LITMIR.BIZ

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him.

      On what grounds? A feeling? What a joke. She was batting O-fer when it came to being able to trust her feelings.

      Maybe she should broaden her search to include the entire country. But that would take time, and meanwhile, money was flowing out of the checkbook with damned little coming in.

      The chair squealed when she collapsed against the back. In spite of her vow to make her own decisions, and regardless of how it felt to cave this early, she lifted her phone from the desk to call in a lifeline.

      Uncle Bob’s baby was just too important to risk on feelings. Especially hers.

      “The People’s Farm. This is Sky.”

      “Hi, Mom.”

      “Indigo! How good to hear your voice. Tell me what the winery’s like. Have you settled in?”

      Indigo could hear the bustle of the market in the background. The commune had barely been feeding itself when her mother took over and expanded the operation until they had surplus to sell. Her mother was half late-blooming flower child and half drill sergeant. The combination worked, for now the organic farmer’s market she’d begun drew people from three counties.

      “Not settled yet, but I’m working on it. First, tell me what’s happening there.” She smiled at her mother’s happy chirping about business and growing things. Wistful thoughts drifted in with her mother’s voice, but Indigo knew that as much as her childhood had been peaceful and pastoral, she’d no longer be happy living that simple existence. Hollywood had stripped her of the innocence required for membership, and like a hymen, once broken, innocence wouldn’t grow back. She shivered.

      “Indigo? Are you there?”

      “I’m here, Mom, sorry.”

      “What’s wrong?” Metal pellets of worry clicked in her voice.

      “Not a big deal, I’m just calling for some advice.” She needed a lifeline, not a life preserver—her mother couldn’t save her, only she could do that. “I’m about to hire my first employee. How can I know he’s the right person?”

      Her mother chuckled. “Lord knows, I made enough mistakes in the beginning to sink this place.”

      “That’s what scares me.” She wriggled in the chair to shake off her body’s craving for movement. “How do you decide?”

      “First, do your research. Then you take a leap of faith.”

      “I was afraid you’d say that. I always sucked at the broad jump.”

      “Indigo Blue. What’s going on?”

      She’d never discussed the dirty details of her life in Hollywood with her mother. In the beginning, she’d been too proud and embarrassed to admit that her pretty teenage dream had become a nightmare. After Harry, it had been easier to tell her a version closer to the truth. “Let’s just say I’ve learned some things the hard way, okay?”

      “Of course you did. That’s the only way we learn.” Suddenly her voice barked, “No, Moon, not there. Put the radishes beside the arugula. It’s more visually appealing.”

      “You’re busy. I’ll let you go.” She didn’t want her mother digging further into her past. Indigo’s stories wouldn’t stand up to more than casual interest.

      “Honey, you know how to do this. Go to a quiet place, put on some soothing music and open some lavender oil. Just trust. The answer is inside you.”

      “I will, Mom, thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.” She clicked End. Her mother meant well, but meditation wouldn’t fix the winery’s problems—knowledge would.

      She’d read through the The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Starting and Running a Winery three times and had learned enough to know that she didn’t know enough. Running a winery from a book was like a blind man attempting brain surgery.

      Which led her back to the résumé that lay, front and center, on the newly tidied desk.

      “Shit. Why am I putting myself through a mental rat maze? I don’t have a choice.” And that rankled.

      * * *

      ATTHESOUNDof a car engine, Danovan came back to himself and took a quick glance around the grassy hill dotted with marble rectangles. No visitors marred the perfect green lawn. Thank God. The family might have reclaimed his wife, but damned if they’d keep him from his daughter. He scanned the drive coming up the hill. He wasn’t prepared for another confrontation. The cuts to his soul might have healed, but the scars were red and shiny, too tight.

      He bent and placed the nosegay of baby’s breath and tiny white roses on the headstone below the name Esperanza DiCarlo. He’d named her for the hope she’d brought, but the few months between the two dates below her name reminded him that hope was fragile.

      “Sleep, cara. I will visit again soon.” He wiped a drop of regret from his eye and turned away.

      He opened the door of his Range Rover and dropped onto the seat. The phone rang. “DiCarlo,” he answered.

      “Mr. DiCarlo, this is Indigo Blue, of The Tippling Widow Winery. You applied for my generalist position earlier in the week?”

      As if he could forget either the job or the husky quality of the owner’s voice. “Yes, Ms. Blue.”

      Her laugh was as smoky as her voice. “I think we’d better be on a first-name basis if we’re to work together.”

      Thank God. He let out a breath it seemed he’d been holding forever. He’d sweated out the past four days, waiting for both the splash page on the Bacchanal site to be changed, wiped clean, as if he’d never existed. And for a call from Indigo, telling him she’d chosen someone else.

      “That is, if you still want the job, based on the terms we discussed.”

      “Oh, yes, I want it.” It might not be good form to smile in a cemetery, but his daughter wouldn’t be offended; wine was in her blood on both sides. “I can start tomorrow, if you’d like.”

      “Don’t you have to give notice at your current position?”

      Crap. He’d been so sure he wouldn’t land the job that he hadn’t planned this far ahead. Thoughts ran through his mind in a blur, like a manic news feed. He snatched at one. “I put in notice after my interview with you.”

      “A bit sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

      Her voice might be smoky, but he now remembered that smoke sometime came from ice. Dry ice.

      “Oh, no, not at all.” His panicked brain snatched at another speeding excuse. “I’m committed to my new course. If you hadn’t hired me, I’d have looked in Napa.” That was the truth—he’d planned to start looking on Monday.

      “I see.”

      His gut clenched at the silence on the line. He wanted to jump in, to convince her. But his father had always told him, “When you’re in a hole, stop digging.” So he stopped.

      After a lifetime of agonizing moments, she spoke. “How about tomorrow, say, ten?”

      “Yes, of course. See you then. Thank you.” He hung up and started the car. If she thought that a vintner’s hours ran on Hollywood time, she had a lot to learn. And for as long as she stayed, he’d teach her.

      But he didn’t expect that to be long at all.

      He drove down the hill to the exit. Oh, that’s nice. She’s put her trust in you, and you lie to her. When a wasp’s sting of guilt hit, he soothed it with the vow that he’d fulfill his side of the bargain. He’d run the place to the best of his ability after she scurried back to the Cush Life. He owed her that, for giving him a second chance. Even if she didn’t know she had.

      He drove to the apartment that would no longer be

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