Heard It Through the Grapevine Read online

  “Mia, dear, would you mind leaning back?” Gina said, trying not to sound as annoyed with her niece as she felt.

  “It is a fine car,” Josh said, taking in the restored upholstery, the gleaming knobs on the radio.

  “My father bought it used when I was a kid,” she said. She didn’t add that she’d fallen in love with the Galaxie’s style and elegance from the first moment that her father wheeled it into their driveway. “He always meant to restore it and give it to me, and after he died, I discovered that he’d put money aside for years for the restoration. My cousin Rocco volunteered to do the work.” For a moment she had forgotten that she was talking to the man who’d broken her heart two years ago, and she fell silent as she headed down the bumpy road toward Vineyard Oaks, the winery that the Angelini family had owned ever since her grandfather, Gino, his brother and two sisters had bought it shortly after arriving in the United States sixty-seven years ago.

  The vineyard, planted with merlot, sangiovese, petite syrah and zinfandel vines now stripped of their grapes, stretched out toward the distant mountain ranges on either side of the fertile valley. After a few minutes, Gina pulled the car over in front of a small house set back from the road, where Leo Buscani, retired Vineyard Oaks winemaker now accordion teacher, lived. A boy of eleven emerged, lugging an accordion case.

  Mia bounced up and down. “That’s Frankie. He’s okay most of the time—for a boy, I mean. Get in back with me, Frankie. I’m being hos-spit-able.”

  Frankie balked. “You’re going to spit on me?” he asked skeptically.

  Mia dissolved into giggles. “That’s my new word. It means making someone welcome.”

  Frankie chucked his accordion case in the back seat and climbed in after it. He was a captivating, curly-haired boy whose dark eyes snapped with merriment.

  “Aunt Gina, Mr. Buscani says I’m the best student he’s ever had,” Frankie announced. “He wants me to join his accordion band.”

  Everyone in the family was pleased that Frankie, who possessed an aptitude for getting into trouble, had taken so well to the accordion. Gina glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him. “That’s wonderful,” she said.

  “Do you think Pop will let me?”

  “Oh, Rocco will probably go for it.” Rocco and his son were closer than most, possibly because Frankie’s mother had died when he was only six.

  When Frankie and Mia settled into a spirited discussion about whether or not she should give him her last stick of gum, which Frankie argued was only hospitable, Josh turned to Gina. “You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said in a low tone.

  The compliment discombobulated her more than she liked to let on. “Yeah, right,” she said.

  “I mean it, Gina.”

  “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? It’s true.”

  Thanks to her Norwegian mother, Gina had grown up blond in a family of dark-haired, olive-skinned Italian-Americans, convinced that her light coloring wasn’t attractive. She’d longed to resemble the rest of the family for most of her life, but the only features she seemed to owe to the Italian side of her family were dark eyes and tawny skin. These days, she could finally accept that men found her beautiful, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear compliments from Joshua Corbett.

  She kept her eyes focused forward. “You act as if nothing happened between us.”

  Josh slid a cagey look in her direction. “More should happen, don’t you agree?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Would it change things if I told you that I wasn’t smart in the way I handled the Mr. Moneybags choice? That I realize it now? That I want to make amends?”

  Gina bit back an exasperated retort. “Didn’t it work out with Tahoma?”

  Josh kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. “The woman happened to be living with a boyfriend she never mentioned. After she walked away with the million dollars, I never heard from her again.”

  “Bummer,” Gina said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She’d never liked Tahoma much, though she’d been cordial to her for the sake of the show. The woman had pranced around the chilly Scottish castle where the show was filmed thrusting her silicone-enhanced chest in front of the ever-present video cameras while stuffed into dresses the size of cocktail napkins. It was a wonder she hadn’t caught pneumonia.

  “You live and you learn,” Josh said philosophically.

  “Did it ever occur to you that I might be angry about losing the million dollars I would have won if you’d chosen me?” Of course it hadn’t; he was independently wealthy. The show’s publicity had touted him as being the scion of a prominent Boston family. Gina seemed to recall pictures of a huge mansion and a family of bluebloods with ties to the Mayflower.

