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The kitchen, Simone’s pride and joy, obviously, was equipped with everything a chef could want—durable and reliable cookware, lots of counter space, a double oven, and a restaurant-size Sub-Zero refrigerator.
Sara walked over to the stove and lifted the lid on the Dutch oven. The aroma of stewed chicken made her mouth water. There was something very appealing about a man who could cook. She supposed some of his mother’s culinary talent had rubbed off on him. Come to think of it, his brother was a chef, too.
She went and got a fork from the cutlery drawer and dipped into the stewed chicken, spearing a nice chunk. She closed the lid and blew on the steaming treat.
Jason came into the kitchen just as she was putting it in her mouth.
“Caught you!” he said, laughing. “A little hungry, are you?” He had put on a long-sleeve shirt, a denim jacket and his brown leather boots.
Chewing, Sara said, “It smelled so good, I couldn’t resist.”
Being the gentleman he was, Jason offered to forgo the ride and feed her instead.
“No, no,” she cried. “I’m looking forward to our ride.”
A few minutes later, Sara was sitting astride Indigo behind Jason with her arms wrapped around him. They were riding through the vineyards, which were bathed in moonlight.
Indigo’s gait was slow enough so that they could talk comfortably.
“These grapes are going to become what kind of wine, again?” she asked. She was woefully ignorant about the wine business but was willing to learn.
“Zinfandel,” Jason told her.
“That’s a red wine, right?”
“Right, red or rosé, which is a light red.”
“How old were you when you had your first glass of wine?”
“Five or six,” Jason told her. “Every Christmas we were permitted one glass, up until we were eighteen, at which time we were considered old enough to determine how many glasses we wanted and when we wanted to drink them. Of course, when we were kids the Christmas glass of wine was perhaps only large enough to hold half an ounce. And the moderation with which our parents treated wine made all of us into near teetotalers. None of us will have more than a glass of wine with dinner to this day.”
The side of Sara’s face was pressed to his back and his voice vibrated in her ear. She liked the sound of it. “Are you glad you came back home?”
She’d never asked him that question. She was afraid he would say he wasn’t happy here. She closed her eyes and hoped for a positive reply.
“I’m happier than I ever thought I could be,” he said without hesitation. “I told you how I mentally fought against going into the family business?”
“Yes, you said you didn’t want to be like your father, so you excelled in school and became a lawyer, a profession so removed from being a gentleman farmer, as you like to think of your father, that no one in the family would ever presume to ask you to take over.”
She laughed when she was finished.
“What’s so funny?” Jason wanted to know.
“Then, your sister came along and talked you into it.”
Jason didn’t want to tell Sara that she had also been a determining factor in his decision to come back home. He was already smitten with her at the time and wanted to get to know her better.
“I was unhappy being a divorce lawyer, too. I was tired of seeing so many marriages go up in smoke.”
“You don’t miss being a lawyer at all?” Sara asked, incredulous.
“Nah, I had my fill. Now that I look back I realize I was just running from the inevitable. I belong here. This place is in my blood, no matter how hard I try to deny it.”
Sara hugged him tighter and with a broad smile on her face, sighed happily.
“Does that make you happy?” Jason asked.
“Yes, it does. I’m glad you love it here. So do I. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”
“After living in New York City?”
“I love New York. I always will. But Glen Ellen is home. After Mom died and Dad moved to Florida to live with Uncle Ed, I didn’t even think of selling the family home and moving away.”
“I’m grateful you didn’t.”
“There are not that many black folks left.”
“There weren’t that many to begin with,” Jason said. “According to the African-American historian on this area, my mom, the Bryants were the first blacks to live here. And it was lots of years before anyone else black moved here.”
“My mom and dad came in the late seventies when Mom inherited a lot of money and bought property here. She was the one who loved farming, not Dad. When she died he couldn’t go on without her. Yeah, this is definitely a lonely place for black folks,” said Sara. “I bet there aren’t twenty African-Americans living in this area. The high school kids have to go to Santa Rosa to attend school, and last I heard Claude and Rosaura’s two kids were the only black students at the elementary school.”
