Love in the Vineyard (The Tavonesi Series Book 7) (2 page)

But one night, one of the regulars who’d been her biggest tipper had gotten under her careful guard. He’d treated her to dinner and drinks after she’d finished her shift. She’d ended up in his suite, naked, bruised and broken. She’d fled the suite and quit her job the next day, fearful that the man she’d mistaken for a Prince Charming—the man she’d willingly given her virginity to before he’d turned unspeakably violent—would come after her. Stalk her. His crazy talk and his fists had planted fear deep.

She’d never returned to the casino.

Until now.

Her palms sweated against the wooden rail of the roulette table. The only blessing of that horrific night was her son. Tyler and his future were the reason she’d returned, the reason she was wagering the last of her savings.

Petey, her trusted friend and the casino doorman, had tried to talk her out of her plan when she’d called earlier in the week to tell him she was coming to place a bet. He didn’t believe in gambling. And the truth was, neither did she. And that evening as she’d walked in the door, he’d told her a man had come in the previous night looking for a woman named Natasha but that Petey had convinced him that the only Natasha he knew hadn’t been around in years. His description of the man had stopped her heart, but she’d told Petey not to worry. Told him that coincidences happened all the time. The man couldn’t be Eddie. Not after ten years. Why would he come looking for her after all that time? Why would he even remember? But even as she tried to focus on her mission for the evening, she glanced over her shoulder, her body poised to run.

Hands clenched, she recited her carefully memorized phrases of hope, trying to banish the images of that terrible night and calm her racing pulse.

She’d make this one bet and never return.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Petey watching her. Petey was the only employee still at the casino who knew about Tyler. Petey she trusted. He was a storehouse of well-kept secrets, and he’d never give hers away. He came over to her and tried once again to talk her out of betting, but she’d made up her mind. And two decades of casino work had probably taught him better than to stand in the face of desperate hopes.

But it wasn’t just hope that drove her. She trusted the dreams.

She trusted the images that had recurred night after night, always the same. Images so real that she felt she could reach out and touch her mother as she spoke. For two weeks her mother had come to her, repeating the same message over and over in the soft voice Natasha still remembered.

Bet on number seventeen at the roulette table, and your destiny and hopes will be fulfilled
.

She didn’t much care about her own destiny, but worry and hope and all her dreams for Tyler drove her. She didn’t want so very much, wasn’t greedy. All she wanted was to get Tyler out of the bad neighborhood they lived in and into a good school district, to give him the chance at success she’d never had. But to accomplish that she needed money. Money for higher rent, money for a move. Money that her paltry income at the plant nursery didn’t afford.

Her mother’s voice whispered in her mind, in her heart, and penetrated the fear and doubt coiling in her chest.

She would trust her dreams.

Surely the forces of good would shine on her just this once.

The croupier closed off the bets.

He spun the wheel in one direction and with a deft flick of his wrist sent the white ball rolling in the other. The colors blended as the wheel picked up speed and then separated as the wheel slowed.

Natasha shut her eyes and prayed.

Chapter Two

NATASHA’S AGING TOYOTA SPUTTERED AND died at the stop light on Adobe Road. Ignoring the honking line of cars behind her, she gripped the wheel, said a quick prayer and, with unsteady hands, turned the key in the ignition. The car chugged to life. She threw it into gear and headed north on the ribbon of road nestled along the foothills of the Sonoma Mountains.

If it was true that bad luck came in waves of three, then Natasha was due for a turn of fortune. But maybe such reversals of fortune only happened for people who could keep a positive attitude. God knew she was trying for Tyler’s sake. But her hope had vanished with a fateful spin of the roulette wheel. Losing all her savings on a badly placed bet had snowballed in ways she’d never imagined.

Instead of moving to a new home—a home away from the unpredictable violence of the street gangs that terrorized them—now she was vying for a spot in a homeless shelter for single women with children.

At least the shelter was in a safe neighborhood. And the nearby schools were good. Better than good. The first thing she’d done after the shelter director had called her was to visit her friend at the library and have her look up the school Tyler would be attending. Two thumbs up, her friend had reported. And the school had a baseball field. Tyler would be ecstatic. He excelled in school, but he lived for baseball.

Natasha turned into the drive behind the row of buildings. The Inspire shelter had no visible sign. It wouldn’t. In addition to providing interim housing, the shelter served as a safe house for women running from abuse. At least she didn’t have that problem. Not now. And never again. But her visit to the casino three weeks ago had told her that the trauma hadn’t faded. Maybe there were wounds that time didn’t heal no matter how hard a person tried.

A security camera hovered like a watchful eye above a set of sturdy doors. She pressed the button beside the doors and jumped when a buzzer sounded.

“Sorry it’s so loud,” a voice said through the white box. “We’re working on having it adjusted.”

“I’m Natasha Raley,” Natasha said into the plastic grid of the security system.

“I’ll be right down to meet you,” the cheery voice said.

“Thank you,” Natasha said into a stream of static.

Maybe this was how Dorothy felt when she presented her case in front of the curtain obscuring the Wizard of Oz. Right about now, a wizard would be a welcome addition to her life. Too bad she didn’t believe in such nonsense.

Natasha was ten minutes early. She wasn’t taking any chances that she might not lock in the spot at Inspire. The shelter was the best facility in the Bay Area. And the
only
one with room for her and Tyler right then. Wait lists for homeless shelters was an absurd concept. What were homeless people supposed to do while they waited—sleep on the street? Stay with relatives? Most of them were like her and didn’t have family they could turn to. The prospect gave her chills. She’d discovered too late just how thin the line was between having a home and not having one. One missed paycheck and everything went downhill from there.

