Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) (5 page)

Nate turned around and saw his older brother, looking like the daddy he was now, dressed in jeans, a faded—and very wrinkled—college t-shirt, and stubble from three days ago. He dropped his body onto the seat next to Nate, picked up Trey’s new beer and downed it in one long swallow.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to drink,” Trey said, reaching for the empty glass.

“I
chose
not to drink and that was when Regan was pregnant. In case you haven’t noticed, she isn’t any more,” Gabe said, eying Marc’s mug.

Regan was Gabe’s wife and not only was she no longer pregnant, but the dark circles and bloodshot eyes said Gabe still wasn’t sleeping. At all. Whereas Nate’s oldest niece Holly was a talker, his new little niece Sofia, adorable as she was, was a screamer. Baby Sofie had come home from the hospital three weeks ago and Gabe hadn’t slept a wink since.

“How is Regan?” Marc asked.

“Amazing.” Gabe smiled. And man his brother looked happy. That was all it took, just the mention of his sweet wife and he perked right up. Marc was the same way lately. Nate was happy for them, he genuinely was.

In fact, he wouldn’t mind having a woman in his life. A sweet woman with a bright smile and a big heart. A picture of Frankie popped into his head and he flinched.
Sweet.
He wanted sweet. And a home, not a rundown alpaca farm.

“How are you handling things?” Nate asked.

“How the hell do you think?” Gabe said, his smile fading, but there was no anger in his voice. He was too tired for anger. “I haven’t slept in what feels like a year, my daughter cries every time I hold her, Holly is already asking for another sister—she wants to return her for one who doesn’t cry all the time—and Regan’s OBGYN told her that after the C-section she needs to take it easy for at least another few weeks. Somehow my wife took ‘bed rest’ to mean ‘I’m throwing Sofie a one-month birthday party. By the way, you’re all invited.’ ”

Gabe pulled three pink envelopes out of his pocket and slid them across the table. Inside was an even pinker card, shaped like two baby booties. But what had Nate smiling was the frilly embossed cursive, which looked more wedding invitation than baby’s birthday and read: COME CELEBRATE ST. HELENA’S OFFICIAL HARVEST BABY’S FIRST MONTH-DAY.

“Official harvest baby?” Nate laughed.

“Wait, this is on the same day as the Cork Crawl,” Trey pointed out and Gabe groaned. Apparently this had been a point of contention.

In wine country, the harvest season brought out hundreds of thousands of visitors and their spending bucks to the valley. In St. Helena, harvest season brought the annual Cork Crawl. It
was the Oscars of wine, where the biggest names in the valley went head to head in a tasting that declared the king of wines for the following year. Nate’s family had reigned supreme as the undefeated Cork King since 1982.

“The Crawl is always over by late afternoon and this starts at six. Sharp,” Gabe said to the group but was staring at Trey. “You will all be there, and on time, and you will all smile the entire fucking night, got it?”

They all nodded. Well, except for Trey who glared out the window.

“Great, now since we have that settled, can someone pour me another beer because Regan told me that Glow sold the north parcel to Frankie for just under a mill,” Gabe said, and Marc immediately flagged down the waitress for another mug.

“One million?” Nate choked. “That land was worth at least—”

“You’d better say ten million, since you convinced us that ours was worth seven and we don’t even have enough grapes to make a jar of freaking jam,” Trey said.

Until recently, the direction and decisions concerning the wineries had been made based on marketability and returns. Now, after closing the biggest distribution deal in their company’s history, DeLuca Wines had the money to “tinker.” But tinkering came at double the price for half the land.

The waitress delivered the mug and Nate waited for Gabe to take a drink before he spoke. “She must have bought it for her grandpa.”

Because why would she buy it for herself? Frankie’s life was her family’s vineyard. It was one of the few things that, outside of getting on each other’s nerves, they had in common.

“Frankie no longer works for Baudouin Vineyards,” Gabe said, pinning Nate with a look that he couldn’t decipher.

“What?” Nate felt everything slow to a nauseating stop. “There’s no way she’d quit.”

