Читать книгу Biding Her Time - Wendy Warren - Страница 11

So she wanted to wrangle.

Shane came close to giving in to the temptation to cross swords with the idiosyncratic woman beside him.

Carefully avoiding eye contact with the others around the table, he slid his fork into his salmon and considered his various strong reactions to Audrey Griffin.

Even now that she was cleaned up, she looked no more formal than she had in the bar. Jeans that were designed to be serviceable rather than sexy appeared to be her uniform, a damned disappointment given the obvious shapeliness of the body beneath them. Her freckled skin was toasted to an appealing tan by the sun, and her hair, still damp from a shower, was the color of wet bricks. The lack of makeup and the plain rubber band holding her long braid made him think of a hardworking pioneer woman.

The disparity between her appearance and her personality did not escape him. A first glance at Audrey Griffin suggested someone guileless and straightforward, perhaps philosophical, definitely sweet. Then she opened her mouth and all he could think was trouble.

He was thirty-four, thank God, not twenty. Several years ago, he may have gotten to know her better for her audacity alone. Now he had a business and a life to build. A reckless young woman out for a good time was not on his radar.

“Thank you for the compliment, Miss Griffin,” he said with boring neutrality. “I look forward to telling my parents that their insistence on cotillion classes did not go to waste.”

“Did you really take cotillion?” Melanie eyed him with suspicion. “Mom tried to coerce us, but Brent and Robbie threatened to run away from home. I went twice and both times the instructor ended the class with a horrible migraine. She’d never had one before, so it was agreed all around that I could quit.” She shifted her gaze. “Audrey, did your dad ever send you to cotillion or did you escape that nightmare?”

Audrey hesitated. Lines of tension formed around her lips before she visibly forced herself to smile. “I escaped.”

She ducked her head, and Shane was certain that she blushed. Curiosity mingled with sympathy, because it was pretty damned obvious that the audacious young woman had never taken a course on manners or conventional grace.

Then Shane realized what Melanie had revealed: Audrey had had a father, but no mother. It might be the mention of that fact or something else, but Audrey was suddenly acutely uncomfortable.

While Melanie and her parents debated the merits of cotillion, he reached spontaneously for Audrey’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. To his surprise, she jumped as if he’d stuck her with his fork. Her blush deepened, flushing not only her cheeks, but also her chest and even a few splotchy areas onher arms. Fidgeting, she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, unnecessary as it was already scraped back into a braid, but the movement drew his attention to the scar on her neck.

Standing out white against her reddened skin, the scar ran from behind her ear to below the collar of her shirt.

“We’re pouring one of your wines, Shane.” Thomas commanded his attention, raising a bottle of Chardon-nay that had been uncorked in the kitchen. “We’re not as sophisticated about this as I’m sure you are. I’m a Kentucky bourbon man. So if there’s something special you want us to—”

“I’d be happy to act as your sommelier, if you’ll allow me.” Shane rose, awaiting permission to take the bottle from his uncle.

“Sommelier, huh?” Thomas huffed, half impressed and half gently mocking. “Around here we call that bartending.” He held out the bottle. “Have at it.”

Adrenaline pulsed through Shane as he rounded the table and accepted the wine.

This was why he was in the U.S. This bottle in his hands was his future. Hilary’s future.

Respectfully, he poured an inch of Chardonnay into Thomas’s wineglass and another inch into Jenna’s. He didn’t believe in gender bias when it came to choosing a good wine. And he knew his aunt was more likely to be of service to him and to Hilary on this business trip.

He watched her expression, especially, as she swirled the glass briefly and took her first sip.

Her brow furrowed just a bit, perhaps due to the fear she might not like his product. But then she relaxed and smiled. “Delicious. I’m not a connoisseur, but I’d order it in a restaurant. It has the most interesting combination of fruit and…I’m not sure…herbs?” She tasted again. “I’ll remember it.”

I’ll remember it.

Those three words were like music to Shane. He endeavored to appear relaxed and connected, despite the excitement coursing through him.

For years he’d bounced from job to job, trying to excavate some meaning out of each one. When he dug and came up empty-handed, he moved on, his hunt for purpose and passion nearly desperate. Throughout his twenties, he had responded to each dashed hope by distracting himself for a time—with women, with a broken-down boat he’d sailed from Perth to Maui, with a trek through Central America carrying nothing but a backpack and a map.

