The Riesling Retribution

Chapter 22

The rain had held off for the campground dance, although the air felt so heavy it seemed to wrap itself around Quinn and me like a cloak. We parked on the grassy field and used his flashlight to see our way to the stone bridge and, beyond it, the Confederate camp.

Even Quinn stopped to stare, as I had in the morning, once we crossed the bridge. In the peaceful darkness of a late summer evening, the camp looked serene with its sea of white tents now softly illuminated by candlelight shining from hurricane lanterns and the embers of campfires over which dinners had been cooked. We seemed to have come to a place risen up from the past.

The music of a fiddle and banjo floated through the stillness, accompanied by laughter and voices and the sound of hands clapping in time to the music. I caught the wisps of melody of “Arkansas Traveler.”

The dance was held along a wide, flat stretch of road that led to the new fields of grapes and the winery beyond. During the day the road had been off-limits; now the wooden sawhorses with their “Do Not Enter” signs had been pushed out of the way. The Virginia Fiddlers stood on an improvised wooden stage, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. In front of them, a throng of flashing skirts and uniformed men whirled past us.

B.J. spotted Quinn and me watching on the sidelines and came over to see us.

“Guess we don’t blend in too well, huh?” Quinn said in my ear.

“They didn’t wear Hawaiian shirts during the Civil War.”

B.J. kissed me on the cheek and pulled two cigars out of his pocket, offering one to Quinn.

“You look lovely tonight, my dear,” he said to me, then added to Quinn, “If you’re sticking around, you’ll want that stogie to keep the bugs down. They’re pretty fierce tonight.” He waved at the dancers. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s lovely,” I said as the Fiddlers swung into “Dixie.”

“I love that song,” B.J. said. “Makes me cry every time I hear it. Especially when the Fiddlers sing it with that sweet harmony of theirs.”

Emma Hunt emerged from the crowd of dancers and joined us. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were bright. She had changed since this morning into a teal-colored satin evening dress. Lashed by firelight, it gleamed.

“There you are,” she said to B.J. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

She caught his arm, smiling at Quinn and me. “Glad to see you’re here with Lucie, Quinn. I was hoping she’d bring you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything, ma’am.”

I resisted the urge to elbow him as Emma gave me a small triumphant smile.

“That’s good to know. Will we be seeing more of you this weekend, I hope?” she asked.

Quinn grinned and puffed on his cigar. “I’m not sure. My boss is a real slave driver. I don’t get out much.”

“What he means,” I said, “is that in order to make the quality wine for which we’re becoming known, he occasionally puts in long hours just like I do.”

“Sure,” he said, “that’s exactly what I mean.”

B.J. and Emma exchanged glances.

“Told you they make a nice couple, didn’t I?” Emma said to B.J.

I felt Quinn stir next to me and I blushed.

“I think we should dance, my love.” B.J. winked at me. “You two stick around as long as you like and enjoy the music.”

They waited for an opening, then B.J. whirled Emma into the dancers with the fluid ease of lifelong partners. In a moment they were swallowed up, disappearing into the happy, animated crowd.

“Want to find a place to sit and listen?” I asked. “It’s nice music, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, “it is.”

He took my hand and we moved away from the crush of dancers and the crush of spectators that stood around watching them.

“What about that tree stump over there?” Quinn asked. “Might not be too comfortable, but it’s better than sitting on the ground. Especially since you’ve got that pretty dress on.”

“Looks okay to me.”

He sat down first and surprised me by pulling me onto his lap. I leaned my head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around my waist. By now he’d let his cigar go out, but he still smelled of smoke mingled with a masculine scent that reminded me of leather and being outdoors.

I could hear his heart beating in his chest slow and steady and strong. His breath was regular against my ear. Imperceptibly, his arms seemed to tighten around me as mine did around him. We sat there in the semidarkness with its shifting firelight shadows cast by dancers spinning by. I closed my eyes and listened to the music and laughter drift around us. We were kissing. I’m not sure when we started, but after so many miscues in the years we’d known each other, it now felt right and good. His kisses were long and slow, making my head spin. He moved his hands up to my face and moaned softly as he whispered my name.

Someone sneezed.

“What are they doing?”

“Kissing, you idiot. What does it look like?”

We broke apart and Quinn let go of me so abruptly I nearly slid off his lap. Three boys in Civil War-era attire stood in front of us staring with frank, prepubescent curiosity. The oldest couldn’t have been more than seven or eight.

I stood and straightened my sundress. Our audience seemed fascinated. Good thing they couldn’t see how furiously I was blushing. Good thing I didn’t recognize any of them, either.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Quinn said. “Can we help you with something?”

