Tangled Vines (27 page)

She thought back to her conversation with Sam a few days ago regarding Emile's impending visit, remembering Sam's unexpected boldness in bringing up her own lack of faith in his ability. At the time she had considered it childish, a totally inappropriate subject for discussion. But had it been?

And there was that shooting incident with Dougherty when Sam had rejected her recommendation to let the sheriff handle it and had gone there himself. She had viewed his actions then as motivated by a foolish sense of male pride, a need to prove his masculinity in the face of danger. Could it have been that he went out of loyalty, out of responsibility to his men?

And that suit against the Sonoma winery last winter; she had been angered by the weakness he had shown in reaching such a quick settlement and dropping the suit. The minute she learned of it, she had rescinded the power of attorney she had given him after she had been injured by the fall. In her eyes, he had displayed no stomach for a fight. And yet...he had saved them from a lengthy legal battle that would have been costly and time-consuming.

If she looked back further into past years, would she find similar incidents, actions of Sam's that she had misconstrued? Age hadn't dimmed her vision. But had it narrowed her mind? Suddenly Katherine was confused, uncertain.

“Do you hear that song, Katherine?” Emile murmured. “Natalie and I danced to it the night I proposed. I think I will find her and see if she would like to dance to it again.”

She responded with a nod, hearing his voice but nothing of what he said. She didn't even notice when he walked away.

Kelly could have hugged Steve when he came over and asked her to dance to a slow song, rescuing her from a garrulous vintner who had been bending her ear for the last twenty minutes, telling her the story of his very dull life, naturally with the hope she would want to interview him for her television show.

“I'd love to.” Kelly grabbed Steve's hand and sent a forced smile at her boring partner. “Excuse us.”

“Come back when you're through. I've got more,” the man called after her.

She waved an ambiguous reply and followed Steve onto the portable dance floor on the grassy lawn in front of the vine-draped bandstand. Steve gave her a swing into his arms and started walking her around the floor.

“Great party, isn't it?” He grinned at her in absolute sincerity.

“Great.” She smiled wanly, certain she was the only one who wasn't having a wonderful time. DeeDee was over there laughing it up with a pair of transplanted Texans. Rick was talking woofers with a fading rock star who had become a little too respectable. As for Steve, she suspected he could have a good time at a cemetery.

“I like this song, don't you?” Steve said and started singing the lyrics in her ear. Luckily he had a good voice.

As they started around the dance floor a third time, Sam stepped up and tapped Steve on the shoulder, his eyes on Kelly. “May I cut in?”

“Why not?” Steve shrugged.

In the next moment her hand lay on Sam's shoulder, her other caught firmly in the grip of his fingers. Their steps matched, although Kelly didn't notice. Never in her life could she remember being so totally aware of one person. Worse, she felt like the awkward, tongue-tied teenager she had once been.

“You didn't mind my cutting in, did you?” His voice was a pleasant rumble. She could feel the vibration of it through his shoulder.

“No.” She continued to stare over his shoulder, watching the other couples moving around the dance floor.

She couldn't completely relax in his arms, though she tried. But his body was close, and the pressure of his hand at her back possessive. She remembered the time he had kissed her, the needs he had aroused, that he still aroused. Just for an instant Kelly let herself wonder what it would be like to have Sam make love to her, to know the caress of his hands, and experience that rush of pleasure and release. But that would never happen; she couldn't allow it.

“You're very quiet,” he said at last.

“It's been a long day.” Kelly grabbed at the first excuse and directed a quick smile at him. “I'm afraid the food and the wine added the finishing touches.”

The grooves that framed his mouth deepened. “In other words, ‘Show me the way to go home. I'm tired and I want to go to bed.”'

She laughed and added the next line, “‘Had a little drink about an hour ago and it went right to my head.”' But when she looked at Sam, it was more than the wine that was going to her head. She broke off the contact and murmured, “Now I know I'm tired.”

“The others in your crew don't look like they're ready to call it a night yet.”

