Read Online Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marina Adair
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Usually she hated anything green on her plate, but Lexi always managed to make it taste just like bacon. And Frankie loved bacon.
“Stubby seemed concerned with your money flow,” Luce said, referring to Judge Pricket. After a very brief and, according to Luce, unsatisfying affair during the Nixon administration, she’d resorted to calling him Stubby.
Frankie almost reminded them that there was to be no stupid men talk, then decided it was a waste of breath. If they wanted to talk about the land or Charles, they were going to talk. And talk. And talk. Until Frankie answered.
“Besides the small issue with the water tank and sharing soil with a DeLuca”—she looked at ChiChi—“no offense”.
ChiChi waved a dismissive hand. “None taken. I know how rigid my Nathaniel can be.”
“Which is why I need to know if you can do this,” Luce said. “You two have been at each other since high school when he won first in the science fair for his studies on Motzart’s effect on Merlot.”
“It was rigged,” Frankie insisted. And the biased science fair wasn’t the issue. It was that Nate had felt Frankie up on a Friday night in Saul’s vineyard, ignited civil war within herfamily on Sunday, and asked Sasha Dupree to prom the following Tuesday—in front of everyone. “His dad was a judge.”
“So was yours,” ChiChi countered, forgetting that having her father on a committee in a contest that he felt should be a man’s challenge wasn’t the same thing.
“And you both want this land,” Luce went on. “But Stubby was serious. If you two can’t make this work he’s going to rezone the land to residential.”
Frankie stopped chewing. “Rezone it? He didn’t say anything about rezoning it in court.”
God, if he did that then there would be a big ugly tract of identical taupe boxes stinking up the land between the Baudouin and DeLuca vineyards. Talk about running the property value into the ground.
“He can’t do that. The traffic, the noise, the everything.” Her heart started thrashing in her chest. “It would ruin everything.”
“I know, dear.” Luce reached out and uncharacteristically squeezed Frankie’s hand. Which was weird because, like Frankie, Aunt Luce wasn’t one for public displays of affection. “That’s why he said he’d do it. And I think if you two make even one wrong move, he will send in the bulldozers and we all lose.”
No kidding. If the judge rezoned the land as residential, put it back on the market, and blocked the DeLucas from making another bid, there was no way she could afford to buy the other parcel. Then her dream, not to mention the beautiful vineyard next door that she grew up loving, would be ruined.
Talk about pressure. Frankie looked out the kitchen window, past the fence, and felt her breath catch at the never ending rows of vines, heavy with grapes, their leaves already turningthe color of fire were swaying in the breeze. She’d spent her life working that land and even though her grandpa didn’t think she belonged there anymore, a part of her would die to see it ruined by a bunch of yuppies with their hybrid kids and entitled SUVs.
More importantly, that vineyard meant everything to her aunt. Luce didn’t have kids or grandkids or a husband. Her life’s work had been preserving the land and traditions that her father had handed down to her and Charles. Frankie didn’t know what Luce would do if neighbors moved in and ruined what she’d worked so hard to create.
“Don’t worry, Auntie. I’ll make it work with Nate. Pricket won’t get the chance to put any McMansions up. And neither of your vineyards will be ruined.”
Luce shifted in her seat, ChiChi cleared her throat, Pricilla started pulling out truffles from her bag, and Mr. Puffins’ ears went back. And suddenly Frankie knew her day was about to get worse—if that was even possible.
“That’s good to hear because we were wondering just how things with you and my grandson are…
“Stubby seemed concerned with your money flow,” Luce said, referring to Judge Pricket. After a very brief and, according to Luce, unsatisfying affair during the Nixon administration, she’d resorted to calling him Stubby.
Frankie almost reminded them that there was to be no stupid men talk, then decided it was a waste of breath. If they wanted to talk about the land or Charles, they were going to talk. And talk. And talk. Until Frankie answered.
“Besides the small issue with the water tank and sharing soil with a DeLuca”—she looked at ChiChi—“no offense”.
ChiChi waved a dismissive hand. “None taken. I know how rigid my Nathaniel can be.”
“Which is why I need to know if you can do this,” Luce said. “You two have been at each other since high school when he won first in the science fair for his studies on Motzart’s effect on Merlot.”
“It was rigged,” Frankie insisted. And the biased science fair wasn’t the issue. It was that Nate had felt Frankie up on a Friday night in Saul’s vineyard, ignited civil war within herfamily on Sunday, and asked Sasha Dupree to prom the following Tuesday—in front of everyone. “His dad was a judge.”
“So was yours,” ChiChi countered, forgetting that having her father on a committee in a contest that he felt should be a man’s challenge wasn’t the same thing.
“And you both want this land,” Luce went on. “But Stubby was serious. If you two can’t make this work he’s going to rezone the land to residential.”
Frankie stopped chewing. “Rezone it? He didn’t say anything about rezoning it in court.”
God, if he did that then there would be a big ugly tract of identical taupe boxes stinking up the land between the Baudouin and DeLuca vineyards. Talk about running the property value into the ground.
“He can’t do that. The traffic, the noise, the everything.” Her heart started thrashing in her chest. “It would ruin everything.”
“I know, dear.” Luce reached out and uncharacteristically squeezed Frankie’s hand. Which was weird because, like Frankie, Aunt Luce wasn’t one for public displays of affection. “That’s why he said he’d do it. And I think if you two make even one wrong move, he will send in the bulldozers and we all lose.”
No kidding. If the judge rezoned the land as residential, put it back on the market, and blocked the DeLucas from making another bid, there was no way she could afford to buy the other parcel. Then her dream, not to mention the beautiful vineyard next door that she grew up loving, would be ruined.
Talk about pressure. Frankie looked out the kitchen window, past the fence, and felt her breath catch at the never ending rows of vines, heavy with grapes, their leaves already turningthe color of fire were swaying in the breeze. She’d spent her life working that land and even though her grandpa didn’t think she belonged there anymore, a part of her would die to see it ruined by a bunch of yuppies with their hybrid kids and entitled SUVs.
More importantly, that vineyard meant everything to her aunt. Luce didn’t have kids or grandkids or a husband. Her life’s work had been preserving the land and traditions that her father had handed down to her and Charles. Frankie didn’t know what Luce would do if neighbors moved in and ruined what she’d worked so hard to create.
“Don’t worry, Auntie. I’ll make it work with Nate. Pricket won’t get the chance to put any McMansions up. And neither of your vineyards will be ruined.”
Luce shifted in her seat, ChiChi cleared her throat, Pricilla started pulling out truffles from her bag, and Mr. Puffins’ ears went back. And suddenly Frankie knew her day was about to get worse—if that was even possible.
“That’s good to hear because we were wondering just how things with you and my grandson are…
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