Too Close to the Sun (34 page)

"On this hot day, that would be perfect."
Mantucci smiled in return. Max nodded at the waiter to signal his
own assent, then took a long look at the guy on whom he might be
able to unload Suncrest. A little slick, maybe, a little too
good-looking, but you could say the same thing about Henley. And
this guy was straight out of the Old Country, so could probably be
led around by the nose easier than Henley could.

Mantucci leaned his elbows on the table and
squinted at the expansive lawns that rolled away from the terrace,
on which people dressed entirely in white meandered around in small
groups. "I didn't know Americans like to play croquet."

Max restrained himself from declaring his
honest opinion on that subject. "It's very popular at Meadowood,"
he said instead. "I'm sure you'd be familiar with another sport
that people around here are playing more and more. Bocce."

Mantucci laughed. "Is that so?"

"There are a few leagues here in the valley."
None of which Max had joined, of course. He considered bocce only
slightly less of a pansy European sport than croquet.

The waiter returned and made the usual show
of opening and pouring the wine. Max raised his glass in Mantucci's
direction. "To successful ventures."

"Hear, hear," Mantucci murmured, and both
sipped. They chitchatted for a while, ordered their meals. It
wasn't until their entrees had been served that Mantucci seemed
ready to get down to serious business.

Make an offer
, Max begged silently.
And make it bigger than Henley's
. For that would be the true
coup. Not only would Max get to walk away with more moola, he'd get
to screw Henley as well. And Gabby DeLuca by extension.

Mantucci dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.
"Of course, over the phone you and I have talked in great detail
about Suncrest, Max. And my own people have done quite a bit of
research."

Though chewing on his steak sandwich, Max
tried to put an encouraging expression on his face.

"It is a very attractive property in so many
ways," Mantucci went on. "Brand name, location . . ."

Max chewed and nodded and listened to
Mantucci proceed with the transaction foreplay, all of which he'd
gotten before from Henley in the same mind-numbing detail. What he
wanted was an offer, and a time frame, and a promise of
cash—lovely, spendable US dollars.

"I am very interested in Suncrest," Mantucci
finally said. "There is a strong likelihood that I will make a
formal offer to acquire it. But given its high value, and the fact
that you are seeking an all-cash transaction, I need to secure a
financial partner in order to do so."

What?
Max stopped chewing, steak and
French bread clumped in a soggy mess in his mouth.

"I have obtained some real interest front the
first parties I have approached on this," Mantucci went on, "but
nothing has yet been nailed down. Still, I came to California to
make clear to you how serious I am in pursuing this matter."

He stopped, clearly waiting for Max to say
something positive in return. But Max could not, for he could not
speak. Because he was transfixed by a man staring straight at him
over the back of Mantucci's head.

For not only did Vittorio Mantucci not make
an offer to take Suncrest off Max's hands, the man who had was
standing twenty yards away. Looking bug-eyed and red-faced and like
he might just explode at any moment.

Oh . . . my . . . God. Does Henley know
what's going on here?

Because it certainly looked like he did.

Only once before in his life had Max felt
like this. It was when he'd been in a car accident. He'd gone
through an intersection after the light had turned red, thinking he
could just squeak through. Just a second too late, he realized he
couldn't, that a white Honda was going to get him. He remembered
time switching into slow motion. He remembered watching the Honda
approach, seeing his own car move forward but not fast enough,
waiting for the impact, wondering just how bad it was going to
be.

Right now, he felt exactly like that all over
again. But this time the approaching Honda was Will Henley, who was
actually more like a Mack truck when it came to how much damage he
could do.

Henley came over to their table and looked
first at Mantucci, who was rising from his chair to shake Henley's
hand.

"Vittorio," Henley said, "welcome back to the
valley." Now Henley looked as friendly as friendly could be, and he
wore a smile wide enough to crack his face. "How nice to run into
you again. Are you here on business? Perhaps toying with a possible
acquisition?"

The blood in Max's veins turned as cold as
the white wine he'd been downing.
Henley knows Mantucci. And he
knows what he's here for. I am so royally hosed.
He gulped,
trying—but failing—to dream up an escape hatch from this
situation.

