“Tasting a wine should be like a first kiss,” he said

“You need to take your time and give it all your attention.”

Jess lifted the glass, but Michael reached for her hand and stopped her before the glass reached her lips.

“Let it slide over your tongue and around the inside of your mouth before you swallow it.” Her insides went wobbly. His voice had taken on a sinfully deep tone and she swore it was reverberating through his hand and up her arm. “Try it.”

She took a sip and so did he. She watched his mouth, and didn’t swallow until he did.

“What do you think?”

Jess was at a loss for words, and that almost never happened. Instead of answering, she just smiled, took another slow, careful sip of wine and imagined she was being kissed.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always enjoyed learning new things and visiting new places, so doing research for a book is one of the things that makes writing so much fun. That’s been especially true with this, my second book set in San Francisco. I love the city’s dynamic neighborhoods, but this story also took me outside the city and into Northern California’s beautiful wine country. And of course that required research.

Setting provides that all-important backdrop for any book, but as the story in The Wedding Bargain emerged, the contrast between the clamor and commotion of the city and the order and symmetry of Napa Valley’s vineyards was reflected in the power of family ties, two people’s determination to succeed and the struggle that ensues when they want the same thing but believe only one of them can have it.

In spite of their different backgrounds, Jess and Michael do have some common ground—they both believe family matters more than anything else. I had a lot of fun writing their story, so I hope you enjoy reading it. As always, readers can visit me through my website at www.leemckenzie.com, where you’ll find links to my Facebook page and my blog, The Writer Side of Life.

Happy reading!

Lee McKenzie

The Wedding Bargain
Lee McKenzie

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From the time she was ten years old and read Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, Lee McKenzie knew she wanted to be a writer, just like Anne and Jo. In the intervening years she has written everything from advertising copy to an honors thesis in paleontology, but becoming a four-time Golden Heart finalist and a Harlequin Books author are among her proudest accomplishments. Lee and her artist/teacher husband live on an island along Canada’s west coast, and she loves to spend time with two of her best friends—her grown-up children.

To my dear aunt, Beverly Wegner,

for a lifetime of love and encouragement.

Your strength and courage are an inspiration. You’ll be truly missed and fondly remembered, always.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Strapless gowns ought to be against the law. Jess Bennett tugged at the top of hers and wished she could blend in to the decor. Not that this amount of shiny turquoise satin could merge with anything, except maybe more shiny satin. She looked around the room for the three other women who were wearing the same dress but in different colors. Nicola, in bright yellow, and her husband, Jonathan, were on the dance floor. Maria, stunning in red, was sitting with her husband, who was proudly cradling their beautiful baby daughter in his arms. Paige was… Where was Paige?

Jess’s search for the fourth bridesmaid was intercepted by a man leaning against a column on the other side of the room. He was tall, and his dark good looks hinted at a Mediterranean heritage. Before now she hadn’t seen him among the wedding guests, and she decided he was most likely an employee. She connected with his gaze for a second and looked away, but after failing to find her friend Paige, something drew her back to him.

He was still watching her.

She glanced down at the front of her dress and pulled it up some more. Rory, the bride, who was also one of her best friends in the world, had outfitted her bridesmaids in retro-inspired gowns that were designed to make the most of a woman’s curves and cleavage. Or emphasize Jess’s lack of them.

He was smiling when she looked at him again. She had a feeling he’d been watching her for a while, but he seemed more amused by her battle with the dress than he was interested in her.

Easy for him to find this funny. He was wearing an elegantly tailored suit, which probably wasn’t as expensive as it looked, given what he was likely to earn working here. Meanwhile, she was decked out in a dress that was determined to abide by the laws of gravity, in spite of the torturous plastic boning stitched into the seams and an obscene amount of double-sided tape that had lost its stick sometime between the photographs and the pre-reception cocktails.

Paige, wherever she was, had the perfect figure for this kind of dress—all curvy and voluptuous. Maria, ditto. Nicola was only slightly better endowed than Jess, but nothing rattled her.

Jess debated whether to get herself a drink or go in search of Paige. Maybe both. She gave the dress a final hitch and skirted the dance floor, heading toward the bar. On the way there she waved at the bride and her adoring husband, Mitch, who were talking to two other couples. The men were probably firefighters like Mitch. Rory’s vintage gown was so…her. It had a fitted bodice and a gathered tulle skirt, and instead of a veil she had opted for an elegant little white pillbox hat with netting. Jess had thought the above-the-elbow white gloves were a bit much, but Rory had said they’d be perfect and she was right.

“What will you have?” the bartender asked.

She was tempted to ask for Scotch, neat. “A glass of red wine,” she said, since both the dress and the circumstances called for something a little more ladylike.

“I have cabernet and merlot, both excellent California wines.”

She rested her forearms on the bar and leaned on them, shifting her weight to one foot and trying to wriggle the toes of the other. “The cabernet, I guess.”

“Of course.” The bartender eyed the front of her dress, and she quickly straightened.

While he poured the wine, she surveyed the bottles of Scotch lined up on a glass shelf. She should have gone with her first instinct. These were much better quality than the brands she could afford to stock at the Whiskey Sour.

“The merlot would have been a better choice,” a deep male voice said over her shoulder.

She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him, the man who’d been amused by her struggle with the strapless wonder. When she did turn to face him, her heart rate sped up. She had been wrong about the Mediterranean connection. His eyes were blue and he had no hint of an accent.

“You’re an expert?” she asked.

He shrugged slightly. “I know a little. Would you like to dance?”

“Oh, thanks, but…” How to graciously sidestep his offer? “My feet are killing me.” Which was true. “And I’m not a very good dancer.” Also true.

“I am,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”

“But my drink—”

“It’ll keep.” His smile was self-assured without being overconfident, and Jess had the impression he wasn’t accustomed to taking no for an answer. And before she had a chance to reinforce hers with a firm thanks-but-no-thanks, her hand was in his, and he was leading her onto the dance floor.

“Are you always this pushy?” she asked as he guided her into a simple box step.

“All I did was ask you to dance.”

“And I said no.”

He smiled again, a perfect smile that now held just a hint of arrogance. “And yet here you are.”

His touch was light and he held her hand high as he moved them across the dance floor as gracefully as her ridiculously high-heeled shoes and lack of ability permitted. She rested her other hand on his shoulder, and she swore she could feel the dress slipping down her torso. She glanced down, relieved to see that her important parts, including the underwired push-up bra Rory had coerced her into buying, were still covered.

He lowered his head till his lips almost touched her ear. “You are too self-conscious,” he said. “The dress isn’t going anywhere.”

He had that right. The dress was definitely not going anywhere with him. “I see your expertise with women extends beyond dancing.”

He laughed, apparently unaffected by her sarcasm. “And you are a much better dancer than you let on.”

