Let It Breathe (10 page)

“Shit, yeah,” Axl said as he switched off the cordless phone. “Your drunk-ass friends will know all about camels eating pot.”

“He’s an alpaca!” Reese shouted before looking back at Clay. “If you wouldn’t mind—”

“No problem. Just let me make a call.”

Clay grabbed his cell from his belt and hit the speed-dial number for Patrick, his new sponsor. He’d programmed the guy’s number into the phone the other day, knowing it might be handy at some point.

He hadn’t envisioned using it to summon help for a stoned alpaca.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Patrick picked up, his voice fretful.

“Clay? Is that you? Is everything okay?”

“Hey, Patrick—yeah, it’s me. Look, there’s been a drug-related incident here, and I was just wondering—”

“Oh, God. Clay, where are you? I can get there in a few minutes, wherever you are. Just hold tight and—”

“No, dude—it’s not me. Really, I have this friend—”

“Sure, sure, a friend—whatever you say. The important thing is that your
friend
deals with this head-on, right now, before things spiral and—”

“Patrick, stop. It’s an alpaca.”

Patrick was quiet a moment. “That’s that new street drug, right? The one that gives you an erection for four days?”

“What? No. It’s kind of like a camel. A really small, shaggy camel with no hump.”

There was more silence on Patrick’s end. “I don’t understand.”

“Look, I just need to know if there’s a vet in the local AA group—a veterinarian, not a war veteran. We want to find out if there’s anything we should do for my friend’s alpaca.”

Patrick didn’t respond right away, so Clay pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at Reese. “Any idea how much he ate?”

“Just one small plant, I think. Maybe two. I can’t be sure,” she said. “I didn’t see it before he ate it, but all the plants were really little.”

“Okay, Patrick?” Clay said, speaking into the phone again. “It sounds like he ingested a fairly small amount of marijuana. Is there anyone you can think of who I could talk to?”

“Um, well, there’s Wally. He owns a vet clinic in Newberg. He’s just a friend of mine, not an AA guy, but I trust him. You want me to give him a call?”

“That’d be great. You can have him call me on this number, or if it’s not too much trouble, maybe he could come out here to the winery?”

“You’re at a winery with a stoned camel?”

Clay watched as Reese scratched Leon behind the ears. “He’s not a camel. Just let me know what Wally says, okay? Thanks, man.”

He clicked off the phone and looked at Reese, who was still stroking Leon’s neck with a shaky hand.

“Thank you,” she said. “I just didn’t want to call Leon’s regular vet to explain this. He got mad last Halloween when Axl tried to dye Leon orange. I don’t want him to think we’re completely irresponsible alpaca owners.”

“Not a problem. Just hang in there. Should we try feeding him something like Axl’s guy said?”

Reese nodded. “I’ll go get some of his food. Can you keep an eye on him?”

“Sure.”

Clay watched as Reese hurried off in the direction of her little house. Once she was gone, Clay turned to Axl.

“Do I want to know how this happened?”

“Probably not,” he said. “He’s going to be okay, right? It’s not gonna kill him like those other plants Reese was talking about?”

“I have no idea. He looks fine to me, but this is the first alpaca I’ve ever seen up close. Is he always like this?”

“Pretty much. He actually looks happy, don’t you think?”

Clay looked at the animal. Happy? He wasn’t sure what a happy alpaca looked like, but as the beast stooped to pull a mouthful of grass from the tufts at the edge of the barn, Clay had to admit he seemed content.

“Is it okay if he eats grass?”

“Huh?” Axl asked. “Oh, you mean like hair of the dog? Sure, I left my bong back at the pole barn, but I think Reese might get pissed if we gave him another hit.”

“No, not—never mind. Here comes Reese.”

He watched her jogging across the lawn, trying not to let his eyes linger too long on her chest. That would be a caveman thing to do. He wasn’t a caveman.

Still, the way everything moved under that shirt as she ran—

“Got it,” Reese called, holding out a small canvas bag. “C’mere, Leon—get some oats.”

