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Michael's Father
Melinda Curtis


She was banishedCori's grandfather Salvatore Messina told her she'd never be able to make it on her own as a single mother. He threatened her–tell him the name of the father so he could ruin him, or she and her child would be cut off from the family. As the field manager of Messina Vineyards, Blake would not only lose his job, but his whole career could be destroyed. Cori couldn't do that to Blake–she still loved him. So she kept the identity of Michael's father a secret.But now she's back…for good?Almost five years later, Cori has returned to her family's winery with her young son, Michael. Her mother is dying and Cori is determined to do whatever she can for her. But Cori's also back for another reason: it's time to find out if Blake will recognize–and accept–their son.









“I can’t believe you kept this from me for nearly five years. Why?”


Cori didn’t answer, just stared down at her hands. How could she shut off her emotions like that?

“You got your thrills with me and paid the price.” Purposefully, he pushed. “What? I’m not even good enough for an explanation?”

Her head shot up, eyes shadowed in the moonlight. “Good enough?”

“Don’t pretend. I was just the field hand to you. A distraction you couldn’t tell your family about.” He struggled to slow down, but the words came out anyway. “Was it fun to slum around? Was it thrilling enough for you? Was it?” Blake grabbed Cori’s shoulders, needing her to admit she’d used him. “Are you ready for another dip on the wild side?”

Instead of waiting for an answer, he brought his mouth down on hers. A second later Blake jumped back to his side of the truck.

What had he done?


Dear Reader,

Have you ever experienced the Sonoma County wine country? If you have, you may have stumbled across one of the smaller, family-run wineries, met the owner (grower/winemaker), his wife (tasting-room hostess) and his teenage son (souvenir-stand clerk). It takes a dedicated family to make a privately owned winery prosper. Cori Sinclair belongs to one such family, the Messinas, whose winery has found some measure of success and expanded beyond a tasting room in their driveway.

Cori dreams of escaping the all-consuming commitment her family’s winery requires and wants to prove herself on her own terms. She doesn’t plan to fall in love with Blake Austin, a man in search of family and stability, whose career hinges on the support of Cori’s grandfather, Salvatore Messina, and staying in Sonoma. When Cori finally achieves her independence, it’s not as satisfying as she’d hoped. Coming home, Cori must face Blake, the man she left behind, the man she still loves, the man whose career she could destroy—if she tells her family the truth about Michael’s father.

I hope you enjoy Cori and Blake’s story. I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at P.O. Box 2596, Turlock, CA 95381 or through my Web site at www.MelindaCurtis.net.

Enjoy!

Melinda Curtis




Michael’s Father

Melinda Curtis





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With much love and thanks to…

My patient and supportive family (Curt, Mason, Colby, Chelsea, Mom, Dad, Paul and John), who don’t mind waiting for calls to be returned or suffering through pizza and bagged salad instead of home cooking.

Brian and Andrea Skonovd, who shared their vineyard growing stories and advice. Any mistakes are mine alone.

Lori Green, Karen Johnson and Sigal Kremer, for encouragement, reading time and promotion ideas.

Valleyrose, the Sacramento chapter of RWA, who helped me put all the pieces together.

Susan Floyd, Anna Adams and Jennifer LaBrecque, fellow authors who shared laughter, tears and dreams. Do Believe, ladies!




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN




PROLOGUE


“YOU ARE not pregnant!” Salvatore Messina railed at his granddaughter’s announcement.

Cori Sinclair had never seen him so angry. And growing up in a household with three generations of Italians, she’d seen plenty of her grandfather’s anger. Suddenly, she regretted blurting out her plight just before her college graduation.

Out in the hallway, the voices of eager Stanford graduates rang through the air. Inside Cori’s room, Salvatore Messina’s Italian loafers marched a stormy cadence across the beige industrial carpet. Her grandfather’s stride was still as strong and obstinate as the eighty-year-old man himself. Standing over six feet, olive-skinned, with lightning silver hair and black eyes and dressed in unwrinkled charcoal slacks and matching jacket, Salvatore overwhelmed the small room.

“This kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen to us,” he proclaimed, adding something under his breath she didn’t quite catch.

Shrinking into a corner of a worn red couch, Cori tugged at the hem of her short, blue dress, forcing a weak laugh past her parched throat. Clearly, her grandfather assumed she was as invincible as he saw himself.

“It could happen to anyone.” Even to those who used condoms. Cori represented that rare statistic where the latex had failed.

When her grandfather didn’t immediately answer, Cori gathered her tattered courage and looked at him. His jaw was clenched as tightly as his fists. With relief, Cori realized his cast-iron gaze and frown were directed at the black graduation robe hanging above the couch she sat on.

She breathed deeply before swallowing what was left of her pride and apologizing, but just then a wave of nausea hit, sending Cori stumbling for the little private bathroom. This was a humbling experience she was starting to get used to.

As she pulled her head out of the toilet minutes later, a large, gnarled hand dropped to her shoulder, then tentatively stroked Cori’s spine. She took a deep breath, moved by the uncharacteristic display of affection. He removed his hand and she shivered, trying to find the strength to stand and face her problems.

The hand returned, lifting her and cleansing her face and neck with a wet cloth, demonstrating a gentleness Cori would never have expected from her grandfather. Eyes closed, she sighed and rested her head on her forearm.

This is how families are supposed to act.

For the first time in weeks, Cori’s spirits rose. Everything was going to be okay.

“You should have told me sooner,” her grandfather said quietly.

He couldn’t know how she’d agonized over how to tell her conservative, Italian family, and the baby’s father, about her predicament. Or how she’d watched her dreams of independence, which had seemed so close, slip away.

“It’s not too late to correct this.”

Cori gasped and lifted her head gingerly, not sure what she’d heard. Her gaze collided with her grandfather’s cold, black eyes and she realized he was proposing the unthinkable.

He wants me to have an abortion.

Footsteps and joyful conversation moved past Cori’s dorm room, heading toward the commencement ceremony. This wasn’t one of the lighthearted practical jokes her grandfather was known to pull on her. If there’d been anything left in Cori’s stomach, she would have given it up.

Unexpectedly, his dark eyes fell to the floor. “You’ll marry the boy.”

Cori’s heart sank, pulled by the combined weight of relief and dread. Relief because she’d misunderstood him, and dread because her grandfather’s statement made it sound as if a resolution were simple. But Cori knew better. Her grandfather was the founder of Messina Vineyards, one of the most prestigious wineries in Northern California. He’d built the winery all by himself, without the backing of venture capitalists, lawyers or movie producers. He’d succeeded by snaring those around him within his intricate plans for success, disregarding their personal goals or dreams while pursuing his own. If she allowed her grandfather to force her into marriage with her baby’s father, his life—all of their lives—would never be their own again. Proud and independent, her former lover would never forgive her. It would be a shell of a marriage, despite the love for him that she still guarded.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Cori shook her head, unable to speak past the tangle of hurt and disappointment. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror, knowing what she’d see—a pale, straggly haired blonde with hollow cheeks and dull brown eyes that should be radiating happiness and hope for the future on this, her graduation day. Instead, everything about her was thin and sunken after two weeks of morning sickness.

On shaky legs, Cori almost made it back to the small red couch before Salvatore Messina spoke.

“I want you to consider this carefully, because I will not support a bastard.”

His words dropped heavily between them. A line was being drawn.

Slowly, Cori turned to face her grandfather, trapped by the determined look in his eyes, emphasized by silver brows drawn low.

“He doesn’t want me.” The words, no less than the truth, still had the ability to wound her. After the awful things she’d said to her lover, the hurtful way they’d parted, she was sure he never wanted to see her again. He certainly hadn’t called since the night their baby had been conceived. Cori was convinced that their love had blossomed at the wrong time. They were young; they each had goals. Goals that were too divergent for even love to overcome.

Cori hadn’t thought her grandfather’s expression could get any darker.

“Then, we’ll buy this baby a name. Everyone has his price.” Salvatore Messina pushed past Cori and began to pace the small room once more. “We’ll find his, just like we did with John Sinclair.”

“No.” Dismay guided Cori’s hands over the slight swelling of her belly as if she could cover the ears of the little one growing inside her. She’d picked up hints over the years that her grandfather and her long-estranged father, John Sinclair, hadn’t gotten along, but to have her grandfather confirm that Sophia and John Sinclair’s marriage had been forced shook Cori’s composure. Was that why John Sinclair left them without a backward glance, abandoning his young family and a promising career in the wine industry? Cori couldn’t let this happen to her—or to her baby’s father.

“History repeats itself,” Salvatore said, as if reading her thoughts. His pace quickened and his eyes speared madly about the room as if looking for a target. He pulled a slim, chrome cell phone out of his pocket. “You can’t represent Messina Vineyards on the wine tour this summer unmarried and pregnant. Tell me his name and I won’t totally ruin him.”

