Читать книгу Michael's Father - Melinda Curtis - Страница 8

“YOU’RE NOT HAPPY to see me.” Cori Sinclair could have sworn the house she’d grown up in stared down on her, dark and forbidding. “Maybe I’m not so happy to see you, either.”

It was a long time to be cast out of a family. Nearly five years had passed since that fateful day in June when her grandfather had issued his ultimatum. Since then, she hadn’t spoken to her grandfather, and had kept only limited, infrequent contact with her mother and brother, who were still as committed to the family business as she had once been. Her family’s dedication kept them immersed in the Messina Winery in Sonoma, California. For most of her life, Cori had thrived on that feeling of purpose and belonging. Until she realized she needed to prove herself on her own terms, without her grandfather’s guidance.

She wasn’t ready to face her past, wasn’t ready to step through the black, double doors into the depths of the three-story mansion with its multi-angled roof, dark-gray brick facings and coal shutters, wasn’t ready to step away from the small freedom her dented yellow Mustang represented. Cori hadn’t even been able to bring herself to park her car in the garage. She’d pulled up on the far side of the front entry as if she were a guest, then stood in the warm spring sun, waiting, fighting her dread, and wondering.

Cori’s gaze trailed away from the house, toward the main highway. The drive to the Messina compound was beautiful and winding, lined with ancient oak trees and rows of neatly tended grapevines just getting ready to burst forth with spring life.

Home. After so long, Cori still thought of this as home.

Cori bit her lip and, not for the first time that day, pondered her choice of attire. She’d wanted to wear something stylish and feminine for her mother, something to show her grandfather he didn’t control her anymore.

What had she been thinking to have donned the deep red, form-fitting sheath with its teasing neckline and short hem? Add the high-heeled, scallop-edged scarlet pumps she’d slipped into upon her arrival and there was no way Cori looked as if she’d come home to fit in with her conservative wine-making family.

But Cori wasn’t here to fit in. She had to remember that. She was here to help Mama, but was not home to stay.

Her boss Sidney, had approved her request to telecommute and reduce her public relations workload so that she could return home indefinitely. Cori had a successful career guiding public relations for several imported beer brands distributed by Bell-Diva, including Nightshade, the hottest beer in the clubs this year. It just about killed her to work outside the wine industry, but she couldn’t bring herself to work for another winery.

The sound of a door being opened drew Cori’s attention back to the house. She stiffened as she recognized the man closing the imposing front door.

He looked up toward the driveway, freezing for a moment when Cori came into his line of vision. Then his chin dropped slightly and he stared at her in a way that made her feel she had his complete attention. The gesture was so familiar that Cori’s heart immediately scaled up her throat. With effort, she forced herself to be calm, to look as if he were just another one of Messina’s field managers.

Despite his bulky work boots, fluid strides carried him closer. Her eyes drank in the changes to his body, easily discernible through his faded blue jeans and T-shirt. He’d filled out since she’d seen him last, but he was still lean and muscular. His red-brown hair, cut short on the sides, longer on top, glinted in the California afternoon sunlight.

“Miss Sinclair.” He stopped five feet away from her, hands on his hips as if he owned the place.

He was far enough away that she could tell things hadn’t changed between them, but close enough for her to note how his ice-gray eyes stroked impassively over her red dress, down her legs to her pumps and back over her dress…pausing in the area of her cleavage.

Maybe not so impassively.

For once, those ten extra pregnancy pounds she hadn’t shed didn’t seem so bad. With more courage than she had felt moments before, Cori met his gaze.

“Blake Austin, isn’t it?”

Blake’s jaw clenched. Cori allowed herself a small smile, then tossed a hand through her hair for good measure. She was, after all, the woman in red.

“Back for a visit after all this time?”

The bravado drained out of her. “You know why I’m back,” she replied flatly.

Blake glanced toward the house, then pinned Cori with his chilling eyes.

“She needs people around her to be strong.”

“And you think I’m not.” Smoothing her dress with her hands, Cori tried to hide the tremor of apprehension that made her knees weak. She questioned her own resolve. Am I strong enough to handle Mama’s cancer one more time?

Blake shrugged unapologetically. “If the shoe fits.” He glanced significantly at her red heels, then moved closer to the Mustang.

“You’re still driving this? What is it? Four years old?”

