LITMIR.BIZ

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into her.

      “Oof. Well, hello to you too, big guy.” Avoiding drool, she knelt to pet him from soft ears to whipping tail. “The Wicked Witch of the West will be here soon. Let’s spare ourselves that drama, eh?”

      “Well, I may be a witch, but that’s not Toto.” Brenda Stone swept in on stilettos instead of a broom. “And you are no Dorothy.” She flipped her salon-perfect blond tresses over her shoulder and strutted over on shapely, tanning-bed-brown legs. “Give me your house key, and open the suitcases.”

      Indigo stood, fists clenched at her sides. “You think I’d steal something?”

      “Listen up, bitch.” The diva waved a carmine talon in front of Indigo’s nose. “Daddy’s gone. I don’t have to put up with your shit for one more second.” She planted a fist on her hip. “Now, are you going to open up? Or do I call the cops?”

      They were once “friends.” That was before Indigo understood the Hollywood definition. She would have accepted Brenda’s aversion to having a stepmother her own age, but Brenda had made it clear that the competition wasn’t for Harry’s love—but for his money.

      Indigo spread her arms. “If I’d wanted any of this, I wouldn’t have insisted on a prenup leaving all of it to you.” The only things she wanted from this house were Barney, her wedding rings and a few of Harry’s T-shirts to sleep in.

      “Yeah, like anybody believed that story.” Brenda sniffed, her eyes crawling over the luggage. “Open them. Now.”

      Indigo bent and popped the locks on the first suitcase, tasting bitterness in the back of her throat. Sure, Brenda was all about money. But Indigo knew that deeper in her hate-shriveled heart lived an insecure, jealous little girl, and that was Indigo’s unforgivable sin. Not that Brenda was that little girl—but that Indigo knew it.

       A few minutes more, and you’re done with all this forever.

      She flipped open the suitcase. Slapping the drama queen silly would sure feel good but would only supply more fodder for the gossip rags. Harry deserved better. Guts churning, she gritted her teeth and opened the next.

      Ten minutes later the inspection was over, leaving Indigo feeling as violated as a cavity search.

      “Just because I’m a nice person, and since you didn’t try to steal anything else, I’ll let you keep the Vuitton.” Brenda raked a proprietary gaze over the marbled entryway and the Tara-style staircase, then back. “You were less than nothing before you met my dad. You’re now free to go back to that.” She flicked a hand in Barney’s direction. “You’re taking that filthy animal, right?”

      Indigo snapped the last lock shut and looked into Barney’s droopy eyes. “Are you ready?” Taking his tail wag as assent, she stood, grabbed the handles of the suitcases, and left this lifetime behind.

      * * *

      “I WASSORRY to hear about your baby girl, Danovan.” Reese Winters sat across the executive desk at Winter Wines. His wrinkles were set in nervous lines, as if waiting to get a root canal. With no Novocain.

      Danovan DiCarlo felt the same but knew if it showed, this interview would be over. He shut his mind to the words that delivered the brass-knuckle punch to his chest. “You’re aware that I have a degree in agribusiness from UC Davis, and that I worked my way up at Bacchanal Winery to become one of their trusted vintners. But what you may not know is that I single-handedly took their sauvignon line from ten percent of—”

      “Danovan.” Reece’s fingers drummed the edge of the desk.

      “Yes, sir.” He leaned forward, anxious to make his next point. He was just getting to the good stuff.

      “Spare me the résumé. You know I can’t hire you.”

      “But, sir, I’m an excellent manager.”

      “My respect for your abilities is what got you this meeting. I’d wager you haven’t gotten many others. Am I right?”

      “Well, I’m just now starting to—”

      “Son, I don’t believe the rumors the family is putting out about you.” He leaned back in his burgundy leather chair. “But that doesn’t matter. They buy my grapes.”

      “You’re going to let the Boldens dictate—”

      “I am. And so is every other winery in the area. What’s more, you knew that when you set up this appointment.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I don’t mean to stand in as your daddy, but it seems somebody needs to.” He put his knuckles on the desk and leaned in. “You got a bad deal. But you have to admit, you had some...input into your situation.”

      Danovan shot to his feet. “I didn’t come here to—”

      “So, I have to ask you.” He squinted across the desk. “Did you learn anything?”

      Heat pounded up Danovan’s neck until his face throbbed, engorged with it.

      “No one ever choked to death swallowing his pride, son.”

      Sanctimonious sonofabitch. If Winters hadn’t been old enough to sell wine to King Tut, Danovan would have pulled him across the table by the collar of that polo shirt and vent his frustration. Instead, he snatched the file folder of documentation from his chair, retrieved his résumé and dropped it in the folder. Even if all Danovan had left was a string of dynamite-rigged bridges, he couldn’t afford to burn any. Anger drained out of the hole that opened in his guts.

      He looked across the desk and saw the truth in those mournful blue eyes. In his own twisted way, the old man was trying to help.

      “I appreciate your time, Mr. Winters.” He squared his shoulders, did an about-face and marched out of the office, through the huge tasting room and out the front door of the winery. Finally, standing beside his car, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

       I’m firmly and durably screwed.

      He slammed his hands on the hood. When Winters agreed to see him, he’d had a glimmer of hope that one grower in the valley had a big enough set of balls to stand against the Boldens. But apparently they’d stopped making them that size.

      He unlocked his Land Rover with a click. He pulled the door open, and the smell of almost-new car washed over him as he settled into the seat. If he didn’t find a job soon, he’d be forced to sell this last sweet perk of his old life. He inserted the key and fired the engine.

      Sure, he could widen his search. He probably should. Napa Valley had more prestige, anyway. But there still would be the issue of a recommendation from his last employer. Who would an owner believe—the largest winemaker in central California, or a prospective hire? He pounded his fist on the burled wood dash, startling a passing tourist.

      Besides, dammit, he liked it here. He may have chosen the Central Valley right out of school because it was a small pond he could make a big splash in, but sometime over the past five years, he’d become attached. He liked the quaint small-town feel of downtown Widow’s Grove. He liked the prissy Victorians that lined the King’s Highway into town. But mostly, he loved the land. The rolling, golden hills dotted with live oaks quieted his edgy restlessness.

      But not his drive.

      Throwing the car into Reverse, he backed out. Goddammit, he wasn’t leaving until he’d interviewed at every winery he could get through the door of. The colossal screwup with Lissette might have trashed his ego, and his daughter’s death, his heart, but the Boldens were not taking his career, too.

      It was all he had left.

      * * *

      INDIGOWANTEDTOgo out the way she came in, so she chose Pacific Coast Highway. It took longer, but she and Barney weren’t in a hurry.

      The heavy mantle of Hollywood lightened with each mile of road that passed under her tires. This town wasn’t just a geographical location,

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