Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(86)

“He’s riding the match today.” Enrique pointed down to the stables. “It’s a mixed match, women and men. Zoe and a couple of other women are playing on his team this time.”

Natasha swept her gaze to the barn.

Adrian and a tall blond beauty were leading horses toward the practice ring. They were laughing. At least the woman was. Adrian had his head turned, so she couldn’t see his face. He helped the woman mount, and the princess on the pony threw her head back and laughed again. Perfect timing. Did Natasha need any other sign from the heavens to tell her it was over between her and Adrian? The only thing that would’ve made it clearer would be if the woman had the number seventeen tattooed across her butt.

Natasha slipped into the gathered group of visiting gardeners before Adrian could catch sight of her.

Enrique was right—Adrian was a good man. He didn’t need her troubles piled on top of the responsibilities he already had. He worked hard and deserved an uncomplicated love life, not a woman who came with a child, the child’s father, a history that wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, and a love that was not only deep but everlasting. He was no doubt used to loving and then parting with his lovers as friends. She didn’t want to part at all.

Her unrelenting yearning for him made it hard to keep her thoughts straight. But one thing she knew for sure—she wasn’t going to be a pity project.

Appreciate the time they’d had, that was what she should do. Appreciate what he’d done for her and for the people of the Casa.

Right. And ice skaters would be sipping cocoa in hell.

She wanted all of him. And she couldn’t have him.

The worst of it was, she’d known that from the start, had fooled herself long enough to have a good time for a while. Long enough to know what it felt like to really love a man. Long enough to have her doors blown off by passion and her heart captured by Adrian Tavonesi.

One thing she knew for sure—once she had enough money saved up, she’d have to look for a new job. Tammy would give her a good reference. There was no way she could see him every day and watch other women come and go in his life. It would break her.





Kismet. Maybe such a force did exist in the universe.

One of the master gardeners on the tour of the Casa’s vineyards and native garden facilities worked at a successful local commercial plant nursery that sold cut flowers to the San Francisco flower market. The woman had mentioned that Bright Day Flowers was looking for help. Natasha had taken the woman’s card and said she’d keep her feelers out for a candidate.

On the drive home, Natasha practiced her pitch for winning the job. She had the skills and she loved flowers. But no amount of practice could hide the fact that she loved the native garden project more. At Casa del Sole she was part of a community making a difference, solving a problem, contributing to gardens that created thriving habitats. She could stay at the Casa and do the work she loved.

And have her heart break a little more every day.

When Natasha arrived home, a black sedan was parked in front of her apartment. She wouldn’t put it past Eddie to sic a private investigator on her. But he didn’t have to, not according to the will. All he needed was a simple DNA test—a test the court had already ordered. The attorney that Enrique had recommended had told her she had no choice but to take Tyler in for the court-mandated cheek swab. So who’d he sent now? Maybe he was going to try to prove she was unfit to parent Tyler. The thought shocked into her. She needed a better attorney and she needed one fast.

She eyed the car. A uniformed driver sat in the front of the limo.

Private investigators didn’t ride around in limos.

The rear windows were tinted, and she couldn’t see in. She gave a quick prayer of thanks that Tyler had gone to a movie with Brandon. Monica would drop him off after dinner. If Eddie was waiting in the limo, if he had ignored her plea for more time, maybe he’d tire of waiting and leave.

Her hands shook as she tried to unlock her door, and she dropped her keys into the pot of hydrangeas she’d bought to spruce up the drab porch. She bent down to retrieve them.

“Miss Raley?”

Natasha turned to see an elderly woman making her way up the walk. She had a spry step, but she had to be nearing eighty, maybe older. Elderly ladies weren’t PIs. Although if they were, they’d fool just about everyone. Maybe she was a friend of Mary’s.

“Hello,” Natasha said.

“Are you Natasha Raley?”

The woman’s serious tone and hyperfocused gaze set Natasha’s nerves on edge.

“Yes. And you are…?”

“Forgive me. I’ve been in the car too long. Sitting always muddles my brain. I’m Delia Marbury.”

Natasha glanced at the tiny gloved hand Delia held out. Definitely a friend of Mary’s. Probably an Inspire donor. Certainly not the threat her quivering stomach wanted her to believe.

Delia shook Natasha’s fingers gently. Then she tilted her head toward the door. “May I come in? I’m not accustomed to discussing business on the sidewalk.”

Natasha doubted that one cell of the older woman’s brain had ever been muddled. She looked all business, and something in her manner made Natasha feel like apologizing—a sure sign of trouble ahead. Maybe her body was smarter than her mind, although lately both had been off-base.

Natasha offered Delia the one good chair in the small living space. Delia removed her gloves and tucked them into her quilted designer bag and then smoothed her matching designer skirt. Chanel. Natasha recognized the brand from leafing through magazines that well-meaning donors had dropped off at Inspire. She resisted picking up the afghan that had fallen to the floor and instead sat in the folding chair facing Delia.