Oh, please. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m sorry. Did that sound like a come-on? It was meant to be a compliment.”

She wasn’t used to getting compliments, or come-ons for that matter, so it was difficult to tell the difference. And how did he know what she was thinking?

“We should start over,” he said. “My name is Michael. The mother of the bride is a business associate of mine.”

That surprised her. Rory’s mother was an artist, so maybe he ran an art gallery or something. “I figured you worked here at the hotel.”

His turn to be surprised. “What gave you that idea?”

“You weren’t here earlier.”

“Are you sure?”

Yes. I would have noticed. But he didn’t need to know that. “I’m Jess,” she said instead. “I’m one of Rory’s bridesmaids.”

Duh. As if he hadn’t already figured that out.

In an abrupt move he drew her closer but only, it turned out, to maneuver them off their collision course with the bride’s parents. Sam Borland and Copper Pennington were divorced—twice—but according to Rory they were back on speaking terms. Judging by the way they were gazing at each other, oblivious to everything and everyone around them, they had more than talking in mind. She was delighted for Rory, of course, but more than a little envious, too. Jess heard from her mother only when she was broke and between loser boyfriends.

Roxanne Bennett’s last plea for help had been six weeks ago, and Jess had sent her two hundred of her hard-earned dollars because that was easier than putting up with a barrage of desperate phone calls. Besides, by the time Roxanne had frittered away the money, she’d have yet another loser in her life and she’d be mooching from him.

Nicola and Jonathan swung by. Wow! Nic mouthed after doing an approving double take when she caught a glimpse of Jess’s dancing partner.

Fortunately, Michael didn’t seem to notice. “Do you live in San Francisco?” he asked.

“I do. And you?”

“I’m a little north of the city, but I spend a lot of time here on business.”

“I see.” She wasn’t used to making small talk when it wasn’t required for work.

He had no trouble with it at all. “What do you do?”

“I own a little bar in the South of Market neighborhood.”

That seemed to interest him more than she would have expected. “SoMa’s an up-and-coming area. What’s the name of your place?”

“The Whiskey Sour.”

“Interesting.”

But he clearly didn’t think it was, and she could tell he’d never heard of it. Problem was, neither had anyone else.

“It came with the name.” And a small clientele. Emphasis on small. A reality she was determined to change as soon as she scraped together enough cash or convinced the bank to lend her some so she could renovate the place.

“How long have you been in business?”

“The bar has been there since my grandfather opened it in the fifties. I took over when he died two years ago.”

“I’ll have to come by for a drink sometime.”

“Oh. Sure, that’d be great.” She could use the business, but she could not picture this man, wearing this suit, sitting in her bar. No one but health inspectors and bill collectors ever showed up at the Whiskey Sour wearing a suit.

She caught a glimpse of Paige and her date entering the ballroom. Hard to miss Paige’s purple gown. She and Andy were holding hands. Jess smiled. Paige insisted they were just friends, but those two were so close to hooking up, it wasn’t even funny.

The band stopped playing and announced they were taking a short break.

Michael let her hand go, but kept his other hand on her back.

“Thank you.” A little to her surprise, she meant it. Dancing with him had been…an experience.

“The pleasure was mine. Now, let’s go see about that drink of yours.”

“Oh, right.” She wanted to tell him she had it under control, but that persistent hand was propelling her toward the bar.

Before they got there, Rory intercepted them and linked an arm with hers. “I see you’ve met Michael. I need to steal my maid of honor for a few minutes,” she said to him. “It’s time to toss the bouquet.”

“I hope you’ll bring her back,” he said. “I promised her a glass of wine.”

“Ten minutes, tops. Then she’s all yours.”

Oh, please. Like she would ever be all his. Or anybody’s. But she let Rory lead her away, reminding herself that this was the last time she had to be a bridesmaid. Unless Paige got married again—and given the way she and Andy were all over each other, that possibility was looking more likely by the minute.

Face it, Jess. If your friends don’t stay married, your career as a bridesmaid could last forever. She loved these women…they were the only real family she had…but she’d be glad when they were all happily married and she could settle into being godmother and old maid Auntie Jess to everyone’s kids. Those roles didn’t require a reinforced bra and hazardously high heels.

“Where are we going?” she asked Rory.

“To the powder room. Until now, I haven’t had a moment to chat with all of you.”

Nicola, Paige and Maria were waiting for them. Maria was sitting on a chair, partially covered by a soft pink baby blanket and discreetly breastfeeding her baby girl. Finally, a practical use for a strapless gown.

Paige stood facing the mirror, and Nicola was trying to fix her hair. “What on earth were you doing to make such a mess of your updo?” she asked.

Paige didn’t answer.

“There you go,” Nicola said. “That’s the best I can do without bobby pins and hairspray.”

“She and Andy disappeared for a while,” Jess said, feeling a bit mischievous. “I’m guessing they finally decided to get a room.”

Paige swung around, hands on her hips. “We did not! We wanted some fresh air, so we went for walk. It’s a beautiful autumn evening, but it’s kind of windy.”

Nicola laughed. “We must be having a hurricane. Too bad Andy didn’t bring his camper. The two of you could have weathered the storm in there.”

Not even Paige’s professionally applied makeup could hide the deep pink flush that flashed across her face.

Maria rearranged her dress and lowered the blanket to reveal a sleeping baby. “Go easy on her, girls. She’s in love. She just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

Paige’s pink face flared red.

“I’d love to hear all the details,” Rory said. “And I do mean all of them, but I don’t want to keep everyone waiting. I just wanted to thank you gals for making my day so special. Everything’s been perfect and I’m so grateful to all of you. Especially you, Jess. You’ve been the best maid of honor a bride could hope for.”

Jess hugged her. “It’s been fun.” And she actually meant it. Rory’s easygoing and slightly unorthodox approach to wedding planning had made the process a lot more fun than she’d expected it to be. “Did you manage to finish packing for your honeymoon?”

Excitement sparked in Rory’s eyes. “We leave first thing in the morning.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going to Disneyland,” Nicola said. “And taking your stepdaughter.”

The bride laughed. “It’ll be perfect. Mitch said we could leave Miranda with his mother and go away on our own, but it didn’t feel right. I’m not just married, I have an eight-year-old daughter. Taking a family honeymoon feels like the right thing to do, and Miranda is so excited.”

Jess couldn’t imagine ever meeting a man she could trust that way, never mind letting her guard down long enough to marry him, but to throw in a ready-made family on top of the bargain? No way. Not even an adorable little girl like Rory’s stepdaughter. Then again, there was no chance any of this could happen to her. She hadn’t even been on a date in two years, not since taking over the bar when her grandfather died. She’d been too busy working her butt off.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Maria said. “You’re going to be such a great mom.”