“She didn’t quit. She was fired. I overheard Regan on the phone with Frankie earlier, which is why I came here,” Gabe said. “I guess Charles was so mad about Frankie helping with the Showdown that he fired her and kicked her out of the family business. According to Regan, Frankie is really upset. The old goat refuses to see or even speak to her.”

Nate felt sick. For a girl who’d spent her life on the edge of the family unit looking in, kicking her out of the family business would have felt more like being kicked out of the family entirely.

“How did we not know this?” Nate asked, then answered his own question. She didn’t want anyone to know.

His stomach knotted at the memory of how she’d looked at him all big eyes and—Christ, now that he thought about it, she was begging him for an out. A way to salvage the relationship she’d worked so hard to create with her grandfather and still not let the town down.

Instead of helping her, he stuck her square in the middle of the fight, a place that her family had resigned her to years ago. She knew that to make it an official vote, there had to be a member from each of the town’s founding families.

So Frankie did what Frankie always does; she bucked up and took the brunt of the blow. Walked into that party, tight red dress and enough sex appeal to bring a man to his knees, and took her rightful seat. She had to have been scared to death, knowing that at any moment Charles could walk right in and cut her out of the family business once and for all.

He could have ruined the entire fundraiser. Instead he ruined Frankie’s life.

“What now?” Trey asked and all the guys looked to Nate.

“We’ve got a hearing on Friday with Judge Pricket,” Nate said hating what he was about to say.

He didn’t mind taking down Charles. But taking on Frankie, knowing what he did about her past and what this land must mean to her now, wasn’t something he wanted to do. Ever. But he also didn’t want to let his dad down. Or let his family down. They had a lot of money tied up in this deal, and Frankie would rally. She always did. Plus it was just a business deal, nothing personal, just business.

“Frankie’s dad left her some money when he passed,” he began, knowing exactly how much she had inherited. “If she spent a million on the land, my guess is she’s close to broke.”

“Which helps us how?” Trey asked. “She already owns the land.”

“Yeah,” Nate said. “But Frankie doesn’t plan, she just jumps in. I am betting come Friday, when she realizes she only has half the land and adds up how much a new water tank and pump are going to cost, not to mention the irrigation the land needs, she’ll be open to an offer.”

“You think she’ll sell?” Gabe asked.

“It will be a slam dunk,” Nate said, feeling good about his plan. “What kind of logical person would turn down double profit in less than a week when their only option is to go broke?”

CHAPTER 3

W
ell, since it looks as though both parties are accounted for and those who aren’t will no doubt be caught up by lunch,” Judge Pricket said, peering over his glasses at the packed courthouse, “Let’s get started.”

“We can’t start without Lucinda,” Nate’s nonna said, her shoes clapping against the marble floors as she waddled down the aisle, waving to just about everyone she passed.

Judge Pricket looked at his watch and scowled. “I’ve got an urgent appointment in thirty minutes.”

Based on the crisp white slacks, matching white polo, and custom carved mallet leaning against the wall behind the judge’s bench, Nate figured his “appointment” was at Meadowood, St. Helena’s premiere members-only club, and that “urgent” appointment was his weekly game of croquet with the mayor. One that had been going on since the man took the bench back when Eisenhower was in office. The judge was in his eighties now.

“Well, you can’t let that poor child sit up there all by herself. Plus, Lucinda is on her way. She didn’t know about the hearing.” ChiChi shot a chiding look at Frankie, who rolled her eyes. “Or she would have rescheduled her mammogram appointment. She should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

Dressed in some fancy pants suit, enough gold to fund the entire city for a year, and sculpted silver hair, Nate’s nonna slid behind the prosecution table, forcing him, all of his brothers, and his lawyer to scoot down to make room.

Frankie, on the other hand, sat in the middle of the defense table, empty chairs on either side, wearing her dark hair pulled up into a ponytail, a pretty blue top and dark jeans—no holes today. Besides the biker boots and motorcycle helmet resting in front of her, she looked more sweet co-ed than smart-ass and—since the table practically swallowed her whole—almost fragile.

Nate refused to acknowledge the small tug in his heart because he knew better. Knew that nothing about Frankie was fragile. She was tougher than most men and would probably skin his nuts for thinking any differently. But, goddamn, she looked so small behind that massive mahogany table. She didn’t even have a lawyer.

