Somebody Like You (Starlight Hill Series Book 2) (5 page)

“I’m working.” She shook him off.

“Si,” Billy called out to the chef, “Can your waitress take a break and talk to me?”

“Hells to the yes!” Si shouted.

“What a shock. You get your way again.” Brooke dead-panned.

“You’re working here now?”

“It’s temporary. I give Em a few days off a week so she can do her rescue dog training. And also because I can’t buy the vineyard I’d planned to buy. Since someone else already did.”

“Yeah.” Billy said, but he hadn’t missed the fact that the reporters were leaning a bit closer. Not exactly the privacy he’d hoped to have this conversation. “Didn’t know you were looking for a job.”

“I’m not.” Brooke locked eyes with him. Had she already guessed he’d been about to try and hire her? It wouldn’t surprise him. Seemed like Brooke had always been two steps ahead of him.

“Because if you are, I’m looking for a general manager.”

“Is that right?”

“I think you know that I’m slightly out of my element here. I need someone who knows what they’re doing. I could hire an outside firm, but I already know who I want.” He tried his best to give her a significant, completely non-sexual look.

Which, let’s face it, was not easy,looking the way she di
d
face flushed, hair a bit plastered to the side of her face. Like she’d just had a good— work-out. Still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

“And of course, everyone knows you get what you want.” Brooke leaned towards him, giving him a generous view of her cleavage.

The reporters were practically salivating. Not to mention Billy. If he could bury his face in that fleshy rack, he’d die a happy man.

“Not true,” he said, regaining consciousness. He swallowed some of his water, wishing he could splash it in his face. He needed to concentrate right now.

“Order up!” Si called out.

“Sorry, gotta go. But this was fun,” Brooke said.

She flitted about the rest of the tables, where her attitude remained as bright and cheery as a monsoon. Waitress material she wasn’t. A few times he noticed customers wound up straightening out their orders after she’d left, unwilling, or perhaps afraid to set her straight.

He understood the feeling. If not for the fact that he’d faced a lot worse— such as rehab after the first shoulder surgery— he might have felt the same way. Brooke was like a tornado that fascinated as it drew people and objects in its direction with the assurance that if one got too close they faced certain death.

He still thought it might be a good way to go if he got to choose.

A couple of hours later most of the customers had left and even the reporters straggled out when Billy continued to silently read the sports section. Giving them nothing.

“You’re still here?” Brooke asked, as if she hadn’t been silently throwing him death stares the entire time.

“You need the table?” He scanned the empty room.

“No, smart ass. I don’t.” She headed toward him with the coffee carafe, but he finally had the mix of creamer and sugar where he wanted it to be. He covered the mug but too late. Brooke poured a splash of hot coffee right on his hand.

He drew his hand back as white blinding pain seared his skin, and Brooke’s eyes turned to big amber saucers.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Let me get that for you.” She ran out of the room and came back with a wet towel and some ice.

This was by far the best injury he’d ever endured. No stranger to blinding searing pain that cut like a razor blade, this didn’t initially feel like much though he knew it might blister by tomorrow. But the kind of attention he was now receiving from a penitent Brooke was well worth it.

Brooke sat on the other side of the booth, wrapping his hand in a wet towel. “Si said the whole order is on the house.”

He hadn’t expected the funny squeeze in his chest. “That’s not necessary. It was an accident. Hey. I’m okay.” He touched her wrist with his left hand.

She gazed at him as if she was actually seeing him for the first time, and the years melted away. Back to the time before he’d let her down. “Billy Turlock.”

Man, the way she said his name. That alone could give him a hard-on, as if he were still a teenage boy. “Brooke Miller. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “
You’re sorry?
I believe I just tried to pour coffee on your hand. It doesn’t even resemble a mug.”

“I’m sorry I bought the vineyard you wanted. I didn’t know.”

“How could you know?”

So she was going to cut him some slack. At least she understood it wasn’t personal. “Exactly.”

“But I can’t work for you, Billy.” She stated this matter fact, like it was also nothing personal.

“And why not?”

“Here’s the thing. I’m thinking my next steps through, taking my time. I’m not going to do anything impulsive. And besides,” she waved around the restaurant. “I already have a job.”

Time for stating the truth. From his past experience with Brooke, he remembered she appreciated honesty. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you suck as a waitress.”

For a moment he thought she’d slap him, but then she laughed. “You don’t think it’s cool to pour coffee on a customer’s hand?”

“I have a feeling your talents lie elsewhere.”