Mantucci laughed, shrugged. "It seems I can't
keep away from this beautiful valley. Business or"—he laughed again
and indicated Max with a wave of the hand—"no business."

Henley laughed, too. Ha ha ha! He gave Max a
smile that could melt ice cream. "And how are you, Max?" He slapped
Max on the back, hard enough that Max had to struggle to remain
upright. "Enjoying your lunch?"

Max felt like he just might regurgitate his
lunch. "What brings you to Meadowood?" he managed to croak.

Henley's eyes gleamed. "Funny coincidence,
isn't it?" He cocked his head at the two young guns he worked with,
who were standing inside the restaurant, watching the whole thing.
"My colleagues and I had some extra time today, thought we might
enjoy watching the croquet over lunch. You play?" he asked Max.

"Uh, no."

"Not much for games, huh?" He smiled like the
devil himself, then nodded and backed away, apologizing for
disturbing their meal.

Max wanted to crawl under the table. But it
was too late to do any good.

*

Tuesday afternoon Gabby was alone in the
Calhoun vineyard, painstakingly filling baggies with sauvignon
blanc grapes, when Will came to find her. Each baggie contained
fruit from a particular row of grapevines. Her plan, before Will
threw it into severe disarray, was to take the baggies back to the
winery to test the grapes' sugar levels, to decide which rows, if
any, were ripe for picking the next day. It was a crush ritual, one
of many, that was keeping her busy every day from three in the
morning until five in the afternoon, after which she'd drive home
bleary-eyed to bathe, eat, and collapse into bed.

If only that day were like every other.

She wondered later how she knew Will was
upset when he was still a hundred paces distant. Some lover's
instinct, perhaps, like the wife who clutches at her heart the very
instant her soldier husband is killed half a world away. Gabby rose
from her crouch and watched Will approach, her left hand clamped on
a half-empty baggie and her right shading her eyes, as the bill on
her baseball cap wasn't big enough to shield them from the sun's
glare. Was it just her guilty conscience or was there some hint of
disaster in his long-legged stride, some clue that her world was
about to shatter in the way he swung his arms, set his jaw, tilted
his proud blond head?

When he got closer, she could identify the
difference, and gooseflesh rose on her skin. He wouldn't look at
her. He'd look anywhere but right at her, as if he'd already
reached the point where he could no longer stand the sight of
her.

This is it. He knows
. She'd had a
vague plan of confessing if things progressed far enough between
Vittorio and Max that she needed to. A coward's way out, she knew,
but she couldn't bring herself to risk Will if she didn't
absolutely have to. That Will had already found out the truth was
unnerving. Hadn't Vittorio told her it was just this very day that
he was meeting with Max? And the assignation certainly wasn't
happening at Suncrest. How did Will find out so fast? She was
reminded yet again that she was dealing with a highly intelligent
man, one she couldn't fool if she tried.

Not that she had any intention of trying.
Though she was terrified that her actions would cost her this man
she had come to love, she also knew she'd only done what she had to
do to try to save what was dear to her and her family.
Pray God
he'll understand
.

He came to within a few yards of her. No
kiss, naturally, no hug—no vestige at all of the man who'd held her
in his arms and told her he loved her. But he did meet her eyes,
and her soul shriveled at the ice-cold fire in their blue
depths.

"I've just come from seeing Max with Vittorio
Mantucci," he told her. "They're having lunch at Meadowood. Can you
explain that to me?"

"Yes." Her heart pummeled her rib cage like a
boxer's fists on a punching bag. "I asked Vittorio to consider
making an offer for Suncrest."

"You asked Vittorio to consider making an
offer for Suncrest." He nodded and turned away. She watched his
profile, a study in self-control. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His
hands clenched and unclenched, fists formed and unformed. A silent
battle seemed to rage as much within him as between them. He didn't
look at her when he spoke again. "Is that where you were last week?
When you"—his voice reeked of sarcasm—" 'went away for a few days?'
You were in Italy?"