The alpaca lifted his head and pricked his ears. He leaned out, snuffling at the edge of the bag.

“Good boy,” Reese crooned. “That’s a good, good boy.”

Leon stuck his head in the bag and began munching.

Clay scratched him behind the ears again, earning a contented hum that sounded funny in the rhythm of chewing.

“Alpacas have three stomachs,” Reese explained softly, as though Leon might be offended at being discussed thusly. “I guess we just want to get everything moving through him.”

“Makes sense,” Clay said. “Had a few benders like that myself.”

“He seems to have the munchies,” Axl pointed out.

Reese held up the feed bag and peered inside. “All gone. Feeling better, Leon?”

Leon chortled a little and snuffled at the edge of the bag.

“So is Leon a pet, or does he serve a useful vineyard function?” Clay asked, trying to keep Reese’s mind off the animal’s condition. “Hauling grapes or something?”

Reese shrugged. “They keep the pasture mowed down, but it’s more about the fleece. Mom and Gramp—
Axl
got a whole herd of alpacas a few years ago after reading about how the fiber made from their fleece is worth a lot of money. We shear them every spring.”

“What’s the difference between a llama and an alpaca?”

“Llamas are bigger, and you use them more for packing and hauling,” Reese said. “We have a few of those over in the east pasture. Alpacas are a lot smaller, and people keep them more for their fleece than anything.”

“So what’s the deal with Leon? Why isn’t he with other alpacas?”

She gave Leon a fond smile and stroked the side of his neck, and Clay kicked himself for feeling jealous of a farm animal. “He got kind of attached to me after I bottle-fed him as a baby when he got sick,” she said. “He hangs out with the other alpacas sometimes when I’m not around, but most of the time, he’d rather be near me.”

Clay could relate, but he didn’t say so.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel drew their attention toward the driveway. They watched as a blue Subaru pulled into the circular parking area at the front of the winery barn and eased to a halt in front of them. The brake lights flickered and a dark-haired, thirty-something man in a green fleece jacket hopped out and extended his right hand, gripping a medical bag in the left.

“You must be Clay,” he said. “Patrick called just as I was leaving a sheep farm five miles down the road. I’m Wallace O’Brien—you can call me Wally. Is this our patient?”

Clay nodded. “Thanks so much for coming out like this. Leon here ate some, uh—”

“Medical marijuana,” piped Axl. “Perfectly legal. We’ve got the permits and everything.”

“Er, right,” Clay said. “This is Axl, and Reese here is Leon’s owner. She’s understandably worried.”

“Reese,” the man repeated, his eyes coming to rest on her face. He studied her with undisguised appreciation, and Clay stood up a little straighter.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Dr. Wally. “Tell me, have you noticed any disorientation or behavioral changes?”

“Well, his normal behavior whenever a man is around is to—”

Leon chose that moment to display his normal behavior. He lowered his head and nailed Wally squarely in the groin.

“Ooof!” said Wally and doubled over.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry,” Reese said. “Are you okay?”

Wally nodded but didn’t say anything beyond a squeak as he clutched his groin with one hand. Reese winced and rested a hand on Leon’s back, while Clay did his best to feel sympathetic.

“I can’t believe he just did that,” Reese said. “I should have warned you that’s what he always does, but I thought after he didn’t hit Clay in the—um—the—”

“Nutsack,” Axl supplied.

“Right,” Reese said. “I thought maybe the marijuana made him not want to do that, but I guess I’m glad he’s being his normal self. I mean, I’m not glad you got hit, but—I mean—can I get you some ice?”

“I’m fine, fine,” groaned Dr. Wally, straightening up and pasting on a strained smile. “Let me just do a quick exam here, if you don’t mind.”

“Absolutely,” Reese said, stepping aside as Dr. Wally opened his medical bag and pulled out a stethoscope.

Clay watched as the vet tucked the earpieces into place and held the flat metal end against Leon’s furry chest, listening intently. The name had left Clay expecting a much older man, but Dr. Wally couldn’t be more than a year or two older than he was.