“You would be right.” She rose. “But this is what I’m doing now, while I re-think my options.”

No one had to tell him when he’d pushed too far. Brooke needed time to think about it. But first he’d give her something to consider. His offer.

He placed a bill on the table, and stood. “Fine. But if you change your mind, give me a call.”

He scribbled his private cellphone number on the napkin. “I’m offering a generous salary, medical and dental. And a 401K. Nice to see you again. Have a good day, Si.”

He waved, opened the door to the diner, and left Brooke staring at the napkin, her mouth gaping open.

*****

“Ack. I did it! I hit ‘send’.” Brooke sat at her kitchen table with her laptop. A few days after seeing Billy at the diner, she’d sent him a simple one sentence email: ‘we need to talk.’

With an offer like the one he’d made, she’d be a fool not to at least open a dialogue with the man.

“You have to hit ‘send.’ How else is he supposed to get your message?” Ivey asked, popping the third chocolate cupcake from Genenieve’s All the Tea and China into her mouth.

“But I changed my mind. I can’t work for Billy. I’m an idiot to think I can.” She reached for another cupcake, before they were all gone.

“Wanting to talk to him shows you’re open minded. That you’re reasonable and will entertain the generous offer he made.”

Generous indeed. Brooke still wondered if he’d added an extra zero by accident. In a way, part of why she wanted to talk.

“But he’ll see it as a weakness. Like I’m giving in, but I’m not. The Mirassu vineyard was supposed to be mine. It would be mine had he not waltzed back into town.”

“Maybe. But now you have a chance to show him, show the entire town what you can do. Turn the place around and back into the vineyard it used to be before all the trouble. And show George what he lost as well, by not giving you the position as VP.”

Showing the community that she’d been the reason behind Serrano’s success would be satisfying. George would be destroyed to find out she could be his greatest competition. Of course, if Mirassu were hers in name too, it would be much better. But being the general manager, and in control of it all could work too. Resuscitating an old vineyard, saving it from ruin. A worthy challenge.

She could do it as long as Billy gave her control to make all the important decisions, and she wasn’t at all sure about that. He didn’t look like the kind of man who handed over control easily.

Ivey popped another cupcake into her mouth, and reached into the fridge for some more milk without even having to get up. “I don’t get what you have against Billy. I mean, other than the fact that he bought the vineyard.”

“Isn’t that enough?” 

She didn’t dislike Billy, not at all. Unfortunately Ted was right. It was hard not to like Billy Turlock. Particularly if you were a woman. Unless you were a woman who had something against hot bodies, sensual lips, a full head of dark hair begging to be tousled, and…what were they talking about?

“You have to know it wasn’t personal. You both wanted the same thing.” Ivey’s eyes widened in that doe-eyed way of hers. “Hey, maybe it’s a sign.”

Brooke stuck out her tongue. “It’s not a sign.”

“Well, he bought the place only because he happened to get there first.” Ivey added.

And wasn’t it always the case with Billy Turlock? He had the athlete’s air about him, testosterone pouring out all over Kingdom Come. Might as well have had ‘Winner’ written on his forehead ever since high school, and the first time someone had clocked his fastball at ninety miles per hour. Even she remembered.

“He got there first with all the money.” Overpaid jocks and all their wealth. Not her favorite subject.

“I don’t think he’s the over-privileged athlete you think he is. And even better, he’s not your type. So, good-looking though he is, you should be fine working together in a boss-employee relationship.”

That would be because Ivey hadn’t seen the way Billy looked at her. Like he remembered her. “Wrong again. We kissed once, a long time ago. High school.”

Ivey’s jaw dropped. “And you didn’t tell me? What’s wrong with you? How could you hold out on me like that all these years?”

Because the whole thing was so embarrassing. “There’s nothing to hold out on. It was stupid.”

“Tell me every single tiny detail.”

“What do you want me to say? He’s a good kisser.” She couldn’t say any more because the rest was too humiliating. But it was a long time ago.

“That’s it? You didn’t—”

“No! I didn’t sleep with him.” She’d been a virgin, waiting for the right one. Someone who could love her, because she’d had a stupid silly dream. All of that lay in the past, where it belonged. She no longer believed in fantasies.

Brooke’s phone rang, and the caller ID displayed ‘Billy Turlock.’ “Oh, no. This is him. He’s calling me. Do you think he already read the email?”

“Wow, he is fast.”