“Nope.” The smallest of them scuffed his shoe in the dirt and broke into a toothy grin. “We were just watching you. Hey, Miz Montgomery. That your boyfriend?”

I looked closer at him. Who was he?

“Uh, no. No, not my boyfriend. He’s my…friend,” I said. “Do I know you?”

“Yes, ma’am. My granddad’s Seth Hannah. I’m Corey.”

Last time I’d seen Corey Hannah I swear he’d been in diapers.

“Well, Corey. What a surprise. I didn’t recognize you.” I smiled without explaining about the diapers.

“Hey, fellas,” Quinn said, “if I gave you a couple of dollars, maybe you could buy something to eat. You know, ice cream. Or candy. They must be selling something here this evening.”

“You got Confederate money?” Corey asked. “That’s all that works around here.”

I looked at Quinn. “I told you that you were on the wrong side.”

He grunted.

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said to the boys. “How about if we give you our stump? It’s a good place to sit. Actually, we were keeping it for you.”

Corey nodded. “Okay.”

Quinn stood up and caught my hand.

“Hey, mister?” It was one of the older boys.

“What?”

“You going to kiss her some more?”

Quinn cleared his throat. “I might. Do you think I should?”

“She’s real pretty,” he said. “I guess so.”

“I’ll think about it, then,” he said.

We left them giggling and whispering.

“I know Corey’s mother,” I said. “She always gets coffee and a newspaper at the General Store on her way to work.”

“She’ll tell Thelma.”

“No doubt.”

“It’ll be all over town we were necking like a couple of high school kids just now.”

“That’d be my guess.”

We reached his car and he helped me in. He got in beside me and ran a finger along my cheekbone.

“Want to give ’em something to really talk about?” he asked.

I caught my breath. “What did you have in mind?”

He started the engine. “Nothing I’d like those kids to watch us doing.”

“I think I’d like that.”

“Where should we go?” he asked.

His place was as spartan as a monk’s cell. Mine was likely to have a chaperone if Eli was there.

“What about the summerhouse?” I knew he had slept there in the past when he stayed out late stargazing.

He seemed surprised, but he said, “Yes. The summerhouse.”

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“What?”

“You and Savannah?”

I watched him in profile as he smiled, and my heart stopped beating for a few seconds. Here it was.

“She’s a cute kid. You know she’s engaged? He’s overseas in Afghanistan with the marines.”

“No.” My voice was faint. “I did not.”

“We could use her help, Lucie. She’s smart and she’s willing to work for us. I’ve been trying to teach her everything I can. It’s a pleasure for once to have someone who is as quick a study as she is.” He paused and glanced over at me. “You thought there was something going on between us?”

I couldn’t con him. He knew me too well. “Yes.”

“Nope. Nothing.”

He pulled into my driveway. Eli’s Jaguar was parked by the old carriage house. Quinn helped me out of the car and then pulled me to him and kissed me.

“I always wondered what your kisses would taste like,” he said.

“Me, too.” I gasped and grew breathless as he bit my ear and began moving his hands over my body. “I mean, about your kisses. Oh, God, please don’t stop.”

We walked to the summerhouse with our arms wrapped around each other, stopping to trade long, slow kisses.

“Wait here,” he said when we reached the screen door. “I think I put some candles in the drawer of that old table your mom left out here. I’ll get them.”

“Where’s the flashlight?” I asked.

“The car. I was too busy thinking about ravishing you to remember it. Here they are.” He struck a match and lit a fat pillar candle that he set on the table.

“This is nice,” I said, as he lit more candles. “I’m up for a little ravishing.”

“Or a lot. Come here. I want to see you by candlelight when I undress you.”

I caught my breath again. “Quinn—”

He did not let me finish speaking.

After three years of working together, day in and day out, I thought I knew Quinn and there were no surprises left to uncover. I had seen the parade of his girlfriends come and go, even his ex-wife, just as he had watched my erratic relationship with Mick Dunne wax and wane. I did not expect to be swept off my feet by someone as familiar to me as breathing. This was no first love. We were not giddy young kids.

I thought I would find comfort in his arms. Tenderness, maybe. Companionship, surely. What I did not expect was that he would leave me breathless, craving him again each time we finished, and that making love with him would be unlike loving any other man I’d known. When he whispered my name, the eroticism in his voice made me shiver, and he was, by turns, rough and gentle. I closed my eyes and wrapped my legs around him, terrified and awed by what was happening between us. The feeling spread like warmth through my veins, as seductive and addictive as drugs, and I knew there would be no going back to the way it had been between us before tonight.