“But Santa Rosa’s not that far away, and it has a sizable African-American community. We’re not that isolated from our culture,” Jason said reasonably.
“Hasn’t that always been the place to go when you wanted soul food, or had to get your hair cut, or your hair styled? Or actually wanted to date a sister or a brother? I didn’t date anybody from here when I was in high school.”
“I know. The first guy who kissed you came from Santa Rosa. I remember Kyle Bailey, that little pipsqueak, he was two grades behind me.”
“That little pipsqueak shot up several inches over the summer of his junior year and led the basketball team to the state finals his senior year. For a hot minute I was the most popular girl in school because he was my boyfriend. Then, he dropped me for Susie Kent, and my moment of fame fizzled so quickly it made my head spin.”
She laughed at the memory now, but back then, like most sixteen-year-old girls would have been, she was devastated. She’d wound up going to the senior prom with her father. Her mom had insisted that she would regret it if she did not go. She’d been right.
Her father, a big, handsome brown-skinned man made the girls swoon with envy. Some of them had even asked him to dance with them, but he told them his dance card was filled. He and Sara danced every dance together.
That still was her favorite memory of her father.
“Where is he now?” Jason asked of Kyle Bailey. “I’ll go kick his butt right now.”
Laughing, Sara said. “Forget it. Last I heard, he was happily married with a houseful of kids. More power to him.”
“Did he marry Susie Kent?”
“No, she married a pro basketball player, got divorced two years later, married another jock, divorced him and decided to give marriage a rest for a while. I saw her at our tenth-year class reunion. She said she owned a boutique in San Francisco. Her divorce settlements had left her pretty wealthy, so she didn’t need to work but liked to stay busy.”
Jason chuckled. “You believed that?”
“The point is, she did,” Sara told him. “I had no way of knowing if she was telling the truth or not, but I hoped that she was happy. She had this kind of desperate look in her eyes that made me wish for something good to happen to her. That was two years after Billy died, so I wasn’t in the best mental health myself.”
In the beginning of their relationship, Jason had tensed up whenever she mentioned Billy Minton, but now, after learning how good he had been to Sara he no longer felt uneasy listening to her talk about him. He was sure that if he had met Billy he would have liked him. He was glad that Sara had had a good marriage.
He’d known too many women who felt that they had been damaged by their marriages. He had represented some of them.
Thinking about Billy sometimes put Sara in a melancholy mood, though. In fact, he felt her slump against him now, a sure sign that a blue mood was building. He quickly changed the subject. “Guess who sends you his regards?”
She sat up straighter, her curiosity engaged. “Idris Elba?”
Now, that irked him. Elba was Sara’s favorite actor of the moment. No, not just her favorite actor. He was convinced that the British actor lived in her sexual fantasies.
He chuckled. “No, and if he called I wouldn’t give you the message. So quit hoping. No, your secret admirer is your former tormentor, Erik Sutherland. I saw him in the supermarket this afternoon.”
“What do you mean by secret admirer? I haven’t even seen him since I moved back.”
“He said you’d really blossomed. He called you pretty.”
“That makes my skin crawl. Where could he have seen me and I wasn’t aware of being seen by him?”
“That’s another mystery,” Jason said. “Anyway, he seems to regret his past behavior towards you and said that God was punishing him for it by allowing his own daughter, who happens to be a little overweight, to be picked on by kids at school.”
“I know Melissa,” Sara said sympathetically. “She’s a sweet girl. She’s grown attached to Frannie who thinks she’s a work of art in progress.”
“There’s another mystery,” Jason said. “Your friend, Frannie Anise. Doesn’t it strike you as unusual that when you left New York she quit her job and followed you to California? That’s not something most girlfriends would do, not even best friends.”
“Northern California is home for her, too. I told you, she grew up in San Francisco. Her parents still live there. It wasn’t such a stretch for her to move back here.”
“Are you sure she’s not in love with you?” Jason asked seriously.
“Frannie’s not gay.”
“I’ve never seen her with a guy.”
“You’ve got a suspicious mind.”
