Amanda’s Range Rover was already in Mick’s driveway when I pulled up behind her and parked. Even though Mick and I shared a common property line, between us we owned more than a thousand acres, so it wasn’t like we swapped cups of sugar across a backyard fence. It was nearly a mile between the entrance to my place and his.
Unlike my home, which had always been a working farm, Mick’s place, with its parklike grounds, reminded me of an English manor house. Saucer magnolias and dogwoods lined the private road leading to his home. In the spring drifts of daffodils and tulips bloomed alongside the trees. The previous owner had a professional horticulturist put landscape labels on all the trees surrounding the formal gardens. Mick contacted the horticulturalist, offering him a job as full-time groundskeeper. Then he asked Sunny Greenfield to take on redecorating the house, giving her carte blanche so he could focus on his real love—renovating and upgrading his extensive stables. He’d also supervised the planting of thirty acres of vines.
Before he moved to Virginia, Mick owned Dunne Pharmaceuticals, a Florida-based mom-and-pop business he’d transformed into a multinational conglomerate, which he’d sold in a deal that made the front page of major financial newspapers. If he never worked again for two lifetimes, he’d still be richer than Midas. I wondered how long someone so restless would be content racing thoroughbreds and growing grapes. I’d often wondered whether he was more captivated by the romantic notion of a gentleman farmer from Virginia than the reality of that life. One day would he wake up and discover he was bored?
A maid met me at the front door. “Mr. Dunne is in the stables, miss. He asked you to stop by when you’ve finished your meeting with Mrs. Heyward. She’s waiting for you in the drawing room. You know the way, I believe.”
I passed an enormous silver urn filled with several dozen red and white roses. If the Queen of England ever came for tea, she’d feel right at home. Sunny had knocked herself out redecorating the place and Mick had put no limits on what she could spend. The result was too grandiose for my taste but I knew Mick liked that kind of stately baronial splendor, even reveled in it.
I hadn’t seen the drawing room since Sunny finished redoing it in masculine shades of rust and royal blue. Persian carpets covered the floor, setting off the fine European and American antiques. The art looked like she’d borrowed a few treasures from a major museum.
Amanda stood by the fireplace, staring at a portrait of George Washington. She was dressed hunt country casual in a tweed blazer, silk blouse, and well-cut jeans. I joined her.
“That painting,” I said. “Isn’t it—?”
She nodded. “Yes. A Gilbert Stuart.”
Maybe Sunny really had borrowed it from a museum. “Where did Mick get it?”
“Sunny wouldn’t say. But Mick paid a bundle for it. Did you know Stuart painted over a hundred portraits of Washington? I had no idea there were so many out there.”
“Me, neither. This one’s fabulous.”
“That’s why I really want to hold the auction in the house, rather than a tent. This place is gorgeous.”
“The tent might not be a problem anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Her eyebrows knitted together. “What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t we sit down?”
We sat on a large camelback sofa covered in pumpkin-hued brocade. Amanda’s overstuffed planner and her paisley folder, now thick with papers, lay on the coffee table.
“Jack Greenfield is withdrawing the Washington bottle from the auction.”
Amanda put a hand over her mouth like she was going to be ill. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she looked tragic. “Sunny never said a word. I was just with her at the kennels.”
“Maybe he didn’t tell her.”
“Well, shit!”
“I know.”
“Why did he do it?” She picked up the folder and opened it. Then she closed it again. “Dammit, he
“He can and he did. He’s giving us a jeroboam of Château Pétrus instead.”
She looked like I’d said he offered us a bottle of hemlock. “That Washington wine was the centerpiece of the auction. Without it, we’ll be lucky to fill the guest bathroom with whoever shows up.”
“I tried talking to him, but he’s made up his mind,” I said. “We’ll just have to live with it. Now we need to figure out how to let people know it won’t be part of the auction.”
Amanda threw herself back against the sofa. “We can’t do that! I’ve been calling and e-mailing everyone on the planet crowing about that wine, for God’s sake. We’ll look stupid saying, ‘Hey, guess what?’”
“We’ll look more stupid when people show up and we can’t produce it,” I said. “Not to mention how angry everyone will be. They’ll think we lured them into coming under false pretenses.”
She glared at me. “God, what a mess! Have you told Ryan?”
“I haven’t told anybody. Not even Quinn.”
“Quinn.” She tossed her head. “I heard a rumor about him.”
“Oh?”
“I heard Shane Cunningham’s hot new girlfriend is Quinn’s ex-wife.”
“From a long time ago.” At least she didn’t know about him showing up for work drunk.
“And he was drinking in Leesburg the other night. Got completely plastered.”
“We’re off the subject of the auction,” I said. “And Quinn’s love life is his own business.”
Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “Love life, huh? I thought they were divorced. Are you saying he’s still in love with his ex? How interesting.”
“Poor choice of words. Can we get back to the auction? I still think we need to tell people.”
“Before we do anything, let me talk to Sunny. She might be able to persuade Jack to reconsider.”
Sunny and Amanda were best friends. What did we have to lose?
“Good luck,” I said. “He wants me to bring the bottle over to his house tomorrow evening. Can you talk to Sunny before then?”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” she said. “I’m on my way to see her as soon as I leave here.”
We walked outside together. Amanda pulled out her car keys. “I’ll follow you out,” she said.
“I’m, uh, going to stick around for a while.”
She smiled. “Really? Seeing Mick? You two still together?”
“He asked me to drop by the stables, that’s all.” I hoped she’d leave it alone, but I was blushing.
“He’s quite a catch.” She climbed into the Range Rover. “I heard you stuck it to the Orlandos the other day when they came by and asked you to close your farm to the hunt. They’ve got their nerve. Good for you for telling them to go to hell.”
What, in my life, didn’t Amanda know about? One thing about a small town, we lived in each other’s back pockets—though that was part and parcel of the way people looked after each other around here. Neighbors who’d show up to help dig a garden, take down a tree, pull a car out of a snowbank, or drop off a meal because someone was ill. I knew I could never live in a big city where my next-door neighbor might be a total stranger. Maybe that was the problem with the Orlandos. They underestimated the bonds between families who had lived here since before the Civil War.
“I don’t like being pushed around,” I said.
She started her engine. “What did they say?”
“What you’d expect.”
Amanda’s glance flickered down at my cane. “You’re just like your mother, Lucie. She had guts, too.”
She drove off and I walked to the stables. Even if Amanda persuaded Sunny to talk to Jack, I still didn’t think he’d change his mind about the Washington wine. In fact, less and less did I believe he’d told me the truth about why he wanted it back.
The wind had shifted during the day bringing in cooler air that sharpened the sky to a lacquered cerulean blue I had not seen for months. The Indian summer heat was gone for good.
I liked the ordered serenity I felt each time I walked into Mick’s stables with their pleasant smell of hay and leather. His horses lived a regimented life—especially the ones being schooled. Ultimately, though, it was the