Cori drew an unsteady breath, knowing she couldn’t divulge his name now. Her grandfather didn’t make idle threats. Destroying someone’s career in the wine industry would be easy for him. He’d hound Cori until she slipped and told him what he wanted to know. How was she going to protect her former lover? Mama had intervened between Cori and her grandfather in the past. Cori grimaced, imagining the disappointed expression on her mother’s face when she realized Cori was repeating her mistakes. A forced marriage? No way. Yet what could she do?

And then Cori knew. There was only one way to protect everyone. But it would only work if Cori was brave enough to stand alone. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To finally be independent, not an appendage of Messina Vineyards? To make something of herself without standing in her grandfather’s shadow?

“There won’t be any unmarried pregnant women on the wine tour,” she said, hoping she could support her convictions, and follow her dreams.

“Good. It’s not the way of you young people, but it used to happen a lot. And in this case, it’s for the best.” Her grandfather took a deep breath and smiled at her. As smiles went, it wasn’t one of his warmer ones. “We’ll call the priest this afternoon, after the ceremony.”

He’d misunderstood her rebellious statement. “No, Grandfather. I’m having this baby alone.” Ignoring her roiling stomach, Cori drew herself up. “And I’m not going on the wine tour.”

His smile faded.

“I’ve taken a job in L.A. I start in two weeks.” Until that moment, Cori hadn’t found the courage to tell him she was accepting a job at a public relations firm. In fact, since she’d discovered her pregnancy, she’d all but given up on the job and her own goals. She just hadn’t had the heart to officially turn down the offer.

“Like hell you are!” His eyes found their mark. Her. “If you’re having that baby, you’ll be married and home where you belong.”

For the first time since Cori had admitted her condition, she felt the full force of her grandfather’s anger directed upon her. His scorching ire had her nearly breaking out in a sweat. Never having stood up to her grandfather before, Cori’s determination slipped. It would be so much easier to let him have his way. Her baby would never want for anything.

“Without me, you won’t be able to support that child alone in Los Angeles. You won’t see a penny from me.” He glared down at her, a triumphant smile on his face—as if he’d discovered her weakness. “His name, Corinne.”

Cori’s resolve wavered. What was she thinking? Single parenthood was going to be hard enough. How could she hope to launch a career at the same time? She did still love him. Maybe they could work out their differences. Maybe…

When she didn’t answer, her grandfather’s voice crackled with fire. “Didn’t you learn about birth control at any of those expensive schools I sent you to?” He waved a hand in the direction of her stomach. “Damn it, Corinne, I won’t stand by and see you ruin what I’ve built with this—this mistake of yours.”

“Ruin what you’ve built?” Cori’s words were a weak echo of Salvatore’s venomous declaration. “How could I possibly ruin what you’ve built?” In Cori’s estimation, nothing could shatter the success her grandfather had created. Certainly not an illegitimate great-grandchild.

Her grandfather leaned over Cori, his face coming within inches of hers. “Illegitimate babies tear families apart. This is a family venture, and you won’t destroy it because you let some boy have his fun. At least your mother recognized what she had to do.” Her grandfather pulled back and glanced at his Rolex. “Everyone’s waiting to see you graduate. Pull yourself together and meet me downstairs in five minutes. We’ll take care of this later.”

It took Cori a few minutes to collect herself after he left—a few minutes to try to erase the image of her grandfather walking out of her life.




CHAPTER ONE


“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.




CHAPTER TWO


IGNORING THE NERVOUS flutter in her stomach, Cori entered the empty Messina dining room with Michael in tow. Would her grandfather welcome her back? Or order her to go? She squared her shoulders. There was no way she’d leave when Mama had asked her to come home.

Cori pulled Michael back as he extended a small hand toward an antique Japanese tea set on the sideboard. The last thing she needed on her first day home was one of Michael’s accidents.

The opulent room, with its dark, heavy wood furniture, deep burgundy and bronze decor and crystal chandelier felt familiar. Her mind panned through dinners with congressmen, winemakers and her family. Back then, her mother and grandfather were nearly always laughing at some story her brother had retold or some joke her grandfather had pulled on Cori.

Cori sighed. She’d lived here in another lifetime, one she couldn’t relate to now. The long, formal dining table sparkled with expensive china—a sharp contrast to the serviceable Chinette set they used in their little apartment in Los Angeles. A portrait of Cori’s grandmother gazed down upon them, the only warmth in an otherwise impersonal room.

The ornate grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour—seven o’clock. Late for dinner by Michael’s standards but early for the Messinas, who usually ate after a full day of work.

“There’s my favorite rug rat,” came a voice behind her.

Cori turned to greet Luke with a warm smile. Cori suspected her brother was wearing the same faded jeans, scuffed work boots and dark flannel shirt he’d worn the last time she’d been home. Five years her senior, Luke Sinclair was becoming a seasoned winemaker. Like Cori, he had the dark complexion and eyes of their Italian ancestors. But there the similarities between the siblings ended. Luke stood over six feet tall, with jet-black hair and a smile that dazzled women from birth to sixty.

“You didn’t dress for dinner?” Cori asked. Not that dinner in the household was a formal affair, but the only time jeans were ever allowed was during the fall harvest season. Cori still had her red dress on and had finally changed Michael’s shirt.

“I don’t do that anymore,” Luke responded cryptically.

Michael squealed with delight as Luke picked him up, then spun him around in a dizzying circle, sending grubby shoelaces flying like streamers around the room.

“Watch out,” Cori warned.

“We’re fine.” Smiling, Luke lowered Michael carefully to the thick oriental carpet, keeping a steadying hand on the boy until he stood without swaying.

“Have you seen Blake and Jen?” he asked.

Cori met her brother’s inquisitive gaze with a quick nod. All afternoon, she’d battled her emotions for Blake. She always knew she’d have to tell Blake he was a father. Except, if Blake couldn’t recognize his own son, did he deserve to know? Or was that just a coward’s excuse to not tell him?

Blake wasn’t making things easier for her. He’d been so sarcastic toward Cori when he’d first seen her, then he’d turned coolly distant, throwing her off balance. Just before she’d come downstairs, she’d watched Blake help her grandfather out of a car, noting his patience despite her grandfather’s gruffness. The gesture had melted her heart.

No matter what she decided, the attraction was still there. She’d lived with the memory of the man she’d fallen in love with for almost five years. That image was hard to tear down in just one afternoon.

Michael giggled and staggered dramatically, bringing Cori back to the present. Obviously, Luke’s charm didn’t end with women.

“Thanks for coming, Sis. Things have been incredibly difficult without you here.”

She blinked back tears at his admission, for her family rarely expressed feelings aloud. “I wish someone had told me earlier.”

“There was hope earlier.” Luke’s expression turned grim and he looked down at Michael, who tugged on his long leg as if looking for a wrestling match.

The sliver of hope Cori had been carrying for her mother was rapidly disintigrating. Even though a part of her knew this was the end, Cori refused to believe her mother couldn’t beat the cancer again.

“Michael, behave like a gentleman,” Cori admonished, making sure she caught her son’s attention before turning back to Luke. “How’ve you managed to spend time with Mama and keep up with your work?”

Luke scratched the back of his neck, not looking directly at Cori. “You know how it is around here. We’re going from first thing in the morning until dinner, sometimes later. But I stop by to visit her every night.” He shot a look toward the hallway, then back at Cori, a smile on his face. “We’ve got some catching up to do. I want to tell you about—”

Luke clamped his mouth shut as Salvatore Messina strode rigidly into the room wearing his usual dark wool suit, silencing further conversation. Hard, black eyes took in Cori’s short red dress with a frown. Cori wasn’t sure what would have been worse—dressing down like her brother or keeping the dress, her symbol of independence. With effort, Cori kept her hands from knotting nervously in front of her. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.

Salvatore’s frown deepened, showing lines etched more severely than she remembered. He finally broke the silence.

“So, Corinne. It takes death to bring you home. I wondered when you’d remember your obligations.”

Luke shook his head, shooting a look of disapproval at their grandfather.

Along with disappointment, guilt washed over Cori at her grandfather’s words. She’d been raised to believe the family came before any personal obligations or dreams she might have. It took her a moment to remind herself that she would’ve come home if she’d been allowed to do so on her terms.

Cori lifted her chin. She’d done nothing wrong. Her grandfather was the one who’d shut her out. But there were fences that needed to be mended, even if he wasn’t letting her come home to stay.

“Michael, this is your great-grandfather.” Cori bent to gently urge her son forward. “Shake his hand.”

Her pride and joy cast a glance at Luke, who smiled and nodded reassuringly. Raising his small hand solemnly, Michael hesitated, then stepped forward to meet Salvatore Messina.

Time hung on Michael’s extended arm. No one moved. No one spoke.

“Playing at royalty, are we?” Salvatore finally said brusquely, glaring at Cori. “It won’t work. He gets nothing from either me or your mother.”

Michael smashed into Cori’s leg at record speed, then pivoted behind her, little arms wrapping around her bare leg. Luke looked uncomfortable but said nothing.

“Don’t.” Cori had known seeing her grandfather would be awkward, but was shocked at his icy reception toward her, and especially toward Michael.