The vet nodded to himself after a minute, then put the stethoscope away and pulled out a little penlight. He put a hand on the side of Leon’s face and shined it in the animal’s eyes.

Leon curled his lips back and spat.

Clay tried not to laugh. “At least his aim isn’t affected.”

Dr. Wally grimaced and wiped the alpaca slime off his cheek. “No worries. He does seem to be in high spirits, doesn’t he?”

Axl snorted. “
High
. You could say that.”

Dr. Wally gave a faint smile and pulled out a thermometer. “Um, would one of you mind holding him steady?”

“Of course,” said Reese, and wrapped her arms around the alpaca’s neck.

Dr. Wally moved around in back and tried to lift Leon’s tail. Leon hooted with alarm and pulled his tail down.

“Come on, buddy,” the vet murmured. “Just cooperate.”

Clay scratched one of Leon’s fuzzy ears, the one with a heart-shaped splotch on it, and tried to think of something comforting to say. “Sorry, man,” he murmured to Leon, trying not to notice the heat coming from Reese’s hand as she stroked the alpaca’s neck. “He didn’t even buy you a beer first.”

At last, the vet released Leon’s tail and returned to pull an alcohol wipe from his medical bag. He nodded at Reese as he began wiping down the thermometer.

“His temperature is normal, heart rate pretty steady,” he informed her. “His pupils are a little dilated, and he’s clearly a bit agitated, but that’s to be expected under the circumstances.”

“So is he going to be okay?” Reese asked. “There are so many plants that are poisonous to alpacas, so I just worried—”

“He should be fine. The best thing you can do right now is just keep him calm.”

“Anything else?” Reese asked, stroking Leon’s neck.

“Give him plenty of water, and watch for anything unusual—vomiting, malaise, diarrhea, depression.”

They all turned to Leon, looking for signs of depression. Leon hummed.

“Right,” said Dr. Wally. “Here’s my card. Call me if anything changes. Or—you know—if you want to go out sometime?”

Reese stared at him for a second before reaching out to take the card. Clay felt dizzy, and realized he was holding his breath.

It was Axl who broke the silence, smacking Reese on the arm.

“Jesus, girl—the man just asked you on a goddamn date. You’ve gotta give him an answer, unless you want me to kick his ass?”

Reese flushed, then smiled at Dr. Wally. “No, that’s fine. I mean—no ass kicking will be necessary. Thank you, Wally. I’ll hold on to your number. Um, here’s mine,” she said, fishing a business card out of her pocket. “You can mail the bill to the address there.”

He glanced at the card, then smiled up at Reese. “Why don’t we just call it a favor for a friend?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“I insist. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Reese bit her lip. “Thank you. Really, I appreciate you coming out here on short notice like this.”

Clay cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Thanks again, man. Great to be able to connect with people through AA like this.”

Wally looked at Clay, stole one more glance at Reese, then looked back at Clay. “You can call me anytime, too.”

Somehow, Clay doubted Wally would be as excited to get a midnight call from him as he would from Reese.

“Okay, then,” Clay said. “Have a good night.”

They watched the good doctor climb into his car and fire up the engine. He turned the car around in the wide gravel circle of the driveway and beeped the horn twice as he drove away.

Leon made a
wark-wark
noise and pawed the ground.

When the car disappeared, Clay looked at Reese. She was studying the card. She looked up and met his eyes.

“He seemed like a nice guy,” Reese said. “Thanks for getting him to come out, Clay.”

“Not a problem.”

“No, really—it’s a big deal. Calling Leon’s regular vet would have been embarrassing, so I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Really, I’m glad to help.”

“I feel like I owe you something,” she said. “Can I make you dinner?”

“Um—I, uh—”

The door to the winery burst open. Eric stormed out, his face pale and his eyebrows cinched together. When he spotted Reese, he snarled and kicked the dirt.