“I can’t talk to him right now. I’m re-thinking this whole thing.” Brooke pushed the phone away. She’d let it go to voice mail. Right now his sexy baritone voice might send her over the edge and she’d say yes. One more night to sleep on it couldn’t hurt.

“I’ll get it.” Ivey reached for the phone in one swoop. She was stealthy, and Brooke couldn’t wrestle it back. “Brooke’s phone. This is Ivey Garner speaking.”

Brooke’s stomach hurt, and not because she’d had six cupcakes. She shook her head and waved hands in Ivey’s direction. Brooke wouldn’t be getting on the phone. Ivey might answer Brooke’s phone, but she couldn’t make her talk.

“She’s not here right now, but I’ll tell her you called. Is there a message? How are you, by the way?”

Sweet Ivey. She could talk the red off a stop sign. Interesting how she made conversation with someone she knew only in passing, but she managed to do it for a few minutes before she finally hung up.

“He even sounds sexy,” Ivey said as she put the phone down.

Hence part of the problem. And he looked even better than he sounded which wasn’t fair. “What did you say, Mrs. Garner? Who sounds sexy?”

Ivey blushed. “You heard me.”

“What did Billy say?”

“He said he wanted to make arrangements for you to come out to the vineyard.”

Of course. He’d want her opinion on the condition of the grapes. He’d want her opinion on everything if he wanted her as a general manager.  “How did he sound?”

“He sounded like a guy.”

“I mean did he sound pompous, like he’s about to get what he wants? Again?”

“Not sure how you sound pompous, but I still have to say no. He sounded friendly, fun, you know, like a ball player. So are you going to take the job or not?”

It would be satisfying to help Billy’s winery be real competition for Serrano’s. “I’m thinking about it. Don’t rush me. But you know, if I only bide my time and let him fail…then I could swoop in and save the day, and buy the vineyard after all.” Maybe Billy would sell it back to her at a discount. Or maybe he’d even let her finance one of those seller notes she’d seen on late night informercials. Did people still do that?

“Or you might have to sit and watch the place become a resounding success with the help of some other general management firm.”

“Ugh, yeah. So you see my problem. Damn him. Either way Billy has always been a thorn in my side.”

“Dude, have you heard from Brooke?”

Had to be the tenth time Scott asked. It had been a week, and he’d heard no word from her after he’d followed up on her email to him. Seemed as though maybe she’d changed her mind again.

“No. I called, and it’s up to her now.” Billy massaged his right shoulder. It had been killing him today, and the carpentry work didn’t help. Still, no way would he let an entire crew work  while he stood around and supervised.

He’d been staying on a cot here alone at night, and it was everything he’d expected. The silence of the night, the cool evening breeze. Every part of this place agreed with him. It had been a great idea, even if Pop still couldn’t find the prizewinning tip. No matter, Billy would make this new venture work.

With any luck, he’d have Brooke at his side too. And if he’d been overly generous in his offer, he could afford it and she’d be worth it. He’d asked around, and Brooke had built a solid reputation with the wine buyers he’d talked to. They all spoke of her expertise and professionalism. Of course he hadn’t talked to any of his competition yet, certainly not the Serrano winery. To hear most tell it, George Serrano was an asshole who treated his employees no better than a king would treat a pageboy. Made sense Brooke had moved on.

A couple of rumors ran through town that Brooke had a nervous breakdown and quit Serrano’s, but Billy recognized an exaggeration when he heard one. Small towns were like that.

And yeah, he’d checked her out even more. Plenty of speeding tickets and one exhibition of speed which only piqued his curiosity. No marriages. No children. Still single, thank God. Not that he wouldn’t keep it professional. They’d start off on the right note, and if something developed later, perhaps, along the way as they worked together and celebrated victories…well, he wouldn’t kick her out of his bed. Let’s put it that way.

Despite all that, if he didn’t hear back from her in a matter of days he’d have to move on. There were several management companies chomping at the bit for the project. Any of them would do the job, but none of them were Brooke.

Anyway, an athlete didn’t sulk. Not much anyway, and then it was time to move on.

He picked up a piece of sheet rock.

“Put that down,” Wallace shouted over the sanding machine. “Do you want Ma to kick my ass?”

“I’m fine,” Billy said, but he put the sheetrock down and walked outside to the balcony overlooking the fields.

He breathed in the sweet smell, and reminded himself he should be happy. Most people would die a thousand deaths to see the view in front of him. A view he would see every morning.