“Maria, what’s for dinner?” Salvatore bellowed, dismissing them as he moved to the head of the elegant table.

Luke sat to his right, leaving Cori and Michael to sit to his left. After standing indecisively for a few moments, Cori dragged out two heavy straight-back chairs and tried to settle Michael into the place farthest from her grandfather—but Michael was having none of it.

“Michael, I need you to sit in your chair.” Cori kept her voice low while trying to guide Michael’s little body into his seat, hating that her grandfather observed their struggle.

“No.” The high pitch of his young voice was adamant. He stared up at his great-grandfather with untrusting eyes, chin tucked into his chest.

Ignoring the clash over seating, Maria served lamb chops, asparagus, sweet potatoes and sourdough rolls. This seemed to be the last straw for Michael, who had wriggled halfway into Cori’s lap.

“Not that,” he wailed, his little finger pointing to the asparagus and sweet potatoes. “I want McDonald’s.”

“He’s a mama’s boy,” her grandfather noted, not bothering to look up from his meal.

Years of training at the Messina dinner table, where opinions were expressed hotly but rebuttals against her grandfather were not allowed, kept Cori silent, even as her body heated with the need to defend herself and her son. Michael’s warm presence in Cori’s lap didn’t help. Any minute now, she feared she’d break out in a sweat.

“We took you everywhere when you were a child,” Salvatore Messina continued. “You ate everything. You never hung on your mother’s skirts.”

They’d joked so much back then, she and her grandfather, each trying to put one over on the other. It was hard to believe this man, or the man in her dorm room that fateful day, was the grandfather who had doted on her during her childhood.

“He’s only four,” Luke said, receiving a cool stare from Salvatore Messina for his defense.

“I didn’t have any freedom,” Cori declared, thinking of the one thing she’d been lacking in her highly structured childhood, the one thing she’d longed for.

Her grandfather scoffed. “You had family. And you were confident of yourself.”

Had she been confident? Cori didn’t think so. She’d traveled so much until she was eighteen, she’d perfected the veneer of sophistication. Her insecurities were kept hidden behind an arsenal of good manners and a smile that eased her out of most difficulties. She’d reveled in her independence in college and started making close friends, finally telling her grandfather she couldn’t travel or help him entertain during the school year because it interfered with her studies. She’d dutifully returned for spring break, summer vacation and the holidays, finding comfort in the familiar bustle of activity, and the sense of belonging home and family offered.

And then she’d met Blake, so proudly self-sufficient, so staunchly convinced that he could make it on his own. Little had she known that Blake would be her role model in the years to come.

“But I guess we didn’t teach you any morals, since you decided to be just another unwed mother, bringing another unwanted child into the world.”

“He isn’t unwanted.” Cori strove to keep her voice calm, uncomfortably conscious of Michael on her lap.

Salvatore raised one bushy, silver brow and leaned toward Cori and her son. “You said his father didn’t want you. Maybe because he had a wife?”

Cori almost refuted his spiteful words, but caught herself. What her grandfather believed didn’t matter.

“Or maybe it was because you didn’t know who the father was.” Her grandfather flung the words at her.

Cori’s stomach sank to her toes.

“Grandpa! That’s enough.” Luke growled at Salvatore Messina.

“How dare you?” Cori managed to push the heavy chair back from the table and lift Michael from her lap and into her arms, attempting escape before her grandfather said anything worse.

“I’ll tell you how I dare.” Unrelenting, Salvatore shouted at her back. “It says unknown on that boy’s birth certificate. That means he’s a bastard. When I find out who fathered him, I’ll make sure he knows what a coward he’s been and make him pay.”

She spun on her grandfather with an outraged gasp, Michael clinging silently to her chest. “It doesn’t matter what his birth certificate says in this day and age. If you ever call him that again, you’ll be sorry.”

“Idle threat.” Everything about her grandfather was as tight as steel, from the set of his shoulders to the taut lines framing his eyes.

Cori struggled to keep her body from shaking. How could he be so horrible? How would they manage to stay in the same house together? There was only one person who could make him behave. And then, only when he wanted to behave. So Cori drew on the only defense she had left.

“I’ll tell Mama. About the choice you gave me.” Cori caught Luke’s frown and ignored him. She’d never told Mama or Luke why she hadn’t come home. Mama had attempted to talk about Michael’s father once, but Cori deftly changed the subject and Mama had never tried again. Cori hadn’t wanted to tell her mother and brother, risking them taking sides and dividing the family just as her grandfather had predicted.

Cori waited for her words to sink in before she turned away from her grandfather. She noticed his expression sag into something resembling regret. If her grandfather felt any remorse, he had a strange way of showing it.

Cori stumbled up the stairs and into her room. Completely drained, she sank onto the bed with Michael still clinging to her, his head tucked into her neck. Somewhere, in the farthest corner of Cori’s mind, she’d hoped that things had changed, that her grandfather would accept Michael without knowing who his father was. But Salvatore Messina’s feelings on the matter were clear.

She fought her tears, not even slightly appeased to know she had a bargaining chip with her grandfather—her silence.

Cori could never let her grandfather know the truth about Michael. She didn’t understand why he’d kept alive his desire to punish both Cori and Michael’s father for their unplanned pregnancy. His animosity was overwhelming. Worse, Salvatore Messina still had the power to destroy Blake, to fire him, kick him out of his home and attempt to make sure he wouldn’t find work in the wine industry again.

“He’s mean, Mommy.”

Reflexively, Cori’s hands stroked a soothing pattern on his back.

“Yes, he can be, Peanut.”

“He’s loud. He yelled about daddies.” Michael snuffled and wiped his nose on her dress. “And I don’t have one.”

This was a phrase Michael used often. Cori’s heart ached over her son’s desire for a father.

“No. Your father doesn’t live with us.” Recalling Blake’s disapproving scowl, Cori didn’t expect that to change.

“I want him to.” Michael pulled back so that she could see his little brow furrowed in a serious expression. “Everybody has dads but me.”

“Lots of kids only have mommies.” Cori smoothed his soft brown hair away from his forehead. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“It’s not fair. I want a daddy.” Michael threw himself dramatically at Cori, nearly knocking her backward onto the bed. “I want to go home.”

Cori didn’t blame him. Leaving would be the least painful way out of this. She’d been happy in this house once. Her family would never understand the choices she’d made—the choices she’d been forced to make.

“We can’t go home until…” She almost said until Grandma goes to heaven, but she stopped herself. She still had hope. “We have to take care of Grandma.”

“I want to go home now.” Michael flopped onto the bed, sending pink ruffles rippling. “Nobody’s nice. And this room is pink.” He kicked at the bed.

Cori looked around the room with all her dolls and feminine memorabilia still displayed as if she’d just left for college, as if she’d never grown up and made her own decisions. The pink room held no appeal for her anymore. Why should it offer any comfort to a little boy?

“How about if you and I decorate this room while we help Grandma get well?” She could pack away the dolls and other childhood treasures she’d never missed in more than four years.

“Orange?”

Cori suffered an eye-blinding vision of orange against pink walls.

“Purple?” she proposed hopefully. Purple could be mixed with pink without too much trouble.

“Blue,” he announced with finality. “Can I look at my book, Mommy?”

“I’m sorry, honey. We left your baby book at home.” Michael used his baby book to comfort himself. Having memorized much of it, Michael could tell Cori when he’d cut his first tooth and how tall he was.

“No, Mommy. You forgot but I packed it,” Michael said, hopping off the bed and running to his backpack.

She hadn’t wanted to bring the book here. Michael’s baby book was the one place she’d been honest about Michael’s parentage. She’d written Blake’s name on the inside cover where it said “Father.” She’d planned to tell Michael about his father someday, sometime after he started to read and before he graduated from college. Or maybe when Blake was no longer working for her grandfather.

Cori’s pulse quickened as she realized how dangerous the book could be. If Michael left his baby book anywhere he shouldn’t, if someone picked it up and flipped to the first page, they’d know the truth.

Oblivious to her turmoil, Michael retrieved the book from his backpack, then climbed back up on the bed. He wriggled into her lap, turning to the first page.

“This is all about me,” he said proudly, the night’s drama temporarily forgotten.



BLAKE SAT ON THE BANK of the Russian River in the darkness, letting the fog envelop him in its chilly embrace. Behind him, hidden by the thick mist, acres of grapevines separated the Messina mansion from the river. Before him, the river flowed silently by, accented by the night symphony of crickets and an occasional plaintive cry from a frog or owl. Obscured by the fog, Blake’s old truck was parked a few feet away, next to a tangle of blackberry bushes.

He’d said good-night to Jen and checked on Sophia long ago, but he’d avoided going to bed. Blake knew he’d be plagued with thoughts of Cori Sinclair that would keep him from sleep. Instead, like a sentimental fool, he’d ended up here, where he and Cori used to meet, reliving thoughts he had no right to think in the first place.

It wasn’t as if he was staying and waiting for her to show up. He knew that wasn’t going to happen. For so many years, this had been his spot.

