A Fine Year for Love. Catherine Lanigan

him of going back to her vines, she spun around, her eyes tracking from one end of the vineyard to the other. He hadn’t had enough time to go very far.

      She hurried around the corner of the tasting room and glanced up at the big white farmhouse with its wraparound porch. Climbing the three front steps to the beveled glass Victorian door was Gabe, a bouquet of flowers in his right hand.

      “I’m not up there,” Liz shouted.

      Gabe turned around as Liz marched forward.

      “Hi,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “You’re not armed this time, are you? Concealed .38? Maybe a poison dart in your clog?”

      “Very funny,” she growled, gesturing at the flowers. “Those for my compost pile?”

      “Uh, sure. You can do whatever you want with them.”

      “Hmm.” She eyed the flowers and the cellophane sleeve around them. It still had the price tag on it. “Get those at the grocery store, did you?”

      “Actually, yes. That’s where the closest florist was,” he said weakly. He thrust the flowers at her. “Please accept my apology.”

      “Why don’t you just tell me the truth, Gabe. I won’t bite.”

      “Ha! You’re just saying that because you aren’t toting—at the moment.”

      “No, Gabe. I do want the truth,” she replied earnestly, taking the bouquet.

      “I did tell you the truth. I needed some soil samples from your vineyard. I heard you were going to try to make real champagne out here. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t think we had the soil for that.”

      “How did you hear that?” she asked, trailing off as she realized the answer. “From Nate?”

      “Yeah. Don’t be mad at Maddie—she just let it slip. Nate swore me to secrecy. I haven’t told a soul.” He crossed his heart.

      Liz shifted her weight and put her hand on her hip. “But that information intrigued you so much you snuck out here on a Saturday when you knew no one would be in the vineyard. And then you tried to take my dirt. Why?”

      “I’m insatiably curious. I’ve studied pedology and agricultural soil science since college. I’m fascinated when a new pioneer hits the scene. Like you.”

      “A pioneer? Some would call me a fool.” She snorted derisively.

      “Not me. I think you may be the real genius.”

      Liz drew in a breath and paused. She stared at him for a long moment. Louisa was right. He was really handsome, and it was her bet those good looks had gotten him out of many tight spots. She frowned. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, Gabe. I’m not buying it. There’s more here than your curiosity over what could have been idle gossip.”

      “Not if you confirm what I heard. Are you making champagne out of vines you brought back from France?”

      She knew she shouldn’t confirm even one iota of a fact for him. But if she didn’t, she might not ever learn the real reason for his trespassing.

      “Yes. I am.”

      “No kidding?” A smile broke across his face and he slapped his thigh as he looked across at the rows of chardonnay vines. His smile dropped off his face in an instant. “How good is it?”

      “I don’t know yet. Last fall’s harvest was adequate. My chef de cave, Louisa, has riddled some bottles. They have to age another ten months or so before we try the first bottle.”

      Gabe seemed impressed, and Liz knew she’d gained his respect. “That’s amazing.”

      “It’s good business,” she replied. “I’ve never been satisfied with the status quo. I want more. Much more.”

      “I get that.” He nodded. “I really get that, actually.” He glanced to the south, his gaze going past her land into the distance. He was silent for a long moment.

      Whatever he was thinking obviously didn’t please him. What was wrong with having ambition or challenging oneself? Liz wondered. She didn’t care what he thought of her plans for her future. She had the right equipment, vines and people to ensure her success. She only had the unpredictable vagaries of the wind, rain and sun to contend with, just like any other farmer. Gabe ought to know that much.

      He looked back at her. “You’ll need a lot of luck, Liz. I wish you that,” he said.

      She chortled. “Luck? You don’t think I’ll make it. You don’t know me very well, do you?”

      “No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’d like to change that.”

      She felt surprise mingled with distrust. She leveled him with a glare hot enough to wither healthy vegetation. “Yeah, right.”

      “Well, I do owe you an apology. I want to make up for trying to steal your dirt.”

      “You know, Gabe, I would have given you a sample. Farmer to farmer.”

      This time, he was the one to be cynical. “No, you wouldn’t, Liz,” he retorted sharply. “You would have asked me a thousand questions, just like you’re doing now, because you don’t know me. You know of me. I’m Angelo Barzonni’s oldest son. These days I run his business more than he does, truth be told. That’s all people know. They don’t want to know anything else.”

      Liz could almost taste his bitterness, though he spoke with the calm and detached observation of a journalist, as if he were only recording his life and not living it. Her empathy nearly went out to him, but then he flashed his charming smile. He had practiced this masquerade. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling her in...but why?

      “I’m going to ask you again, Gabe. Why are you really here?”

      “I thought it was obvious. I want to pick your brain.”

      She stuck her left hand into the back pocket of her cutoffs and slapped the bouquet of flowers against her thigh as if she could beat down her rising anger. “And the only reason you would want to do that is because you’re going into the wine business.”

      Silence.

      Gabe kept his eyes on Liz.

      “You must think I’m a fool, or that I’d fall for your good looks—”

      “You think I’m good-looking?” he interjected.

      “Don’t change the subject.”

      “Look, I came here to taste that great chardonnay of yours. I wandered off to check out the grapes after a bunch of tourists left. I had a soil-gathering kit in my trunk and I went and got it. The gate was open.”

      “It’s always locked,” she countered with a glare.

      “It was open, okay? I told you. I’m naturally curious. Just as I was collecting the soil, you came up.”

      “Caught you red-handed.”

      He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Can’t you let it go? I’m sorry.”

      She ground her jaw and glanced away, wondering why he unnerved her this much. “You better leave. We have nothing more to say.”

      “Liz, come on.”

      She shot him a stinging look. He shut up. “You want me to get my gun?”

      “No!” He put up his hands. “I’m going. Okay?”

      He started past her and as he reached her side, he stopped and leaned in close to her ear. “We have a lot in common, Liz. I can see it. Why can’t you?”

      He walked away, got in his car and drove off.

      Liz walked up the porch steps and stopped at the front door, noticing her grandfather was standing just inside. The door was opened just wide