  He appeared disconcerted. “If you’ll recall, no one told me that the woman I chose would win that much money. I thought—”

  “They told the contestants right at the start. You mean you didn’t figure it out?” He had a Yale education, for Pete’s sake.

  “The million dollars for the winner was a total surprise to me. The first I knew about it was when the butler marched into the room carrying a check on a silver platter and handed it to Tahoma. If I’d caught onto that little secret, I’d have realized early in the game I couldn’t trust anything the contestants told me.”

  “Did you trust what I told you?”

  He took his time answering, and when he did it was with an air of thoughtfulness. “Whenever the conversation touched on the Napa Valley and your family, your eyes shone. You didn’t promote yourself like some of the other contestants. You seemed sincere in everything you said. Of course I trusted you.”

  She was touched that he’d recognized her sincerity; it was how she had determined to play the Mr. Moneybags game in the beginning, and she’d stuck to that decision even when it might not have been in her best interest. And she couldn’t believe he recalled how longingly she’d spoken of home, family and her good fortune at having been born and reared in Rio Robles, California, population eight thousand, many of them Angelinis.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. She’d trusted him, too, but she never would again. Why would she? He’d broken her heart.

  “You brought the whole thing up,” he reminded her in a mild tone. As she turned down the long driveway that led between the two rows of ancient oaks giving the Angelini winery its name, he changed the subject. It was just as well; she’d wallowed in her own disillusionment and pain for a long time before she’d managed to climb her way out of the miserable funk brought about by Josh’s rejection.

  “Is that the winery up there?”

  They were crossing a narrow stone bridge and had begun the climb up the slope that led through several acres of vineyards. At the top of the hill was a large timber-and-stone barn housing the winery office, the tasting room and wine vats. From this angle, the doors to the wine cave in the hillside beyond were barely visible.

  “Yes, this is Vineyard Oaks,” she said, schooling her voice to sound dispassionate, trying not to think about how a million dollars would come in handy now that her family was looking for financing so they could buy the equipment they needed to keep the winery competitive. Of course, she’d wanted to use part of the prize money to fund the proposed new teen center, too, but that was another story and one that Joshua Corbett probably had no interest in hearing. Her failure to win that money had contributed more than a little to the anguish of the months immediately following her appearance on the show.

  A low stone wall separated the parking area from the expanse of grass where tables were set up. As they got out of the car, Gina smelled the thick, sweet-sour aroma of harvested grapes, a familiar fragrance that would sweep over this valley until crush was over. She remembered that scent from her childhood when her parents would bring her to the annual celebration after the harvest and she and her cousins would run in and out of the wine
cave, sit down to enormous meals prepared by the aunts and listen spellbound to tales of the old country told by her grandfather and great-uncles. She hadn’t known it then as she knew it now: her family was her strength. They made it possible to bear whatever obstacles life threw in her path.

  A group of whooping youngsters ran up to greet them. They grew suddenly silent and wide-eyed at the sight of Josh.

  “You’re the guy from the TV show, right?” asked Emma, the daughter of Gina’s cousin Jennifer.

  “Sure am,” Josh said easily.

  “Why didn’t you marry Aunt Gina?” piped a voice that Gina identified as Alexander, her cousin Donna’s son.

  “Alexander!” Gina said.

  “I want to know,” the boy said stubbornly.

  “Did it occur to you that I might not have wanted him?” Gina said lightly, ruffling Alexander’s hair with one hand and squeezing Emma’s shoulder as they began to walk toward the tables.

  “He is rather handsome,” said Mia’s sister, Stacey, after unabashedly staring at his profile.

  “Thank you,” Josh told her gravely. “For sticking up for me.”

  Gina’s cousin Rocco, his beefy face flushed from the heat of the barbecue fire, detached himself from a group of men—all uncles, nephews or cousins.

  “Hey, Gina. How about introducing me?” He was studying Josh, taking in the highly polished leather shoes and the blazer, now casually slung over one shoulder. Rocco stopped in his tracks. “No, wait a minute. You’re the Mr. Moneybags guy, right?”

  Josh extended his hand. “Otherwise known as Josh Corbett,” he said.