Kelly spotted Steve squiring somebody's wife around the floor, and smiled. “I have the feeling they're ready to party all night.”

“If you want to leave before they do, I'll take you home.”

“Don't tempt me,” she warned lightly. “Or I just might take you up on that offer.”

“In that case what would you say if I told you I'd bring the car around right after this dance?”

Kelly hesitated only an instant. “I'd say yes.”

“Good. Consider it done.” His smile was impossible to resist.

With his head lifted, Emile moved among the guests, nodding to a few in his unconsciously aloof way and scanning the rest, searching for Natalie. By chance, he turned and saw her walking alone in the formal gardens. He immediately changed course.

“Natalie. Do you hear this music?” He spoke before he reached her. Startled, she whirled about, her crimson skirt fanning out like a flame. “We danced to this the night of our engagement. I have forgotten the name of it. I knew you would recall.”

She looked pale, stricken, uncertain as her fingers touched the pearls at her throat in a nervous gesture. “I...I have forgotten, too.”

“Shall we dance to it again?” he asked in his grave way.

There was a small, negative movement of her head. “It is almost over, I think. Perhaps another time.” She nearly managed a smile.

Emile caught the faint tremor in her voice and looked at her with an intensity that was uncommon to him. “Is something wrong? You seem pale.”

“No. I have a headache.” Her hand fluttered in dismissal of it. “The party, the noise, the music, it has made my head pound. That is all. I thought to come out here among the roses. It is quiet, a lovely respite.”

“Shall I have a waiter bring you something for your pain?”

“I have taken something already. Please do not concern yourself. I will be better soon. I am sure of it. You must return to your guests,” she said anxiously. “They have come to see you. You must not neglect them.”

“Very well.” But he was disturbed by her manner, her agitation. He considered it thoroughly as he rejoined the party, more deeply troubled than he chose to admit to himself. But it was the reason he kept the rose garden – and Natalie – in view.

Katherine stopped a waiter. “When you see my grandson, tell him I want to talk to him.”

“Yes, Madam.” With a nod, he moved off.

“What's the matter, Katherine?” came Gil's taunting voice. “Has Sam done something to disappoint you again?”

She made a slow pivot to face him. He stood off to one side, a brandy glass in his hand, an amused smile on his lips, and a loathing in his eyes.

“Fortunately Sam is not like you,” she replied, regarding her son coolly.

Hot color darkened his face and a vein stood out in his neck as he glared back at her. He took a quick swallow of brandy and made a visible attempt to control his temper. “Your party tonight is guaranteed to be the talk of the valley. But nothing is signed yet, is it? I plan to have a little talk with the baron tonight. Who knows? This could turn out to be the laugh of the valley.”

“I am in no mood to trade clever remarks with you tonight, Gil,” Katherine said, openly impatient with him. “For you, it was always personal, and it was never that. The jealousy that raged between you and your brother was destructive. Like the phylloxera that is killing your vineyards, it eats away at the roots and, in time, the vine itself dies. I could not allow it to continue. I had hoped that once you were on your own, you would see that. I was wrong.” She felt suddenly weary and sad – and old. “Jonathon is dead and you are still infected.”

“Is that how you justify throwing me out?” he demanded in a low and angry voice.

“You poor, angry old man,” she murmured and walked away, this time using the support of her cane.

Avoiding the guests, she headed for the terrace where the tables had been separated, some removed entirely and the rest left for those guests who preferred to sit and gossip. There were few of them. Lost in thought, Katherine almost didn't see Sam as he strode across the fieldstones toward the terrace doors.

“Sam. Sam, I want to talk to you,” she called out and quickened her steps.

He stopped, throwing her a half-irritated glance. “I'm taking Kelly Douglas back to the Darnell place. I'll be back in a half hour or so.”

“It will not hurt her to wait a few minutes.” Her response was sharp. Somehow her own temper had grown short. “Come inside.”