If she’d known that the native plant nursery where she’d worked for two years was going belly up, she’d never have made her desperate bet. She’d loved that job. All day with plants. No numbers. And only a little reading. She’d memorized all the plant names and if she forgot one, she had her trusty notebook where she could trace out the names onto the tags letter by letter when no one was looking. But the owner couldn’t compete with the big box store that had opened just two miles down the road. He’d given her two weeks’ pay. But her landlord wouldn’t give her a grace period to find another job in order to pay the rent. He’d practically booted them to the curb. The three weeks she and Tyler had been forced to live in a cheap motel had wiped out the last of her funds.

Inspire was her only hope.

Natasha pushed open the steel door. A stocky woman with a broad smile met her just inside the building.

“I’m Mary Caslan,” the woman said as she extended her hand.

“I’m Natasha Raley,” Natasha said. And then she felt embarrassment flush her cheeks. “Well, you know who I am. I mean, what with the buzzer and my appointment and—”

“No need to be nervous, honey. We don’t bite.”

The woman’s warm smile and firm handshake didn’t untangle the knots cinching Natasha’s belly.

“I’m sorry we didn’t have a room for you when you called last week. But you’re in luck. You and your son will have the Marshland room.”

“You mean we’re in? For sure?”

“For sure. I thought we made that clear in the letter I sent.”

Natasha hadn’t received a letter. No doubt the motel owner hadn’t been bothered to pass it on. He hadn’t been pleased to have a woman with a child underfoot, preferring to rent his ill-kept rooms by the hour, and had done all he could to make her miserable enough to leave. If she hadn’t followed up by phone and spoken with Mary directly, she might have missed her chance.

“The Marshland room is a bit bigger than the others,” Mary went on. “And you won’t have to share. I’ll show it to you, and then I’ll give you a proper look around.”

Natasha heard what Mary’s words didn’t say. Though the woman’s manner wasn’t forced, Natasha knew she was trying to make everything seem normal. As if it could ever be normal to end up in a homeless shelter.

Mary ushered Natasha into a tidy, well-lit room.

“Here we are. Of course, you can bring some of your things in to make it homier, but we have restrictions since it’s short-term housing. As I explained in your phone interview, guests are only here for short stays.”

Guests
. A strange term for homeless women. But hey, better than a life sentence.

“It’s just fine,” Natasha said. Her throat tightened, and she felt tears welling as she took in the room that would be her and Tyler’s temporary home.

Twin beds flanked a window with a wrought iron security bar. Along one wall, a counter held a two-burner stove, a small sink and a tiny cube-shaped fridge.

Mary pointed to the fridge. “We allow cooking in the rooms, but the meals in the dining hall are provided.”

Provided
. She meant free. And right now Natasha and probably the rest of the women in the shelter needed free.

“The bathrooms are down the hall to your right. There’s a separate one for the boys.” Mary opened a set of double doors built into the wall. “The closets are roomy, but if you need more space, there’s a storage area in the annex.”

“Thank you, but I put most of our things in storage. And my wardrobe is pretty sparse. Mostly work clothes, which in my case means jeans and T-shirts.” Natasha assessed the shelves and hanging rods. “Tyler’s things will fit. There’s even room for his baseball gear.”

“He likes baseball, does he?”

“He’s mad for it. But his passion gives me the perfect carrot to hold out to make sure he does his homework. He’s a straight-A student,” she added proudly.

It was a miracle that Tyler didn’t suffer from the disability that plagued Natasha. Or suffer because of it. Severe dissociative dyslexia—even on a good day she couldn’t spell the word properly. She’d prayed and prayed late at night when Tyler was a toddler, prayed that he’d be normal, that he could read. Evidently some prayers paid off.

“After your interview last week, I looked into some of the gardening jobs at the local vineyards,” Mary said as she closed the closet doors. “But you could still take the aptitude test. Lots of local employers accept that in lieu of a high school diploma. Our Work in the World program has great success in placing our guests in new jobs. And the clerical jobs pay much better, you know.”

Natasha knew. Knew too well that if she could do basic math, an office job might lead to better pay. But her dyslexia made that impossible. Besides, she hated being inside. If she could get a decent job as a gardener or at a local nursery, she could save up, apply for the low-cost housing that Mary said was nearby. Tyler could stay in a good school district. He’d be happy and have better tools and skills to navigate the challenges that life would throw his way. That was enough.

“I’d rather do what I’m good at,” Natasha said, glad that she could be honest. “I’m a great gardener. I’m good with plants.”

Mary tilted her head and smiled. “I understand. There are two good prospects. But if I were you, I’d look into the position at Casa del Sole first off. It’s a gorgeous facility, but more importantly, the new owners have a reputation for looking out for the welfare of their employees.”

Adrian urged his horse into a full gallop when they reached the summit of the ridge-top path overlooking Casa del Sole and its vineyards. The early morning fog had cleared from the coastal plain, but his thundering ride hadn’t cleared the doubts that had nagged him during the night.

Sunlight glittered on the streams running through the land below, as if mocking his troubled mood. From the ridge he could see Zoe and Cody’s home at the border of Casa del Sole. His own house, nearly finished, was barely visible on the ridge to the east.

Birds chirped in nearby oaks, but other than their songs, there was silence. The air was still, as it often was between weather patterns. By midafternoon the coastal breezes would return, bringing with them the cool temperatures and night fog that teased nuanced flavors from the smaller-berried grapes of the region, grapes that so many lives and dreams depended upon.

In the distance, two riders approached. As they neared, he recognized Coco and Amber riding Zoe’s polo ponies.