Sex and the Widow Miles (The Women of Willow Bay) (16 page)

“
You know exactly what look.” I paced the length of the hotel room and then tugged open the French doors to the balcony. It was chilly, but the sun streaming in felt good on my skin. “What are you thinking?”

“
Nothing.” He avoided my gaze.

“
Bullshit.” I stomped back to the table, grabbed the iPad, and laid it screen-down on the table. “You’re the one who said you wanted to do this with me, so talk to me. You don’t believe I never suspected him?”

“
No, I believe you.” He took a sip from his coffee cup and scowled. It had to be freezing cold.

“
Then what?”

“
I don’t know.” He sighed and tossed the cup in the trash. “Maybe this is a mistake. What are we doing, Julie? We could be out exploring the city together right now, having fun. Instead, we’re holed up in a hotel room, reading emails between your son-of-a-bitch dead husband and the woman he was screwing. What’s the point?”

“
Don’t call him that, you never even knew him.” For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I was defending Charlie, but my hackles rose anyway.

“
Well, what else do you call a man who led a secret life for God knows how many years?” He extended his hand. “Please? Can’t you let it go?”

I jerked back, out of his reach. If I allowed him to touch me, I
’d lose the fragile hold I had on my self-control and burst into tears. “You’re the one who said I need to
deal
with it. That I had to move on. Have you changed your mind?”

“
Yes, I don’t want to do this. It’s a mistake. It’s too much. Just let it go.”

I didn
’t want him to feel sorry for me or try to talk me out of finding out who this woman was. I was convinced that if I could see her, maybe I’d understand what had driven my husband from my arms into hers. “I can’t. You don’t get it, do you?”

“
No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” he confessed, folding his hands on the table. “Frankly, I think the good doctor was an asshole of the first order. He had a charmed life with the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world, and yet, that wasn’t enough for him. What kind of an egotistical dick cheats on someone like
you
?”

His words warmed my heart in spite of the anger I
’d been nursing the entire afternoon. His expression said it all. He really cared. He wasn’t being charming or trying to flatter me. The part of me that was so drawn to him wanted to agree that Charlie Miles was a big jerk, a stranger I’d never truly known. It would’ve been wonderful to drop this search and maybe go walk around Union Square or take a cable car to the Embarcadero. But the other part of me, the wounded wife, wasn’t going to rest until she knew the truth.

I had to find out who this woman was and what her hold had been.

“But he wasn’t an ‘egotistical dick’, Will. The Charlie I was married to wouldn’t have
looked
at another woman.” Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them back, determined not to give into another storm of crying.

“
Then who’s
this
guy?” A nod gestured to the laptop on the table before us.

“
I don’t know.” I caught my lower lip between my teeth to keep it from trembling and regained control. “I don’t know. Maybe if I find
her
, I’ll figure out why—why he—”

“
Christ!” He stood and stalked to the open doors, gazing out at the busy street below, then spun around. “He was a narcissistic jerk, Julie. That’s
why.
What happens when you find this woman? You gonna bitch slap her or something? Then it can be all
her
fault, and you can love Charlie again? Put him back up on the pedestal?”

His remark hit so c
lose to home, I reeled. “What an awful thing to say.”

“
Sorry.” Will was immediately contrite, coming over to pull me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Jules.” One hand smoothed up and down my spine as the other cupped the back of my head. He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’m trying here. I want to understand.”

“
It’s not about putting Charlie on a pedestal.” I leaned back in his arms, my palms against his chest. “It’s about the last thirty-two years of my life. I–I can’t bear it if those years meant nothing. If that’s true, who am I? Don’t you… don’t you see?” The words caught in my throat as my gaze captured his.

With a groan he
leaned down and his lips found mine. After a sweet slow kiss, he lifted his head. “I hate that bastard. If I could beat the shit out of him right now, I would.”

He released me, reached for the iPad, pressed the Home button, and held it up.
“Her name is Emily Tucker. Her family owns Tuckaway Winery.”

Emily Tucker?
Unbelievable!

Blood pounded in my ears as I shook my head, trying to clear it enough to comprehend what he
’d said. I felt behind me for a chair and dropped into it, feeling sick to my stomach. Charlie had loved that winery. Raved about it all the time. Special ordered their wine because it wasn’t available in Michigan. God, how many times had we toasted anniversaries and birthdays with Tuckaway Petit Syrah? A bottle of their Riesling was always chilled in our wine cooler. It had been our summer go-to wine after a long hot day on the beach.

Suddenly I felt light-headed as I remembered all the times Charlie and I had taken that
particular wine to bed with us, sharing a glass as we snuggled together after sex. I put my head down between my legs, taking deep breathes to keep from losing the croissants and coffee.

How could he? How could he pour
her
wine for me, toast me, lick it out of my navel, and be diddling the winemaker?

“
Hey?” Will’s hand was warm on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I raised my head to meet his concerned gaze, and nodded, giving him a grim smile. One more deep breath and I turned to the laptop
, typed “Tuckaway Winery” in the search box, and found the website. Now I was even more determined to see her.

I was disappointed to see there were no pictures of Emily Tucker, only photos of the vineyard and winery. Googling her name didn
’t bring any photos I thought could be Charlie’s little paramour either. What I found were a bunch more shots of the winery, bottles of wine, and folks picnicking in the Sierra foothills at Tuckaway. The faces in the pictures were too tiny to see much, just happy, laughing people enjoying a day of wine tasting. Charlie wasn’t in any of them. Frustrated, I tapped one nail on the table, trying to come up with a better way to search for her.