“It’s one of my many faults,” Jason admitted. “I wonder about those trips you take. I wonder about those women who work in the bookstore for short periods of time and then disappear as if they never existed. I’m wondering when the new woman, who I think is from South Africa, will disappear. I have questions that need answers, and you have all the answers and won’t give them to me. Excuse me if I’m suspicious.”
“I understand how you feel.”
“But you have no answers.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“That’s what I thought.” He made a noise with his tongue, a signal for Indigo to break into a canter. The big stallion seemed to have been waiting to stretch his strong legs and for the next twenty minutes he got a good workout while his riders clung to each other in silence.
Later, as they slowly rode into the yard, Jason said, “I’ll take care of Indigo. You can go on inside, I know you must be tired.”
“No, I’m not tired at all. I’d like to help.”
In the barn, after Jason had removed Indigo’s bit, stirrups and saddle, Sara gently wiped the sweat off him with a soft cloth used specifically for that purpose. Afterward, they took turns brushing him down.
Finished, Sara patted his strong neck. “Good night, handsome.”
They left him in his clean stall where he had fresh oats and water.
Silently, they walked to the house from the barn. The full moon illuminated their path. Even if there had been no moon tonight, there were security lights at the top corners of the back of the barn and at strategic points around the house.
Jason was in a pensive mood. Everything about Sara, lately, was a mystery. She seemed to delight in helping him rub down Indigo moments ago. Last year, she’d gone into the vineyards and helped with the harvest, working as hard as anyone else.
It was obvious that she knew what becoming a vintner’s wife would entail. It also appeared as if she would welcome that kind of life. Therefore it continued to puzzle him as to why she’d turned down his proposal. He was irritated with himself to still be dwelling on it, but he couldn’t help himself.
He would have to change his way of thinking. He was basically a future-focused person. The present concerned him only for its momentary pleasures. He looked at life as in constant flux, and unless you planned for the future, you would be caught unawares.
He didn’t like surprises. He knew that it was impossible to predict the future. But those who prepared for it were better equipped to cope with unpleasant surprises. In his future-focused mind he saw himself and Sara together. He had been seeing himself and Sara together ever since that night he had kissed her in the wine cellar during Erica and Joshua’s wedding reception here at the winery.
Once in the house, they went to separate bathrooms and freshened up before dinner.
They dined in the kitchen, talking and laughing about their day.
It was mid-October, the start of the rainy season, and Sara told him that several of the ladies who had come into the store that day had mentioned someone had told them that El Niño would cause severe climate upheavals this year. “We could have floods and maybe even a tsunami, they said.”
“You’re not listening to the rumor mill, are you?” Jason asked with a skeptical laugh. “Every year, somebody predicts the end of the world, and all we get here is a little rain from November to December. The same thing will happen this year. Nothing’s changed in this area in a long time. We’re blessed with a wonderful weather system.”
“Yeah, but what if they’re right this year? What would flooding do to the vines?”
“There would be destruction of Biblical proportions,” Jason joked.
“Okay, drop it,” Sara said, laughing softly. “I can see you think my patrons are a bunch of lunatics.”
“Just tell me this, was one of the doomsayers Mrs. McClarin?”
Sara nodded in the affirmative as she forked more of the delicious stewed chicken into her mouth. She narrowed her eyes at him. What could he have against dear sweet Mrs. McClarin? Mrs. Mac, as the kids had referred to her, had been her fourth-grade English teacher. She had retired twenty years ago but her mind was as sharp as ever.
“It was Mrs. McClarin who said she saw Big Foot eating out of the garbage can in her backyard last year. Pete Baumgartner told me about it.”
Pete was the local sheriff’s deputy.
“Yeah, well, Pete Baumgartner got a D in her fourth-grade English class and he’s had it in for her ever since. Maybe she did see Big Foot eating out of her trash can.”
Jason threw his head back in laughter.
Sara loved seeing him like this, with his guard down and supremely relaxed.
