your working relationship.”
“Oh. Well, sure. I knew that’s what you meant.” My face probably matched the color of her lipstick.
“I see.”
“Don’t say ‘I see’ like that, either,” I told her crossly. “There’s something else you don’t know. Mick Dunne came over the other night and made dinner for me.”
The eyebrows went up again. “You lucky girl.”
“He stayed until breakfast.”
“Well, hallelujah and pass the ammunition. About time, if you ask me. I hope it was good.”
“Shut up.”
She grinned. “So Mick is putting the moves on you
“I think his technique is a little different with Quinn than it is with me,” I said. “It’s just that he didn’t say a word to me about offering Quinn a job.”
“So you’re just speculating,” she said. “Have you talked to either of them about it?”
“No.”
“Then ask.” She looked at me steadily. “I know you want Quinn to stay, Luce. You should tell him.”
“I can’t match the salary Mick can offer him.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Stop dragging that Scottish pride around like you’re hauling the Stone of Scone, will you? It’s not always about the money.”
I smiled. She knew her Scottish history. “Maybe I should just let this run its course and see what happens. It’s not fair to stand in his way.”
“Maybe you should tell the man how you feel,” she said with heat. “Me, I’d rather regret something I did. You get over that eventually. But to regret something you didn’t do…that eats at you forever. You wanna keep your mouth shut and let him walk because he thinks it doesn’t matter to you?”
“No.”
“Okay, then. You know what you gotta do.”
We tied up the boat just as the sun dipped behind the Blue Ridge. Kit drove the long way back to Highland House, passing by the winery.
“Quinn’s car is still in your parking lot,” she said. “He’s working late. Perfect opportunity for you to talk to him.”
“Not tonight.”
“Luce,” she warned. “The longer you wait, the harder it will get.”
She dropped me at the house. “I’ll call you later and find out how it went.”
“You’re very pushy.”
“It’s one of my endearing qualities.”
The El Camino was still there when I drove to the winery a few minutes later. The villa was dark, so he was probably in the barrel room. I went in through the side door. The lab was dark, so I headed for the alcoves. He was there, all right.
With Bonita.
Both of them mostly undressed, her back against one of the pillars as he leaned into her. Fortunately, the noise of the refrigeration equipment and fans drowned out the sound of the door opening and closing. Anyway they were oblivious of anything but each other. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. Instead, I watched as his mouth and his hands traveled from her hair to her mouth, her neck, her breasts…her eyes were closed, her head thrown back.
Probably not a good time to bring up the subject of whether he was staying or leaving.
I drove back to the house, feeling numb. Maybe I’d lost him already. In more ways than one.
Quinn had been my father’s choice as our winemaker, not mine. Would I have hired him if it had been my decision? We got along like oil and water most of the time. And we had completely different philosophies about how we wanted to do the same thing—make great wine. This was about my hurt pride and his big ego. No woman was going to tell him what to do. He wanted to run the show and I wanted a partner. Maybe I was better off without him.
So why did I feel so melancholy?
On Friday afternoon Mick called and asked if I wanted to come along to the polo field and watch him play in the twilight games later on.
“We could have dinner afterwards,” he said.
“Thanks, but I’m busy.”
He was silent, perhaps expecting an explanation or something more polite, but I didn’t oblige. Finally he said, “Is something wrong? You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Would you mind telling me why?” He sounded guarded.
“I guess you’re used to more ruthless ways in the world of big industry, but here in Virginia, in the wine- making business, we’re still a bit civilized.”
“Pardon?”
Was he pulling my leg? He had to know what I was talking about.
“If you wanted to hire Quinn to run your vineyard it would have been common courtesy to at least say something to me. Especially since you practically went straight from my bed to his office to offer him the job.”
Another silence, this time from him. “It was a hammock,” he said finally. “And that’s not what happened.”
“What about the cigars? Why the extravagant gift?”
“I see,” he said. “Now I understand. Well, I am very sorry indeed, Lucie, that you feel this way. I wish you a pleasant evening. I’ll be late for the match, so I’d better ring off.”
That night I stayed out on the veranda, rocking myself in the glider until the mountains disappeared into the velvet night sky. For once, I didn’t bother to light the candles or the torches. Finally I lay down and fell asleep in my clothes.
Kit was right. Regretting something you didn’t do ate at you until it broke your heart.
Chapter 21
I spent the weekend pulling weeds and cleaning garden beds around my house. It turned out to be a good way to keep my mind off what was really bothering me, especially after wading blindly into a thicket of ivy-covered pyrocanthus. Not for nothing do they call it the firethorn. From then on I made a point of paying attention to what I was doing and by Saturday night I was so exhausted, bloodied, and dirty that I fell into bed and slept straight through until noon. I was on my knees tackling the last weed-tangled patch by the veranda on Sunday afternoon when Mick showed up.
“We need to talk.” He pulled me to my feet.
My T-shirt was drenched and the knees of my blue jeans had stiffened with a thick layer of hardened mud.
“You look very fetching,” he said.
“I look like something the cat dragged in.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “At least you’re talking to me.”
We climbed the steps to the veranda. “Don’t push your luck.”
There was an unopened bottle of water on the glass-topped coffee table. “Care for some water?” I asked.
“You need it more than I do.” He cracked open the cap and handed the bottle to me. “Do you really believe I’d pinch your winemaker and never say a word to you?”
“Did you?” I rolled the wet bottle over my face, then drank.
He watched me. “It’s like this,” he said.