Paige nodded somewhat wistfully. “You already are a great mom, and you’re so lucky to have such a terrific little girl.”

Jess gave her a playful jab in the shoulder. “If you keep sneaking off with Andy and letting him mess up your hair like that, you might end up being a mom, too.”

Everyone laughed at that, even a red-faced Paige.

Rory waved her bouquet of colorful gerbera daisies. “Okay. Time to find out who’s next,” she said as she herded them all into the corridor. Then she tapped Jess’s shoulder. “Can we talk for a few seconds?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Let’s make sure Paige catches my bouquet.”

“This is just a tradition based on some crazy superstition. Catching it doesn’t guarantee a wedding.” Although come to think of it, Rory had caught Nic’s bouquet last fall, and look at her now.

“It’s symbolic, and it definitely seems to be Paige’s turn, don’t you think?”

The only thing Jess knew for sure was that it wasn’t hers. “How am I supposed to make sure she catches it?”

“There aren’t that many single women here, and the only two you really have to watch out for are Mitch’s cousins. Those two little brats have actually made a bet on which of them will snag it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Although short of tackling them, she had no idea how to prevent them from being contenders.

She joined the group of single women on the small dance floor and took stock of the situation. Since there’d almost certainly be another round of wedding bells in Paige’s future, it sort of did make sense to let her catch the bouquet and give everyone a chance to gush about her being the next to tie the knot. The groom’s teenage twin cousins had other ideas. They had already staked out their respective territories at the front of the small group of single women and were glaring at each other.

Amateurs, Jess thought. This would be like taking candy from a couple of babies.

For a split second she allowed her attention to be diverted as she searched out the man named Michael. He was watching her, and she was surprised to feel her own competitive nature kick in. Part of her was tempted to ditch the stupid shoes, roll up her sleeves—if she had any—and grab that sucker when it sailed over Rory’s shoulder. Not that she wanted to get married—far from it—but catching the bouquet would show Michael…

Show him what? She had absolutely no idea. Besides, she had agreed that Paige should catch it. So instead of going on the offensive, she positioned herself directly behind the twins.

Rory surveyed the group before turning her back on it.

Jess adopted the best linebacker stance her shoes would allow.

The band riffed a suitably dramatic tune, but the drum roll was drowned out by cheering.

In case a change to running back was necessary to get the bouquet to the intended receiver, she toed off her shoes under the dress.

With the precision of a rocket launcher, Rory propelled the bouquet over her shoulder.

Jess blocked the twins and held them out of range.

The bouquet headed straight for…oh, hell. So much for Rory’s aim. It was heading straight for Jess.

She let go of one twin, reached for the stupid flowers and volleyed them in Paige’s direction.

A surprised Paige fumbled the bouquet but didn’t drop it, and Jess grabbed the unfettered twin before she could make a lunge for the daisies.

The bride whirled around, quickly surveyed the situation and gave her a thumbs-up.

The twins gave her a pair of matching glares.

Paige, clutching the bouquet in both hands, laughed and looked at Andy.

Gotta love it when a plan comes together. “Sorry, girls,” Jess said to the irate teens. Not that she meant it. They couldn’t be a day over seventeen, which meant they were way too young to even think about getting married.

Nic was in stitches. “Nice save, Jess. And nice catch,” she said to Paige.

In every respect, Jess thought as she glanced from Paige’s blush-pink cheeks to Andy’s bewildered smile. Very nice catch.

Jess hiked up her full-skirted dress and stuck a foot into one of her shoes. Her toes complained vigorously. She crammed her other foot into its shoe and was hobbling off the dance floor when she spotted Michael near the bar. His gaze was still on her, and he still looked amused. Was he entertained by life in general, she wondered, or was he laughing at her? He picked up two glasses of wine and walked toward her.

I guess I’m about to find out.

He handed one of the glasses to her.

She accepted, knowing without asking that this time it was merlot.

“My money was on you catching that bouquet.” So he had been laughing at her.

“It wasn’t my turn.” She stopped herself before blurting out that there was no point, since she didn’t have a man in her life. He didn’t need to know that she had made up her mind a long time ago—at fourteen, to be exact—that it would take a very special someone to make up for the bad example set by her mother’s endless string of boyfriends.

“Those shenanigans seemed to take your mind off the dress.”

“What do you mean?”

“Earlier you were concerned that it would reveal too much.”

He was right. For those few moments while it was her job to get the bouquet in Paige’s hands, she had completely forgotten about the dress.

“So you had nothing to worry about.” His gaze traveled over the top of her dress.

Sure. Nothing to worry about.

“I understand you’re not seeing anyone.”

How the hell had he figured that out? “That’s a pretty big leap. Just because I didn’t bring a date to the wedding doesn’t mean I’m not seeing anyone.”

“I’m not big on assumptions. I’d rather have facts, so I asked the mother of the bride if you were involved.”

There was something surprisingly suggestive about his inference. “Involved as in…?”

“You know what I mean.”

Was she supposed to be flattered that he’d gone to the trouble to find that out? “All right, then, it only seems fair that I have a few facts about you.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Are you ‘involved’ with anyone?”

“Not at the moment.” He touched her glass with his.

Interesting. She was tempted to ask if he was on the rebound, but that might sound as if she had more than idle conversation in mind. Instead, she decided on a different line of questioning. “How long have you known Rory’s mother?”

“Several years. We met at one of her art exhibits.”

Also interesting. She was usually quick to figure out what people did for a living, and she had not pegged Michael as an artist, or even an art aficionado. “Are you in the art business?” she asked.

He hesitated before answering, which made her suspect he was hiding something.

“Business, yes,” he said finally. “Not art. As it turns out, your friend Nicola’s husband is also a colleague of mine.”

Jonathan was a lawyer. “Do you work with him?” she asked.

“No, I’m not a lawyer. Just a client.”

“One of their criminal cases?”

His laughter was genuine. “Good one. I try to stay out of trouble, or at least not get caught. Besides, Jonathan is a corporate lawyer.”

Did that make Michael a corporation or just someone who worked for one? She owned her own business, but the only time she’d talked to a lawyer was when she had settled her grandfather’s estate.

“You haven’t tasted the wine.”

Neither had he, she noticed. She obliged and took a sip. “Nice.”

He looked taken aback, as though he’d expected her to say something else.

“Very nice.” To emphasize her point, she took another drink.

He gave the wine in his glass a gentle swirl. “Does the Whiskey Sour have a wine list?”

“Not a list, exactly, but I do stock two kinds of wine.”

“What are they?”

“Red and white.”

His laugh was even sexier than his smile. “Seriously?”

