A Rare Vintage (Wine Country Romance) Read online

  A RARE VINTAGE

  by

  Delancey Stewart

  Book One

  in the

  Wine Country Romance Series

  A Rare Vintage

  Copyright: Nancy Smay

  Published: May 31, 2013

  ISBN-13: 978-1484927540

  ISBN-10: 1484927540

  The right of Delancey Stewart to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Visit the author at her site: http://delanceystewart.wordpress.com/

  This book is dedicated to my husband and my sons, who have demonstrated endless patience with the time I spend sitting behind the computer ignoring them. It is also dedicated to my parents, who have believed in me and supported me, even when my dreams and desires have been impulsive and ill-advised.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Isabella

  The small car dipped and bucked as Isabella DaSilva negotiated the unfamiliar country road. Dust billowed up behind the car, clouding the sky of an otherwise clear California day, and the vineyards on either side of the rutted lane stood impassive watch as she gripped the wheel, cursing.

  "For God's sake!" she cried, as the car swerved of its own volition into a particularly deep pothole. "The land of milk and honey is it? Can't they service the roads?" Her long fingers were white at the knuckles, and her thin shirt clung to her sweaty chest as she struggled to control the car.

  After what seemed an eternity swerving down the dusty road, Isabella spotted an end to the torturous dirt lane—a wide spot at the end of the road where several cars had found respite in front of a large low house with a roof of red Spanish tile. She pulled to a stop behind a Volkswagen beetle, wondering how it had possibly gotten down the road without becoming entrenched in one of the huge holes she'd been working the last half hour to avoid.

  She pushed the car door open and stood, stretching her long limbs and smoothing her trousers as she looked around her. Not a soul was in sight, and the sun beat down relentlessly upon the scenery. Vineyards stretched in every direction away from the house, burgeoning vines in tidy rows reaching eager tendrils outward. She could see the tiny clumps of green fruit on those nearest the house.

  Isabella had a fleeting sensation of being lost as she scanned the dry land reaching around her. She'd poured everything of herself into the journey—the trip from the East coast, the long drive. Now that she'd reached her destination, she felt disappointed. The fact that no one was here to greet her was less than encouraging. They had no way of knowing just when I'd arrive, she reminded herself.

  She removed a rubber band from her pocket and swept her reckless dark curls into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck, trying to tame those around her face with her hands. With her sleeve, she dabbed the moisture at her forehead and cheeks, and made her way toward the front door of the house.

  The massive wooden door looked better suited to a vault than to someone's home, but Isabella was thankful for the reprieve from the hot sun that the overhanging porch allowed. She pressed the bell and waited. After pressing several more times and hearing nothing, she turned, looking out again at the land baking silently in the sun, and shook her head.

  "Damn!" She wanted to get inside, get cleaned up and begin the next chapter of her life.

  The house was flanked by other structures, one of them a large barn. With a shrug, Isabella headed for the barn and strode through the tall door, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dark space. Inside, the air was cold compared to the heat of the simmering land outside. Several huge metal tanks stood before her, barrels lined the walls. She could hear a low voice cursing on the other side of the cavernous space.

  "Hello?" she called.

  "Yes? Can I help you?" A man was up on a ladder at the side of one of the tanks, and Isabella walked towards him.

  "I sure hope so," she said, turning the corner and looking up. The man was descending the ladder, his back to Isabella. He was well built, she thought, as she watched his strong hands grip the rungs and the muscles in his arms flex and pull with each movement of his descent. He had wavy dark hair cut short over a strong tanned neck, and the broad expanse of his back made her suddenly aware of herself. She felt a light sweat break out again on her brow, despite the coolness of the space. She wiped at her forehead with one hand as the man reached the ground.

  "We don't usually let people just wander around in here," the man said, turning to face Isabella. Her body tensed involuntarily. His dark tanned skin spoke of long days spent out in the sun, and the deep brown eyes held a look of intensity that made Isabella suck in her breath nervously as her heart pounded a staccato beat inside her chest. One wave of hair lay across his forehead.

  "No, I..." What the hell is wrong with me? Isabella wondered, stammering. "I'm Isabella DaSilva. I'm here to apprentice Mr. Sauvage."

  "Seriously?" The man in front of her spat the words out and then laughed, the humor never reaching the dark coffee eyes. "My father had strong views about women and wine," he said.

  Isabella raised an eyebrow, but kept her tongue. She tried to give him a look that said she didn’t give a damn what her father’s views might have been, standing perfectly still, staring up into the dark eyes.

  "But maybe he had it all wrong,” the man said, his face loosening slightly and his mouth forming the barest hint of a smile. Isabella forced herself to look him in the face, even though her body seemed to be practically out of control as a result. Butterflies danced in her stomach and she felt a tightening in the muscles of her back and legs as her heart raced.

  “I'm Jonathan Sauvage." He offered her his hand.

