement. It might have been her first time receiving flowers from a man, but it was undoubtedly Gabe’s hundredth time giving them to a woman. He must have been pretty sure of himself to come back to her vineyard so quickly, which meant he hadn’t had to think very long to devise a plan to placate her. Showing up with a bouquet and an apology had obviously worked for him in the past.
Liz prided herself on not making snap judgments, on allowing people to prove themselves to her. She’d done it since high school with her employees. She had one of the best working crews around Lake Michigan, and she’d won their loyalty by dealing with them fairly.
With Gabe, she didn’t have much to go on. Of course, she’d heard about him nearly all her life. But that was either gossip or hearsay. What people said about Gabe was that he’d had dozens of girlfriends, though no one was ever mentioned by name. He was dating the “new blonde,” the “new redhead” or a woman vaguely identified by her profession.
Gabe’s supposed popularity with women didn’t surprise Liz. Most of her girlfriends thought he was the best-looking guy in Indian Lake, though none of them had ever dated him. None had even gone to a movie with him. Gabe had graduated from high school before any of her crowd had had a chance with him.
Gabe was nearly an icon by the time Liz had become a freshman. He had been Mr. Everything in high school. He was All-State quarterback and went to regionals for the five-hundred-yard dash. He was on the debate team and acted in several school plays. Some said he was better on stage than he was on the gridiron. She was sure Gabe had made it nearly impossible for his three younger brothers to keep up. Gabe had achieved every goal he set. He’d always won.
Back then, even her grandfather had said Gabe was a “golden boy.”
It stood to reason a person who had always been a winner would expect that kind of life to continue. Such an outlook would tend to make a person arrogant and bigheaded.
Pigheaded was more like it.
The more Liz thought about Gabriel Barzonni, the more intense the fire within her became. Apparently, his charms had always worked on women. Apparently, he’d lumped her into that group of easy-to-manipulate females, and apparently, he hadn’t tried to get to know her in the least. He didn’t have the slightest idea what it would take to impress her, and he obviously wasn’t interested in finding out. To a man like Gabe, she was just an object, a problem to be either solved or forgotten.
“Well!” she exclaimed aloud. “We’ll just see about that!”
She bounded out of her bed, tossing her grandmother’s counterpane quilt aside, and walked barefoot across the honey-colored hardwood floor to the window.
It wasn’t dawn yet.
Liz hadn’t slept, which made her angrier with herself. It wasn’t like her to dwell on inconsequential matters.
She combed her long hair with her fingers and then massaged her scalp. Something wasn’t right. In fact, it was all wrong. There was no good reason for Gabe to be on her land. And he hadn’t come clean about his real reason for trespassing. Then he’d sent her the flowers. But why?
She was beginning to hate that word.
There was only one smart thing for Liz to do.
I have to pretend he doesn’t exist. I never saw him on my land. He never brought me flowers.
* * *
LIZ WORE A fire-engine red bathing suit with white spaghetti straps and white river shoes as she helped her friends carry their sculling boat from the boathouse at Captain Redbeard’s Marina out onto Indian Lake.
The early dawn rays slid across the glass-like surface of the water, making it look like silver mercury. The sky was dotted with only a few clouds, now tinged in pink and lavender, a spectacle Liz knew would only last moments.
Placing the boat in the water, Liz went back for the oars and distributed them to Sarah, Maddie and Isabelle, and kept one for herself.
“Before we start,” Maddie said with an impish smile, “I have something to ask Liz and Isabelle.”
“Sure,” Liz said, pulling on a pair of rowing gloves she’d bought at the marina’s new gift shop. Sarah thought wearing gloves was cheating, but Liz didn’t care. Her hands were a wreck from thinning the grape vines the past week. She needed to give them a chance to heal, not torture them further.
“Would you both be my bridesmaids?”
“Are you kidding?” Isabelle whooped and nearly knocked Maddie down with a hug. “I’d love to!”
Liz beamed from ear to ear. “I’m honored, Maddie. Wow.” Then she looked at Sarah, who was smiling at them all. “What about Sarah? She’s not going to be a bridesmaid?”
Maddie playfully shoved Liz’s shoulder. “You goofball. She’s my matron of honor.”
Liz shook her head. “Of course! What was I thinking?”
“I’ve asked Olivia to be a bridesmaid, as well,” Maddie said.
“So,” Liz said, “you’ve set a date?”
Maddie waved her hands in the air. “Oh my gosh! I didn’t tell you, did I? It’s December twenty-eighth. It has to be after Christmas because I’ll be catering for weeks and I won’t get a wink of sleep. And Nate says the end of the year is booked solid with surgeries for him. It’ll be an evening wedding. I thought that would be pretty. All the snow and Christmas lights.