I loved her. The thought rippled through Blake, eliciting more anguish than he’d felt in years. But Blake’s love hadn’t been good enough for Salvatore Messina’s granddaughter.

Something stumbled in the night. In one smooth motion, Blake shot up and swung the beam of his flashlight in the direction of the noise. It wasn’t uncommon for a puma or a vagabond to wander through the area, and Blake wanted to recapture the element of surprise.

An arm came up against the light. A female voice cursed.

She looked like a vision stepped out of the past. Worn blue denim clung to her legs. A faded red Stanford sweatshirt covered her other curves. Drops of water from the fog were sprinkled on the hair around her forehead, glowing like a halo in the beam of his flashlight.

“Damn it, Cori. What are you doing here?” He’d said something similar years ago, the first time he’d found her down by the river after dark. Blake’s heart beat just as rapidly now as it had then.

“Could you shine the light on my feet instead of in my eyes?”

He readjusted the beam toward her sneakers, incredibly white despite the soft, muddy ground she’d hiked through to get this far.

“Thanks.”

She was always so polite. Too damn polite. Even that one precious night they were together and they’d argued, she’d said thank you as she’d left him alone in bed. “You don’t always have to thank me.”

“I needed some air,” she said, as if explaining why she was here in this place. Their place.

“Where’s the kid?”

“Michael,” she reiterated gently. “Asleep. He’s a good sleeper. Always has been. Even when he was a baby.”

She was babbling, but Blake didn’t care. Part of him was fascinated by the idea that she’d tackled motherhood on her own. Another part of him—the stupid part—was jealous that she’d let some other man touch her as intimately as he had.

“And the boy’s father?” he found himself asking, even as he kicked himself for letting his curiosity fall between them. “Forget it. I don’t need to know.” Wishing she’d go, Blake turned back toward the river, flicking off the flashlight and plunging the area into a darkness that was only dimly lit by the distant lights from the mansion.

Her footsteps carried her closer. Blake’s pulse picked up a notch when he imagined he could smell her flowery perfume.

“We were a burden he didn’t need.” Her voice carried a note of sadness.

Fool. Blake wished he could wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck and make him regret causing Cori pain. Had they argued? Or had Cori just accepted the jerk’s excuses when he left her?

Blake swore under his breath and wiped a hand over his face.

“Looks like you’ve done well with Jen.”

“She’s a handful for only being twelve,” Blake admitted. No sense telling Cori Sinclair about his problems.

“No boy trouble yet?”

“No, thank God.” Her question sent his mind back to the first time he’d kissed Cori.

“She’s going to be a knockout. You’ll be fighting them off.”

Her words brought back the memory of what had crumbled Blake’s guard against his feelings for Cori. By the end of that first summer, Blake had fallen into the habit of tucking Jennifer into bed, then waiting up for Cori, reluctant to slip into his empty bed until she made it safely back within the Messina compound. His instincts told him Cori would find herself in trouble eventually. She was beautiful, and the Messinas didn’t seem to mind that she dressed like a woman of the world.

He knew that they couldn’t be anything more than friends. But he enjoyed their late-night private conversations, her brilliant smiles and the knowledge that she was home safe.

Blake had been waiting for Cori to come home from some function the Messinas had required her to attend. She’d gone to the event in a sleek little sports car with a young, blond, next-in-line-to-be-a-millionaire college boy.

The new British convertible had pulled up, and with a heavy heart, Blake realized the driver was going to kiss Cori. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Then, just as the boy’s lips neared Cori’s, Blake heard her say “No.”

Blake snapped. He sprang into action. Ran to the car. Yanked the guy out and threw him to the driveway.

“Don’t touch her!” He went cold just remembering that primitive territorial note of warning in his voice.

Cori was at Blake’s side in an instant. Holding her trembling body against his, Blake never wanted to let go. Moments later, when her soft lips touched his, he knew he was lost.

He loved her.

She was everything he wasn’t—well educated, wealthy, someone important. None of that mattered when they were together. Or so he’d thought.

Blake fought the memory of the feel of Cori’s body against his. Luckily, the physical memory was overshadowed by the burning need to know what had been happening to Cori all these years.

“What kind of man were you involved with, that wouldn’t want to marry the mother of his child?”

Cori sat down on the far end of the steep riverbank, several feet away from Blake, choosing her words as carefully as she had chosen her seat.

“We wanted different things.”

“Obviously you wanted the same thing at least once. You created a child together.” She created a child with someone else. The thought burned in his belly, worse than the jealousy he’d carried all these years imagining her in a happy relationship with someone else—someone who was good for her, as Sophia put it.

Cori didn’t answer. Blake peered through the fog but couldn’t make out her features without turning on the flashlight. “Were you the one who decided you wanted different things?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Déjà vu. That’s what you said to me the last time I saw you.” He’d confessed his love and plans for the future. Hell, he’d done everything but propose marriage. She’d practically tripped over herself in her haste to flee.

“I needed to make it on my own first, remember?” The words spilled out bitterly from the shadows.

Blake didn’t remember it that way. He only remembered the rejection. For a moment, he wondered if he’d mistaken her meaning years ago. But he’d never had the chance to find out. She’d eventually fallen into the arms of another man.

“You never came back.”

“No.” The word signaled the end of the conversation. “I had Michael and that’s all that mattered.”

That’s all that mattered to her. She didn’t seem to care about how her actions affected others, saddened them or ripped them apart inside.

“You don’t come home for the holidays.” Having his family torn from him left Blake with this need to set down and foster roots, kept him here with the Messinas, who’d become a second family to him and Jennifer. Blake would do anything for them.

“I let them down.”

How could she have disappointed the Messinas? She’d been the dutiful granddaughter—once—until she met somebody who changed her mind. Someone other than Blake.

“And you’ve been raising him alone?” He’d have bet money Cori would have come right back to the family’s money and security. He knew firsthand that raising a child was too difficult to do alone if you didn’t have to.

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe? That I could make it on my own without my family?” She laughed but the sound lacked humor. “You must really think I’m something special.” She stood up, her face still unreadable in the gray shadows. “Sleep well, Blake.”

But Blake knew sleep would elude him.



CORI SLIPPED INTO HER mother’s room and lowered herself carefully onto the bed. Soft light from the hallway crept across the thick carpet, casting her mother’s gaunt face in shadow. Luke dozed on the sofa on the far side of the room, his stocking feet dangling over the edge of the sofa’s arm. Gently, Cori drew the covers on the bed up around Mama’s thin shoulders, tucking her in, in much the same way she did Michael every night. Seeing her mother asleep and unmoving, Cori was sure she was losing her battle with cancer.

Cori smoothed the blankets along the edge of the bed, unwilling to leave her mother’s side. She could still hear Blake’s tone, full of condemnation, his words ripe with disbelief. After her confrontation with her grandfather, Cori had needed some reassurance that she’d done the right thing by keeping Blake’s fatherhood from him. For years, the secret had chipped away at her conscience. Irrationally, she’d wanted some sign from Blake that her decision had been for the best, that she should continue to guard her secret. So, she’d walked down to the Russian River in the foggy darkness.

Her conversation with Blake had been much like their talks that first summer. The intimacy of the night. Questions asked that one wouldn’t dare ask in the daylight. She’d wanted to tell him about Michael, had even started to gather her courage. Then, sensing Blake’s disappointment in her, the fragile mood between them collapsed. Just as her world seemed to be.

“You’re worried about something.” Sophia spoke softly, her eyes still closed as if she lacked the strength to open them. “I could always tell when you were worried, by how carefully you paid attention to what you were doing.”

“I’m a mother. I worry about everything.” Cori hoped her voice sounded lighter than she felt.

“I’m here if you want to talk.”

How long will you be here? The question paralyzed Cori’s thoughts, and she fell silent. She wouldn’t accept her mother was dying, despite the evidence in front of her.

Sophia sighed, then opened her eyes. “You’re wondering why I’m not in a hospital.”

Cori’s hand slipped under the blanket and found her mother’s. It was such a small, fragile hand. “Ye-es.” Cori’s thin acknowledgment cracked, the word as brittle as her fears.

“There comes a time when you have to decide, Cori. And I realized it was my time to stop fighting.”

Closing her eyes, Cori turned her head toward the hallway, away from this reality. “The doctors can’t do anything for you?”

“The doctors can ease my pain or they can continue to attack the cancer. Either way is a losing battle.”

Cori bit her lip, trying to hold herself together. “Why don’t you have a nurse?” They could afford an army of nurses.

“No nurses. No doctors. No tubes or shots. Just my family and my home.” Mama squeezed Cori’s hand.

“How long?” Cori closed her eyes against her tears. “How long have you known?”

“I found out the cancer metastasized right after Christmas.”

It was now late February. Her mother had kept the illness hidden from her for nearly two months. The guilt was almost as debilitating as the truth she wouldn’t accept. Cori’s hand crept to her throat. She had to know more.

“When did you decide to…?” Die. Cori couldn’t say the word aloud. To do so was to admit defeat. “To stop fighting?”