“Five.” It was the last car her grandfather had bought for her, a graduation gift. Living in Los Angeles, she’d been unable to afford anything else while paying exorbitant rent and day-care costs.

“Kind of passé, isn’t it?”

At least she knew now what he thought of her. Cori squared her shoulders. Blake didn’t know what she’d been through these past few years. “It runs great and it’s paid for.”

He snorted, irritating her.

“I bet you still drive that beat-up, old truck,” she snapped, regretting the words as soon as they spilled from her lips. The memory of Blake’s taut body, of tangled limbs and an ill-placed steering wheel suddenly made it hard to breathe.

His eyes held her gaze, and Cori’s entire body stilled. Silently, they acknowledged their shared past.

Blake broke the moment first, looking toward the car.

“I’ve never known a Messina to drive a car longer than two years. I know you can afford ten of these. Why are you really driving it? What, has it got crushed, red velvet interior or something?” Blake leaned into the open window for a closer look, his dark blue T-shirt caressing the lean muscles of his back as she once had done.

Belatedly realizing what Blake was about to find, Cori tried to stop him. “Don’t—” But she was too late.

A thin scream cut through the air.

Cori hadn’t planned to tell him like this. She wasn’t ready.

“Mommy, get me out! Mommy!”

The high-pitched plea startled Blake so much that he hit his head as he pulled out of the car. “What the hell?” He rubbed the back of his scalp with one hand.

“Mommy!”

“Coming, Michael.” She opened the door, then with practiced ease moved the passenger seat forward, reached in and released the belt on her son’s car seat. His little face was scrunched up, his eyes tightly shut. But Cori knew Michael considered himself awake. The sooner she freed him, the less likely Blake was to experience one of Michael’s tantrums.

“It’s okay, baby.” He’d only fallen asleep about thirty minutes before they arrived, which was one reason why she’d postponed braving the mansion. Cranky didn’t begin to describe Michael when he hadn’t slept a full hour.

Cori pulled him out and into her arms, guiding his head to her shoulder, away from Blake’s view. Michael settled easily against her, relaxed and content to be free. She rubbed his little back and kissed the crown of his head, familiar gestures meant to reassure her son.

“He’s yours?” Blake frowned at her, his eyes dipping to her legs.

“All thirty-five pounds of him.” Realizing her dress was riding up, she held Michael’s bottom away from her with one hand and smoothed her skirt with the other.

Cori blushed. Actually blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Of all the ways she’d imagined seeing Blake Austin again, flashing her panties hadn’t made the list.

“I heard about someone named Michael. I just…” His frown deepened.

“I’m not married. Never was, if that’s what you’re asking.” Where had that come from? Blake certainly wasn’t asking, much to her heart’s dismay.

She wasn’t ready for this. Granted, Michael was small for his age, so Cori didn’t think Blake would suspect the boy was his son. Heaven knows, he would be furious if he guessed the truth before Cori had a chance to tell him. She just wanted to tell Blake when things were right. Looking at his disapproving frown, she didn’t think this was the time.

Blake’s expression became closed and unreadable as the moment turned excruciatingly awkward. “And the kid…” Blake stepped to his left, craning his neck to see Michael’s face.

“Michael.” Cori stepped slightly back and away, her hand on Michael’s head as she shielded him from view. She didn’t like Blake referring to Michael as the kid.

Blake paused. Scratched his head.

Cori hadn’t been prepared for this kind of reception. So much for her fantasy of Blake seeing Michael and claiming them. Hugging Michael tighter, Cori fought back the tears. Only Michael mattered. And Mama. “Your point?”

Blake looked as if someone had sucker punched him, as if he didn’t know what to say. Then he blurted, “I wasn’t expecting a kid, that’s all.”

“His name is Michael,” Cori said through a throat so tight she struggled for air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see my mother and get settled.”

Cori stepped past Blake and marched with as much dignity as she could muster on high heels while holding thirty-five pounds of angel. She was practically bent over backward to keep her balance.

“Who is that man, Mommy? I don’t like him.”

“No one we need to worry about, Peanut.” Half of her wished Blake had heard her words.

How could Blake not recognize his own son?

BLAKE REACTED to Cori’s walking away instinctively. He hurried around her and opened the front door, ignoring the blank, unwelcome look from the kid and getting a hesitant “thank you” without a smile from Cori. She’d always been unfailingly polite, inspiring the best behavior in him.