Instead all he could think about was another field— a baseball diamond, to be precise. If he closed his eyes he could smell the freshly cut grass, see the chalk outlining the field, feel the leather of his worn mitt. But that was his past, and this vineyard was the future. And he had to admit, every time he thought of Brooke the future began to appear increasingly … appealing.

“The guys are taking a break.” Wallace walked up to Billy with a cold beer. “And of course Scott is taking one with them.”

Billy took a swig. “Think we’re putting a curse on this place by drinking beer in front of it?”

“Turn around and don’t let it see if you’re worried about it,” Wallace said with an eye roll.

“Right.” Wallace had a way of bringing things back to perspective. “Did you give away your Series tickets yet?”

“How do you know I’m not going?” One of the most annoying facts about having brothers was the way they could read his mind.

Wallace waved his arm around the place. “This.”

Billy shoved his free hand into his pocket. “It’ll take up most of my time, until we get it off the ground.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t go to the series, but something tells me you’re not.”

Late September, and the Sliders were already out. His replacement, a trade from Milwaukee, had a fair season but not a series-worthy season. Billy could relate.

“What’s the point?” He couldn’t be on the mound or in the dugout, so he might as well not be there at all.

“You know, just because you’re not playing ball anymore doesn’t mean you can’t go to the games.”

But other times, walking away from something or someone you loved deserved a clean break. “Right now, it does. Otherwise I’ll just tease myself with what I can’t have.”

Wallace clapped his back. “I hear you. But no one’s ever going to stop associating you with baseball. Just so you know, bro.”

And he wasn’t altogether certain he wanted them to stop, either. There was the rub. “Who knows? Maybe someday they’ll associate me with wine.” He held up his beer bottle.

Wallace glanced from him to the bottle and back again. Then he reared back on his heels and let out the Turlock laugh. All right, it was funny. He’d need to start drinking wine. Pronto.

“We need to talk about something else,” Wallace said.

Sounded strangely ominous. “You have my attention.”

“It’s Ma. She’s signed up for some internet dating service.” Wallace scowled.

“No.”

“Yeah. She said she’s sixty-three now and has a few good years left in her, and now she’s lost thirty pounds and feels like Elizabeth Taylor.”

“I knew it couldn’t just be a health kick. She lost weight to get a man.”

“I don’t know. I can’t even let my mind go there.”

Billy nodded. “Understood.”

“So you should talk to her.”

“Me?”

“She listens to you. But I was thinking, maybe if we get her a bit more involved in this venture. We could keep her mind off dating.”

That had been the plan, though he still wasn’t sure what Mom could do. “What did you have in mind?”

“Hell if I know. Add some stuff to the menu? At least, that’s what I suggested to her.”

It was one of the many items he wanted to discuss with Brooke. He’d seen Mirassu’s former small menu of appetizer food to compliment wines, and wondered if they could expand on that.

“I’ll think about it. But no wet greens. Or tofu.” This was a winery. There should be cheese, and crackers. Fruit, probably. Beyond that, he had no clue.

Wallace nodded. “I hear ya. And we’re almost done here with your renovation. I’ll be taking my crew up to Sausalito for a job.”

Right. Wallace never stayed in one place for long, going where the work took him.

“This is amazing!”

Billy heard Mom’s voice carry through the entryway. “Come along, Pop. A little faster. Right up these steps. Here we go.”

Billy walked back into the house. “Hey, Ma. What do you think?”

“It’s paradise. Like Italy or something. And to think it was all Pop’s idea.” She patted Pop’s back.

“Well, Billy’s realtor found the place,” Pop said. “I think I better go take a look at those grapes, son. It’s time to harvest.”

Billy realized that, hence the pressure to get Brooke on board. “Did you find what you were looking for yet?”

“Nope, but I’m getting close. I can sense it.”

“Boys, I brought you all a snack. Don’t worry, there’s enough for everybody.” Mom held a plate of whatever kind of punishment she had for them today.

“Thanks, Ma, but if I want to finish this renovation on time I need to get back to work.” Wallace said with a wince.

“Fine, but you’ll regret it. They’re whole wheat brownies made with carob. None of the horrible processed sugar that has single-handedly killed so many people.” Mom followed Wallace to the kitchen.

“I wish it would kill me now,” Pop said with a scowl.

“Let’s take a look at the grapes,” Billy said as he clapped a hand on Pop’s back. 

*****

“All right, here we go.” Brooke said out loud to no one.