“When I asked you to come home and you said yes. They took all the tubes out of me after I hung up. Blake brought me home from the hospital that same day.”

How was Cori supposed to deal with that? Her mother had given up because Cori had agreed to come home. In need of a distraction, she opened her eyes and focused on her mother’s last words.

“Blake took you home?”

“Blake and Jennifer are so supportive. They spent quite a bit of time with me at the hospital. Blake has some spare time until bud break.”

Spare time? Every month was busy in the vineyard. January and February were filled with pruning and replanting damaged stock. February sometimes offered a few weeks of respite until the warmer weather coaxed buds to open on the vine. Maybe Blake relied on the other staff to cover for him while he helped Sophia.

No. Cori doubted Blake had much, if any, spare time.

“What about Luke and Grandpa?” Cori cast a glance back at her sleeping brother, snoring softly on the couch.

“Lucas and Father have been focusing on the business. We’re introducing internationally, you know.” Sophia’s voice sounded drowsy.

“I didn’t know,” Cori murmured. She couldn’t do anything about her grandfather’s absence from Sophia’s life, but she was going to take Luke to task for having his priorities screwed up. His saving grace was the fact that he guarded Mama through the night.

“Do you have regular checkups, Corinne?” Sophia’s eyes opened and fixed wearily on Cori. “That’s very important.”

Momentarily consumed with fear when she couldn’t remember the last time she’d visited the doctor, Cori could only stare blankly at her mother. When she blinked, her memory returned.

Last summer. She’d been to the doctor last summer and everything was okay. And then came the awful thought: Who would take care of Michael if something happened to me?

“Honesty is important, too. I wish I had been honest with your father. Maybe then he’d have stayed with me. You don’t ever see your father, do you?”

“No.” Cori drew back. John Sinclair wasn’t discussed in the Messina household. He didn’t call or send birthday cards. He’d walked out of their lives about twenty years ago and never looked back. Did her mother know that Salvatore had paid John Sinclair to marry her? And most likely paid him to leave?

“It’s too bad that you don’t see your father. I’ve always regretted losing touch. A child needs a father. You should tell him, for Michael’s sake.”

Struggling to follow her mother’s logic, Cori asked, “Tell John Sinclair?”

“No. Tell Blake he has a son.”

Cori forced herself to breathe normally. She couldn’t read her mother’s expression; her eyes were closed again. Cori peeked at Luke to make sure he still slept. Finally, she asked, “How long have you known?”

“I suspected all along, but couldn’t really see it until today. Michael looks less like a baby and more like a little Austin.” Sophia moved her head listlessly as if trying to get comfortable. “Blake’s a good man. He deserves to know the truth no matter what your reasons for keeping it from him.”

Cori wanted—at times needed—to tell Blake, but she doubted Blake would want to keep his fatherhood a secret. He was a proud, honorable man who’d want Michael to call him Dad. In which case, Cori didn’t think she could protect Blake from her grandfather.



“WELL, IF IT ISN’T Sleeping Beauty,” Blake greeted Cori with sarcasm at the door to Sophia’s bedroom the next morning. He checked his watch. “Nine o’clock. Kind of early for you, isn’t it?” He slouched farther in the flowery chair, stretching his jean-clad legs toward Sophia’s bed frame. He should be out in the vineyards. But not wanting Sophia to be alone, he’d waited for Cori to appear.

Sophia either didn’t catch or ignored the dig in Blake’s greeting. “She certainly looks lovely today.” From Sophia’s smile, it seemed the sight of Cori made her happy—while it confused, irritated and hurt Blake.

“I’ve been working since five. Got to pay the bills,” Cori replied mildly, with a quick glance at Blake’s bootless feet, enveloped in dingy socks.

What had she expected from a workingman? Socks in pristine condition? Self-consciously, Blake pulled his feet back to the edge of the chair. He often left his boots at the back door when he’d been traversing a particularly muddy patch of vineyard.

Tugging her short, clingy blue sweater over her khaki walking shorts, Cori moved to her mother’s side. The kid dragged his feet behind her, one hand clutching the bottom of the long-sleeved denim shirt she wore over the sweater.

Ignoring her excuse, flimsy as it was, Blake’s eyes surveyed Cori’s legs and bare feet. It was less dangerous than looking at her curves in that skimpy sweater. “It’s a bit chilly out for shorts,” he found himself saying.

“If the sun’s out, Southern Californians wear shorts,” Cori replied, her words as brisk as the weather. Cori stepped between Blake and Sophia, presenting him with her backside.

Blake swallowed and wet his lips, finding it hard to have Cori so near and untouchable. The kid popped free to lurk on the far side of the bed, a welcome distraction to Blake at this point.

“There’s nothing like a little sun to give a woman that glow,” Sophia conceded, obviously missing the subtext of the conversation.

“A little sunshine would do you good,” Blake said to Sophia, leaning to one side so he could see her face, trying not to look at Cori’s slender figure. She’d left him. He shouldn’t be reacting to her this way now, with interest as inappropriate now as it had been years ago.

“Not today.” Sophia rolled her head. She smiled wanly at Michael, who ducked behind the bed out of sight. “I must look frightening.”

“Nonsense.” Cori’s hand gently encompassed her mother’s. “If that’s a hint, I’ll style your hair.”

“That would be heaven.”

The kid chose that moment to jump onto Sophia’s bed.

“Grandma, we’re going to change the pink room to blue.” The kid’s thin voice rang out as he hopped, jolting Sophia’s limp body with each bounce.

“Michael, don’t—” Cori reached for her son, but Blake reacted faster.

“Can’t you control him?” Blake snatched the boy off the bed with two hands on his little waist, holding him none too gently in the air, inches from his face. “Don’t ever do that again.”

The brat’s dark eyes rounded as they stared at Blake. His mouth puckered tremulously.

Immediately, Blake knew he’d overreacted from stress and lack of sleep, and some other dark reason he was reluctant to acknowledge. Resentment.

I should have been this boy’s father.

Air escaped Blake’s lungs, taking his strength with him. Suddenly, the kid felt as if he weighed a hundred pounds.

“Put him down.” Cori spoke with the unchecked fury of a mother protecting her young. She held out her arms for her son.

Blake met her gaze squarely before setting the kid down. Holding the boy’s sticklike arms, Blake knelt to his level. “I want you to promise me you won’t do that again. You could have hurt your grandmother.” Blake may not have been his father, but he could still be a positive influence on the child. “Are you all right, Sophia?”

“Yes. More startled than anything,” she answered breathlessly.

Cori stood between her mother and her son, seemingly torn as to which needed her the most.

“Promise?” Blake prompted, returning his full attention to the boy. Blake had forgotten how frail a little kid’s emotions were. The boy was small, yet not as fragile as Sophia was.

When the kid nodded, his face full of fear, Blake released him. In the blink of an eye, Cori’s son fled the room. Blake stood, his stomach clenching from what he’d done, not blaming the kid one bit for his hasty retreat.

“That was uncalled for.” Cori’s voice shook, her eyes still focused on the floor where the boy had stood.

Blake shrugged, not backing down, even when he knew only a parent had the right to punish, even when he loathed his own actions. “You want the kid to behave, start setting some rules.”

“Rules—” Cori sputtered, eyes narrowing.

Blake cut her off before she could gather steam. “I have to go. Maria’s downstairs, but I told her you’d stay close to Sophia today. Do you think you can handle that?”




CHAPTER THREE


HOW COULD HE NOT SEE that Michael was his son?

Looking down upon the heads of her son and his father, she’d noted the same swirling pattern of brown hair on each crown. She’d vacillated between anger at Blake for tossing Michael around like a sack of potatoes and disappointment that he couldn’t see the similarities between himself and his son. Yet, should she expect Blake to recognize what she’d tried so hard to hide?

Crash! Tinkle, tinkle.

Cori froze as she slid the last hairpin into her mother’s lifeless hair.

“Michael?” she asked, just as her cell phone rang in her shorts pocket.

“It wasn’t me!” Michael called from the hallway.

“It’s probably that crystal vase,” Sophia observed calmly.

“The one that good-looking actor gave you?” Cori asked, trying to keep her tone light as she reached for her phone.

“Ronald Reagan was our president,” Sophia replied with mock dignity.

Ever since Ronald Reagan had given the vase to Sophia, Luke and Cori had teased her about her crush on him. Cori hoped she wouldn’t find that vase in pieces in the hall.

As Cori answered the telephone, she went in search of her son. His fast-retreating footsteps on the hardwood floor, punctuated with a door slam, signaled his escape to the pink room.

“Cori, I need some PR angles for Nightshade, pronto,” Sidney Collins, Cori’s boss, trilled in her ear. “They liked what you proposed last week, but they want to hear some other ideas from you, just to be sure the first one is the best.”

Cori sighed heavily, as much in response to Sidney’s request as at the sight of Ronald Reagan’s vase in pieces scattered across the floor.