Completely serious. “I really want to reinvent the place as a cocktail lounge, but right now most of my patrons are beer drinkers. A couple of my friends—Nicola and Paige, who is one of the other bridesmaids—drink wine, so I keep a few bottles on hand.”

“Tasting a wine should be like a first kiss. You need to take your time and give it all your attention.”

He tipped his glass slightly to one side. “Did you notice the color of this one?”

Other than it being red, she had not. She focused on the glass for a moment and wondered if she’d ever find out what a first kiss with him would be like. She looked up at him and realized he was waiting for her answer. She managed to shake her head.

He tipped his glass slightly to one side. “If the light was better, you’d see it’s not red. It’s a deep shade of garnet.”

All she saw was a pair of dark blue eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It’s well aged.” He straightened his glass.

“No offense, but doesn’t wine tasting strike you as being kind of pompous? I mean, they’re pretty much all the same.”

His only response was a stunned expression, but he recovered quickly. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Uh, what would you like to know?”

“Something I wouldn’t expect to hear.”

Would her wanting to explore the whole kissing thing be unexpected? Probably not. “I used to be a high school teacher and I have a brown belt in karate.”

“Really? I guess that’s one way to keep students in line.”

She smiled at that. She wasn’t cut out to be a teacher, but fortunately she’d never had to rely on the martial arts for classroom management. It had come in handy with a couple of her mother’s boyfriends, though. One in particular.

Snap out of it, she told herself. She usually didn’t dwell on the past, so why did it keep shoving its way into her thoughts tonight? Maybe it was being around Rory’s family, or maybe it was the unexpected attention from a handsome stranger who avoided answering questions about himself, but had no trouble wheedling information out of her.

Michael swirled the contents of his glass, but he was studying her intently. “So before you taste the wine, you have to smell it.” He held it out to her. “Inhale slowly, and really think about the scent.”

In her book, there weren’t many things more pretentious than wine tasting, but she played along and took a sniff. “It sort of smells like cherries.”

He smelled it. “You’re right. Ripe cherries, and just a hint of spice.”

Her insides went wobbly. “Your turn. To tell me something unexpected about you, I mean.”

He hesitated, as though trying to think of something that might interest her. “I’m restoring a 1954 Morgan.”

Michael’s hands didn’t look anything like the mechanics’ hands she often saw wrapped around beer mugs at the Whiskey Sour. “Are you actually doing the work yourself, or are you having it restored?”

“A little of both. You know something about cars?”

She cupped both hands around her glass. “A little. My grandfather had an old MGB. I used to help him work on it from time to time, and a lot of his friends are…were…mechanics. Some of them are still regulars at the bar.”

“You should hold your glass by the stem,” he said. “That way you don’t transfer the warmth from your hands to the contents of the glass.”

“Oh.” She adjusted her hands accordingly.

“I rebuilt the engine myself. With my brother, actually. We’ve been working on it together. It’s a nice change of pace from…what I usually do.”

Okay. Maybe the brother was a mechanic.

“Now you should taste the wine again,” he said, but he reached for her hand and stopped her before she could raise the glass to her lips. “Let it slide over your tongue and around the inside of your mouth before you swallow it.” His voice had taken on a sinfully deep tone and she swore it was reverberating through his hand and up her arm. “Try it.”

She took a sip and so did he. She watched his mouth, and didn’t swallow until he did.

“What do you think?”

She was at a loss for words, and that almost never happened.

“Peppery, just a hint of oak,” he said. “Full-bodied.”

“Yes. You took the words right out of my mouth.”

He smiled at her. “Can you still taste it?”

She thought about that for a second or two, and nodded.

“That’s one of the best characteristics of this particular wine. It has a long, warm finish.”

Holy crap. She should ask about his car, or his brother or what kind of business he was in. Instead she took another slow, careful sip of wine, imagined she was being kissed, and contemplated everything implied by a long, warm finish.

Chapter Two

Michael Morgan followed his real estate agent out of the shabby building she’d just shown him in the South of Market district and waited on the sidewalk while she locked the door. The large windows overlooking the street had been boarded up with plywood, and that had been covered with several coats of paint in an unsuccessful attempt to keep graffiti under control. Even the big for-sale sign had been tagged so many times, it was almost unreadable. It was the third place he’d seen and the least disastrous, which wasn’t saying much.

“It definitely needs work,” the agent said. “I do think it has potential, though. Nice high ceilings and all that exposed brick. And there’s already lots of new development nearby.” She had helped him find the two previous locations for his new wine bars—the first at Fisherman’s Wharf and the second on Nob Hill—and she now had a good sense of what he wanted.

This place was a dump, but she was right, it had potential. A trendy-looking deli and coffee shop had recently opened across the street, a new residential building next door boasted upscale loft condos and there was more new construction on the next block. On the downside, this place required a major renovation and he had no idea how much of the building’s character and existing structure could be salvaged, or how much capital he’d have to sink into it.

“It is a good location,” he said. “Let me talk to my sister and find out when she can check it out. She’s the architect who’ll be handling this project.”

“Of course. If it makes life easier for you, have her call me directly and we’ll set up a time.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” Michael unlocked his car, got in and checked his cell phone for messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait. He pulled up his sister’s private number and studied the building’s facade while he waited for her to answer. The windows and front entrance were set in brick arches. The second-story windows were tall, almost floor-to-ceiling on the inside. He could picture them with ironwork Juliet balconies on the outside, and maybe some planters.

“Hey, big brother. What’s up?”

“Hi, Lexi. I’ve just toured a possible location for the new wine bar in SoMa. Any chance you can take a look sometime this week?”

“I’ll be happy to.”

He gave her the real estate agent’s number and said he’d leave it to her to set up an appointment. “I guess I’ll see you at home tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. What time will you be there?”

“I’m driving up first thing in the morning. I have a meeting with Ginny at the winery, then I thought I’d hang out with Ben for the rest of the day. What about you?”

“I plan to catch up on some work here and leave around lunchtime, but I’ll take a look at this place before I go. The party’s not till six, right?”

“That’s right, but I think Mom would like you to be there a little before she serves dinner.”

“Gee, you think?” Lexi laughed. “Oh, hang on a sec.”

He waited and listened to her give a series of quick instructions to an assistant.

“Okay, I’m back. I’ve already told Mom I’ll be there before dinner, and she talked me into staying the night. I also told her that if she wants us to drop everything and spend the whole day up there, then she shouldn’t throw a party in the middle of the week.”

He was willing to concede that Lexi made a good point, even though he didn’t agree with her and neither would their mother. As far as Sophia Morgan was concerned, nothing was as important as family, and he felt the same way. As much as he had wanted to build on his father’s business—and so far his success had exceeded even his expectations—he had done it as much for his family as for himself.