Cori Sinclair had come home. With a kid in tow. Blake’s heart stumbled every time he looked at Cori, dropped to his gut every time he laid eyes on her kid.

He should have called her. They’d shared one unbelievable night together, argued and never spoken again. Stubborn, wounded pride had kept him from contacting her. And she hadn’t come back. Until now.

Despite years of service to Messina Vineyards, it was clear Blake was still an outsider. The Messinas were such a private family, they made the Kennedys look like chatterboxes. Blake respected their silence and hadn’t asked about Cori when she hadn’t returned from school. About a year or more after Cori’s graduation, when it seemed the Messinas had accepted Blake, he’d started accompanying Mr. Messina to award dinners, charity events and the like. Only then did he hear snippets of conversation about Cori and Michael. Sophia, especially, was quick to point out to Mr. Messina and Luke, Cori’s brother, how good Michael was for Cori.

All this time, Blake had assumed Michael was Cori’s lover, not her child. He felt so stupid. At least now, he could lay to rest that nagging suspicion that he’d been the reason Cori had never returned to her family.

As Blake watched, Cori made a beeline for the steep, sweeping staircase without slowing to take in the bronze and burgundy opulence that still impressed Blake. Of course, she’d grown up in this house and probably took the mix of antique furnishings, original artwork and oriental carpets for granted.

Blake realized she meant to climb the steps in those neck-breaking high heels while holding the kid. So he followed her up the stairs to make sure she wouldn’t fall. Then he had to knock on Sophia’s door for Cori and open it, as well. His mother was undoubtedly praising his manners in heaven.

Blake felt more like the butler—one more reason why he hadn’t called her.

“Mama,” Cori said in a heart-wrenching whisper as she swept past him.

Sophia smiled brilliantly, her expression lighting up the room, and making Blake believe for just a moment that she wasn’t terminally ill, losing a second battle with breast cancer.

Not stopping to put down her son, Cori rushed to her mother’s side despite her heels sinking into the thick taupe carpet. She hung on to the boy as if he were her lifeline.

Blake had once thought he could fill that role. Resolutely, he tugged the door closed, shutting away the scene, and his memories.

“I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE.” Mama’s voice came out in a breathy whisper as she patted the edge of the bed in invitation.

Trying her best to bury her unsettled emotions toward Blake, Cori sat on the rose-patterned brocade bedspread, carefully watching her mother for any sign of pain the jostling might cause. When she didn’t see any, Cori lifted Michael onto her lap so that he could see his grandmother. She took her mother’s thin hand and gave it a tender squeeze. Mama looked terrible, with no luster to her once dark hair, and eyes that were sluggish. Her pale pink satin nightgown was the brightest thing about her appearance.

“You remember Grandma, don’t you, Michael?”

Michael nodded and tucked his head under Cori’s chin.

“Well…” Cori floundered for something to say. She’d stayed in touch with her mother, but only by telephone and over the occasional dinner when Mama came to Los Angeles. They usually filled the time exchanging news and avoiding the issue of Michael’s parentage. Idle chitchat seemed inappropriate now. She glanced around the room, noting the same rose curtains, pine paneling and Queen Anne furniture. Other than a plastic water pitcher, cup and straw on the bedside table, nothing seemed to have changed in the room except her mother’s health.

To keep the conversation from lagging, Cori fell back on good manners. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.” Her mother seemed content just to look at the two of them.

Cori bobbed her head nervously. “You look good. You’ve got color in your cheeks,” she lied. Her mother’s complexion was as white as a lily.

“Maria did my makeup this morning, since you were coming, but she’s no good with hair.” Mama raised a weak hand and touched the thin, gray hair on her head. Cori remembered when it had gleamed as black as night. Now everything about her mother seemed dull.

“I can pull it up, if you like,” Cori offered thickly, uncomfortable when faced with the reality of her mother’s illness. Blake’s doubts about her returned and echoed in her head.

Am I strong enough to help her? The tasks ahead of her were overwhelming. Could she help her mother die and still be a good mom? Cover myriad duties her job required? Be near Blake without letting him know she still loved him?

“Not now. I just want to look at you.” Mama’s dark eyes were large in her pinched face. “Stand up so I can see your dress.”