“Not again.” Cori peered into the bedroom at Michael, shaking a finger at him when he looked up from his cartoons.

“I didn’t do it,” he whispered.

“Yes, again.” Sidney didn’t sound happy, either. “Just because they’re so forward thinking they can’t recognize brilliance when it’s right in front of them doesn’t mean we don’t jump through the hoop when they snap their fingers.”

“Tell them we’re out of recommendations. Tell them that was our best idea and the others were so bad we won’t even show them.” Cori stomped down the back stairs in search of a broom.

“No way. Bell-Diva’s new vice president of marketing was talking to the Parker Agency, just testing the waters, he said, but we’ll lose the account if we don’t shine, and shine brightly, in the next few months.”

“I did shine. That last press release was picked up for a segment on the Today Show. Let Adam Parker deliver that.” Collins & Co. was taking off, creating great buzz for their clients, who told others of their success. They were so busy that Cori was starting to wonder if she had any fresh ideas left. The pace had become grueling. If Sidney hadn’t taken a chance on Cori right out of college and stuck with her through the pregnancy, Cori would have moved on by now to someplace where she could be in the spotlight less and with her son more.

“I’m sure Adam Parker will promise them everything. You know him. He’d sell his mother the Brooklyn Bridge if he thought he could make a buck. Seriously, Cori, Bell-Diva is half our billings right now.”

Cori lowered her voice to a whisper. “And more than half of my headaches. I really don’t have time for this.” She knew that the deal she’d struck with Sidney to work from Sonoma was going to cause a snag or two along the way, but she hadn’t expected a problem to arise so soon. At least she could do her public relations/spokesperson job with a telephone, e-mail and fax—as long as her clients didn’t require a meeting or hold an event where her presence was mandatory.

“Nobody has time for this, but nobody knows their business better than you do.”

“And they pay their retainer on time.” Wearily, Cori beat Sidney to the punch, resigned to the fact that she was going to have to work some more today, realizing that keeping her job while helping her mother wasn’t going to be easy. Even as she thought this, several rough ideas started teasing their way through her brain. She would need to go to the store to check on some things first. She ended her call with a promise to get back to her as soon as possible.

Luke strode into the hallway, cell phone glued to his ear while he listened intently, muttering an occasional “Uh-huh.”

“Thank God, Luke. Can you stay with Mama for an hour, maybe two? I’ve got to run to the store.”

“Uh-huh,” Luke mumbled, stepping past Cori into Mama’s bedroom.



BLAKE STUCK HIS HEAD in Sophia’s open bedroom door, expecting to see Cori sitting with her. But Cori’s mother was alone.

“Where’s your posse, Sophia?” Blake tried to make light of his concern as he held back a frown.

“I’m not sure.” Sophia blinked rapidly. Midday sunlight streamed through the windows directly into her eyes. “I called…”

“She left you alone?” Arthritis kept Maria downstairs most of the time now. A second maid cleaned the upstairs twice a week. Blake wouldn’t have left Sophia for so long if he’d known Cori wasn’t going to be with her. And here he’d hoped Cori’s presence would make it possible for him to handle his full workload again.

Blake crossed the room and yanked the drapes closed.

“Cori has a little boy to take care of.” Sophia defended her daughter. Her frail hand moved slowly back and forth over the bedspread and her small feet fidgeted under the covers.

“Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?”

“Maybe some help to the ladies’ room.”

Blake’s jaw clenched as he wondered how long Sophia had been waiting. She was too weak to stand by herself without help.

Footsteps coming upstairs, along with the excited voice of a child and the crackle of bags, indicated Cori and the kid were back.

Blake’s face settled into a disapproving frown. Why would Cori leave her mother alone on her first morning back?

“I told you before, Michael, you cannot drink anything we bought today except the soda.” Cori peeked in the room and waved, her smile strained.

“I like beer. I do,” the kid whined.

Blake’s mouth fell open. The kid liked beer?

“No, Michael, you don’t.”

Although Cori lowered her voice, Blake still caught her words and her blush before she ducked out of the room.

What the hell was that all about?

Blake helped Sophia to the bathroom, then stood outside the door while she did her business. He helped her back to bed, his body rigid with tension. With her mother dying, Cori was off shopping for beer? The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. But when Blake excused himself, intending to seek out Cori to force-feed her a much-needed dose of reality, Sophia stopped him on his way to the door.

“Don’t.”

Blake tried to relax his taut features as he gazed down at the woman who’d taken him and Jennifer into her heart. Sophia Sinclair had to be one of the kindest, most generous women on earth. She deserved better treatment from her daughter.

“You need her,” he said, not even pretending to misunderstand.

“This is harder on Corinne than you think. I’ve been in her shoes, watching helplessly as my mother died. She was in school and traveling with my father when I had cancer the last time. I thought it would be easier on her.” She drew a shaky breath. “Let me decide how she helps me.”

Okay, so maybe Sophia had spotted Blake’s irritation and suspected his reaction. She always had been one sharp lady. But this was hard on everyone, and Blake wasn’t about to shelter Cori. Sophia wanted her here, so Cori needed to stay by her side and make sure Sophia was comfortable. Blake took one purposeful stride toward the hall.

“Promise you’ll let me handle Corinne.” Sophia’s soft words stopped Blake again.

He looked back at the frail, dying woman. Blake wanted to make Sophia’s last days as peaceful as possible. Allowing Cori to behave irresponsibly would make things that much more difficult for everyone, especially Sophia. She was getting weaker every day—she was nearly bed-ridden—yet all Cori seemed to see was a sick woman resting in bed.

Blake struggled with his anger for a moment before asking “Why?”

“I have my reasons.” Sophia’s eyes closed tightly as if she were fighting an unpleasant thought. “I need you to honor my request.”

“Of course,” Blake replied, yet he headed for Cori’s room, anyway. If he couldn’t explain to Cori how much help Sophia really needed, he could at least make her feel guilty for her behavior.

The door to the pink room stood open and several shopping bags littered the floor. What was all this stuff? Then Blake noticed the two six-packs of expensive, imported beer on the desk.

The kid was staring at the television while Cori opened her laptop.

“Busy morning?” Blake asked, allowing sarcasm to weigh down his words when what he really wanted to do was raise his voice and ask her what the hell she’d been doing. But a promise to Sophia was to be honored.

“We needed to buy something blue,” the kid said solemnly. He pulled a large blue pillow out of a bag, then wrestled it to the floor and flopped on top of it. “And buy some beer. Mommy buys a lot of beer.”

Blake took a deep, controlling breath and searched Cori’s features carefully. Did Cori have a drinking problem? Was that why Sophia didn’t want him to interfere?

Cori’s computer booted up with a series of beeps. Ignoring his tone, she stared at the small black machine intently, as if it might disappear if her gaze strayed. “Thank you for watching Mama. She was asleep when we left and Luke was around. Is he still here?” she asked with a nervous laugh and a quick glance up at Blake.

“He’s not here, is he. I thought for sure he’d stay.” Cori frowned. “Okay. I’ll sit with her once I send this e-mail.”

“If you’re up to it.” If she was sober. How did he know Cori hadn’t stopped off at some bar somewhere or had lunch and drinks while they were out? Blake considered asking her outright if she had a problem. He’d be right there to help her if she did. But being a Messina, she’d probably just hide the problem and refuse his help.

Cori tilted her head and regarded him carefully. “Why wouldn’t I be up to it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that you’ve always put yourself first and I can see that hasn’t changed.” Blake kept his voice low. That first summer Cori followed him everywhere during the day although she claimed to have come home from school to work. As if going out at night with her family was work. Blake gave a snort of disgust. He’d had plenty of time over the years to analyze Cori’s behavior and pinpoint her deficiencies. In spite of her warmth and vibrancy, Cori did what she wanted when she wanted.

Cori’s eyes dropped to the floor as though his words had the power to wound her. For a moment, his resolve wavered. After all, it was her mother dying down the hall.

“Go ahead and send that e-mail. I’m sure it’s real important,” he added, just to see if she really was the ice princess he’d made her out to be. If she crumpled, he’d be sorry. But not sorry enough to offer her a comforting shoulder to lean on. That route led to certain disaster, no matter how strongly it beckoned.

Cori’s eyes swept the floor, and then she gathered a shuddering breath and transformed into Mr. Messina’s granddaughter. The line of her mouth became uncharacteristically firm. Hands drew to rest on softly curved hips. Her brown eyes met his with the veneer of indifference she’d worn yesterday in the driveway.

“Yes, I was shopping. Thank you for noticing. I do all the public relations for Nightshade. Occasionally, when I’m stuck, I like to look at their packaging. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other things to do to make sure I can pay the rent this month.”

Because he was out of line, way off base and embarrassed beyond belief, Blake performed an abrupt about-face and exited the pink room. He slid the pocket door to the back stairs open on its silent coasters and retreated to the vineyards.