“Get in here,” he said. “We have a problem.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Reese stared dumbfounded at the giant, sticky red lake on the floor.

It wasn’t blood, but that would have been preferable.

She gripped the edge of a wine barrel to keep herself steady. “What the hell happened?” she asked, bracing herself as a wave of nausea rolled through her.

Her ex-husband’s face revealed the same shell-shocked expression he’d worn the day Clay had stolen a milk truck in college and backed over his car.

“I have no idea,” Eric said. “I went out for a late lunch and then met with the wine distributor for Whole Foods, and when I came back—”

“Holy hell,” Reese breathed.

“No kidding.”

“The Wine Club Pinot.” She thought saying it out loud might take some of the sting out, but that wasn’t true. She stared at the pool on the floor, blinking hard with the faint hope that when she opened her eyes again, the wine would be back in the barrel where it belonged.

Nope. Still there.

Beside her, Axl was uncharacteristically subdued. Even he understood what this meant. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Clay cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what is Wine Club Pinot?”

Reese shook her head slowly, not trusting her voice yet. “For the last five years, we’ve had this wine club. It didn’t start out very big, but we’re up to over five hundred members this year. On top of their dues, they can pay to get a Reserve Pinot Noir bottled in limited quantities and only available to them.”

“It’s a special blend,” Eric said. “We only make one barrel of it, just to create hype and demand. I’ve had it in the barrel for three years. We did a small tasting last month to build up orders. Only wine club members get it.”

“There’s a waiting list,” Reese continued. “All the bottles have been presold.”

Clay frowned. “Do you mind if I ask how much?”

“A hundred and eighty macaroons per bottle,” Axl grunted.

“Smackaroos,” Reese muttered, her eyes still fixed on the floor.

Eric shook his head. “And at three hundred bottles per barrel—”

“We’re fucked,” Axl finished.

Reese shook her head. “It’s not just the money—it’s the hype we’ve had over this particular wine, this special, limited-edition wine available to a select group, and now—”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. This couldn’t be real. Not when they’d been doing such a good job building their reputation as a premier winery. Not when people were really starting to take an interest in their wines.

“What happened?” she asked Eric.

Eric grunted and knelt on the floor beside the barrel. He pointed to a spot on the underside. “Take a look at this.”

Reese crouched down beside him. “It’s cracked.”

“Yup. A big crack, too.”

She bit her lip, afraid to say it. “Termites?”

“I doubt it. Doesn’t look like that kind of damage, and I don’t think termites would go after a wine barrel anyway.”

“But you were so worried—”

“About the building. I don’t want termites eating the building where we make wine, but I don’t think that’s what caused this.”

She nodded, still uneasy. “I don’t understand—you check these barrels every day. So do I. How could we not notice something like this? A little leakage or something?”

Eric stood up and held out his hand, and Reese let him pull her to her feet.

“It can happen suddenly sometimes,” he said. “I saw it once when I was interning in France. This is one of our older barrels—I don’t know, maybe it just gave.”

Reese shook her head. “What are we going to do?”

“Where’s Larissa?” Axl asked. “She’s gotta be able to put a good PR spin on this.”

“On three hundred bottles of spilled wine?” Reese shook her head. “I doubt that.”

Axl grunted. “Unless you’re planning to get a turkey baster and suck it up off the floor, I can’t think of another option.”

She gritted her teeth and looked up at Eric. “Okay, you’ve got that other barrel of Reserve, right? The one we were planning to roll out for the Memorial Day event next week? That’s the same vintage.”

“Right, but it’s not the exact same wine. The members will know the difference.”

“We’ll have to tell them, obviously.”

“So what do we serve the VIP guests at the event?” Eric asked. “It’s going to cut into our profits for that.”

“What choice do we have?” Reese asked. “We’ll write a letter to the club members explaining what happened, and offering to substitute the other Pinot. We can use one of the younger wines for the event. The 2013 has been aging nicely, right?”

“Sure, but that’s gonna leave us with that much less next year.”