In his adolescence, he’d watched his parents and even his younger brother slot into exactly what made life worth living for them. He’d taken for granted that he would find his own reason for being, but that sense of rightness had eluded him.

There had been times when he’d wondered whether his search had been so much harder because he had craved meaning. He remembered feeling a restless hunger even when he was a kid—wanting every walk he took to leave a footprint.

He’d still been searching last year when Hilary’s accident brought him home to Australia. He hadn’t expected to find his groove running the winery that had belonged to her parents, but that’s what was happening.

Lochlain, the family’s stable, adjoined Cambria Estates Vineyard. As a boy, he’d spent almost as much time among the grapevines as he had at Lochlain. He’d worked at Cambria on school vacations when his father had granted permission not to work at the stable, but he’d never considered a career as a vintner.

He’d arrived in Hunter Valley last year, committed only to doing what he could for his cousin. He hadn’t cared that he was growing grapes. He’d have grown damned zinnias if it would have helped. But one morning, months after he’d arrived, he’d awoken thinking about grapes, smelling them, curious about every aspect of the winery. Not long after, he’d realized that—for the first time in his life—he wasn’t thinking about where to go next. Feet on the earth, hands on the vines, mind wrapped around the art and science of being a vintner, he’d found something with a history and a future. He could plant more than grapes; he could plant the seeds of his life, and they would grow into a legacy.

He planned to attend a series of wine shows in New York, Boston and Montreal, introducing his product to the international market. By the time he and Hilary returned to Australia, Cambria Estates would be the wine that people were talking about.

There was only one problem he could foresee: although he’d learned much about wine, he didn’t know a damned thing about wine shows.

By the time he’d filled each glass and resumed his seat at the table, his elevated mood had dropped a bit.

Beside him, Audrey was picking apart her salmon, lost in thoughts of her own and seeming to have forgotten her earlier desire to spar. Across the table, his cousin Melanie was happily engaged in a discourse with her father and anyone else who cared to join in. The topic, of course: horses and racing. Thomas listened avidly to his daughter while simultaneously scowling at his fish, as though he would trade his best dirt runner for a decent burger.

Shane wasn’t sure what he’d expected to achieve today; he knew only that he felt as if he were in a starting gate, about to race for his life and now facing an agonizingly long wait for the bell.

He stuck the tines of his fork into a piece of grilled asparagus, picked up his knife and told himself to be a good guest, that everything would happen in due time. He didn’t have long to wait.

“I don’t think your question about Shane’s occupation was ever properly answered, was it, Audrey?”

With a hint of good humor, Jenna pulled Audrey out of her reverie. The confounding redhead looked up and shook her head. “He’s not an undertaker?” she muttered.

Jenna arched a brow that made Audrey obediently apply herself to her meal as her employer continued. “This delicious wine we’re drinking is a sample of Shane’s work. He’s here to introduce his vineyard to the United States.”

Not exactly “his” vineyard—Cambria was owned by Hilary and her grandparents—but he supposed that was close enough under the circumstances. They had offered to make him a full partner.

“Shane will be attending several wine exhibits,” Jenna told the table at large. “What you don’t know is that he asked me to help him find an assistant to work in his booth. Wine exhibits require a minimum of two people per booth.” She pulsed with energy as she smiled at her audience. “I’ve been doing my research. One person to serve and one to answer questions and keep track of the guest book. A sole proprietor at the booth also detracts from the cache of the winery. I know it’s terribly superficial, but appearances really do count. It would have been difficult for Shane to interview and hire the perfect person all the way from Australia, which is why—” she raised her glass, the wine glowing from the lights of the crystal chandelier above their heads and the sunlight filtering through the curtained doors “—I’ve arranged everything. I think it’s best to have one assistant at all times, in New York, Boston and Montreal. The same assistant for the sake of continuity, and won’t it be pleasant to have a traveling companion? I love to travel with someone.”

Shane swallowed his asparagus. “You found a booth bunny?”

He was about to thank his aunt profusely when Melanie asked across the table—

“What’s a booth bunny?”