He divided his time between his family’s home in Napa Valley and his apartment in San Francisco, which meant he was back and forth fairly often. His sister Ginny and her husband lived in the valley at one of the family’s vineyards. Lexi was the only one who’d chosen a career outside the family business and made a permanent move to the city. She was a shrewd businesswoman, even a little hard-nosed at times, and was also the only one of his siblings who was periodically at odds with their mother. The fireworks had started the day she hit puberty, escalated through her teen years and finally settled into an accepting but arm’s-length relationship around the time she left for college.

“Has our mother ever thrown a party that wasn’t on the actual day of someone’s birthday?” he asked.

“No, but it’s not like Ben would know.”

“Ah, but she would,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, I know, and I’ll be there. I will. Just not for the whole day.”

“Okay, okay. No guilt trips from me. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

He tossed the information packet from the Realtor into the glove compartment, took out a pair of sunglasses and flipped open his appointment book. This had been his last scheduled meeting for the day. Now he’d satisfy his curiosity about a little bar called the Whiskey Sour and the high-spirited redhead who ran the place. He’d thought a lot about both since he’d met her at Rory and Mitch’s wedding on Saturday evening, and he was looking forward to seeing her again. This time on her turf.

He was more interested in her bar than he was in her, though. She had implied that her business wasn’t doing all that well, so there was a very good chance she’d consider selling. And if she hadn’t considered it, well, he could be persuasive.

Still, she was an intriguing woman in her own right. That amazing cascade of red hair would make any man a little crazy, and those piercing green eyes could cut through any pretense. He didn’t often meet a beautiful woman who didn’t use her looks to her advantage, and that’s what had intrigued him most. She had introduced herself simply as Jess, but it had been easy enough to find out that her name was Jessica Bennett. She was the owner and sole proprietor of the Whiskey Sour, and according to the telephone directory she rented an apartment about six blocks away. Which might sound a bit stalkerish, but he’d learned the hard way to check out people, especially women, before letting them into his life.

Not that Jess had given any indication she wanted in. She hadn’t come across as a gold digger, but then neither had most of the others. Jess seemed down-to-earth and completely unpretentious, and she had made her thoughts on wine tasting abundantly clear. She thought it was pompous. Then there’d been the quip about him being one of Jonathan’s criminal cases. Somewhat to his surprise, he had found it refreshing, and it still made him smile. She might have been more restrained if she’d known who he was, but there was also a good chance she wouldn’t.

The sun had finally put in an appearance, and before he drove away he put on the sunglasses and debated whether or not to put the top down. Better to leave it up, he decided. He’d have to park on the street and he wasn’t all that familiar with the neighborhood. A few minutes later he pulled into a parking spot behind a red scooter and knew he’d made the right decision. Jess’s bar was on the street level of a two-story building that had seen better days. It was in better shape than the place he’d just seen and although the location was sketchier, there was some new development down the block.

This should be interesting. In spite of her elegant appearance on Saturday night, she had not been comfortable in the strapless gown or the high-heeled shoes—especially not the dress—but he still had trouble picturing her running a blue-collar establishment, and that’s clearly what this was.

He opened the door and stepped inside the dimly lit space, realizing he’d forgotten to leave his sunglasses in the car. He shoved them up onto his head and waited for his eyes to adjust. The place smelled of beer and disinfectant with a hint of deep-fryer fat that was past its prime. Gradually he became aware that all eyes—those of two older men perched on stools that flanked one corner of the bar and the young brunette behind the bar—were on him.

Or…was that Jess?

It was. The lighting was deceptive and the brunette was actually a redhead. He approached the bar, taking in the unexpected transformation of the ill-at-ease woman in the strapless blue gown into this casual ponytailed barkeep in a man’s blue-and-white-pinstriped dress shirt worn jacket-style over a gray T-shirt. He had been oddly attracted to the initial version, but he was out-and-out intrigued by this one.

“This is a surprise,” she said.

He’d be willing to wager that he was more surprised than she was. Without taking her eyes off him, she finished pulling a glass of beer and slid it across the counter to one of the only two customers in the place.

Michael nodded a greeting to the two men and took a stool, leaving an empty one between them, and turned his attention back to Jess. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“Were you?” Her tone implied that she didn’t believe him. “What brings you down here?”

You, he was tempted to say, but that wasn’t entirely true and she’d never believe it anyway. “Real estate,” he said instead.

“I see. Buying or selling?”

“Buying.”

She was back to looking skeptical again. At the wedding she had mentioned that the mechanics who had been her grandfather’s old friends still frequented the place. Her two customers had to be them.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

He thought about asking for a glass of wine just to see what she’d give him, but he was pretty sure that would tick her off. Instead, he did a quick survey of what she had on tap. A small but impressive selection. “I’ll have a Guinness.”

She reached for a glass and while she filled it, he studied her face. At the wedding she’d worn her hair loose and her makeup had been flawless. Today he doubted she was wearing any, except maybe some mascara. With her coloring, the long, sweeping eyelashes seemed too dark to be natural. She looked young, probably much younger than she actually was, and the faded, slim-fitting jeans and black-and-white high-topped sneakers made her seem even more youthful.

She set the glass on a cardboard coaster in front of him. “What kind of real estate are you looking for?”

“A location for a new wine bar.”

“So you really do know something about wine.” Her grin took the edge off the dig.

“I do.”

“I sure don’t need any more competition, but a wine bar sounds like the kind of place the neighborhood newbies will go for.”

Unlike the two men seated at the bar. They were a couple of old-timers in every sense of the word. Michael took a quick look around the interior. “I don’t know. If you fix up this place, you’d attract a diff—” The two men had stopped talking and had tuned in to his conversation with Jess. “You’d bring in more business.”

She gave him a long, thoughtful look. “I’m working on it.”

If she had a plan, she apparently wasn’t going to share it with him. “Have you considered selling?” he asked instead.

She’d started to clean the counter with a damp cloth, but she paused in midswipe. He noticed that the pink nail polish she’d worn at the wedding was gone. “If that’s why you came in here, you should have saved yourself the trouble. The Whiskey Sour is not for sale.”

It had been an innocent enough question, but she was genuinely offended by it. “No problem. I just looked at a place on Folsom Street. It needs work, but it’s the best I’ve seen so far.” With the exception of this place. He wanted a building that had the feel of an old warehouse, in keeping with the neighborhood, and Jess’s bar had everything on his list—interior brick walls, exposed overhead ducts and wiring, and original plank floors that had, over the decades, been buffed into a natural patina. Didn’t she realize she was sitting on a gold mine? Then again, her business was none of his.

“Do you live around here?” Her voice sounded distant all of a sudden, and he could tell she was still suspicious about his motivation for being here. Damn. That’s not what he’d intended.