Reese sighed. “I don’t know what else to do, Eric. That’s the best I’ve got.”

He grunted and shook his head but didn’t say anything else for a while. “Dick over at Larchwood is going to love this,” he muttered at last. “A hundred bucks says he hears about it and makes it a point to tell everyone who comes through his tasting room for the next month.”

Reese grimaced. It really wasn’t the money—though in light of the added cost for materials in the new building project, the money hurt.

No, the worst of it was the loss of the reputation she’d worked so hard to build. “We’ll look like hacks,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Get out of here, Peanut Butter Cup,” Axl finally said. “You’ve already had a rough day with Leon. Eric and I can stay here and clean this up.”

“No, it’s my responsibility,” Reese argued. “I should have been here.”

“What for?” Axl snapped. “You think you should sit here twenty-four hours a day with your ass parked on a wine barrel waiting to stick your thumb in a crack?”

“I don’t—”

“Go!” Axl insisted. “Go take care of the damn camel.”

Reese hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Axl. I’ll talk with Larissa when she comes in tomorrow. She can work her PR magic, figure out the best way to explain this to the members.”

She started to turn around, then realized Clay was still standing there looking lost. Or looking forlorn over the wasted wine, she really couldn’t tell.

“Clay—I offered you dinner earlier, didn’t I?”

He tore his eyes away from the wine and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough on your mind. If someone could show me where the mop is, I’d be happy to help clean this up.”

“No, really,” Reese insisted. “I feel like I owe you for your help with Leon. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t gotten Dr. Wally out here.”

Clay shook his head. “Really, Reese, you don’t have to feed me.”

“I insist. My place, one hour. Be there. I’ll throw something simple together.”

Eric looked up sharply. “You’re cooking? Count me in. Sheila’s working late tonight. What do you have?”

Reese blinked, then regrouped. “Sure. I can do that. I think I’ve got frozen shrimp and some angel hair pasta. Shrimp scampi okay with everyone?”

“Perfect,” Eric said. “I just picked up a great little Pinot Gris from Sokol Blosser that’ll go great with that.”

Reese felt Clay go still beside her. She looked at him, trying to read his expression. “I have water,” she offered. “Or soda. Or juice. Or—”

“I’m fine,” he said, his eyes fixed on Eric. “Really, I don’t want to impose.”

“I insist,” Reese said. “So dinner at my place in an hour. Axl? Want to join us?”

“Nah, I’ve got a hot date. Don’t tell Francie, okay? I’ve got a little somethin’ on the side with this other lady, if you know what I mean.”

Axl tried to wink, and Clay reached out to steady him before he started to tip.

“Okay,” Reese said with an eye roll. “Well, then. I’ll see the rest of you at my place in just a little bit.”

Reese marched out of the room, feeling eyes on her back. She wasn’t sure whose they were, but she didn’t dare turn around to look.

As she got outside, she breathed in the smell of wet grass and spring onion. Leon spotted her and came trotting up, his shaggy ears pricked. She surveyed him for any wobbly movements or odd behavior, but he looked pretty much the same.

“Quite a day, Leon,” she told him. “First you get stoned, then I lose a whole barrel of one-of-a-kind Pinot Noir. Not sure which is worse.”

Leon hummed and fell into step beside her as she marched across the lawn toward her house. The phone was ringing when she walked in, and Reese scrambled to grab it, leaving the front door ajar so she could keep an eye on Leon.

“Hello?”

“Hey, cuz,” Larissa chirped. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Making dinner for Clay and Eric, apparently. Why?”

“I just got stood up by this guy I’ve been seeing. Wanna get together and play with makeup and have pillow fights in our underwear?”

“Did you miss the part where I said Clay and Eric are coming over for dinner?”

“No, I got that part,” Larissa said. “I thought they’d like to watch.”

Reese snorted. “No. No pillow fights, no makeup. But if you want to come over, I’m making shrimp scampi. Bring salad.”

“I’ll be there in a few. Love you!”

