The Marcelli Bride

Marco spread out the large maps on the kitchen table, anchoring the edges with salt and pepper shakers and a bowl of sugar.

“Here’s the house,” the elder Marcelli said. “Here’s the east field.”

Everyone gathered around the table.

“There’s a service road,” Joe said, tracing a dark line on the map. “Where are the water connections?”

Marco pointed to several triangular icons. “These show them. The trucks can hook up directly to our main water supply.”

Joe straightened and counted heads. “We’ll split up into teams and take maps with us. Tessa, I’ll tell you where to send Nic when he arrives. You’ll stay here with Brenna, Lauren, and Darcy.”

“I’m not staying,” Darcy told him. “And before you start arguing, I’ve spent the last five weeks walking all over this vineyard. I know it better than you do. I know what the water stations look like. I’m going to help.”

His dark gaze locked with hers, then he nodded once. “Alex, you’re with Darcy. Mia and Ian, as well. I want this fire stopped, but even more than that, I want Darcy kept safe.”

“That goes for everyone,” he added, before she could wonder if his concern was about her, Darcy, the woman he shared a bed with, or her, Darcy, the president’s daughter.

“I know the vineyard is important, but it’s just grapes. They can be replanted, but none of you can be. Stay safe and think before you do anything rash. Agreed?”

Everyone nodded.

Sirens could be heard in the distance. A car pulled up and squealed to a stop.

“Let’s get ready,” Joe said.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a blur. Brenna was helped inside where Grandma Tessa did her best to keep her calm. The various teams went out to join the firefighters, which was how Darcy found herself seated in a large truck, staring at a map by flashlight and calling out when she thought they were close to a water connection.

“It’s here,” she said, looking up and pointing.

The truck stopped on the service road. She waited for the firefighters to scramble out, then she eased to the ground and got her first good look at the fire.

It stretched across what looked like miles. Bright, hot flames consumed the vines much more quickly than she could have imagined. Every now and then a column rose to salute the sky, as if in victory.

“No, you don’t,” Darcy murmured, even as she inhaled the sharp scent of scorched grapes and burned leaves.

The firefighters went to work with their hoses. Darcy circled around the back of the truck and found Mia.

“We have to go locate the next water station,” Darcy said. “For the next truck. It shouldn’t be that far.”

“Lead on,” Mia told her. “Alex, we’re going up to find the next water connection.”

He nodded and joined them. In the distance Darcy saw another truck pull up. Several people climbed out. She thought she saw Joe, but in the swirling smoke, it was hard to be sure. Still, her heart jumped a little, as if it recognized its one true love.

And then she knew she had to tell him the truth. She couldn’t leave without admitting she loved him. To do so would be to dishonor the connection she felt with him.

But first, there was a fire to fight and a vineyard to save.

For a Navy SEAL, water was a safe haven. Joe didn’t like this new enemy that consumed without conscience. The flames grew and stretched and took. It didn’t seem to matter how much water they sprayed, the fire lived on.

He stayed close to the fire chief, giving information when he could and helping with hoses. As he worked, he eyed the sky. How long until dawn? How long until the air support could join them?

Time seemed to stand still until the world was simply heat and flames and water. He sweated and coughed from the smoke and hoped everyone was staying safe.

Too many civilians, he thought. Too many people who didn’t have the training. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The winery was supposed to be easy. Not on my watch, he thought. Not on my watch.

Frustration became anger. Lorenzo had left him the winery so he would stay. The old man had wanted him to care. Now, with the fire destroying all that four generations of Marcellis had built, Joe found himself cursing his own worry and concern.

“Good news,” the fire chief said as he handed Joe a bottle of water. “The fog’s coming in.”

Joe unscrewed the top of the bottle and swallowed half the contents in one long drink. Then he turned to the west and saw the stars had disappeared behind a bank of heavy fog. The air was less dry, the flying ash and cinders less hot.

“Will this make a difference?” he asked.

“It’ll help,” the chief told him. “A heavy fog bank will combine with the smoke and make it a bitch to see, but there isn’t any wind. If we can get the humidity high enough, we’ll get a handle on this son of a bitch.”

Joe finished the water. “I want to know how it started.”

“You and me, both,” the chief told him. “I have a feeling you’re not going to like what we find.”

“Arson?”

“Could be. You have cultivated vineyards up here. No power lines, no lightning strikes. The ground is dry, but not parched, and the heavy fruit doesn’t burn easily.”

Joe couldn’t think of anyone who would want to burn down Marcelli Wines. They were successful, but not a major holding. Not like Wild Sea.

He reminded himself this wasn’t the time or the way to find answers. Instead he went back to work on the fire. When the firefighters came and asked him to help pull up several rows of grapes to widen a fire break, he reached for a shovel and dug in.

Time passed. The moments were measured in sweat and sparks and smoke. The fog continued to roll in until some of it reached behind the fire, creating an eerie backdrop for the dancing flames.

He heard a horn honk and turned to look. Paige and Lauren drove up on a golf cart.

“We have food and water,” Lauren yelled. “Take a break.”

He joined the other men as the women handed out thick sandwiches and chilly bottles of water.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Good.” Paige tucked a bottle of water into his jeans pocket. “The other teams are making progress, too. The fog’s helping. We’re hoping for rain.”

“I’m going to go check on them,” he told the chief.

“You know where to find us.”

Joe hopped on the back of the cart and directed Paige toward the other teams.

“Thanks for helping,” he said. “You didn’t have to.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’ve put in my time here, too,” she said. “I care about the Marcellis as much as you.” She faced front and shrugged. “They’re good people.”

They were good people, he thought as he jumped out of the cart and walked over to another group of firefighters. Marco and Colleen were studying maps spread on the ground.

“Here,” Marco said, pointing. “Above it is the steepest terrain we have. I wouldn’t risk going any higher. If we make our stand there, we should be fine.” He glanced up and saw Joe. “We’re winning.”

“You think?”

Marco motioned to the thickening fog. “Pop wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Joe wanted to point out that the fog was a weather phenomenon common to the area, not proof of ghostly interference, but he couldn’t seem to say the words. Maybe because he’d felt Lorenzo’s presence as well. Four generations of Marcellis had worked the line. There was no way the old man would let that be lost.

The smoke was less thick here. He could see the acres of grapes yet to be touched by the flames.

“If we can get a protective break around them,” he said, thinking out loud.

“Exactly,” Marco said. “We can save most of them. Still have a decent year.”

There was, Joe realized, a point when a soldier knew to give up the battle. When the victory or the loss became inevitable. Casualties could still occur on both sides, but the outcome had been determined.

When had that happened to him? He’d been fighting long enough, but against what? His destiny? What was so