“I have an apartment on Nob Hill. What about you?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Not far from here.” She backed away and leaned on the counter behind the bar, arms folded, ankles crossed.

This was not going well.

He took the sunglasses off his head, folded them and set them on the bar. “So I was wondering, would you like to go out for dinner sometime?” She looked as surprised as he felt. He’d thought a lot about asking her out since he’d danced with her on Saturday night, but he usually had more finesse than this.

“Oh. Um…I work here most nights so…no. But thanks.”

The skinny man sitting closest to him shifted slightly on his stool. “She doesn’t work on Thursdays,” he said.

“Larry! No help from the peanut gallery.”

Both men were smiling broadly and nudging one another with their elbows. “When was the last time you went out on a date?” the heavyset man asked.

Jess’s face turned a revealing shade of red. “Bill, that goes for you, too. You guys are as bad as Granddad used to be.”

The man named Larry wasn’t finished. “She has another bartender who’s here every Thursday,” he said to Michael. “So tomorrow night would be good.”

Michael laughed. He felt a bit like a teenager asking a girl’s father for permission to take her out. “Thursdays. Good to know. Unfortunately, I have plans tomorrow. A family dinner,” he added quickly so she didn’t think it was a date. “It’s my brother’s birthday. Next Thursday would be good, though.” He hoped he was free that night, but if there was something on his calendar, it would be easy enough to change.

Jess stepped forward, planted both hands flat on the bartop and leaned toward him. “Hello? I said no.”

Ah, but did she mean it? He put his own hand down so it was almost touching hers. “I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on running a bar in this part of the city. It would just be a business dinner.”

“A free business dinner,” Larry said.

Bill, who’d been slowly nursing his beer, set his glass down. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Jess rolled her eyes and glared at them.

Michael was sure she was having second thoughts.

“Do you have a pen?” he asked.

She plucked one from a jar beside the cash register and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He took a fresh coaster from a stack on the bar, flipped it over and wrote his number on the back. “This is my cell phone. I’ll pick you up here at six next Thursday, but if something comes up you can call me.” He could give her a business card but decided against it. Too much information. For a second he had even debated whether or not to write his last name on the coaster, but he left it at Michael. Until he got to know her, the less she knew about him, the better.

He slid the coaster across the bar. She didn’t pick it up, but he knew she’d keep it, and although she still hadn’t said yes, she had stopped saying no.

He swiveled a little to the right on the wobbly seat of the bar stool. “You gentlemen must be regulars,” he said to Larry and Bill.

As he had surmised, both were mechanics who worked nearby. They’d been dropping in for a beer every day after work for years, had been longtime friends of Jess’s grandfather and had more or less watched her grow up, which accounted for their avuncular affection. They talked about cars and he told them about the old Morgan he and his brother were restoring while he drank his Guinness and subtly—at least he hoped he was being subtle—watched the woman behind the bar.

Likewise, Jess kept herself busy, but he could tell she didn’t miss a beat. She perked up when their talk drifted to the old sports car he was restoring. He thought she might even join their conversation, but she didn’t. Larry said he knew of a reliable supplier for rebuilt auto parts. Michael pocketed the man’s card and said he’d be sure to give him a call when he needed something.

Twenty minutes later, after he finished his beer, he pulled out his wallet and opened it. Before he withdrew a bill, he finally made eye contact with Jess. “Walk me out?” he asked.

He half expected her to tell him to get lost, but she skirted the bar and joined him. He tossed a bill onto the counter and walked with her to the door. He wanted to touch her, but he knew she wouldn’t want that, not with Larry and Bill watching.

“I enjoyed meeting your friends at the wedding,” he said instead. “You and Rory and the other bridesmaids seem pretty tight.”

“We are. They’re like my family. Now that my granddad’s gone, they’re really the only family I have.”

Interesting. He couldn’t imagine life without a close-knit family—a biological one—and was tempted to ask about her parents. No, that could wait. She gave the impression she would open up only when she was ready and not a moment sooner.

“Having friends who have your back is always a good thing.” He pushed the door open and she followed him outside. “So I’ll see you next Thursday.”

She drew the front of her shirt closed and folded her arms over it. “No offence, but why do you want to go out with me? The woman you met at the wedding the other night isn’t the real me. This—” she uncrossed her arms and made a sweeping gesture “—this is the real me.”

“Relax. It’s business, and it’s just dinner. I’m interested to hear what you think of my plan for the new wine bar.” Which wasn’t the case at all. Once he made up his mind about something—and he already knew what he wanted in this neighborhood—he wasn’t interested in what anyone else had to say about it. He had good instincts about these things and so far following them had paid off.

“So long as we’re clear about one thing. Dinner is strictly business, and the Whiskey Sour is not for sale.”

Or so she thought. Everything and everybody had a price. He could be very persuasive, and he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. And right now he wanted the Whiskey Sour. “Understood. I’d like to hear what you have planned for this place, too.” He had the impression that she didn’t actually have a plan, though, and that was going to work to his advantage. “See you next week.”

“Sure. But really—” She was back to looking like a deer in the headlights.

“No buts.” He opened his car door, and there was no missing the upward arch of her eyebrows. “See you next week.”

Chapter Three

Jess stood by the door, watching Michael slide behind the wheel of his Boxster and drive away. Wow. That was some car. Jet-black with tan upholstery. Wine bars must be more lucrative than seedy little taverns. All she could afford was a secondhand Vespa.

After he disappeared around the corner, she went back inside. Larry and Bill were just finishing their second round, which meant they’d be leaving soon. Both were sporting ear-to-ear grins. “Do not start with me,” she warned them.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Larry said. He leaned sideways and slid the money Michael had left toward her.

Twenty bucks for a $5.95 glass of beer. Was he always this generous or did he feel sorry for her?

“Big tipper,” he said.

Jess rang in the sale, grabbed the bill off the counter and stuffed it into the cash drawer.

Larry reached for a coaster—the one with Michael’s phone number—and slid that toward her. “Better put this away for safekeeping, too.”

“I said don’t start.”

Bill laughed, a big booming laugh in keeping with his size. “He forgot his sunglasses, too. Maybe you ought to call that number and let him know.”

Sure enough, Michael’s glasses sat on the bar next to his empty glass. Had he left them behind on purpose? Maybe an excuse to come back or, as Bill was suggesting, a way to get her to call him. No, that didn’t seem like his style. He sure hadn’t needed a reason to show up this afternoon. It was obvious that he’d come here looking for a piece of SoMa real estate, and he could damn well think again. She loved this place. It was the only thing in her life that had any real significance, and she no intention of selling.

To her annoyance, though, she had thought about Michael a lot since Saturday night. She had even debated whether or not to ask Rory for the scoop on him when she got back from her honeymoon. Or she could ask Nic to find out what kind of legal work Jonathan did for him. But what would be the point? Sure, she was curious, but she hadn’t actually expected to see him again. Besides, if either of them told him that she was fishing for information, he might get the wrong idea.