Reese hung up the phone and went to her refrigerator to make sure she had everything she needed. She hadn’t planned on an impromptu dinner party, but she was surprised to see she had plenty of shrimp and a big bunch of asparagus. Maybe an easy hollandaise sauce? Plenty of butter for the scampi, plus a couple loaves of French bread in the freezer.

She pulled out the ingredients and was about to check on Leon when the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Hi, honey, it’s Mom—listen, Grandpa’s got other plans for dinner tonight, and I thought maybe you’d like to come over and join us? I made huckleberry cobbler for dessert.”

“Actually, I’m having Eric and Clay and Larissa over here.” She hesitated, not sure if having her parents there would make the dynamic more or less awkward.

Could it really get more awkward?

“Why don’t you two join us for dinner?” Reese suggested.

“We wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Don’t worry about it. Just bring chairs. And bring the cobbler, too.”

“You’re sure?”

“No problem. Come whenever you’re ready.”

She hung up the phone and carried two asparagus spears outside to where Leon was standing beside her house sniffing a patch of grass.

“How are you feeling, buddy?” she asked, offering him a piece of asparagus.

While Leon munched, she scratched his ears. As soon as he stopped chewing, he burrowed his face in her cleavage and nuzzled hard.

“Slut,” she muttered, massaging his long, fuzzy neck.

“First you get him stoned, then you call him a slut?”

Reese looked up to see Clay approaching from the side of the house. Her stomach did a loopy somersault and her skin began to tingle. She glanced at her watch, then back up at him. “You’re early.”

He stopped just a few inches from her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his bare forearms. Her skin prickled with desire, and she resisted the urge to take a step back.

Clay cleared his throat. “I wanted a chance to talk to you for a sec before everyone showed up. I just didn’t want this to be weird.”

“Weird? What could possibly be weird about having dinner with a stoned alpaca, my ex-husband, my over-amorous parents, my nymphomaniac cousin, and a recovering alcoholic?”

“Larissa’s coming?”

“How many nymphomaniac cousins do you think I have?”

“Right. Look, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with everything. I know this is a little weird for you and all, and then there was that kiss the other night—”

“It’s fine,” Reese said with a shrug, not wanting to dwell on it. Spotting a paper bag under his arm, Reese nodded at it. “You brought your own drink?”

“It’s seltzer.”

“There’s going to be wine at dinner. I’m sure you’ve been around that before, but I figured I should warn you.”

“I’m okay. That’s why I brought my own drink.”

She bit her lip. “Clay, if this is too hard on you at this stage—”

“If what’s too hard on me?”

Reese watched his eyes, waiting for the hard-on joke. There wasn’t one, except in her mind. Reese bit her lip. “Look, I’ve been wanting to ask you about something.”

“Yes?”

She closed her eyes for a second. She took one deep breath, then another. Sooner or later, they had to talk about this. It had been fifteen years. Might as well get it out in the open now. “Clay, do you remember—”

“Hey, kids—what’s shakin’?”

Reese opened her eyes to see Larissa shimmying up the walkway with a board game under one arm, a bag of salad clasped in one hand, and a bottle of white wine in the other. “It’s Sauvignon Blanc,” she said, lifting the bottle. “You said shrimp, right?”

“Right,” Reese said, casting a look at Clay before reaching out to take the bottle from Larissa. “Thank you for thinking of it. Eric’s got a Pinot Gris, so we’re all set.”

“My pleasure,” she said, pausing to kiss Leon on the lips before sashaying through the front door.

Reese looked at Clay. “We’ll talk later.”

“Sure,” Clay agreed, giving her a wary look. “Everything okay?”

“Absolutely,” Reese said. “Never better.”

Clay was surprised to discover six people could fit comfortably in Reese’s tiny dining room.

Space-wise, anyway. The meal wasn’t exactly comfortable. The dining surface was glass, which meant every time he reached for the breadbasket, he was treated to a view of June caressing Jed’s knee under the table. Not that there was anything inappropriate about it, but he could tell it was making Reese uncomfortable.