Twice in a Blue Moon (13 page)

“Harry didn't like my decision, but he accepted it. He took care of me that day...and for the rest of his life.” She heaved a sigh. “You see, Harry Stone never saw me the way I was that day—a dirty, used, gullible wannabe. He picked me up, cleaned me off and, for the rest of his life, treated me as if he'd found a diamond in the mud.” She slipped off the stool to stand tall, pushing hair behind her ear. “And because he believed it, when I saw that woman reflected in his eyes,
I
could believe it.”

For the first time, she looked over at Danovan.

“When he died, that's what I lost.” She held out her hands, palms up, and looked around the room. “This is what is left.” She dropped her arms. “This is
all
that's left.”

She didn't seem aware of the two shiny tracks that streaked her cheeks. “And that is why I don't drink.”

* * *

S
HE
HADN
'
T
MEANT
to talk about it. It wasn't even in her thoughts to do so. And yet, even while
shut up, shut up, shut up
ran through her head like a scrolling banner, the words kept flowing. Until now. What remained of her energy leaked out with the story, leaving her deflated. She turned to Danovan to tell him good-night, and maybe just a bit to see what damage her verbal purge had done.

She froze like a startled rabbit, caught by the look in his eyes. There was caring and sympathy there. But it was the admiration, the twin of the look she'd seen in Harry's eyes, that slammed into her, shattering the fragile mend in her heart. She wanted to run, but the only unfrozen part of her was her heart—it raced, like that rabbit's.

When she looked away to save herself, his fingers on her cheek brought her back. She seized the familiar comfort there, wrapping herself in it—even knowing it wasn't Harry's. A disparate craving fired in her chest at the magnetic tug that made her want to crawl into this man's chest, curl up and relax in safety. Just for a while.

Of their own volition, her hands fisted in Danovan's shirt. Not breaking eye contact, she jerked him close and fused her lips to his. They were warm. Warm and still. But only for a nanosecond before they took her in. She opened to him. There was no “getting to know you” dance of tongues. He plunged in, the ground seemed to drop from beneath her feet and she was falling...

Then his hands clenched her upper arms and he pushed her away, breaking the kiss. Her chest heaved, pulling in oxygen, scanning his face for a reason.

Eyes wide, his breath coming as heavy as hers, he dropped his hands.

She caught a flashbulb pop of emotion in his eyes. Guilt, regret and...was that fear?

He looked away, running a hand through his unruly hair.

Her hand flew to her still tingling mouth.
What have you done?

Danovan studied his feet. “Indigo, I...”

She didn't wait for the dagger to fall. She turned and ran.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

H
E
NEEDED
MOVEMENT
. He needed something to tear up, to make a mess of, to
do
. So the next morning, Danovan chose to clean the wine tanks and the bottling line, because it was a hard, dirty job, made worse as he'd put it off. And especially because he could do it alone.

The steam cleaner's wheels squeaked as he dragged it across the painted concrete floor. Four in the morning might have been an odd time to steam clean, but he couldn't sleep, and he sure wouldn't be disturbing anyone. Reaching the side of the first tank, he plugged in the cleaner, put on his safety glasses, then unlocked the bungs of the tank and lifted the lid.

Engulfed by a miasma of fermenting wine gunk, he turned his head to get a breath. “Oh, Jesus.” At this moment he missed Bacchanal's updated technology. Good thing he knew better than to eat breakfast before this job.

You deserve much worse.

Backing away to give it a minute to outgas, he gathered his plastic shovel and buckets.

She'd poured out her guts to him; told him things she probably hadn't spoken of to many, if any. And he still hadn't shared a thing with her.

She kissed me.

Had she done it because she, too, felt the connection between them, or had she just needed a human touchstone to pull her back to the present? The taste of her had lingered on his lips long after she'd run out the door.

Worse, she lingered in his mind, filling his dreams with awful stop-action stills of her terrible night in that bedroom. Not to mention the look of horror in her face last night, before she'd run away.

And that made him want to smash something.

He mounted the step stool, leaned over the edge and shoveled residue. He imagined a fresh-faced Indigo, bursting with youth, innocence and potential, crushed by such ugliness. Now that he knew what had happened to her, he could see the scars of that night: the forlorn cast to her eyes, her skittishness when he noticed her as a woman. And he could understand why she married a man so many years her senior.

The slop made a disgusting squelching sound, hitting the bucket.

Not that Harry Stone was a bad guy. Thank God he had been there. Danovan had no doubt that Harry had loved Indigo, and her love for him was as plain as her grief at losing him. Danovan also knew that there were some sides to love that an eighty-year-old guy couldn't handle. But it was more than that.

And those were the thoughts that woke him.