JENNIFER SAT IN THE public library with her best friend, Shelly Broder. They were supposed to be working on their social studies project—a report on the life of Chinese teenagers—but Jen’s stomach hurt and she found it hard to concentrate. Doodles covered her lined notebook page. She pretty much lived with a knotted stomach every day. As unobtrusively as possible, she placed a hand over the button of her jeans. The pain got worse whenever she thought about Sophia.

Shelly nudged Jen under the table and then looked pointedly toward the door of the library.

Devon Hamlisch came in with his social studies partner and closest friend, Skyler Wight. Devon was the cutest boy in junior high school, with his short dark hair, deep blue eyes and cool swagger. His smile made Jen go all fluttery inside. Not that he smiled at Jen very often.

Devon and Skyler were jocks, so they were part of the popular crowd. Playing on a school sports team practically guaranteed you were “in.” Even Flavio Martinez, who’d been the fat kid everybody picked on just last year, made the seventh-grade flag football team and was suddenly cool.

Kids like Jen and Shelly, who were too uncoordinated to be a cheerleader or play girls basketball, were stuck in the ditch of unpopularity. It didn’t help that Jen and Shelly were about as developed as a fence post. Jen was still in a training bra and she was almost thirteen years old. There was no hope of Devon Hamlisch smiling at Jen anytime soon. The social lines were clearly drawn.

Devon and Skyler walked past table after table, ever closer to Jen and Shelly. Jen couldn’t believe it. Devon Hamlisch and Skyler Wight were going to sit with them. She tried to look calm, as if popular boys walked up to her every day, but her hands began to shake and her eyes widened.

What do I say when they sit down?

Then, at the last moment, the two boys turned away and sat at the table next to them, where Veronica Anderson and Kitten Alley had been giggling for an hour. Jen should have known. Ronnie and Kitten were both cheerleaders. They wore stylish low-waisted jeans and tight sweaters that hugged their small breasts. Jen hoped they’d get an F on their social studies assignment.

“We’re such dorks,” Shelly whispered, obviously having been caught in the same fantasy as Jen.

Jen nodded her head in miserable agreement and pretended to return her attention to the book in front of her. No matter how hard she tried, the words weren’t sinking in. She didn’t want to let Shelly down, but Jen just couldn’t seem to focus lately.

A few minutes later, Shelly nudged Jen and motioned almost frantically for her to look toward Devon’s table.

Devon leaned back into his chair, a thin strand of pink gum linking his mouth to Ronnie’s. The gum stretched too far and broke apart, hanging like two lizards’ tongues from each of their mouths. Devon, Ronnie and Kittie dissolved into near-silent laughter.

The librarian stared menacingly from her post behind the desk. Skyler glanced at Jen and shrugged almost apologetically, his fingers fanning the pages of his book.

“Oh. My. God. That’s disgusting,” Shelly whispered, pulling Jen’s attention back to her own table.

It was the grossest thing Jen had ever seen in her life. And yet she yearned with all of her adolescent being to trade places with Ronnie.

“Let’s go. Blake should be outside.” Jen closed her notebook. She didn’t think she’d ever felt like such an outsider. She wanted to go home and play her music really loud. At least while she sang alone in her room, she felt like she belonged somewhere.

The two girls walked out of the library, hugging their notebooks to their slim chests as if the bound paper could hide the fact that they lacked cleavage. Sometimes Jen thought her plain brown hair, gray eyes and pale skin made her invisible, like a ghost to boys like Devon.

Jen stepped out of the library first and skipped down the steps with Shelly right behind her, anticipating Blake pulling up in his new, shiny black pickup truck. At least her brother had the decency to own such a smooth vehicle. He wasn’t so bad. Some of her friends even thought he was cute. Maybe Devon would come outside and see Jen get into the truck. Jen smiled, imagining Devon salivating over her cool ride.

A faded, dented truck that looked a lot like their old one pulled up to the curb. It even sported a big gray spot of primer in the back. Thank heavens Jennifer knew Blake never drove the old wreck anymore outside of the vineyard. That was the last thing she needed tonight.

The driver honked just as Jennifer was halfway down the steps. Jen’s feet planted themselves so quickly that Shelly bumped into her from behind, sending Jen’s notebook flying from suddenly limp arms. Papers scattered everywhere.

It was their old truck. What was her brother doing driving that piece of junk?

Shelly and Jen scrambled to pick up the papers. Jen needed to leave quickly before anybody spotted her in that pickup. Blake was such a geek. Why was he doing this to her?

Jen chased her math homework as it danced up the steps on a breeze. She had almost reached it when Devon Hamlisch bent in front of her and picked it up. He handed it to Jen with a casual toss of his beautiful head and a smooth “Hey.”

“Thanks,” Jennifer managed to choke out. Devon Hamlisch had picked up her math homework. She’d tuck it under her pillow and never turn it in.

Blake revved the truck. Jen knew he had to keep the idle running fast or the engine would die.

“Is that your ride?” Ronnie asked, her voice rich with derision.

Jen cringed in horror. She hadn’t noticed the others come outside. She’d only had eyes for Devon. Jen’s face flamed with heat and she was grateful for the darkness. With her light coloring, she couldn’t hide even the barest blush.

Jen managed a weak excuse. “It’s our work truck.”

“Farm workers.” Kitty sniffed scornfully, looking away.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard one that loud.” Ronnie wrinkled her nose.

“It sounds cool,” Skyler offered, as Blake gunned the engine again.

Jen thought she’d pass out. Skyler Wight was sticking up for her against the most popular girl in school?

“Definitely not. God, can you smell the fumes from that thing?” Ronnie cocked her hip and rested her fist on it. The pose threw out her A-cup cleavage, making Jen feel even more like a loser. Jen wanted to melt into a puddle so that Ronnie could more easily stomp all over her.

“I gotta go,” Jen said, escaping down the steps. She tried to walk normally, but too much adrenaline coursed through her legs, making her hips sway almost uncontrollably.

Shelly waited for her at the bottom of the steps. “Skyler Wight talked to you.”

Jen dragged her friend toward the truck, opened the door and pushed Shelly in next to Blake.

Jen hopped in and slammed the old metal door.

Blake shifted the truck into gear. Predictably, it died.

“Satisfied?” Jen sniped at her lame brother, willing her eyes away from the snickering group in front of the library. If there was such a thing as dorkdom, Jen was in it.



BLAKE TOOK A SWIG OF BEER and put the cold bottle to his forehead. He’d needed something stronger than chocolate tonight. Things weren’t getting any better. Jennifer had cried silently in the truck after they’d dropped Shelly off. He realized now that driving the old truck into town was a mistake. Given that he and Cori used to sit in it and talk for hours when it got too cold to sit outside by the river, and had almost made love on the bench seat of that old pickup, he’d wanted to flaunt it in Cori’s face. Kind of like saying “I don’t think of you every time I slide behind the wheel.” What a lie that was. Look where that smart move got him. Cori had never even seen him driving the truck. Instead of making sure Cori realized he was over her, he’d crushed his teenage sister’s fragile ego.

Muted sports scores buzzed irritatingly on the television. Blake switched to the weather channel and turned down the sound. Upstairs, one of Jen’s favorite songs about being misunderstood ended. There was a brief respite before, predictably, the same song started again.

Blake stared down at the book filled with parental advice on his lap, unable to concentrate on the words. His own teenage years had been relatively happy ones. Blake was sure he hadn’t given Kevin Austin, his adopted father, as many headaches or near-ulcer episodes as Jennifer was giving him. What was he doing wrong?

The music started again. The haunting melody tugged at Blake’s floundering spirits and jolted him out of his seat.



SALVATORE STARED BLINDLY at the figures in front of him, while he tried to gather the strength to go upstairs. The trip was a double agony at the end of the day now. His hips ached all the time. It hurt to walk, much less climb, the tall, sweeping staircase he’d been so proud of when he’d approved the architectural plans years ago. Once on the second floor, Salvatore could barely bring himself to look at the wan face of his dying daughter. How could God be so cruel as to take his two most precious gems early—his beloved Anna and now their precious Sophia? Both victims of breast cancer.

With hands on each chair arm, Salvatore pushed himself painfully to his feet. It was becoming harder to keep his torment hidden. Yet, how could he complain when his daughter suffered with such grace? If only the doctors had been able to save her. Salvatore’s own doctor wanted him to undergo double hip replacement surgery. Salvatore couldn’t afford the two-month recovery period. He was risking quite a bit on the international introduction of his wines and needed to stay sharply focused.

He moved with deliberate steps toward the office door and the dreaded staircase, toward the light of his life, Sophia. And his pills. He’d spend fifteen minutes with Sophia. Then, he’d swallow one of those chalky pills and fifteen minutes later he’d feel relief. He told himself he only needed to endure the pain for another half hour. He could take it. He was a Messina.

It had cost him all his energy to hold things together when Anna died nearly twenty years ago. Salvatore would have lost his sanity and his business many times over if not for Sophia. With her brilliant smile, endless energy and quiet dignity, Sophia stepped into the social role created by her mother. A man couldn’t ask for a better daughter. What was he to do now? Lucas held other priorities and Corinne was not an option. It was unfortunate that she’d been unable to break the chain of illegitimacy that seemed to plague the Messinas. At least she was making a name for herself in the public relations world. Salvatore tried to discreetly keep track of her career, in case she needed his help.

