The Crush (Oregon Wine Country #1)(31)

“Where am I going to get the money for that?”

“I’ve heard that Clarkston Bank is friendly to local vintners. If you’re right about the Willamette’s potential, wouldn’t Jed Smith be willing to take a chance on you?”

Mom didn’t understand how to run a vineyard and a winery. She didn’t know how hard it was already to pay down her line of credit each month.

“You don’t have any college debt, and Dad’s insurance paid off the land and buildings. You’ve only got the expenses associated with the vineyard and winemaking.”

Even for a one-man show, packaging, bottling, the wages Junie paid her pickers and Keval, and other fixed costs added up to a substantial sum. Still, relief from that nagging anxiety about Storm returning, throwing a monkey wrench into the business she’d built up might be worth going a little deeper into debt. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Jed Smith see things her way.





Chapter Seventeen


Junie stepped out of Clarkston Savings Bank into the wet sidewalk. She flipped the hood of her jacket up against the farmer’s rain and started walking, but in no time, water was dripping from the rim of her hood and onto her face. So she yanked it farther over her forehead and pinched it closed under her chin, blocking her peripheral vision, and tucked her head till all she saw was the steady forward progress of her boots.

“Junie, is that you?”

She peered out from her hooded cocoon at the blue pickup that had slowed to a stop. For a moment, she thought it was Manolo’s. It was the same body style. Only the color was different.

“Daryl!”

“Where’re you going in this rain?”

She didn’t know where she was going. All she cared about was putting as much distance between her and the bank as possible. “Home, I guess.”

Jed Smith had turned down her request to up her line of credit. But the prospect of sitting in her lonely office figuring out a new plan to buy Mom’s share of the vineyard made her head hurt, and it was too wet to work outside today.

“You guess? Where you been?” He eyed her up and down from the cab of his truck, brown eyes sparkling.

Oh, that smile.

She bit her lip. If she told Daryl that Jed Smith had just turned down her loan request, it would be all over town by dinnertime. “At the bank.”

She needn’t have worried. Daryl was more interested in what he was doing. “I’m headed over to The Gorge for lunch. It’s been ten years since I got the most receptions in a game at Carlton High, and my record still stands. To celebrate, they named a sandwich after me. Want to know what’s in it?”

Junie brushed a raindrop from her cheek. “Sure.”

“Turkey, applewood-smoked bacon, and havarti on grilled—”

She envied Daryl his warm, dry interior. “That’s nice. Look, Daryl.” She took a step. “I’m getting soaked out here.”

“Don’t you even want to know what it’s called?”

She halted, sighing. “Yeah, sure.”

“The Catcher in the Rye. Get it?”

She smiled. “I get it. Good for you. Now I gotta go.”

“See you,” he said, accelerating. “Don’t forget—that Trattoria. I’m going to call you and set something up.” He took off, spraying a plume of water onto Junie’s pant legs.

Forget the Trattoria—couldn’t Daryl have at least offered her a lift, to get out of the rain?

She continued slogging in the direction of where her car was parked, wondering what Keval was up to. His snarky wisecracks had a way of taking her mind off whatever was getting her down.

She could stop over at the consortium—but what if Manolo was there? He hadn’t mentioned exactly which day he was coming back from the Reserves. Running into him would only make this day worse.

She got in her car and drove slowly around Sam’s block. The vacant lot next to the consortium looked different. It had been cleared and leveled, and a trench had been dug around it. Various pieces of heavy equipment sat around, shut down by the rain, she supposed. But there was no sign of Manolo’s truck.

In a corner of the consortium, a couple of growers argued politics. When Sam saw Junie, he finished his call and tossed his phone onto the counter.

“How’s your porch coming along?”

“Manolo says he’s almost done.”

“Speak of the devil. That was the Lieutenant on the phone. He’s on the way here from the airport. We broke ground while he was gone—did you notice? He said he’s going to stop by and check out the site before he even unpacks.”

“Here? Now?”

“Hey, girl.” Keval waved from where he sat working on his laptop.

She would have a quick word with Keval and hightail it out of there before Manolo showed up.

But she’d only gone a couple of steps when Holly of the Perpetual Smile fluttered into her path, animated as a little brown sparrow.

“Hi, Junie!”

“You look bubbly.” Even bubblier than usual.

“You won’t believe it.” From her scant five-foot-two, she slipped an elbow through Junie’s and dragged her out of the growers’ hearing. “Guess who brought me dinner Friday night?” she chirped. “Manolo Santos!” She squeezed Junie’s arm in her excitement. “Nothing fancy, he just brought a pizza and a bottle of your pinot over here to the consortium and we ate in the kitchen. But it was homemade pizza. He made it himself. Did you know he’s an incredible cook?”