Not going there, not going there...

The thoughts pounded in his head when he leaned over the side of the tank for the last shovel of gunk.

They had to talk. This morning. Indigo had trusted him with one very nasty, heartbreaking memory last night and after his pulling away from her, she was going to think he thought less of her. And the opposite was true.

He couldn't share with her all the shit that went down at Bacchanal without getting fired, but he found himself wanting to—not because he owed her, but because somewhere between the vines and the sharing, he'd started to
care
about Indigo Blue.

As you started to care about a woman last time. And it almost destroyed you.
It
had
destroyed the only innocent party in his marriage—his daughter.

The admission freaked him out. How could he hope to avoid a repeat of his past?

You do something different, that's how.
If he'd have been more mature with Lissette, more honest, they might have been able to salvage
something
. He snatched the steam cleaner hose.

The gunk of his past made that full bucket look like ambrosia.
Well, you won't make those same mistakes this time.
As soon as he got done here, he would find Indigo and do something different. Right after a hot shower.

* * *

I
NDIGO
HAD
SCHEDULED
a meeting with the serving staff a half hour before opening. They sat in the guest chairs across the desk from her in their winery aprons. Well, two of them wore the aprons, anyway.

“Round tables for ten will be set up on the lawn. You'll need a level surface for the wine bar, so we'll cordon off the closest edge of the parking lot.” She pointed out the window. “The food line will be parallel, on the opposite side.”

“I still don't see how wine, silver and white table linens go with picnic food.” Sondra didn't need body language to telegraph her disdain. Not with a face like that. “If we're trying to make a good impression on the local market, I don't understand why you won't allocate funds for a nice shrimp cocktail. Maybe crab-cake canapés?”

Indigo frowned. They'd been over this. “That doesn't go with barbecue.”

Sondra glanced at the ceiling as if asking for divine intervention. “
Instead
of barbecue.”

Indigo didn't have the energy for Sondra. After mortifying herself last night, she hadn't slept well, trying to imagine how she'd face Danovan today. “I don't want a highbrow affair. If we want locals as fans, we need to make
everyone
feel comfortable. And from what I've seen of Widow's Grove, it's more Mayberry than 90210.”

“But that's no reason not to try to educate—”

“We're having barbecue.” Indigo rubbed one temple. “Can we move on? We open in fifteen minutes.”

Becky raised a hand. “If you don't mind, I'd like to rearrange the gift shop. If we move those clever new corking machines to the endcap, I think they'll catch shoppers' attention.”

Indigo nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“And I could make up a wine basket and put it beside the cash register with a sign saying they make great gifts for any occasion.”

“Fantastic idea, Becky. You have my approval to move anything that you'd like.”

“I've also thought about how to make our wine baskets stand out. You know, for example, an anniversary basket could come with two toasting glasses and one of the bottle stoppers with the bride and groom on them.”

Natalie's dark eyes lit up. “Oh, how cute would that be? You could do an ‘over the hill' one all in black for birthdays! I'd bet those would do really well on our website.” She glanced at Indigo, then down at her hands. “I don't mean to be rude, but the website...”

“Sucks, I know.” It had been on Indigo's to-do list from the beginning, but there just weren't enough waking hours in a day. “It's dated and staid, but I haven't had the time or the attention to get creative.”

“I wouldn't mind giving it a try.” Natalie shot a glance to Sondra. “On my off hours, of course. I took a class on HTML, and I've created a couple of websites for friends.”

Indigo smiled her first genuine smile of the day. “I'd love that. I'll pay you for the hours you spend on it, of course. Why don't you mock something up and show it to me?”

Natalie nodded.

This day was beginning better than she'd dared hope.

Sondra folded her slim arms across her refined bosom. “We need to talk about a dress code. For one, it does not reflect well on the winery to have vineyard workers and the like entering through the tasting room.”

Her arrogant tone, so similar to Bernard's, poked Indigo's day-old bruises. Sondra had chosen the wrong time to pick a fight. “Becky and Natalie, why don't you get the tasting room ready to open? Sondra and I have some things to discuss.”

The ladies stood and, with a last worried look, walked out. Natalie closed the door behind her.

Sondra sat, cool as champagne on ice.

“Do you want to discuss your issue?” Indigo asked.

“I am responsible for the tasting room. It makes a bad impression on customers to have sweaty employees trooping through.”

“No, not that, Sondra. I'm referring to your other problem.” Indigo pushed her hurt feelings to the end of the long line of her own issues. This was a professional matter, and she had at least as much to lose as Sondra. “I am your employer, and I cannot condone your present attitude.” She paused to let that sink in. “Do you want to discuss the problem you have with
me
? You've been rude to the point of insubordination since you walked through the door. I'd like to know why.”