She should have one. At least one. Nate had nine. Drew might be the only one present, but the other eight were diligently working on his family’s behalf. Making sure they not only kept their half of the land, but looking for loopholes that would screw Frankie out of hers.

Nate watched her worry her lower lip and frowned. Where were her brothers?

“I’m sorry,” Judge Pricket said to Frankie, not sorry at all. “But between talking to Patsy down at the planning department,
Katie Baudouin at the bank, and both Saul and Glow Sorrento, I haven’t had time to use the facilities today, let alone enjoy a meal. This is also the third time I have had this cockamamy claim in my courtroom, so you understand that I am anxious to hear the evidence, make a ruling, and stop wasting more taxpayer dollars on something that should have been taken care of decades ago.”

“Amen,” ChiChi chimed in, giving Nate a quick flick to the ear as though
he
were the reason that they were all here today, wasting taxpayer dollars.

“It’s all right, your honor. I’m as frustrated as you are about coming here today,” Frankie said. Without looking back to see who was there, Frankie shrugged nonchalantly and, although he couldn’t for the life of him read the expression on her face, there was nothing nonchalant about how hard her throat was working. “Since this isn’t a family situation and I knew what I was getting into when I bought the land, I think I can handle this on my own.”

“I’m glad we are on the same page, Miss Baudouin.” Judge Pricket lowered his glasses and studied her empty table. “I take it you are waiving your right to legal counsel?”

“Yes, your honor,” Frankie said, standing. The judge let out a groan. “I figured this was a pretty straightforward case. I bought the land from Mrs. Sorrento, I talked to her last night and she has no intentions of reneging on the deal, and neither do I, so we are good.”

“Well, since I’m the one who has reviewed all the material, who has been dealing with this land and your two families for over sixty years, and am appointed by the great state of California…” The judge picked up the case file in front of him,
the one Gabe and his brothers had spent all night preparing with the help of their legal team, and tossed it aside. “Why don’t you take your seat and let me decide just how
good
we all are?”

“Um, yes, your honor,” Frankie said. She didn’t look happy.

Welcome to my world
, Nate thought.

“You purchased the northern part of Sorrento Ranch from Mrs. Sorrento on the fifth of September. Is this correct?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“And Nathaniel, you and your brothers purchased the south part of the property on the second of September from Saul Sorrento?”

“Yes, sir. Although at the time we were under the impression we were acquiring the entire twenty acres,” Nate said, hoping to get a little sympathy sent their way.

“Yes, and at the time Saul thought he was selling his half of the property to Jackson Tanner, not DeLuca Wines,” Judge Pricket said, sounding like a disappointed principal more than a judge. “Maybe if you’d taken more time doing your homework instead of trying to buy the property under false pretenses, you would have noticed that the land had been split fifteen years ago.”

“Yes, sir.” Nate felt thoroughly scolded.

“You would have also noticed that instead of Saul’s inflated price of seven and a half million”—the entire courtroom went silent and Nate felt as though every eye were on him—“the other property was being offered at—”

Pricket looked down at his notes and laughed. He freaking laughed and Nate sank even lower in his chair. “Frankie, did you really get that land for nine-hundred thousand dollars?”

Frankie looked over her shoulder at Nate and blew him a kiss. “I did, Ed.” Since when were the judge and Frankie on a
first name basis? “Well, nine-hundred thousand and my 1948 Indian Chief.”

“It was in mint condition,” the judge said, as though throwing in a motorcycle evened things out. “And did you know you were purchasing just the ten acres?”

“Yes,” she said all smiles and sunshine, which was Frankie shooting Nate the figurative finger. “Glow and I were both upfront about the entire transaction. She explained that Saul had split the land back in the nineties for their kids, but neither of them wanted it. So each received half in the divorce. Glow was under the impression Saul sold his share to a developer, not a DeLuca.”

“Weren’t we all,” Pricket mumbled, shooting the prosecution table a similar glare.

Gabe leaned in and whispered, “Can Pricket sink this deal?”

Nate sure as hell hoped not. He’d tried to find out their legal standing. The money had already been wired to an escrow account, but since escrow hadn’t officially closed, his lawyers weren’t sure.