We dozed intermittently, between lovemaking. Once, when he was sleeping and I was still awake, I turned on my side and studied him, wondering how he could still be such an enigma. Then, I think he felt the weight of my gaze. He opened his eyes and pulled me to him, crushing his mouth down on mine. I clutched him closer as though I could somehow imprint my body on his, leave my mark so he would not forget me.

I don’t remember the last time I fell asleep, but when I woke up he was gone. I felt a small stab of pain in my chest. When did he leave and why didn’t he wake me to kiss me good-bye? No note, no nothing.

I found my phone in the pile of clothes near the sleeping bag we’d lain on. Twenty before seven. I sat up and clutched the blankets around me. It probably wasn’t that cool, except that I was naked.

I dressed quickly. The rains would come today for sure. I smelled coffee as soon as I walked in the house. His note was there, propped up by the coffeemaker.

Didn’t want to wake you. Went to the barrel room. Call me.

A man of few words. I poured a cup that looked like sludge and tasted like rocket fuel. He must have used the entire bag of coffee I just bought.

I slurped some coffee and called him. He answered on the second ring.

“Just wake up, sleepyhead?”

“Thanks for making the coffee. Why’d you leave so early?”

“You’re welcome. I didn’t want to make it too strong since I know you don’t like it.”

I smiled. “That was considerate.”

“Can you get over here?” He was back to all business.

“Sure. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. The Riesling again. It’s stopped fermenting. I don’t want to lose it all, but it’s bad.”

“Give me a few minutes. I need a shower.”

In the shower the steam brought Quinn’s scent back to me all over again. I watched the water sluice off my breasts and shuddered, remembering what we had done.

He was standing next to one of the stainless-steel tanks when I walked into the barrel room twenty minutes later. Like me, he’d managed to shower and change into desert camouflage pants and a T-shirt with our logo on it. He turned around when he heard me, and our eyes met.

What passed between us was like a jolt of electricity, but I managed to say in a calm voice, “What’s going on?”

He picked up a Dixie cup and turned the lever handle of a small faucet a few inches under the label that listed Riesling and the strain of yeast we’d used. An opaque brownish green liquid spewed out into the cup.

“Smell this.”

He didn’t tell me to taste it, which wasn’t good. Even before I brought it to my nose, the funky odor of wine going bad hit me. Something like rotten eggs. A chemistry class nightmare.

“What happened? Can you save it?” Stunned, I sniffed the wine again. The smell was revolting.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Not the answer I’d been hoping for.

“Want me to stay here and help you?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to wrap my head around this. I’m better off working by myself. Besides, we’ve got the reenactment today. The place is going to be a madhouse. You need to be there.”

“Will you at least keep in touch and let me know how it’s going?”

He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him for a bruising kiss. When he was done, we were both breathing hard.

His voice was rough against my hair. “What are we going to do about this?”

I closed my eyes. “This” being “us.” Did he have regrets? Morning-after jitters?

I didn’t want to know. Right now he was focused on trying to figure out what had gone so wrong with one of our signature wines. It was not the time to ask if last night had been only about physical pleasure, or whether it had meant something more.

“We could just take it a day at a time,” I said.

“You’re okay with that?” He stroked my cheek with the back of his finger.

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

It was hard not to read too much into the relief in his smile.

“Good. That’s great. Thanks.”

I broke the awkward silence. “Guess I’d better go set things up at the villa. Frankie and Gina and the girls ought to be arriving anytime now. You know we’re going to close the winery when they actually do the reenactment of the battle,” I said. “I want to be sure everyone has a chance to watch it.”

“Good. Great.”

He wasn’t listening. “You think you might be able to break away and come see it?”

“Nah, I’d better sit tight.”

“Sure. Well, see you later.”

“Hey—”

“Yes?”

I turned to face him and prayed I didn’t sound too hopeful or like I was wearing my heart on my sleeve. There’s nothing worse for some men than a needy woman. I wasn’t going to do that, be like that. I didn’t want to drive him away.

“You’re not still thinking of trying to trip up Annabel Chastain with something today, are you?” He crumpled the Dixie cup into a tight ball. “If she shows up.”

“I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”

He shook his head. “What’d they say in Hamlet? ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”

I smiled. “So you did read it.”

He looked aggrieved. “Yes, but only the comic book version. That’s all we had in California.”

“Boy, are you thin-skinned.”

“As a Riesling grape.” He grinned. “To be, or not to be. That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler—’”

“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point. I apologize.”

We were back on our old footing. He threw the Dixie cup at me and I ducked.

“Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or take arms against a sea of troubles—’” He paused. “You got a sea of troubles, buttercup. Be careful.”

It started to rain lightly as I walked over to the villa.

He was right.

I did have a sea of troubles.