Cori tried to set Michael down on the floor, but he clung to her leg. She bent to tuck his Digimon T-shirt over the ketchup stain on his denim shorts, wishing she’d remembered to change his shirt as she’d planned before coming upstairs. Her mother hadn’t seen Michael that often, and Cori wanted him to make a good impression.

“Wonderful cut,” Mama murmured, looking first at Cori’s shoes, then at Michael clutching her leg. “What an unusual accessory that little angel is.”

“He’s beautiful.” Cori tousled Michael’s straight brown hair. “A little shy, maybe.”

“Uh-huh,” her mother agreed. “How long are you here?”

“Awhile.” Cori sank back onto the bed and took her mother’s hand.

Mama smiled weakly. “Me, too.”

BLAKE SHUT HIMSELF OUT of the Messina mansion, letting his feet put physical distance between himself and Cori. But thoughts of his old love lingered.

He’d met Salvatore Messina’s granddaughter that first summer he’d worked at Messina Vineyards. Blake and his half sister, Jennifer, had just moved into the house at the back of the property and Blake was struggling to meet the needs of a new, demanding employer. Two years after his mother and stepfather died in a car accident, Blake had worked his way through a few corporate farming jobs. With half a degree and no chip on his shoulder—he couldn’t afford one with a younger sister to care for—Blake had done well. Still, he hadn’t felt good enough for Mr. Messina’s granddaughter. She was the Sonoma County equivalent of royalty.

Blake rounded a bend in the drive and paused, looking out across the successive rows of vines. He imagined that instead of bare wood, the canes were thick with leaves shading clusters of purple grapes, as they had been when he’d first met Cori. The scene painted a rich backdrop to a younger Cori Sinclair, home from college and a nuisance, following him around the vineyard, telling him what he did wrong, showing up in the darndest places—like down by the Russian River in the barest of bikinis.

He’d told Cori to get lost. He’d warned her to stay away from him. After all, she was his employer’s granddaughter. But Cori just laughed and flashed him that dazzling smile of hers, as if he could never hurt her feelings, as if she knew they were destined to be together. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been so vibrant. Cori’s dark, Italian complexion combined with soft brown eyes and long, wavy blond hair often drew glances. At only five foot four, she’d had the sleek proportions of a model several inches taller. But it was Cori’s bubbly personality that kept Blake’s attention, because Blake had given up on enjoying life after his mother and stepfather died.

Blake sighed, opening the floodgates to more memories.

The summer progressed and things intensified as he and Cori became friends teetering on the edge of something more. Blake lived with the unexpected daily pain of seeing Cori go out with those spoiled rich kids in their foreign sports cars to all those soirees, wine tastings and balls. All dressed up in her fancy clothes, ears and slender neck decked out in expensive jewelry even though she was only a kid—barely nineteen—looking like a delicious piece of eye candy. It hurt to see her go, especially when Cori admitted that she’d rather stay home with him.

As those summer days passed, Blake grew more frustrated because he knew what those rich boys had in mind when they took Cori out. Despite Blake’s best intentions, he’d struggled with the same forbidden desire for Cori Sinclair that he knew the rich kids did. But Blake had two things stopping him from doing anything about his feelings—Salvatore Messina and the need to provide for Jennifer. He couldn’t afford to lose his job. Blake was sure it would take wild horses to get him to touch Cori Sinclair.

In the end, it had taken much less than that.

Blake shook his head, stopping himself from reliving that memory. It was bad enough that Cori still invaded his dreams. He couldn’t have her hovering in his thoughts during the day.

Rather than veer deeper into the vineyards on his rounds, Blake walked farther down the driveway in the dappled shade provided by the oak trees lining the drive. Out of habit, he scanned the neat rows of grapevines as he passed, looking for the impending bud break that signaled spring had arrived in the vineyard, when a new set of duties would face Blake. At this time of year, the grapevines stood bare, unadorned by the heavy foliage that sheltered grape clusters from the sun in early summer.

Not ten steps later, Blake’s thoughts returned to Cori.

The optimistic, naive Cori wasn’t in evidence today. Neither was her heart-stopping smile. This Cori Sinclair was tougher, undoubtedly hardened because the son of a bitch who got her pregnant hadn’t been honorable enough to marry her. He knew Cori. She wouldn’t choose to be an unwed mother.