Those whiskey-colored eyes of his were so enticing at these moments. But it was his mouth that had been her undoing from the beginning of their relationship. She couldn’t look at it with its sensual lines without wanting to know how it would feel to be kissed by him. Once her lips had touched his she couldn’t resist wanting to kiss him again and again. Just the thought of kissing him aroused her.
His laughter under control, he met her eyes across the table. Placing his knife and fork in his plate, he wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, dropped it onto the plate, and got to his feet. “Are you finished?” he asked softly.
Sara tipped her head back slightly in order not to break eye contact. “Yes.”
The pulse in her neck thumped excitedly. She’d already put her utensils and napkin in her plate. Now, she sat there almost primly, looking up at him.
They had not made love in more than two weeks. Ever since the night he’d proposed. Unfortunately, all of their present problems stemmed from that night. If he wanted her again maybe he had decided to forgive her for turning him down.
Jason went to her and held out his hand to her. Sara placed it in his and he slowly drew her to her feet and pulled her into his arms. She tipped her head back, anticipating his kiss.
She closed her eyes as his face descended toward hers but quickly opened them again when she felt his lips on her forehead instead of on her mouth.
Jason smiled warmly at her as he straightened up. “It’s getting late, and we both have to get up early. I’ll walk you to your car.”
Sara schooled her features. She would not let him see how much his rejection had wounded her. If emotional detachment were his objective she would show him how it was done.
“You’re so right,” she said, her tone eminently reasonable. “I’ll just get my jacket.” She hadn’t bothered to bring her shoulder bag inside. It was locked in the car. Her car keys were in the pocket of her jacket.
He was still holding her by the arms. She turned her back to him, breaking his hold. Walking to the coat tree near the back door, she grabbed her jacket and put it on.
They walked side by side through the house to the front door where Jason opened the door for her and followed her outside. Sara peered up at the sky once they had descended the steps that led to the stone circular driveway.
“Thanks for a lovely evening,” she said when they were standing in front of the Mustang. The tension between them was palpable. Sara fought the urge to throw herself into his arms and beg him to forgive her.
Jason didn’t dare touch her again because he was on fire with the desire to make love to her. He was only a man. But he had his pride. He wouldn’t make love to a woman who didn’t love him enough to marry him. He’d said he was easy, but he wasn’t stupid. This was a war of wills and he was going to be the victor. No. He didn’t want her to come crawling back to him, begging him to forgive her. But even if he had to take cold showers every night and run ten miles each day, he would not take her to bed until this matter was settled between them.
And the only way that was going to happen was if she said yes to his proposal.
That was his final decision.
However, as he gazed into her upturned face, her almond-shaped eyes golden in the bright moonlight, and her mouth looking especially inviting, he knew he was going to suffer mightily for his convictions.
Sara had been watching him while he wrestled with his thoughts. She could guess what was going on behind those hooded eyes of his, and she didn’t doubt for a moment that she would emerge victorious in this test of wills.
But just so he knew what he was fighting for, she tiptoed, grabbed him and kissed him soundly. Jason, caught off guard, thought of breaking it off but her mouth felt so good on his he immediately capitulated.
He held her firmly against him. Her arms went around his neck. His hands molded her shapely body to his, moving downward until they rested on her firm buttocks. Their bodies pressed closer together as they hungrily sought the temporary satisfaction a kiss afforded. As soon as Sara felt his manhood growing hard against her belly, she withdrew her tongue from his mouth and disengaged herself from his embrace. “I’d better go. Don’t want to keep you from your bed.”
She jerked her arm out of his grasp, and reached for the door’s handle.
Jason calmly stepped aside and let her get behind the wheel of the Mustang.
“I know that it seems like I’m sending mixed signals, Sara,” he said, “but I’m having a hard time knowing exactly how to handle this situation. Do we go on as if nothing has happened between us and continue making love? Or would it be better to call a moratorium on sex until we know where we’re going? I don’t know the best course so I’m winging it.”
“Let’s just agree on the last choice, all right?” Sara said as she started the car. “It might do us both good to be celibate for a while. But don’t play with me, Jason. I didn’t turn down your proposal because I wanted to hurt you. I had a very good reason for doing it. I can’t tell you that reason right now. No amount of psychological blackmail on your part is going to get your answers any quicker. Believe it or not I’m trying to do the honorable thing here.”