She picked up the sunglasses and pulled the lost-and-found box from under the counter. The box contained two gloves that didn’t match, a cigarette lighter with an ornate letter P engraved on it, a tube of red lipstick, a couple of stray keys, several unpaired earrings and a tacky little gold vinyl change purse that contained eighty-seven cents. A bunch of crap no one would ever claim but that she couldn’t bring herself to throw out. The gold logo on the arm of Michael’s glasses indicated that they were neither cheap nor trashy. She slid the box back into place and set the sunglasses on the counter at the back of the bar. No way would she use them as an excuse to call him. If he didn’t come back for them, and she had a pretty good hunch he wouldn’t, she could give them to him when he picked her up next week.

Larry drained his glass and set it on the bar. “I’d best be getting home to the missus. She’ll have dinner on the table pretty soon.”

“Or you could take the missus out for dinner,” Bill said. “I hear the ladies like that sort of thing.”

Bill had been a confirmed bachelor for as long as she’d known him, which was pretty much forever. She also knew neither of them would let this go unless she played along with them, so she leaned on the counter and struck the phoniest dreamy-eyed schoolgirl pose she could muster. “Us gals are totally into being wined and dined.” She tipped her head to one side and batted her lashes. “Totally.”

They laughed and she joined in while they paid for their drinks. She was not the wine-me, dine-me type at all, and her friends knew it.

“Wish I could afford to give you a big tip,” Larry said.

“I don’t expect tips from you guys,” she said. “I just appreciate your business.” She appreciated their loyalty even more.

Both glanced surreptitiously at the room full of empty tables.

“No worries. Things will pick up a little later,” she said. “They always do.”

They knew as well as she did that was often not the case, but they were too polite to say it. She had tried all kinds of things to bring in new patrons—everything from putting leaflets on the windshields of parked cars in the area to a speed-dating night. The leaflets had ended up littering the sidewalk and the speed-dating thing had been an unmitigated disaster. The place needed a serious facelift and she could swing that only if her application for a bank loan was approved. The guy at the bank had done some serious eyebrows hikes when he’d assessed her financial situation, then said he’d get back to her in a few weeks. All she could do now was wait and see.

Bill pushed the door open and slid a ball cap onto his head. “’Night, Jess.”

Larry waved. “You take care, girl.”

“For sure. Good night, guys. I guess I’ll see you Friday.” She usually dropped in on Thursday even though it was her night off, but Paige was moving into a new apartment and Jess had promised to help her pack.

After they left she picked up the coaster that had Michael’s number on it, and it dawned on her that she didn’t even know his last name. She put the coaster under the tray in the cash drawer and reached for his sunglasses. The next thing she knew, she had them on. She looked at herself in the mirror behind the rows of bottles.

“What the hell are you doing?” She whipped them off again. “Mooning around over some guy who’ll probably turn out to be a total jerk.”

When it came to men, she had lousy luck, and she blamed that on her mother. Roxanne Bennett was a slut, no two ways about it. She had a habit of hooking up with losers who didn’t give a damn about her or her daughter, and Jess’s father had been one of them. There’d been countless nights when Jess heard her mother stumble in after the bars closed, laughing and shushing some loudmouthed guy, telling him not to wake up her kid. And the morning after, how many times had a strange man caught her off guard in the kitchen and scared the crap out of her while she was making peanut butter sandwiches—one for breakfast and another for lunch—and hoping to sneak out to school before her mother and the creep du jour woke up?

“Stop it,” she said to her reflection. The past was the past. With her granddad’s help she’d put it behind her a long time ago, and the best way to keep it in the past was to not let herself think about it.

Michael was nothing like the men her mother had dragged into their lives, but he was very sure of himself, cocky even, and clearly successful. He was the kind of man who liked getting what he wanted, and she had a feeling he wanted her bar.

Still, she was going out for dinner with one of the sexiest men she had ever met. One of? He could be a contender for the sexiest man alive. A man who was going to pick her up next week in that flashy car of his and take her out to dinner to discuss business, and she had absolutely nothing to wear. For the first time in her life she wished she had a clue about what kind of clothes a woman wore to a business dinner with a man who drove a Porsche and wore designer shades.

Rory had enough fashion sense for both of them, but she was on her honeymoon, and Nicola’s expensive tastes would put her in the poorhouse. Jess reached for the phone and punched in Paige’s number. She was up to her eyeballs in packing boxes but this was a fashion nine-one-one call, after all, and there was a first time for everything. Paige would understand.

TO BEAT THE MORNING rush hour, Michael got up at dawn and drove through the still-slumbering city and north across the Golden Gate. That morning the bridge and the bay were frosted with a thick layer of fog, but a quick glance over his shoulder showed the lights of the city still sparkled against the lightening sky. He’d made this hour-and-a-half commute more times than he could count, but he never tired of the scenery, especially at sunrise. Now with the city behind him, he looked forward to going home.

For the past few years, business had drawn him into the city more and more frequently and he had finally rented an apartment in Nob Hill so he had a home base. Or at least a place to stay and a place to entertain business colleagues as often as required. The plan had been to buy a condo or a town house, but he hadn’t found the time or the need to get that settled. Living in the city had taken some getting used to, but now he appreciated the noise and chaotic confusion as much as he cherished the order and symmetry of the countryside and vineyards that had been his backyard since childhood.

In a couple of hours the roads would be busy with the tour buses that were the bread and butter for many of the smaller wineries and still a welcome addition to the bigger enterprises like Morgan Estate. As his car made quick work of the miles, he took in the sprawling, linear vineyards and tried to run through a mental inventory of everything he needed to cover at his meetings that morning, but his mind kept drifting to dinner with Jess next week.

Where should he take her? Most of the women he’d dated preferred someplace elegant and expensive, but he could tell that wasn’t her style. They could drive up here to the valley—he knew of several out-of-the-way places—but it was too soon for that, he decided. Besides, this was a business dinner, not a date.

He could take her to his wine bar at Fisherman’s Wharf, or they could stay in SoMa. Come to think of it…maybe they should do both. He smiled and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He had an idea that just might work, in more ways than one.

The sun was well up by the time he arrived at the house and he looked forward to joining his family for breakfast. Instead of driving into his space in the garage, he pulled up on the cobblestone roundabout by the front entrance and popped the trunk. He slung the leather strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, took out the big, bright, professionally wrapped package and slammed the trunk shut.

Right on cue, the front door flew open.

“Mikey! Mikey!” His brother had given him the childish nickname years ago and continued to use it because he’d never been able to wrap his tongue around the L in Michael.