The image of Cori leaning against her car in the driveway returned. She’d cut her hair so that it fell in tousled, golden waves around her face and shoulders. Having a baby had transformed her sleek frame into a curvy figure. Cori was a knockout in that red dress. It was short enough to make her legs look long, particularly when she’d leaned into the car to pick up the kid. And when the hem had hiked up in front, well…

Blake frowned. Not only was Cori off-limits, then and now, but she’d made it abundantly clear one night, years ago, that Blake wasn’t good enough for her.

The school bus rumbled into the drive of Messina Vineyards, and a moment later, Jennifer stepped off. Fleetingly, Blake wondered if he’d been thinking about Cori to avoid thinking about the problems he was having raising his sister, or the helplessness he suffered when he thought about Sophia dying.

Jennifer looked like any normal almost thirteen-year-old in blue jeans, an Old Navy T-shirt and bulky leather shoes, her long brown hair lifting gently on the breeze. Blake was glad to see her. Glad they had each other. Glad of the choices he’d made to keep them together.

Then Jen opened her mouth.

“I’ve told you before, I don’t need to be picked up at the bus.” Her steps changed to the swagger of a soon-to-be woman and her expression turned sullen.

Blake sighed. “I wanted some company,” he said, realizing it was true. Sophia was having one of her better days, which made the thought of losing her that much harder to bear.

“Huh.”

Jen’s code for “leave me alone.” They headed back to the main house, carefully walking on opposite sides of the road, careful to keep their thoughts to themselves. Blake longed for the days when Jen had slipped her hand into his, chattering freely about her day.

“How’s Sophia?”

Blake read the anxiety Jennifer tried to hide in her voice and felt sorry for her. Sophia Sinclair was like a grandmother to Jennifer, inviting her to fancy dinners, opening the big house to her when Blake traveled for the winery. It was hard enough for a girl to lose her parents when she was four. Why did the only other woman Jen had bonded with have to die early, as well?

“It’s a good day.” Blake wished he could tell her Sophia was getting better. “You’re doing your homework with her, right?”

“Don’t I always?”

Too late, Blake realized that Cori was here to keep Sophia company and might consider Jen an intruder. Well, too bad. Jennifer was just as much a part of Sophia’s family as Cori was. Sophia and Jennifer shared a special relationship.

“Don’t put me down!”

The shrill plea cut through the air, shuddering along Blake’s nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. It was the kid. Whining again. Brush concealed the part of the driveway where Cori’s car was parked, but the boy’s voice definitely came from there.

“I need to get our suitcases out, Peanut. I can’t do that with one hand.”

“Houseguests,” Blake warned Jennifer as they rounded the curve of the driveway, hoping his expression communicated that she should behave.

Jennifer frowned.

“Can we help you with those?” Blake offered, watching the kid squirm in Cori’s arms. Her dress hiked up again, and he forced his eyes to stay on her face.

“Mommy, I want to go home,” wailed the kid.

Cori looked as if she’d rather accept help from her worst enemy than from Blake, but after a moment’s consideration, she nodded.

“You remember Cori, don’t you, Jen?” Blake asked as he approached, trying to lay the foundation of peace.

“No. Who are you?” Jen asked sweetly, when Blake knew full well that his sister remembered who Cori was.

Blake gave his sister a stern glance before looking into Cori’s trunk. He was surprised at what he found. Only two medium, black wheelie-bags—not even an expensive brand but the cheap kind that you got at a discount store—a computer satchel, a sleeping bag and one well-worn, stained backpack.

Cori introduced herself and the kid to Jennifer. The back of the boy’s head nestled against Cori’s neck, his chin rested on her shoulder. Short, spindly legs dangled on either side of Cori’s hips. From his size, Blake guessed him to be around three. The kid eyed Jennifer suspiciously, earning a bit of reluctant respect from Blake. Lately, his sister rode an emotional pendulum from heated disdain to cool affection. An unsuspecting little boy would be an easy mark for her derision.

Blake handed the laptop to Cori and passed the backpack to Jen, who held it out as if it had germs. He carried the sleeping bag and two wheelies into the house.

“Where to?” Blake asked as he headed upstairs.

“My old room.”