  "The winemaker," she said. So this was the man she’d be working with. She pushed down the tornado of mixed feelings that threatened to erupt in her. He was arrogant and rude, which made her angry, and he was ridiculously handsome, which excited her; and that made her angrier still. "Isabella DaSilva," she said, her tone harsh.

  She shook his extended hand, doing her best to ignore the warmth of the callused skin and the charge that touching him gave her.

  "Shall we go see the vineyards, then?" he asked.

  Isabella followed the man into the fields, admiring the way he reached out and examined the tiny clumps of fruit hanging from the vines in an almost loving way as they passed down the rows. She was tempted to do the same, but restrained herself. It wasn't her place...yet.

  Jonathan Sauvage moved with a liquid grace, his strength evident in the rippling muscles across his shoulders, the pull of his jeans across his thighs and butt. Isabella was surprised at her reaction to him. Enology was a man's world—this wasn't the first time she'd been confronted by an arrogant ass, even a good-looking one, who thought she should stick to serving the wine and forget about making it. That attitude was familiar enough and would usually get her too angry to think of much else. But this guy…for some reason she wasn't angry. A little indignant, maybe. But mostly she was intrigued. Annoyed with herself, she shook her head and tried to focus on what she was seeing around her.

  They wound through the rows until they came upon two men, working several feet apart along the rows, each holding a small scythe-like knife. Clumps of tiny green grapes lay at their feet as they cut clusters from the vine.

  "Roberto," Jonathan said to one of the men. "Meet Isabella DaSilva. Sh
e'll be helping out around here."

  The man who gazed at her from heavily lidded eyes was small and aged by the sun. His wizened dark face spoke of years of work in the fields. He nodded quickly, offered a stunning white-toothed smile, and turned back to the vines.

  "We're in the middle of the green harvest," Jonathan told her, turning back to face her and squinting into the sun. "A green harvest is when you…”

  "I'm an enologist, not a tourist," she told him. "I know what the purpose of a green harvest is."

  His eyebrows shot up and he crossed his arms.

  She was used to this reaction. She had never been a woman capable of holding her tongue for the sake of appearances.

  "Of course," he said, smiling a thin smile. "Well then you know that you thin the fruit to force the vines to pour their resources into what remains. Roberto is cutting one cluster of every three, reducing our yield by one third."

  "If you don't mind me offering a bit of advice?" Isabella took a cluster of fruit in her hand, her gaze drifting down the long row of vines.

  "Be my guest," said the dark-haired man in front of her, a bemused look crossing his face.

  She got the distinct feeling that he was merely tolerating her, but plowed ahead, careful not to look up into the liquid eyes as she spoke. She didn't want to become distracted, and just being in close proximity to this man had her heart racing for some reason. I'm sure he's used to women falling all over him, she thought. I'm not going to add to his ego. "You're not cutting enough. You should leave one for every two clusters you cut, no more."

  "I disagree."

  "These vines are relatively young," Isabella said, pulling a leaf and twisting a tendril towards her. "They're thriving. As far as they know, you want them to dump out as much fruit as possible, and they're going to deplete their resources producing millions of low quality grapes for you. From which you can continue to make low quality wine."

  Isabella chanced a look up at the man’s face. A dark look had come into the eyes, and an eyebrow was raised. She saw a tightness around his mouth, but he did not speak, so she went on, gaining momentum from her conviction that she was right.

  "You don't want more than two tons an acre, maybe three. So you'll need to cut more."

  "I'm planning for five."

  "Your plan needs revision."

  "Your yield would be too low."

  "For what? I thought Chateau Sauvage was going to make a Chateauneuf-style wine to prove that California can produce world-class Rhône varietals. I thought you wanted to be a pioneer. That's why I'm here!"

  "That was the plan." His arms dropped to his side and his voice lowered. "Before."

  "I see." Isabella tried to understand what she saw in his face, as he grimaced slightly, looking out over the vineyard. "Can I ask what the plan is now?"

  The man fixed her with a look that made her feel as if she was a butterfly pinned to a felt board. She stood perfectly still, his dark eyes boring into her. She felt weak, flustered. "The plan now," he said, his voice even and gruff. "Is to survive."

  He turned and began walking back down the row, toward the house.

  Isabella turned to Roberto, still working quietly behind her with the other man. She raised an eyebrow in question, but Roberto just shrugged and continued his work.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jonathan

  It had been a long day already by the time Jonathan climbed the ladder to investigate the connections at the top of the huge fermenter to troubleshoot the valves. It was warm—California's Central Valley didn't know many days that weren't once they got into May—and he'd rather have been doing almost anything else. But having one of two five-thousand-gallon fermenters out of operation didn't bode well for the season ahead, and Jonathan was the only one who could fix it, short of calling out the repairman—something he couldn't afford to do this year if he could avoid it.

  The last two harvests had been difficult after his father passed away, leaving the slowly failing winery to his Jonathan and his sister.

  "Crap," Jonathan swore as the wrench he held slipped, striking his hand painfully. He wiped the sweat from his brow, sticking the bleeding finger into his mouth and was just bending over to begin again when a woman's voice called, "Hello?"

