A Fine Year for Love. Catherine Lanigan
jaw was set as if he’d just tasted something acrid, her curiosity was piqued.
Sam’s eyes had narrowed to piercing blue slits. Liz knew he used these discerning eyes when he needed to ponder a situation. She also knew he didn’t want to talk about Gabe, at least for the moment. Later, she might be able to coax an explanation out of him.
“I’ve got work to do.” Sam plucked his straw hat off the hall tree stand and stepped outside, leaving Liz alone.
Liz looked sadly at the summer bouquet.
It was the first time a man had given her flowers.
GABE SAT ACROSS the kitchen table from Sophie Mattuchi and her parents, Mario and Bianca. Mario was of medium height and fit build, much like Gabe’s own father, Angelo. His black hair was veined with streaks of white, as if the man had been hit by lightning. His face was deeply lined and very tan from years of toiling in the sun.
However, Gabe quickly learned Mario had never been a farmer, as his appearance would suggest, but a car mechanic. Apparently, he was just as fascinated with Gabe’s Porsche as he was with the purpose of Gabe’s visit.
Bianca busied herself around the kitchen, bringing tall glasses of iced tea with lemon and homegrown mint to the table.
Sophie’s ninety-year-old grandmother, Bella, sat silently in a rocking chair in the corner near an enormous brick hearth. Despite the heat, she wore a colorful shawl around her thin shoulders while she watched Gabe with guarded crystal-blue eyes.
“Mario, as you and I have discussed, I haven’t told anyone about your condition,” Gabe said with compassion.
“Thank you,” Mario said, choking back emotion. “And thank you for taking me up on my offer.”
“Mario, you’re helping me make my own dream come true. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I’m happy I could make this work for both of us.”
“I just never thought I would be in this position,” Mario said, looking from Bianca to Sophie.
Sophie smiled at her father. “You’re going to get well, Papa. And you’ll have many more years on the farm. By that time, Gabe will be making all kinds of wonderful wines. Right, Gabe?”
“Sure will,” Gabe replied, catching her upbeat tone. “So, Mario, I’ve had all the soil samples analyzed down at Purdue.” Gabe opened his briefcase and took out a plot map of the Mattuchis’ small farm and vineyard and placed it on the table. “This section here is the best.” He pointed at a spot on the map and glanced over at Bella. “You should all take a look. This is very exciting.” Sophie smiled at her grandmother and urged her to join them, but Bella shook her head violently and refused to move. Gabe noticed the very tight purse to the old woman’s lips and thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been negotiating with Bella.
Mario and Bianca leaned in. Mario pointed to the easternmost ridge on the map, where the land lay fallow. “This is what you wanted?”
“Yes.” Gabe smiled widely. “This section here, next to the Crenshaw place. I have reason to believe I can grow pinot noir grapes up there. These slopes are perfect.”
“We’ve never had anything grow there.” Sophie had pity in her eyes. “Are you sure you should do this, Gabe?”
“Sophie, I’m sure you’re the best darned cardiology nurse at the hospital, but I know about grapes and soil, and I’m telling you this section is worth the entire vineyard. I’m willing to buy the whole vineyard since Mario isn’t all that interested in expanding his operation.”
“Expanding?” Mario laughed. “Certainly not now, of course, but why would I want to compete with Sam Crenshaw? He’s got the best land around these parts, and plenty of it. That granddaughter of his has made all kinds of improvements and talked him into hiring experts from France, for goodness’ sake!” Mario gestured wildly.
Bianca handed an iced tea to her husband without saying a word. Mario took a long slug. The icy liquid appeared to have dampened his excitement.
Gabe nodded. “I have to agree. Winemaking these days isn’t a hobby. It’s big business. Very big business.”
Bianca shrugged. “We were never serious about it. We made the wine for ourselves. Sophie would give some bottles to her girlfriends as gifts. That’s all.”
“Mama. We made good wine. Gabe thinks he can make it better,” Sophie said.
“What I believe,” Gabe continued, “is that this line of apple trees is your problem. They block the sun too much—they won’t allow the grapes to ripen properly. Pinot noir grapes need morning, midday and afternoon sun. If I take these trees out...”
“You’re going to cut them down?” Sophie asked in horror. “I climbed them when I was a child! I love those trees.”
Gabe shook his head and reached over to pat her hand. “No, I’ll move them to the southern end, where we’ll plant the pinot gris. The apple flavor will enhance that of the grapes. I’ll also plant some pear trees there. I won’t get rid of anything on the property. My intention is to make everything better.”
Sophie glanced down at her hand, which was covered by Gabe’s larger one. She smiled.
Gabe caught her smile and took back his hand. He edged the map closer to Mario, but didn’t miss Bianca throwing Sophie a quelling look.
Gabe was sure Bianca didn’t want her daughter to blow the deal. Sophie had a reputation for going after guys and then tossing them in a heap after a few days.
Gossips around Indian Lake said the same kind of thing about Gabe because he’d never dated anyone seriously. He simply didn’t have the time. Gabe had never told a woman he loved her. He’d never asked anyone to be his girlfriend or fiancée. He’d steered very clear of relationships that smacked of anything permanent.
Gabe liked to go to dance, but he preferred to leave alone.
He had his sights set on his future, and to attain the kind of international success he wanted for himself as a vintner, Gabe had to stay focused on his goal.
As he turned back to the map, Gabe felt his heartbeat accelerate. This vineyard, and the possibility of seeing his own name on a wine label, filled him with euphoria. There wasn’t a feeling on earth like it.
“In addition to restructuring the rows of vines and bringing in new varieties, I want us to do some high-density planting.”
“How high?” Sophie asked, her eyes widening.
“Twenty-two hundred vines per acre.”
Mario whistled.
Sophie bit her lower lip. “This is no hobby.”
“Let me show you how serious I am,” he said, pulling a manila folder out of his briefcase. He opened it, revealing engineering drawings, machinery blueprints and a second land survey. “This is the equipment we’ll need by next year’s harvest in order to maximize our winemaking. I’ll keep the oak casks you have to age the wine, but we’ll need these stainless steel tanks in order to ferment it. We’ll build the barrel cellar along with the first fermentation barn. Since you’ve used your small barn for fermentation before, we’ll connect the plumbing from there to the new barn. There will be a radiant cooling system in the cellar roof. With this design you see here—” Gabe slid a set of photos across the table “—we’ll be one of the most modern wineries around. But we’ll keep the rustic charm, too. You’ll note the barn’s wood frame still has traditional hand-joinery. It’s done just as it was in the 1880s—probably when your first barn was built. Am I right?”
“Yes. It was built in 1882,” Mario replied. “I love that old barn.”
“We should capitalize