today, I couldn’t remember how I got pregnant. If I’d been abandoned by my husband or raped...” Steady, girl. She squared her shoulders. “I grew up without knowing my father, not even his name. All I’m asking for is a little of your time.”
“I know I’m going to regret this—”
“You won’t.” Jessica gathered her things, anxious to leave before he changed his mind.
“Come back Saturday at six. There’s a restaurant in town, El Rosal. I’ll be having dinner there.” She wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him because it sounded as if he’d added the words Whether you’re there or not.
THE ONLY THING worse than finding out your brother had left a bun in the oven? Duffy’s new boss hearing all about it. At least Ryan, the assistant winemaker, was off today.
“Sorry for the lack of privacy. That was pretty heavy.” Christine stood in the doorway between the tasting room and the kitchen. “How are you doing?”
Duffy shrugged, watching Jessica walk to her car with carefully measured steps. She tugged the ends of her jacket, trying unsuccessfully to wrap them around her belly, hunching her shoulders against the cold.
So frail. So fragile. Duffy wanted to believe her.
She didn’t remember Greg? How was that possible?
Christine came to stand next to him. “I’m not sure how I’d react to knowing I was going to have a niece or nephew soon.”
I’m going to be an uncle.
Duffy hadn’t processed Jessica’s news in that light. He’d been blindsided by her presence and her pregnancy and her claims of amnesia. He supposed that as the child’s uncle, he had a responsibility—to be a fatherly influence since Greg wasn’t around, to teach the little tyke how to throw a ball and swing a bat, to make sure the kid had some money socked away for college.
Money?
Recently buried worries resurfaced in his gut, sour and unpleasant.
After Greg swindled their parents, Duffy had helped support them. Since Greg’s death, he’d sold and liquidated all his twin’s assets, and given everything to his mom and dad. He’d set them up in a senior living apartment complex, one that could help his mother take care of his wheelchair-bound father. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Duffy’s paycheck was his own. His weekends were his own. His life was his own. All because of the money Greg left behind.
Did Jessica and her baby deserve a share of Greg’s money?
Morals dictated he give Jessica something. But what if she was lying? What if she was exactly like Greg?
Jessica drove away in a dinged and dented four-door sedan. Everything about her said trust me. That’s how he’d felt about Greg, too.
His gut continued its churning. Duffy couldn’t shake off the feeling of being sucked back into a Greg-induced vortex of financial folly.
Trust Jessica? Give her money? She claimed she had amnesia. Greg would have told her that was a hard scam to sell. And Greg had been the king of con artists.
Christine glanced up at him. “You think she’s lying.” It wasn’t a question.
“You know how when you meet someone you give them the benefit of the doubt? How you trust what they tell you is the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You could never trust a word that came out of my brother’s mouth.” Duffy barely recognized his own voice. It was as thick with emotion as the day he’d learned of Greg’s death. “If she and Greg...”
“Don’t judge her so quickly,” Christine said. “If only for the baby’s sake.”
Duffy nodded, but the desire to convict outweighed the compulsion to trust.
Thankfully, Christine’s work ethic intruded. “You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to show me something.”
He had. “Let’s take a drive.” He needed a distraction and he needed to show Christine the extent of the threat on the hill.
The winery had recently purchased several small vineyards around town, ones that had been lying idle and untended for years. One of their properties was on the slopes of Parish Hill and might have a problem. As the winery’s newly hired and first-ever vineyard manager, it was Duffy’s responsibility to restore the vineyards to optimal production.
A few minutes later, Duffy drove them down Main Street. There was little traffic. With a population just reaching one hundred, and barely twenty of those residents below the age of sixty-five, there weren’t many cars around.
Nearly two decades ago, the largest employer in town had burned to the ground. Younger Harmony Valley residents had moved closer to civilization, leaving the town on the brink of extinction. And then three local boys made it big in the dot-com world, returned home to decompress and decided to save the town by starting a winery. The jury was still out on the saving part, but those employed at the winery were optimistic.
“It’s sad about Jessica, isn’t it?” Christine waved to the elderly barber, standing on scarecrow-like limbs in front of his shop.
“I suppose.” Duffy drove slowly around the town square with its ancient oak tree, and took the turn toward Parish Hill and its steep switchbacks.
“I was trying to imagine how I’d feel if I couldn’t recall a part of my life. It must be frustrating and terrifying not remembering who the baby’s father is.” How quickly Jess had pulled Christine into her camp. A strike against her.
Duffy navigated a tight turn. “Can we talk about work?” Always? He liked to keep his private life separate from his professional life.
“You’re one of the few people in town who doesn’t want me to stop talking about the winery.” There was no change in Christine’s voice. No indication that she felt snubbed by his request. “Promise me you’ll never change.”
“Never.” Of course, she might not like what he was about to tell her.
Duffy turned onto a dirt road that led to a small vineyard clinging to the hillside. According to their records, the Cabernet Sauvignon vines had originally been planted in the 1990s. Their trunks were thick and twisted. Duffy parked and led Christine down the vine-tangled hill. The vineyard had shriveled, unharvested grape clusters on the ground.
He stopped at the bottom row of leafless, wintery plants. “Look at this. See how these vines have produced fewer shoots and canes than the next row up?”
“Yes.” Christine’s gaze moved with a scientist’s deliberation. “What do you think? Soil composition? Water drainage?”
“It could be those things. But we also have to consider leaf roll virus.” A grapevine disease that delayed maturity and lowered grape yield. Saying it out loud was like telling a child there would be no Christmas this year.
Christine didn’t like the news. She frowned and shook her head several times before she said anything. And when she did speak, her tone had the serious quality of a winemaker twice her age. “You can’t know that. You’d either have to see it in their leaves come spring or have tested the vines.”
“True.” But he knew the signs, had seen them on his last job, where the winery owners hadn’t wanted to hear the news, either. “Look at this.” He crouched next to the rotted remains of a withering grape cluster. “There are others like it all along this row.” He moved to a row farther up the hill, carefully making his case. “Now look at this cluster.”
“Almost twice the size,” she murmured. Then she shook her head again. “Leaf roll has never been documented in Harmony Valley.”
“I