Blake heard Jen huff in outrage behind him. She’d been sleeping in Cori’s bedroom when she stayed with Sophia and had become rather proprietary about it, even going so far as to refer to it as “my room.” Blake hoped Jennifer decided to use good manners today so that she wouldn’t embarrass him.

“It’s only got one single bed. Maybe you should stay in the guest room,” Blake said as they climbed the stairs, trying to avoid a blowup.

“I’m not a guest,” Cori answered firmly, then nudged the child and added, “Besides, you like camping out on the floor, don’t you, Peanut?”

Shouldering open the door to Cori’s 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 his jaw. It didn’t matter that Jen thought she knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t. At this rate, the school would be calling him to say she had an eating disorder. Maybe they weren’t as close as they’d once been, but that didn’t mean Blake wasn’t still responsible for her.

Snatching a small bag of carrots from the refrigerator, Blake poked his finger through the plastic and tossed some onto Jen’s plate. Then he ladled another helping of hamburger mixture on top of what she’d originally taken. He couldn’t stop himself from tossing a slice of bell pepper from his own salad onto her greens, as well.

“That ought to help balance the food groups for you.”

Jen uttered a teenage sound of disgust.

“And make you regular,” Blake added for good measure.

“Gross.” She prodded her food for a moment, then sighed and started to eat.

Disaster averted, Blake slid into his seat and picked up a fork even though he was no longer hungry. Sophia’s illness was hitting him harder than he’d expected. It was as if he were losing his parents all over again—only this time he was losing Jen, too. How many more years would it be before he came home to an empty house?

They ate in quiet efficiency, with newscasters filling the silence between them and, for once, no telephone calls. Blake wasn’t sure anymore if Jennifer’s silence was due to teenage angst or sorrow for Sophia. He just knew he couldn’t fill it.

As they were cleaning up, Blake asked, “Want to watch some TV?” He needed a distraction; otherwise he’d worry about things he didn’t want to, like Jen, Sophia and Cori.

Jennifer grunted.

“I guess that means no.” Blake tried to hide his disappointment as he took a chocolate candy bar—his cure for the blues—out of the refrigerator and trudged into the living room. Maybe when Jen went up to her room, he’d flip through one of his parenting books.

Other than the school pictures of Jennifer on the fireplace mantel, the living room hadn’t changed since they’d moved in. There was a small television on a stand, a large green sectional sofa and two glass-topped coffee tables planted on a blue carpet—all castoffs from the last time Sophia remodeled the main house.

Blake slouched into the couch with his remote, expecting to be alone the rest of the evening. Miraculously, Jen hung out in the doorway.

“Star Trek? ESPN?” he offered, afraid that the tiny ray of hope welling inside him would be extinguished if he put too much faith in it.

Jen shrugged, poised awkwardly in the hall.

With a click of a button, ESPN’s upbeat theme song filled the room. Then an announcer launched into the day’s sports scores. Sports were easy. You played within the rules and won or lost. Not like parenting. The rules of parenting changed as the child aged.

“We had a substitute teacher in English today. Man, was she messed up.” Jen warmed to her story and relaxed her shoulders against the wall, her face lighting up. “Some of the kids switched seats and pretended to be someone else.”

Blake noticed all of this out of the corner of his eye. Caution kept him from looking directly at her until he deciphered her mood.

“By the end of the period, she didn’t know who was who.”

Blake’s eyes landed on Jen’s face in a blink. She was smiling. Her demeanor fairly shouted for approval. Blake passed the remote control from one hand to the other.

Let it go. Jennifer was reaching out to him. He should just smile, pat the couch next to him and share in her harmless little prank. But Blake remembered what it was like to be twelve, had once been on the path to becoming a destructive, unchecked teen himself. That had been in junior high school, while his mom struggled to keep them off welfare. Too tired each night to do much more than ask her wayward son about his day, Blake had become something of a campus hellion. When she finally found out the truth about what a bully Blake had become, through a visit to the principal’s office the day he was suspended, the sorrow and disappointment in her tears combined with a transfer to a new school helped straighten him out.

“Did you go along with it?” His words came out in a low growl and his chin dropped until it almost touched his chest, his eyes on his sister.

Jen’s expression crumbled. She sniffed, then drew belligerence around her like a cloak. “So what if I did? There’s no harm done.”

“That’s not an answer. I think you know how I expect you to behave.”