“Hey, Ben. What are you up to this morning?” This adult-sized child’s soft, round features and ear-to-ear grin never failed to bring out Michael’s protective instincts.

“Fix my car today?” Ben asked.

“We’re not going to work on the car today, sport,” he said, more than happy to let his brother take ownership of a car he would someday be able to ride in but would never be able to drive. “It’s your birthday, remember?”

Ben reached for the gift, the pudgy fingers of both hands splayed. “My present?”

“It sure is, but you have to wait till your party to open it.”

“Open it now!”

Too late, Michael realized he should have left the gift in the trunk until Ben was otherwise occupied. “Where’s Poppy?” he asked.

The diversion tactic worked. Ben spun around and ran into the house as fast as his stocky legs would carry him, yelling, “Pop! Pop! Poppy!”

“Honey, why are you shouting?” Their mother’s calm, melodic voice drifted through the house.

“Mikey’s home! Where’s Poppy?”

“Michael? Are you here already?”

“Yes, I am,” he called to her. “I’ll be right there.” He nudged open the door to his father’s den off the foyer, stashed Ben’s gift in a cabinet and set his briefcase on the floor next to the desk. He didn’t think of this room as his office, although it’s where he worked when he was here. He could still picture his father sitting in one of the big, coffee-colored leather armchairs by the gas fireplace, reading, and he could even detect the faint smell of pipe tobacco. It had been the only room in the house where his father smoked. After eight years, Michael wasn’t sure if the scent still lingered in the room or just in his memory.

He left the den and followed his nose to the kitchen.

“You’re earlier than usual.” His mother reached up and gave him a hug, then presented one lightly powdered cheek for a kiss. She was one of those rare women who appeared in the kitchen first thing in the morning fully dressed, hair done and makeup applied, long before anyone else in the family was awake.

“I’m meeting with Ginny this morning, then I have a working lunch with Drew Attwell at the winery. That should wrap up by two at the latest, and then I’ll come back and spend the rest of the afternoon with Ben.”

“Thank you. He’s been asking about you every five minutes. I haven’t seen Drew in a while. How’s he doing these days?”

“Working as hard as ever. 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 one knew Ben the way she did, no one could possibly love him as much as she did. Which wasn’t true—Michael and his sisters doted on their little brother, even though they’d never talked about who would look after him if their mother couldn’t. Partly because no one was ready to accept the reality that their mother wasn’t getting any younger and partly because each secretly hoped one of the others would step up and take on the responsibility.

Ben abandoned the television and wandered back to the kitchen.

“Would you like a scone?” Sophia asked.

“Juice.”

“Juice, please.”

Ben gave her an eager nod.

“Can you say it?”

“Yup. Juice puh-leeeeez.”

“Good boy. Sit with Michael and I’ll get it for you.”

Ben settled into the next chair. “Mikey wants juice?”

“No, thanks. I’ll stick with coffee.”

“Don’t like coffee,” Ben said. “Like juice.” As soon as his mother set the glass of orange juice in front of him, he grabbed it and took a gulp. “See? Mustache!” he said, pointing to his upper lip.

Sophia handed him a napkin.

Michael laughed. “I see that.”

“We’ll fix the car?”

“Not today,” Michael reminded him. “I’m going to see Aunt Ginny this morning.”

“Ginny’s baby got lost. Me ’n’ Poppy are looking for it.”

“Are you? Ginny must be happy about that.”

“Yup. Dogs are good at finding people.”

“They sure are.”

“What time did you say you’d be back?” his mother asked. She looked more tired than usual and he wondered if she was feeling all right.

“I should be back here by two o’clock.”

Ben drained his glass and set it on the table with a loud thunk. “Then we’ll fix the car?”

“Not today. But I met a mechanic in the city yesterday, and he’s going to help me find some of the parts we need. As soon as we get those, we’ll fix it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“How about we take Poppy for a walk this afternoon?” He had thought that would free up some of Sophia’s time to work on the birthday dinner preparations, and her look of gratitude told him he was right. He was happy to do that for her, just as he was happy to spend the time with Ben, and it had been months since he’d walked through the vineyard here at the house.

“Go for a walk an’ look for the baby.”

“Good idea.” He could see that his mother was losing patience with Ben’s repeated references to the missing baby, but it was his way of processing information. Sophia had decided it best not to try to explain the miscarriage to him and that had probably been a good idea, but he had overheard her say that Ginny had lost the baby, and he had taken it literally. Ben’s preoccupation with the missing infant would last until something else out of the ordinary captured his attention.

Sophia Morgan’s impatience was uncharacteristic, though, which caused him another little niggle of concern. He and his sisters tended to take her for granted, but she wasn’t getting any younger. If looking after the house and Ben and the dog were becoming too much for her, then they needed to find a solution. Since none of them were in a position to take on the responsibility of caring for Ben, it was time they looked into hiring someone who could. He watched the way his mother efficiently organized baking pans and utensils and the ingredients for Ben’s birthday cake, and dreaded the day he’d have to break that news to her.

Chapter Four

After Ben’s birthday dinner, Michael stood on the terrace outside the French doors, listening to the stillness and enjoying a few moments of solitude while waiting for Poppy to do her business and come back inside for the night. Ginny and Paul had gone home and Lexi was putting away the last load from the dishwasher. Like all of Sophia Morgan’s dinner parties, this one had been a triumphant success. Now the birthday boy was upstairs getting ready for bed, with his mother’s help, of course. It was something Ben should be doing by himself, but Sophia had been babying him for twenty-one years and she wasn’t about to stop. When the time came to hire a caregiver for Ben, this would make finding someone suitable that much harder.

Michael whistled softly when the little white dog disappeared beneath some shrubs. She reappeared and raced across the lawn, a flash of white hurtling in his direction. “Time to come in, you little rascal.”

Inside the house, she tore through the family room toward the kitchen, leaping and jumping around Lexi’s legs.

“Get down!” She finished stacking clean dinner plates on the counter and closed the dishwasher. “This dog has no manners at all.” But much as she tried to feign indifference toward Poppy, Michael had caught her sneaking tidbits of food off her plate and feeding them to the little dog that sat eagerly under her chair. He also knew she’d leave her bedroom door ajar when she went to bed, with the hope that Poppy might find her way in there.

Carefully hidden beneath Lexi’s tough, no-nonsense exterior was a soft heart and a generous spirit that few people ever got to see. She had always been the studious one in the family, bookish, really, with an artistic flair. While Ginny tended to be a little flamboyant at times, Lexi had a quieter, more casual elegance about her. Ginny was all laughter and warm hugs and put family first. Lexi was more reserved and 100 percent committed to her career. At thirty-one she was already one of San Francisco’s up-and-coming architects. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the family, Poppy included. She just didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve.

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