Michael's Father. Melinda Curtis
room, Blake entered, glad he was accustomed to the color.
“It’s pretty pink, isn’t it,” Cori said, with a forced laugh. “I’d forgotten how pink.”
Everything was pink. Pink carpet, pink frilly drapes, pink satin bedspread, pink striped wallpaper and pink champagne furniture. Blake couldn’t relate to it at all. Jennifer loved it. The black suitcases seemed somber and out of place.
“It’s a girl’s room, Mommy.”
“I’m a girl.”
“You’re a mommy.”
“Give your mommy a kiss and thank Jennifer for carrying your backpack.” Cori finally managed to disengage herself from the little cling-on.
“You’re staying in this room?” Jennifer handed over the backpack without acknowledging the kid’s thanks.
“I’ll survive, I think. I can always wear my sunglasses.” Cori flashed a little smile in Jennifer’s direction.
Whether Cori was deliberately misreading Jennifer’s meaning or just being polite, Blake couldn’t tell. She seemed tense. Her eyes ping-ponged from Michael to Blake. What was making her so uncomfortable?
Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows, giving Cori her version of the evil eye, but Cori didn’t notice as she kicked off those killer pumps, bent and pulled a suitcase across the floor.
“Jen, why don’t you go check on Sophia and get started on your homework?” Blake suggested, trying to breathe normally as Cori showed several inches of bare thigh while leaning over. Just a little bit farther and she’d expose everything. Blake made himself look away.
“Mama’s resting right now,” Cori said, as if she was now in charge of her mother’s well-being.
“That’s okay,” Jennifer said with saccharine sweetness. “She’s used to me being there every day.”
And with that direct hit, Jen flounced out of the room.
Straightening, Cori gnawed on her lower lip, then gave Blake a worried look, brown eyes as big and soulful as a puppy’s.
“Mama said she was going to rest while I unpacked.”
Blake shrugged, unwilling to let her distress bother him. “Jen does her homework in there most afternoons. I think Sophia likes the company.”
Cori turned away, but not before he noted the tears filling her eyes. Blake pulled the door closed between them before he did something stupid like pull her into his arms.
SALVATORE MESSINA SAT in the limousine staring at the yellow Mustang in the driveway. His granddaughter had come home. For years, he’d lived without her sunny smiles, her shining diplomacy and her fierce love of the land. Messina Vineyards wasn’t as strong a presence in the wine industry without her, especially these days. And the family? Well, the family had become less talkative, less humorous and—he’d admit this only to himself—less loving. Here in the shadowy twilight of his dark car, Salvatore could admit that he had missed Corinne.
A silly, sentimental feeling swept through him, filling Salvatore’s eyes with tears, making him uncomfortably aware of the driver sitting patiently in the front seat. He hardened his jaw, then blinked back the tears with a measured breath.
Show no weakness.
His car door swung open, startling Salvatore and sending a shaft of pain through his hips and a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.
Blake Austin peered in. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Salvatore replied gruffly as the pain eased, despite the fact that nothing was right. His daughter was dying, his granddaughter had never forgiven him his unfortunate ultimatum, and both his hips were giving out on him. He carried on through each day on painkillers that did nothing to numb the torment that was his life.
The Mustang’s splashy yellow color caught Salvatore’s eye once more, causing a different pang, albeit one just as painful, not in his hips but in his heart.
“Manny just dropped me off from the north property. Can I help you out?”
Salvatore wouldn’t accept pity, even from an employee as loyal as Blake Austin. “Do I look helpless?” he snapped, carefully stepping out, using the car’s frame for support as unobtrusively as possible. Standing upright was excruciating, but Salvatore Messina grappled with life as staunchly as life wrestled with him.
He bared his teeth in a smile as he straightened, swallowing a groan of agony.
Blake observed the process, most likely not fooled but too considerate to say anything. He nodded, as if acknowledging his employer’s strength of will.
Shame weakened Salvatore’s anger, but anger was the only thing aside from medicine that made the pain manageable, so he gave it free rein.
“Everything’s right in the vineyards? With the crew?”
“Everything’s great, sir.”
As well as being a tireless worker, Blake Austin always treated Salvatore with respect. Over the past few years, Blake had become almost one of the family, yet he still called Salvatore “sir” or “Mr. Messina.” Blake was respectful, faithful, and knew when to mind his own business. The perfect employee. Salvatore didn’t receive that kind of treatment from his own grandchildren. He glanced over his shoulder at the yellow Mustang.
Would Corinne offer an apology as due to the head of the family? It didn’t matter who was right or wrong, the younger deferred to the elder if she wanted to make peace. He didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t ask his forgiveness.
Salvatore Messina bid Blake good-night and moved stiffly up the steps as the spring shadows deepened the sky.
BLAKE STEPPED into the mudroom in his house at the back of the Messina property. Lately, it seemed that every day sapped his energy, but seeing Cori had unexpectedly drained him. Blake removed his muddy boots, grateful that the day was nearly over, grateful to be on his own turf. The small, two-story house belonged to Messina Vineyards, but Blake and Jennifer called it home.
The steamy smells of dinner drifted out to him, taunting him with the promise of welcome. He hesitated before entering the kitchen. Out in the mudroom, it was easier for Blake to believe that he and Jennifer were still close. Prepared to tackle the final duty of the day, he took a deep breath and entered the brightly lit kitchen, stocking feet treading softly on the hardwood floor.
Jennifer bustled about the kitchen counter while MTV blared from the small television on top of the refrigerator. Blake noticed immediately that, as dinners went, it wasn’t much—hamburger with noodles, a green salad, canned pears and wheat toast. Jen wasn’t much of a cook, but at least she made a lot of food. He washed his hands with dish soap in the sink, and then he switched the television to a channel with news and lowered the volume in the hopes that they might actually have a conversation.
“What? No vegetables?” Blake teased as he surveyed the food Jennifer dished onto foam plates.
“Sliced bell pepper on the salad. The sauce on the noodles is red, so it must have tomato in it.” Jen rolled her gray eyes, but didn’t smile or look at him as she carried the plates to the table. She never made eye contact with Blake anymore, unless she was angry. He wished he knew what to say or do to make her smile at him again, to share that special camaraderie he’d once taken for granted.
“Tomato is a fruit.” Blake eyed the three slices of bell pepper she’d referred to that miraculously garnished the top of his salad, not hers, before he delivered the milk to the table.
“So you say.” She took her place on one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. The one by the telephone. Undoubtedly, she hoped it would ring during dinner.
That’s when Blake noticed that four pear halves graced his plate. She had one. Not only that, but barely any salad or hamburger with noodles sat on her plate. He clenched