  Jonathan straightened, surprised at the feminine voice. He looked down, leaning out as far as he could without falling from the ladder.

  Holy shit, he thought, as a woman with a halo of wild curls strode into view. She was tall and thin, and a gauzy cotton shirt clung to her chest in the heat. He could see the shape of her body and felt an immediate stirring. For Christ's sake, he admonished himself. It's obviously been too long since I've been around a woman besides my sister.

  "Can I help you?" he asked the woman beneath him, trying not to acknowledge the ripe berry lips or the fine high cheekbones under the light eyes.

  "I sure hope so," she called, a smile turning up the corners of the perfect mouth.

  Jonathan climbed down the ladder, conscious of her eyes on him as he descended. "We don't usually just let people wander around in here," he said, immediately regretting it. Why do you have to be such an ass? He asked himself. There's a reason you handle the grapes and not the visitors, he thought.

  Jonathan listened as the woman explained that she was the apprentice sent by the university back east, and he shook his head. He had negotiated a deal with Cornell—he'd train and house an apprentice; the apprentice would bring modern techniques to bear on his father's old world style. There was also a sizable grant provided by the university for his willingness to participate in the program. He just hadn't expected the apprentice to be so…feminine.

  He’d led her through the vines, trying to figure out if he was really prepared to handle an opinionated and beautiful apprentice at this point or if he should just send her home. By the time they returned to the cool interior of the barn, he was entirely confused.

  He paced the floor, frustrated with himself, and with the woman who'd arrived to tell him what to do...he was frustrated with everything. He ran his hands through his curly dark hair and took several steadying breaths.

  Isabella came through the door soon after him, her hair highlighted by the bright light shining in through the door.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I should at least let you get used to the idea of having me here before I start spouting off." She shook her head and looked at her feet.

  Jonathan felt a warmth inside his chest that he didn't know he was still capable of as he took in her apologetic figure. "It's fine," he said. He tried to clamp down internally, shut off whatever unwelcome feelings were brewing. He wasn't ready for anything deeper than the internship he'd planned for, and he wasn’t even sure he was ready for that. He just hadn't anticipated the intern being a smart beautiful woman. He swallowed hard. Get a grip. She’s already here. You need the help. You can handle this. "We can talk more about plans for this year's harvest once you're settled,” he told her. “Vicki, my sister, will help you get arranged." He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, and avoided Isabella's gaze. "Follow me, I'll introduce you."

  He led her out into the sun and back out to her car. "Do you have luggage?" he asked.

  "Yeah," she said, popping the trunk.

  They each pulled a suitcase out of the trunk, and she slammed it shut, following Jonathan through the heavy front door.

  "Vicki?" he called as they entered the dark space.

  The front room was furnished in a traditional style—dark wood and leather. It was a contrast to the bright open space beyond the windows that looked out over the vineyards behind the house. Very masculine.

  "Jon, I haven't finished getting dinner together yet..." A tiny woman with bright blue eyes and dark hair cut into a pixie style appeared from a doorway across the room, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, hi!" she said, her voice warm.

  "Hi," Isabella replied.

  "This is Isabella DaSilva," Jonathan told his sister. "She's going to be staying with us and helping ou
t through the harvest this year."

  "Oh, from Cornell, right?"

  "Yes, that's right," Isabella confirmed.

  "Fantastic," Vicki said, shaking the hand Isabella extended. "It'll be nice to have some female blood around here. Plus, Jon can really use the help out there. It's been a slog with everything that's happened…first Dad, and then…"

  "Vicki, can you show Isabella to her room? I know she's beat after the drive from the airport."

  "Oh, I didn't fly," Isabella said. "I drove."

  "From New York?" Jonathan asked, his admiration for her growing despite his best efforts.

  "Yep."

  "I bet that was interesting," Vicki said. "Come on, let's get you settled." She pulled Isabella's other suitcase from Jonathan's hand and led her down the long hallway off the entry, leaving her brother standing in front of the door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Isabella

  "I rang the bell earlier," Isabella told Vicki as they moved down the hallway.

  "Oh, yeah. Sorry. The bell doesn't work. You can just come in from now on. We don't get a lot of visitors," Vicki turned and shot her a smile. "You'll be staying all summer then?" She deposited Isabella's heavy suitcase on the luggage rack near the door of the small bedroom.

  "That's the plan," Isabella said. "Though I'm not sure Jonathan wants my help."

  "Oh, don't let him scare you off. He needs the help, and we're happy to have you." Vicki looked thoughtful for a moment, cocking her head to the side. "Plus, we need some more energy around here. My brother hasn't exactly been great company lately. It'll be nice just to have another person around to talk to."

  "Thanks, Vicki. It's nice to feel welcome." Isabella felt a warmth toward the small dark-haired woman, but wondered what she was alluding to. Was the winemaker always a brooding jerk or had something happened to make him that way?