Hostile eyes stared right back at him. That was new. She hadn’t been able to hold his stern gaze before. The realization that he was losing control of her ignited his temper.

“Jennifer Louise,” he warned, sitting up straighter.

“You expect better from me, don’t you.” Her eyes flashed.

Blake’s eyes widened. A frontal attack. This, too, was new.

“You know I do.” Blake realized he should leave her alone, but he couldn’t. “Like today. You were rude to Cori Sinclair and that boy.” Blake uttered the last word distastefully.

“As if they care about me.” Arms crossed guardedly over her chest.

Why did she have to take everything so personally? As if the world were out to get her?

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you treat people with respect.” He stood, trying to regain some control over the situation. Over her. “Especially to those in the Messina household.”

“You act like we’re second-class citizens. Everything is about the Messinas. Like they’re royalty or something.”

“Look at all they’ve done for us.” He spread his arms and gestured around the room. “How they opened up their home to us.”

“We’ll never be allowed in the house again after Sophia dies.” Jen’s brows pulled disdainfully low.

Blake eyed her in disbelief. “Is that what this is about? Your room? She’s dying, Jen. How much more selfish can you be?”

“I must be such a disappointment to you.” Her face reddened while her arms clutched herself tighter. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve finished college. And you’d be somewhere…else.”

For a moment, two pairs of gray eyes clashed. It was true. Blake resented the fact that responsibility for his sister had been thrust upon him, and still felt inferior working in a world where everyone had a degree except him.

But none of it was her fault.

In a blink, Jen spun, escaping to the stairs, her footfalls beating sharply on each step, trampling his heart.

“Jen, wait.” Moving just as quickly, Blake reached the foot of the stairs.

Jen stopped but didn’t turn, her thin shoulders hunched. One hand clutched the railing, the other covered her face. She was crying.

Blake’s heart cracked. He couldn’t find his voice, trapped as it was behind his fear. Fear of losing Jen. Fear for Sophia and the pain they were all going through. And he’d accused Cori of not being strong enough today.

“You’re the most important person in the world to me.” He managed to push the words past the lump in his throat. “I’ve got your picture in my wallet. Yours, Mom’s and Dad’s. Do you want to see?” It was the olive branch he used with Jen. He’d been using it a lot more frequently lately. Sometimes Blake wondered if he’d ever reach a point where it wouldn’t work anymore.

Slowly, Jen turned, showing him her pale, tear-streaked face. Yet she remained on the steps. The tears just about killed him. Gone were the thoughts that Jen was becoming a pain in the ass. How could he be so insensitive as to make his little sister cry?

“I’m worried about Sophia, too.” Blake took a guess that this latest mood swing hung on Sophia’s failing health. “I could use a hug about now, Jenny Lou.” It was his final bit of ammo. Jenny Lou. Their mother’s version of Jennifer’s given name, Jennifer Louise. Blake had begun calling her that eight years ago after Kevin and Mary Austin were killed in a car crash on Interstate 80. Blake had been twenty-two, just starting his junior year at the university in Davis. Jennifer had been only four years old.

After hearing the devastating news of their deaths, Blake rushed home to find a neighbor cooking a truckload of vegetable casseroles in his parents’ kitchen and Jen hiding in her bedroom.

Blake pushed past the woman, then barreled into Jen’s bedroom, scooping up his sprite of a half sister and taking her outside. The Indian-summer sun had already warmed the late-morning air. Blake sought the old oak tree behind the farmhouse, and settled down on the sparse, brown, wild grass beneath the oak’s thick, spreading branches, with Jen in his lap.

Looking down, he saw Jen’s eyes tightly shut and her thumb planted firmly in her mouth. Rather than pull it out as he’d done on numerous other occasions, Blake allowed the little girl the luxury of whatever comfort she could claim. They sat together under that tree until the sun had set. Neither spoke for a long while. The only sound was the gentle smack of her lips against her thumb and the brush of cornstalks stroked by the wind.

“I’m never leaving you, Jenny Lou.” Blake never knew if it was the endearment that his mother used or if any words would have reached her, but Jennifer turned her small body into his and started to cry.

He’d been calling her Jenny Lou in times of upheaval ever since.

Now Jennifer flew down the stairs into Blake’s arms, practically knocking him over, chasing away the cobwebs of the past, making Blake wish this truce between them would last.