For the first time, Sondra remained silent. But her laser stare would have smoked holes if Indigo hadn't been wearing professional armor.

Why quiet now? Holding things in wasn't Sondra's forte. Indigo wanted to poke until Sondra, too, had bruises. And then push her thumb into them. But she was the employer, and a cat fight required equal footing. Apparently Sondra was going to play the “I'm not stooping to answer” game. “I suggest you curb your opinions regarding me and my decision-making in front of the staff,” Indigo said. “If you'd like to discuss this in private, my door is open.” She stood. “Now, we both have work to do.”

Sondra glided out, head high.

And Indigo felt just as Sondra meant her to—the loser.
So much for confronting a problem head-on. I felt better avoiding the problem. Guilt is better than loser.

“I've been looking for you.” Danovan leaned against the open door of her office, hands in pockets.

She shot to her feet, panic careening around her stomach. She looked for a way out, but since he was blocking the only doorway, there wasn't one. She so wasn't ready for this. Professional armor was useless against the hollow-point ammo she'd given this man, scattered among the smoking nuggets of her past. “I have to get to work. Let's talk at lunch.” Head down, she walked to the door and tried to squeeze past him.

His hand on her arm stopped her as effectively as one of those bullets. She had to look at him.

He didn't appear any more comfortable than she. His brows drew together over troubled, reddened eyes. “Please?”

It appeared she wasn't the only one who'd lost sleep last night. Somehow that calmed her panic. That and his hand on her arm. Warmth radiated from his fingers straight into her blood. And she didn't want to confront what that meant, either. She pulled her arm away.

“Let's sit.” He gestured to the guest chairs. “I won't keep you long.”

Once she took a seat, he closed the door and sat beside her. Too close. Of course, after last night, the other side of the state would have been too close. God, she was mortified. She heard the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears. “Yesterday was...hard. For me. So last night—”

“Was a reaction, I know.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, hands dangling. “What you told me last night wasn't willingly given. And that kiss wasn't either, not really.”

He smiled, and something in its softness told her he was remembering that kiss. Blood throbbed in her cheeks.

“Look, Indigo, I know you're uncomfortable. But this is a very small business, and you and I are The Widow's only management. There's nowhere to hide. We have to find a way to get past this.”

He might not have known it, but by bringing up the business, he'd thrown her a life preserver when she felt adrift in the sea of past and present emotion.
The business.
She snatched and clung. “You're right, of course. I'm sorry to have brought my personal—”

“Sometimes things build up inside. They have to get out. I want to tell you how I know that.” He frowned. “No, that's not it. I
need
to tell you. Maybe after that, we'll find a way to move forward without us stumbling over the past every ten minutes.” His look told her she wasn't the only one on soft ground. “Will you listen?”

She could tell from the hard line of his jaw that he was set on the telling anyway, so she just nodded. After all, it was a story she wanted to know.

“I may not be a judge, or a lawyer, but I inherited as much ambition as anyone else in my family. I was right out of college, full of knowledge, potential
and
myself. The cum laude opened doors, and I landed a cherry job at Bacchanal.” His fingers clenched the chair arms. “And I don't care what anyone says, goddammit, the old man didn't give me
anything
. I worked my
ass
off for those promotions.”

When he slammed his fist, she jumped.

He shot a glance at her then, one by one, his fingers loosened. He rolled his shoulders.

But he's not bitter.
She tucked that away to think about it later.

“See, I was a sprinter, on a fast track, and my life was ahead of plan.” He hesitated a few heartbeats. “Then I met Lissette.” He glanced out the window. “Bacchanal is a family business, and the old man runs it like a feudal kingdom. As the only child, Lissette was the princess of the empire, heir to the throne. She was off-limits, and I knew it. But God...”

He gathered his thoughts, staring out the window as if the words he needed were there.

“Have you ever seen a girl right on the brink of womanhood? So innocent, and yet so bursting with life and yearning for something that she only has a sense of, but wants so badly... Just seeing it captures you. Not in a sexual way, but like a perfect work of art.” He raised his hands, palms up, as if trying to hold the vision. “It was as if she lived in an iridescent bubble—frozen in that perfect balance, like a butterfly that only lives a few days, so fragile and fleeting that you have to stop and appreciate it.”

The muscles in his face went slack. He looked careworn, older. It made her want to reach out to him, even if only to offer the human contact. She laced her fingers in her lap. She'd given him enough conflicting signals last night—she didn't need to add to them.

“Lissette noticed me noticing her. She didn't want the proper men her father introduced her to. She wanted me.” He looked down at his hands in his lap. “I knew better. The ‘princess and the commoner' story—that only works in fairy tales.