She’d just passed the stoned entryway with the Vineyard placard and photo of a hummingbird, Mirassu’s trademark. Putted up to the top of the circular driveway. Now all she had to do was get off her Harley, walk up to Billy and check out the grapes.

Any time now.

Crap. Brooke took off her helmet and rested her forehead on the handle bar. Why had Billy always had the ability to at once draw her in and also make her want to run in the other direction?

So what if she still remembered that kiss? The one in which he’d pretty much sucked the marrow right out of her. It was a long time ago and she was certain he didn’t remember it. He’d had a lot of experience with women even back in high school, and she’d had zip with boys.

None of this mattered because he wasn’t her type. Long-haired baseball jock with a beard and moustache. Dressed in baseball caps and not GQ suits. Probably didn’t even own a suit.

He wouldn’t be expecting her, because she hadn’t called ahead. If they were going to do this, she had to be certain Billy was serious. She wanted to make sure she wouldn’t find a harem of baseball groupies at the place. Did he want to make wine or collect women? Today she would find out.

And okay, maybe she shouldn’t get her news from
Look Here!
magazine, but in the past the periodical had portrayed Billy Turlock as a love ’em and leave ’em playboy. And it’s not like she had any other image of him, since she didn’t know him anymore.

Billy could date whomever he wanted to, no skin off her nose, but he’d have to put this business first if they were going to beat George at his own game. She wanted that almost as much as she wanted her own piece of land. To see Mirassu rise up again, courtesy of one Brooke Miller. Let the townspeople talk about that.

Nervous breakdown her ass.

Revenge wrenched her off the bike. Marched her up to the entrance, where workers came out of the main house carrying sheetrock. There seemed to be workers everywhere. In the yard, on the roof. Definitely some improvements going on here. A good sign.

Scott Turlock waved to her. “Brooke! Over here.”

She remembered Scott, the youngest Turlock brother, a soldier and Jeff’s roommate for a time. He’d been welcomed home with a parade when he’d returned from a tour of duty a year ago. She’d been one of many in the crowd.

“I’m here to see Billy,” Brooke said. “And the grapes.” Just in case Scott didn’t realize how serious she was about all this.

“Of course you are. Right this way.” Scott crooked his finger and turned to lead the way.

Brooke had only been in the Mirassu winery once, a few years ago. She was gratified to see the fine rosewood floors, Tuscan gold walls, and the balcony leading to a breathtaking view of the vineyards below.

Speaking of breathtaking, Scott pointed towards Billy before he turned and walked back outside. Billy, the picture of concentration, had a pencil over one ear and was measuring some sheetrock. His long shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, displaying cords of muscles. A tool belt hung low on his blue jeans. For now, she would excuse the turned-around baseball cap on his head.

This ex-ball player made one fine construction worker.

Brooke cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

Billy turned, the concentration shifting into a smile which took over his entire face. “Hey.”

Brooke swallowed. “I’m here to check out the grapes.”

He set down his pencil and shrugged off his tool belt. “Does that mean you’re considering my offer?”

“That’s what it means.” She’d be an idiot not to consider it, and she might be a lot of things but idiot was not one of them.

“That’s great, Brooke. Just great.”

“Well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Right. Come this way.”

She followed him to the balcony, trying to avert her eyes from his fine ass. How pathetic would it be if someone caught her staring at his ass?

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” Billy asked.

Oh dang, busted. Wait. Was he now complimenting his own ass? Aha! He was every bit the conceited jock.

It took her a minute to realize Billy was talking about the vineyard, as he reached the balcony. “It’s one hundred and fifty acres.”

“I know.”

Prime California real estate. A large manor house with a banquet room, kitchen, large wine bar. Living quarters in the back. She wondered what it would be like to survey the land below and realize it was all yours. She could only guess: pretty freaking awesome.

She caught a sight below which startled her. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but an old man is sitting there in a lawn chair. Right along the first row.”

“Yep. That’s Pop.” He turned to her like that should explain everything.

“Why is he sitting among m—” Brooke corrected herself, because she was about to call them her grapes. “Your grapes?”

“You don’t remember my grandfather, Frank McIntire? It’s a long story, but he’s a big part of this enterprise. It was his idea, actually. He’s always wanted to own a vineyard. As a young man, he used to occasionally work the fields. He had a small vineyard in his backyard in Saratoga before he retired.”

Brooke blinked. She happened to know that the Bay Area was replete with do-it-yourself wine connoisseurs. She just didn’t know that Frank McIntire was one of them. “Oh, good. But this is a little different.”