He reached the staircase and had started grimly up when he recalled Corinne’s lack of respect at dinner last night. Clearly, she was raising that boy all wrong. Salvatore should have stepped in before this and provided the firm guidance the child so obviously needed. Refusing to eat dinner and asking, right there in the dining room, for fast food! It was inconceivable that the boy shared the same blood as Salvatore.

Halfway to the top. Sixteen more steps to go. The pain in his hips radiated up his backbone. Salvatore clenched his teeth and concentrated on his frustrating thoughts.

It wasn’t like the old days when children didn’t dare talk back to their elders. No. The old days were different. Children and grandchildren obeyed their patriarch, were silent when receiving their comeuppance and then did what the patriarch thought was best for the family. And heaven help the person that wronged the family.

The caustic words of Francesca Camilletti, his wife’s sister, echoed as sharply as if she were beside him today rather than fifty-some-odd years ago. “The Messinas are cursed with wine-making talent in America, a land that doesn’t appreciate wine. They’ll work their fingers to the bone and still be poor and unhappy. Don’t go, Anna. He’s a failure. He’ll ruin your life.” She’d spit out those words of bitter advice to Anna on the New Jersey train platform, as she, Salvatore and Sophia, just a baby with wisps of silky black hair and sparkling brown eyes, were about to board the train to California. Francesca already believed Salvatore Messina had ruined her sister’s life by getting her pregnant before they were married. Taking her away from the family was almost a worse sin.

Salvatore had known that if he and Anna stayed in New Jersey, Francesca would have made Salvatore’s life a living hell. As luck would have it, Anna wanted to break free of her family’s influence and her sister’s suffocating love.

Anna had kissed her sister’s cheek, told her she’d write, and then slipped her delicate hand into Salvatore’s, her dark eyes radiating trust and love. Salvatore knew then that he’d have to make something of himself to validate the love Anna blessed him with. Come hell or high water, Messina Vineyards would grow and succeed, outliving them all and proving Francesca Camilletti wrong.

He paused to catch his breath, wondering for the first time if his desire to punish the man responsible for Cori’s pregnancy was in any way similar to Francesca’s irrational vendetta against him, which had lasted until the day she died. He frowned, unhappy with the notion, and shoved the thought aside. More pressing matters required his attention.

Salvatore stepped heavily onto the second-floor landing. Thankfully, Sophia’s room was just at the top of the stairs. After a few shuffling steps, he swung Sophia’s door open, leaning some of his weight on the door handle.

“Do you need anything, Mama?” Cori asked.

“No, thank you.”

Corinne. Salvatore wanted to spin around and come back later. But any quick move would send him tumbling to the floor.

Sophia’s gaze settled upon him. Even in the dim light, he could tell Sophia wasn’t comfortable. He moved resolutely forward, intent on easing things for his daughter in any way possible.

From her perch on the bed, Corinne turned and stiffened when she saw him. She wore faded jeans and a sweatshirt. Without makeup, she looked barely seventeen. To her credit, Corinne didn’t shrink away when her eyes met his, but there was no mistaking the unwelcoming expression on her face. A part of Salvatore preened with pride at her strength. Simultaneously, the voices of his Italian ancestors railed against her open disrespect. Not that any of that mattered at the moment. Sophia needed him.

Salvatore made every effort to move his legs smoothly under two pairs of dark, watchful eyes. With luck, Sophia’s pain medication and Corinne’s contempt would cloud their perceptive powers.

“It’s time you retired, Corinne.” He stopped in front of the two women. This close, he could see Sophia’s pinched features. Yes, something was definitely wrong.

Eyes flashing, Corinne straightened her spine and opened her mouth, only to be cut off by her mother.

“Yes, dear. It’s getting late. Why don’t you go to bed? I’m sure my grandson is an early riser.”

Corinne wasn’t quick enough to hide the hurt in her eyes at her dismissal, but she didn’t fight. She gave Sophia a small smile and a quick kiss on the cheek, then bid her mother good-night.

Salvatore didn’t receive as much as a glance from his granddaughter.

When he heard the door close behind him, Salvatore reached for his daughter’s delicate hand. He longed to sit next to her on the bed, but doubted he could stand back up without giving away his weakness.

“Tell me what you need, cara.”



IT WASN’T UNTIL BLAKE stood outside the kitchen door of the main house that he realized where he’d been heading. A soft glow through the kitchen windows lit the night. A shadow too large to be Cori moved past one window toward the refrigerator.

Suppressing his disappointment, Blake climbed the two steps to the door and entered without knocking. He didn’t want to see Cori, anyway, not after the way he’d humiliated himself that morning.

“Beer or wine?” Luke asked, not at all surprised to see Blake at this hour. Both were night owls. Many a late night they’d shared a drink in this kitchen, illuminated, as they were now, by the light above the stove.

“Beer.” Blake didn’t equate drowning his sorrows with wine. He was one beer down already and could use at least one more to numb the feelings of helplessness he confronted in almost every aspect of his life. Blake slouched into a wooden kitchen chair and stretched out his legs. “Any reason the lights aren’t on?”

Without getting up, Luke reached into the refrigerator to get a bottle, then slid the beer across the table to him. Blake opened the bottle before he realized it was the same brand Cori had purchased earlier. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a swig. It wasn’t anything special.

“Seemed the right thing to do at the time,” Luke said, shrugging.

“You okay?” Blake uncapped his beer and took a sip. They drank for a few minutes in silence. Luke was a true Messina. Catch him in any social situation with any mix of people and he would fit right in, setting others at ease and never missing a conversational beat. As with the other Messinas, when you got too personal or they didn’t want to tell you something, he shut down. It was one of the reasons Blake would never be one of them. After nearly six years of evolving friendship, they had never let him get that close.

“Have you seen Sophia tonight?” Blake asked.

“Briefly. Cori’s been up there.”

“And you can’t be up there with her?” That seemed odd.

Luke shrugged again. “My grandfather heads up about now and he wants time alone with her, too.”

“So you file in one by one? Is there a time limit?”

Luke rubbed the skin below his eyes, shadowed from the dim lighting, lack of sleep, or both. “It’s…odd.” He shook his head. “It was easier when we were younger. Before…” The Messina response kicked in and Luke went mute.

Blake waited a full five seconds before filling in Luke’s thought. “Before Cori left?”

Luke didn’t answer verbally, just gave his beer a rueful half smile.



AFTER CHECKING TO MAKE sure that Michael still snoozed peacefully in his sleeping bag on the floor of the pink room, Cori took the back stairs to the kitchen in search of a drink.

Maybe she should have been trying to make up with her grandfather instead of avoiding him these past few days. She’d been dismissed, as if she were a child of twelve, not twenty-five, a mother with a career and responsibilities. Everyone in the Messina household treated her as if she needed to be protected and couldn’t make contributions of her own.

Some things never changed.

It was as if her own family was fooled into believing she was nothing more than the polished facade they’d created. As if they’d forgotten she’d been charming businessmen and politicians at the finest of restaurants in San Francisco while other girls were playing with Barbies. As if they assumed she didn’t know the difference between a Chardonnay and a Zinfandel vine. As if grape growing, wine-making and business acumen didn’t flow in her veins.

Now, if she’d been a man…

She trotted down the steps in the dim stairway, unhappy with the familiar train of thought. Cori hated those mental “what if” games, but couldn’t always stop playing. She stepped into the large kitchen before her mind registered that she wasn’t alone.

Luke and Blake sat at the kitchen table in the semidarkness, each nursing a beer. Nightshades.

“Hey, Sis.” Luke greeted her. “Everything okay upstairs?”

Blake took a drink from his beer, gray eyes regarding her sharply. Cori felt his disapproval target her as clearly as if he’d spoken. She should be the one sending him dark glances. He’d accused her of being selfish today, hinted that she might have a drinking problem.

As if she had time to drink in her hectic everyday life.

“Grandfather is with her now.” Cori looked away and crossed the black marble to the refrigerator. They both wanted news about Mama. Cori didn’t want to talk. She’d get a beer and take it out by the pool so she could wallow in self-pity in private.

Chrome-plated, the refrigerator was twice as large as hers at home. Cori practically stepped into it to escape from view. Somewhere in this cavernous thing there had to be a beer. She’d put in four earlier, saving the rest for PR inspiration. She poked around until she found one long-necked brown bottle that had somehow managed to get shoved behind everything else.

Luke stood as Cori clutched her prize. “I’ll go up and say good night.”

Cori nodded, practically charging for the back door before Blake had time to say anything to her.

The fifty-degree air welcomed her back to Northern California, just as Cori’s bare feet reminded her it was only February. Still, she wore blue jeans and a sweatshirt. Compared to the alternative of going back into the kitchen with Blake, she had no choice but to stay outside. On the bright side, her beer wouldn’t become warm before she finished it.




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