His face unreadable,
Will sat opposite me before hopping out of his chair and pushing the lid down on the computer and shutting the iPad. “Come on, get dressed.” He took my hand and pulled me out of the chair. “Let’s go find some real food. We need to get out of here.”

I
was dying of curiosity and could’ve spent the rest of the afternoon and evening scouring the Internet, something I wasn’t about to admit to Will. The confession would’ve only incited another
Dr. Phil
moment, so I went along.

SEVENTEEN

I slipped my sunglasses on against the glare as we drove Will
’s rental car east into the foothills the next morning. He’d balked strenuously about driving up to Angel’s Camp, but I was adamant. He could come with me or not, but being so close, no way did I intend to miss an opportunity to at least try to get a look at Emily Tucker.

Tuckaway Winery was beautiful and aptly named, set among the foothills and surrounded by vineyards. I could see why Charlie had loved it. It was his kind of place, simple, elegant—a beautiful, cedar structure that oozed money and taste. After we parked, Will turned to me, leaning one arm on the steering wheel.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Without a word, I bolted from the car and stalked to the open door of the winery, wishing alternately that the tramp would be there so I could ream her out
, and that we wouldn’t be able to find her so I’d never have to face this other woman in my husband’s life.

The building was old and immaculately restored with a high ceiling and huge beams. A fire crackled in the big stone fireplace, while an older woman and
a young, very attractive brunette poured tastings for a few people lined up at the bar.

Hesitating in the doorway, I sensed Will behind me. One hand on my shoulder, he guided me into the winery, and I leaned into his touch as we approached the tasting bar. The brunette set two glasses in front of us along with a wine list.

“Welcome to Tuckaway. Are you tasting with us today?” she chirped.

When I didn
’t respond, Will nodded and picked up the sheet. “Yes, please.”

“
Where would you like to start?”

“
What do you recommend?”

“
Depends on what you like.” She brushed her long hair back from her face and leaned in to display her sizeable rack to the guy
I’d
come in the door with.

Very professional
, you bimbo.

Was
this
the woman? Had to be, the way she immediately started coming on to Will. She’d seemed kind of young at first, but up close, lines around her eyes told me she was north of thirty-five. Besides, didn’t most men go for younger chicks when they strayed? I glowered her, trying to picture her with Charlie, before saying with a snarky undertone, “Give me some Riesling. My
husband
used to love your Riesling.” My voice came out too loud, echoing in the cavernous room.

Will nudged me with his elbow.

I shot him a frown. “What?” I asked, again too loudly, but I didn’t care that I might be embarrassing him. He had to have figured out this was Emily Tucker. Hell, any idiot could see she’d be the type to screw someone else’s husband.

“
Let’s start with the drier sauvignon blanc first,” he suggested, giving me wide eyes, apparently trying to send some kind of signal I wasn’t particularly interested in receiving.

By that time, a couple of the people who were down the bar stared at me openly. I turned my back on them and
pretended to study the wine list. “I want the Riesling, dammit.”

“
Jules, chill.” Dull color rose from his collar and he took a sip of wine, clearly unhappy with my attitude.

“
Here’s the Riesling.” The girl poured some into the glass in front of me. “We can start wherever you like.”

“
How gracious of you.” I slugged the wine down and put my glass back on the counter none too gently.

“
Would you like to try our Vignoles?” The brunette eyed me with caution.

“
Why not?” I eyed her right back, determined to make her as uncomfortable as possible.

“
Thanks, Emily. See you in a month.” One of the other couples called out as they headed for the door.

Swinging around, I gaped as I realized I
’d picked the wrong woman as the conniving harlot who’d had an affair with my husband. My jaw snapped shut as Emily Tucker approached, a pleasant smile on her lined face.

“
Hello. How are we doing today?”

This
was
Charlie’s lover? This round, plain woman who appeared as though she could be someone’s grandmother. When I glanced up at Will, he gave me a raised brow before settling a supportive hand on the small of my back. Shocked speechless, I couldn’t begin to muster the scorching words I’d practiced in my head in the car. I simply stared at her.

The woman
wasn’t what I’d expected. My imagination had run riot since I’d discovered Charlie had been unfaithful, picturing a curvy brunette, a tall sexy redhead, or a tiny bosomy blonde. They’d all been young and dumb, and in my mind, I’d cut them down with one contemptuous glance. But
this
woman? What was the attraction? I couldn’t imagine them having a cup of coffee together, let alone fucking each other senseless. No way was she even close to the type of woman Charlie had typically found attractive.

Or
… or maybe she was, and
I
was the one who wasn’t a good match.

But we were a g
reat match for over thirty years. Weren’t we?

My mind whirled with images of my handsome husband and Emily Tucker, but I simply couldn
’t make them fit. Finally, I cleared my throat. “Are you Emily Tucker?”

“
Yes, I am.”

“
Do you know who I am?” My throat tightened again, making my voice gravelly.

“
Yes, I do.” With a quick gesture, she and the brunette switched places, and she reached under the bar and poured white wine into our glasses from a chilled bottle. “This is our Vignoles. The grapes are from our vineyard in the central valley. It’s crisp and light. Think grilled salmon on the patio on a summer evening—maybe a salad and some sourdough bread.” Her rote speech came out way too fast.