"Yes."

"So you're not going to deny it?"

"No. I did what I had to do. And if you'll
let me, I'll explain why."

"You did what you had to do." He threw back
his head and let out a whoop of laughter, obscenely loud in the
silent, sun-baked vineyard. "That is rich, Gabby! That is truly
rich."

She tried to slow her breathing, but it was
like trying not to pant in the middle of a marathon. "I had to try
to save Suncrest. I—"

"From
me
." He jabbed at his chest, his
features twisted. "You had to try to save it from
me
."

"Yes. Because I knew that try as you might,
you are going to kill the very heart of the winery. I hear what the
lawyers say, and the accountants, and the people you work with. I
know what's up and I also know you may not be able to stop it. So I
had to try. I love Suncrest." She struggled to speak through the
uncontrollable trembling of her lips. "So does my father. My whole
family. I had to do whatever I could to protect it."

He shook his head, over and over. "You've got
some nerve telling me about love, lady."

He turned away from her and strode a few
paces down the row of grapevines, staring at the ground, shaking
his head, muttering, his hands on his trousered hips. Part of her
wanted to run to him, to touch him, but she was afraid. It was like
getting too close to the bars of the cage behind which the lions
and tigers paced. One wrong move—
whoosh!
—and you could find
yourself scarred for life.

"Will?" She spoke to his back, tried to
steady her voice. "Will, I do love you. It wasn't easy for me to do
what I did. It killed me. And I feel so guilty because I know how
much you want Suncrest. But at the same time I have to know that
you care about what matters to me. I'm not asking you to agree with
all of it, but I do have to know that you respect it."

"Nice speech." Again he faced her, and her
heart caught in her throat. Had she ever seen his features so cold,
so set? "Does that go both ways, by any chance? Because as far as I
can tell, I'm supposed to kowtow to everything you want while you
get to stand back and pass judgment on me. Somehow"—he raised his
voice above her protests—"somehow, what's getting lost in all of
this is that
I
am the one in the trenches, trying to salvage
what is left of this damn winery!" His voice resounded through the
vineyard, seemed to hammer the very earth and sky. "It's going down
the tubes, Gabby, get it? If it weren't for me, Suncrest would be
auctioned off to the highest bidder. Maybe not this week, maybe not
this month, but someday soon. And I can assure you that the new
owners wouldn't give a rat's ass what you think about how they
should run their business!" He came closer, jabbed his finger at
her face. "They certainly wouldn't care about your job, or your
father's, or Cam's. Is that what you want?"

She met his eyes. "You know it's not. What I
want is to keep Suncrest as a winery that cares about quality, that
takes care of its employees, that tries to preserve the land for
future generations." He scoffed and turned away. She raised her
voice. "There is a niche for that kind of winery, Will. And it's
what the valley needs more of. I'm trying to preserve a way of life
here."

He shook his head. "Honestly, Gabby, I really
hate when you get on your moral high horse. And I also find it
damned hypocritical. Especially right at the moment, with this
knife sticking in my back."

He stalked farther away, flung back his head.
"Goddammit!" he shouted at the empty sky. Her hands flew to her
mouth, hovered there, as the oath shuddered in the air, dispersed a
flock of curious birds that had been watching them from the
overhead wires. They took flight in an agitated disruption of
fluttering wings, shrieking across the empty vineyard, seeking
escape.

"I'm sorry. But I had to do it." Her voice
sounded weak, tremulous. It didn't help that tears had started
falling, that her heart was having trouble beating its normal
rhythm when it was breaking once again in two. "I hoped you'd
understand. This is just one deal for you. But for me and my
family, it's our whole lives."

He closed his eyes, let his head fell back.
"There are so many things I don't understand, Gabby. One of them is
why you had to go to Vittorio. Of all people." His voice was quiet
now, as if his strength had been sapped. He raised his head and
looked at her. She thought she'd never seen such weariness on a
man's face in her life. "Then again, you couldn't go to Mondavi or
Gallo or Beringer or any of the other usual suspects. They're all
big bad capitalists like me."