Jason was shaking his head in the negative. “You’re killing me with all this secretive crap. If you trusted me, you would be able to tell me anything. If you don’t trust me, then you don’t love me. It’s as simple as that.”
“Nothing’s as simple as that!” Sara cried. “The fact is, Jason Bryant, you’re a spoiled brat who doesn’t really know how the world works. You think you’re sophisticated because you were a hotshot attorney and therefore you’ve seen it all. But, believe me, you need years of maturing before you’ll be truly enlightened. Good night!”
With that, she put the car in Drive, hit the accelerator, and sped out of his driveway.
Chapter 4
“Sara, darn it, slow down. What is the matter with you this morning? You know I don’t have the legs of a gazelle, like you do. Mine are more like a Dachshund’s!” Frannie protested as they set off on their jog the next morning.
Sara ran in place a few seconds while Frannie caught up with her. She smiled at the comical sight Frannie made with her abundance of black frizzy hair done up on top of her head. She resembled one of those toy trolls people liked to keep on their desks.
“Nothing’s the matter with me,” she said. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“You’re running as if the hounds of hell are after you,” Frannie told her. Beside Sara now, she peered up into her face. “And you have that ‘don’t mess with me’ glint in your eye. You’re mad at somebody. How many guesses do I get? Oh, wait a minute, I don’t need to guess. It’s Jason, isn’t it?”
Sara picked up her pace again.
Frannie ran harder to keep up. “Okay, okay, I get the message. You don’t want to talk about it. Even though it would help to talk about it. My mother says a friendly ear is worth more than a year on a psychiatrist’s couch.”
“Your mother’s a psychiatrist!”
“Yeah, but she’s an ethical psychiatrist. If she thinks a patient is better served by simply talking to a good friend, she’ll tell them to save their money.”
“That’s ethical, all right,” Sara agreed, laughing. She slowed down. “Okay. Yesterday he came into my office all sweetness and light, talking about how he’s easy and he’s willing to wait for me. He invited me to dinner, with the promise of more afterward.”
“More of what?” Frannie asked, her delicate brows arched in curiosity.
“Do you want to hear this, or not?”
“Just wondered what made you think he was suggesting sex later on? After all, you two haven’t been together in that way since he proposed, right?”
“I really do tell you too much about my personal life.”
“You know I live vicariously through you. So don’t stop the supply now that I’m hopelessly hooked.”
Sara laughed. “I could tell there was the promise of more because of his body language. We were affectionate at the office, very affectionate, almost to the point of having sex on the desk.”
“It has been awhile, huh?”
“Exactly. We hadn’t kissed like that since before the proposal. Of course I would think that he’d decided to give me the benefit of the doubt and resume our physical relationship!”
“I see your point.”
“Thank you!” Sara took a deep breath and continued. “But later that night, after dinner, he got up and made a move on me so similar to his old self just before he used to jump my bones, that I got all hot and bothered. He went to kiss me. I closed my eyes, and what do you suppose happened then? He kissed me on the forehead as if I was his baby daughter whom he was kissing good-night! Then, he said it was getting late and he would walk me to my car.”
“After making like Valentino?”
“Yeah, girl, had me about to pant like a dog.”
“The scum!”
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
“Oh, he’s definitely still mad at you,” was Frannie’s considered opinion.
“I know.”
“You’re doing all you can,” Frannie said sympathetically. “You wouldn’t have accepted your last assignment if you had known he was going to propose. But Elizabeth was already under our protection before he popped the question.”
“Bad timing.”
Frannie nodded her agreement, her frizzy hair bobbing up and down. “You’re making a huge sacrifice for that schlimazel.”
“What does that mean in English again?” Frannie was always tossing out a Yiddish word or two that Sara had to have translated.
“It means someone who’s prone to mistakes or plagued with bad luck.”
“It was all just bad luck when he proposed. I was so ready to say yes, I could taste it. But I couldn’t because Elizabeth needs us.”