He’s the best winemaker in the valley, in my opinion, and I don’t think you’ll find many people who’ll disagree.” He picked up a fresh scone, still warm from the oven, broke it in half and inhaled the scent of finely grated orange peel. “Smells delicious. I was counting on being here in time for breakfast.”
She smiled up at him. “I thought you might be. That’s why I baked them.”
His mother’s scones were the best in the world, bar none. “Thanks. These are delicious, as always.”
“Vanessa didn’t come up with you?”
This was bound to come up sooner or later, so he might as well get it over with. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”
Sophia had started to load the dishwasher, but she stopped and gave him one of her intense stares. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“She’s looking for greener pastures.” As in the color-of-money green.
“Hard to imagine her finding a better catch than you.”
And Vanessa had seen him as exactly that—a good catch. It hadn’t taken him long to realize their relationship was going nowhere, and if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with business he would have broken things off himself. Better that she’d been the one to end it, though. Fewer hard feelings on her part and none on his.
“She was looking for an engagement ring,” he said. The bigger and more expensive, the better. Problem was, he was not in the market for a trophy wife. “I didn’t give her one.”
“Michael, you’re thirty-seven. I know you have a good life, but I would like to see you settled with a wife and family.”
With an emphasis on family. Sophia Morgan was extremely proud of her children’s accomplishments and at the same time intensely disappointed that so far not one of them had produced a grandchild. She reminded them of that shortcoming every chance she got.
“It’ll happen when it happens, Mom.” Just not with a gold digger like Vanessa.
Jess, by comparison, struck him as a woman with a mind of her own and an unwillingness to settle for being anybody’s trophy wife, although she was certainly stunning enough to pass for one, even in a well-worn pair of blue jeans and a baggy man’s shirt. There’d never been a shortage of women for him to take to dinner, but it had been ages since he’d been in such a hurry to invite one to join him. He was looking forward to next Thursday, and he had a hunch Jess was, too, if for no other reason than to satisfy her curiosity about him and check out the latest competition for the Whiskey Sour.
“So, any prospects?” his mother asked.
“Not so far.” There was no point in telling her about Jess, because the tiny, insignificant detail of them not yet having had a first date would not stop from her from daydreaming about bridal registries and grandbabies.
“Poppy!” Ben had flung open the French doors off the breakfast room and an energetic little ball of white fluff tore through the kitchen and tackled Michael’s shoe.
Michael scooped the little dog into his arms. “How is she?” he asked Ben.
“She poops on the lawn.”
Sophia ignored her youngest child’s lack of discretion and poured a cup of coffee for Michael. “The lawn is a vast improvement over the carpet in the family room,” she said in a droll voice.
He picked up the coffee cup, laughing. “Thanks, Mom.”
The little bichon frise had been Ben’s birthday gift from the family last year. He called her Poppy because she had looked like an oversize kernel of popcorn, which happened to be his favorite food, and it was an easy word for him to say. He had gone through a worrisome period of leth argy that had puzzled the doctors and troubled the family. They’d tried everything to coax him out of it, but nothing worked. Nothing, until Poppy had come into his life. His mother had reluctantly agreed to the dog, in part because she’d been so worried about Ben and also because Ginny and her husband had promised to take it if it didn’t work out with Ben. They had hoped that having a dog would help to keep him active, and it had paid off.
“Have you been taking her for a walk every day?” he asked his brother.
Ben’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “Two times.” He held up one hand and displayed all five digits, then tried to cover several of them with the other hand.
“We walk her through the vineyard twice a day,” their mother said. “Every morning and again before dinner.”
Michael tousled his brother’s hair. “Good job, Ben.”
Ben beamed.
“Lexi called last night. She said she has to work today.” His mother gave him an admonishing look. “She said she’ll drive up in time for Ben’s birthday dinner tonight.”
Michael set a squirming Poppy on the floor. “It’s not my fault she’s working all day. I asked her to take a look at a property I’m interested in, but she didn’t have to do it today.”
“You knew very well she wouldn’t postpone something like that.”
True. Neither would he. He appreciated Lexi’s prompt attention to this, since this latest prospect was the best he’d seen so far. Tonight he would find time to have a private talk with her about checking out the Whiskey Sour—surreptitiously, of course—because he was becoming convinced that he should hold off making an offer on the other location until he’d had dinner with Jess. Her place needed a lot less work and could be open for business much sooner than the dump he’d seen yesterday. That meant he could even sweeten the deal for Jess and it would be a win-win situation for both of them. She’d been pretty adamant about not selling, but money had a way of changing people’s minds.
“You and Lexi are both cursed with the Morgan workaholic gene.”
As far as he was concerned, not putting off till tomorrow what could be done today hardly made him a workaholic, and it sure didn’t seem like a curse. In the eight years since his father had passed away, he had taken Morgan Estate Winery from a small family-owned-and-operated cottage industry to a large, successful company with numerous vineyards throughout the Napa Valley, and now an expanding chain of wine bars in San Francisco.
“What are you and Ginny up to this morning?”
“She’s wrapping up the marketing campaign for the new pinot noir we’re releasing this fall and wants me to take a look at it.”
“Ginny shouldn’t be working at all. It’s only been two months since she was—” His mother paused and glanced at Ben, who was watching television in the family room. “Since she was in the hospital.”
Michael sighed. His sister wasn’t sick, she’d had a miscarriage a month ago and she seemed to be doing fine. “Ginny’s the most conscientious person I know. She wouldn’t be working if her doctor hadn’t green-lighted her.”
“She might be fine physically, but she’s still emotionally vulnerable.”
“Then keeping busy is probably good for her.” He covered one of his mother’s hands with both of his. “It’s what you would do.”
He could tell from her reaction that he was right and she knew it.
“I know you want to protect us and make everything perfect, but we’re all capable, responsible adults.”
She cast another look at Ben, but this time her eyes were filled with love and just a hint of longing for something that would never be.
He knew what she was thinking. All of you except Ben.
He knew she worried about his future, about what would happen to him when the day came that she couldn’t look after him. Michael and his sisters had made a commitment to continue contributing to the trust fund their father had set up for Ben, but that’s not what concerned Sophia Morgan. Since no