He smiled, a bit sheepishly. He’d heard the term several times since his first forays into the wine business and took for granted it was used in America. Though it was likely an affront to feminists everywhere, the people who greeted and handed out wine to potential customers at these affairs were typically young women with sparkling personalities, knockout figures and very short dresses. He opened his mouth to explain, but heard a snort and someone else’s voice answering in his stead.

“Booth bunnies are an attempt to sell a product by titillating the consumer instead of employing genuine marketing savvy or, heaven forbid, allowing the product to speak for itself.” Audrey sliced the tip off an asparagus spear. “I took a marketing class called ‘Sex Sells’ at the J.C. It happens in all kinds of industries, of course, but it does seem particularly obnoxious when the product’s value lies in a consumer’s ability to discern subtleties. Nothing subtle about a booth bunny. Short skirt, big hair and a brain the size of a cork.”

Emitting a snort of laughter, she popped the asparagus into her mouth and chewed. It took a moment before she realized she might have offended someone.

“Uhm, nothing personal against the girl you hired, Jenna. I just mean it’s a screwy way to approach business.” Another pause and she mumbled a sort-of apology to Shane. “Not that I mean you’re screwy.”

Of course not.

Shane harpooned a piece of salmon and stuck it in his mouth so he wouldn’t be able to point out that the stick up Audrey’s back was a helluva lot stiffer than the one she’d accused him of having.

He bristled without knowing precisely why her criticism bothered him so much. God knew he’d been under stress lately. He could use encouraging words, not potshots, while he worked his ass off building a business that would be the most important thing he had ever done in his life.

“Who’d you find, Mom?” Melanie asked, interested in the booth-bunny concept and either oblivious to the tension between her cousin and her friend or simply untroubled by it. “And how did you know where to look? What did you do, advertise?”

Shane noticed Jenna splitting her concerned glance between him and Audrey. “Why would I do that,” she murmured, taking another sip of wine, “when I had a perfectly good candidate right under my nose?”

A large forkful of finely poached salmon had just gone into Shane’s mouth when Thomas barked, “Who?”

Jenna smiled at Audrey over the rim of her glass, and every head turned toward the tomboyish redhead.

No! Shane thought, his gag reflex kicking in already. He’d explained the importance of these shows to his aunt. He was spending nearly the entirety of his personal savings on this trip. Audrey’s derogatory comments aside, he could not imagine anyone—honestly, not a single woman of his acquaintance—less suited to a job for which she had to be unstintingly polite, charming and feminine than Audrey Griffin. Jenna couldn’t mean—

“I think Audrey will make an outstanding booth assistant, don’t you?” Jenna met each person’s eyes briefly, smiling brilliantly and arching a brow as if daring anyone to disagree.

In that moment, Shane couldn’t possibly have disagreed. He was too busy choking.

“Salmon bone,” he managed to gasp, thumping his chest as Jenna, looking alarmed, rose from her chair. Across the table, Thomas rose also and took a step in Shane’s direction. He tried to wave the help away. “I’m fine now.”

They weren’t listening.

Coughing into his napkin, he waved them off again, then realized that Melanie, too, had stood, her eyes round with panic. He followed her gaze.

It was Audrey who needed help.

Swearing, Shane leaped from his chair, shoving his aunt and uncle aside with an unfortunate lack of courtesy to get to her.

Grasping Audrey’s shoulders, he turned her so that he could look fully into her face, now splotched a deep red.

“Are you choking?” he shouted into her face, making the international choking sign and waiting for her to mimic him before he commenced the Heimlich maneuver.

Instead of placing her hands at her neckline, she looked at him in panic and immediately reached for his neck, squeezing hard and nodding furiously.

“Let… go…” he commanded, prizing her hands off and turning her so he could wrap his arms around her with his fist under her sternum. He administered two swift upward pushes.

Nothing happened. Whatever had lodged in her airway had yet to budge.

Shane could feel Audrey’s heart thundering like a dozen hooves and knew his was keeping pace.

“Come on, baby, give it up,” he whispered in her ear right before he gave her diaphragm a shove that pulled her right off her feet.

Out flew a piece of grilled asparagus.

Impressed and enormously relieved, Shane released a breath and nodded. “Nicely done.”