Her arbitrary tone stung and Sam stiffened under it. A muscle leaped along the line of his clenched jaw as he opened a terrace door for her and followed her inside. He stopped within the marbled entry hall and faced her, unconsciously assuming a combative stance.

“What is it that can't wait?”

“I spoke to Emile -”

“And the two of you have reached an agreement. I know. I heard the announcement at dinner.” Sam didn't try to temper the hardness in his voice, the memory of it cutting through him again. “You could have mentioned it to me before you told the world, Katherine. I think I deserved that much from you.”

“I had every intention of telling you. Emile and I had agreed that an announcement would not -” She stopped and impatiently waved off the rest of the sentence. “That is not what I wish to discuss with you. Emile told me a few minutes ago that you resent the idea of a Rutledge wine carrying the Fougere name. Is this true?”

“It is.” He started to leave it at that, then changed his mind. “Frankly, Katherine, I don't understand why the hell you don't. From the time I was a little boy I heard you say over and over again that one day the name of Rutledge Estate would be spoken in the same breath with Petrus, Mouton-Rothschild, and Margaux. You devoted your whole life to that. The vines, the grapes, the wine – nothing else mattered to you. Now it's over. Gone.” He looked at her and shook his head. “There is no Rutledge Estate anymore, not after tonight. Only Fougere-Rutledge, or Rutledge-Fougere. But no Rutledge Estate.”

“And that matters to you.” She wore a strange expression as she searched his face.

A short, bitter laugh escaped him. “My God, Katherine, I'm a Rutledge. We all have wine in our veins, not blood.” He turned and walked off, leaving her standing in the hall.

When Kelly came out of the house, she expected to see Sam's Jeep parked in the circular drive. But he was standing next to a Jaguar convertible, painted an English racing green. Reaching down, he opened the passenger door for her.

“Now this looks like the car a successful vintner would drive,” she said in a half-jesting voice.

“I bring it out whenever I want to impress someone.” He waited until she was seated and her skirt was out of the way, then pushed the door shut.

“I'm impressed,” Kelly assured him as he walked around to the driver's side.

“Good.” He opened his door, keys in hand. “If you want, I can put the top up.”

She shook her head. “It's a beautiful night. Leave it down.” The wind and noise would mean less conversation during the ride; Kelly preferred that.

Once away from the house and its shine of lights, Kelly saw the stars were out and a half-moon rode high in the night sky. There was little traffic on Silverado Trail. The sports car zipped along it, handling its curves effortlessly. The wind tunneled in the car's open sides, bringing the muffled roar of the engine and the smells of the valley. She turned her face into the rush of air and let it blow over her, not thinking, not feeling.

Soon, the car slowed and Sam turned off the highway onto a side road that would take them into the outskirts of St. Helena. The last two miles went fast. Kelly almost regretted it when he pulled into the driveway and stopped, switching off the engine and the lights.

“That didn't take long.” He turned in the seat to face her, laying an arm along the back of it.

“Not long at all.” She unfastened her seat belt and started to reach for the door handle to make her escape. “Thanks for the ride. I -” She caught the faint sound of music drifting across the still night air and paused to listen, trapped by the familiar sound of it, the memories of all other times she'd heard it. “Spanish guitars,” she murmured.

Sam lifted his head to listen for an instant. “Some migrant workers must be camped nearby.”

“I guess,” she agreed softly, still intent on the intricate play of notes.

“How much longer will you be staying?” He hadn't meant to ask that.

“I leave tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” His brow furrowed in surprise. “I thought you were going to be here a few more days yet.”

“The others are. They have more scenes of the valley they need to get. The migrant workers in the vineyards, the trucks mounded with grapes on the highways, the activity at the wineries during crush – that sort of thing, but they don't need me for that,” she explained. “My job is done.”

“I guess this is good-bye then.” Sam brought a hand to her face, skimming the wisps of dark hair back with his fingers, then fitting his hand to the slope of her neck, stroking the line of her jaw with his thumb.

“I guess it is.” Her voice was a little breathy, not as steady as she wanted it to be with his eyes on her.