  Rocco’s expression didn’t change, but Gina knew what he was thinking. Got to protect my little cousin from this guy who did her wrong. Got to vet him out. Got to let him know he can’t treat her the way he did before. She suppressed a laugh at the almost imperceptible but defensive change in Rocco’s body posture and the cool handshake he offered Josh. Rocco had always been her protector; she couldn’t expect him to abandon her now. The Angelini men looked after their women. Never mind that Gina had outgrown her need for their services by the time she was ten and had learned a couple of handy karate chops. And Rocco, like everyone else, had never realized how miserable she’d been after Josh Corbett’s rejection.

  Rocco raised inquiring brows at Gina, who nodded to let him know that it was all right to admit Josh into the family circle. At least for today, while she tried to come to terms with his reappearance in her life.

  At her signal, Rocco’s demeanor changed immediately. “Welcome, Josh. Come over and meet the guys. We’ve got a game of bocce going.”

  “Bocce?”

  “Yeah, we put in regulation courts last year. What’s the matter, haven’t you played before?”

  Josh, for the first time all day, appeared discomfited. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “We’ll take care of that.” Rocco threw a casual arm across Josh’s shoulders and led him to the bocce court, where a group of Gina’s male relatives were watching his approach. Her cousin Paul shoved an elbow into his brother’s ribs, and Gina almost laughed out loud. After a couple of games with those guys, Josh would be running for the hills. They were experts.

  Josh aimed a pleading glance over his shoulder at Gina and mouthed “Help!” but all she did was smile and wave as if they had the most friendly relationship in the world. At the same time, she felt grim satisfaction in the thought that Rocco and company would probably accomplish what she hadn’t been able to do today—get rid of Josh Corbett for good.

  Chapter Two

  Rocco was a stocky man, the beginning of a paunch swelling beneath his T-shirt. His quick introductions made Josh’s head spin: Gathered around the bocce court was a Tom, a Tim and at least two guys named Tony, all even bigger than Rocco. They eyed him with what seemed like suspicion as he removed his blazer, assessing his muscles. Rocco showed him where to hang his coat over a low-hanging branch and proceeded to explain bocce.

  “My grandfather and uncles brought the game over from Italy with them, and we grew up with it,” Rocco told him.

  Josh opened his mouth to say that he’d never seen a bocce ball, nor had he ever observed any games, but Rocco didn’t give him a chance to speak. The game, Rocco said, was played on a long sand court that appeared to be about ten feet wide by sixty feet long. The brightly colored bocce balls seemed slightly larger than those in the old croquet set that Josh had shared with his sister at their summer house in Maine, but no mallets were involved, so Josh assumed that bocce balls were thrown or tossed.

  “Now, Josh,” Rocco told him. “You don’t have to be Italian to learn this game. Right, Collin?”

  The other man, standing with a bunch of mostly male onlookers, just grinned. This, Josh decided, was not encouraging.

  “Collin married into the family, but that doesn’t make him any less an Angelini,” Rocco confided. “Even though his last name is Beauchamp.”

  “Of the Virginia Beauchamps,” Collin said. “Spelled the French way, pronounced Beecham.”

  Josh had known some Beauchamps at his posh northeastern prep school, but mentioning that exclusive institution didn’t seem like a good idea, considering the good-natured guffaws that greeted Collin’s statement.

  “The game can be played indoors or outdoors, and there can be two to four players on a team. Four balls are assigned to each team. You’ll play on my team,” Rocco said.

  Tim and Tom were also on Rocco’s team. The other team consisted of the two men named Tony, someone called Angelo and an older white-haired guy named Fredo, who was treated deferentially by everyone involved.

  “First, the pallino,” Fredo said, holding up a ball that was smaller than the others. There was a coin toss, and Fredo’s team won the right to throw the pallino. Fredo rolled it onto the court, where it inched to a stop a little more than halfway to the end. At that point, Josh craned his head to search for Gina and discovered that she was surrounded by a bevy of women close to her age, all of them talking and laughing. Gina was holding a baby, patting it on the back and crooning to it, and paying no attention to what was going on over here.

  While Josh was looking elsewhere, Fredo rolled one of his team’s balls, to the accompaniment of shouts of encouragement from his own team and groans from Josh’s team when the second ball rolled close to the pallino.

  “Kiss it, kiss it!” cried one of the Tonys, which Josh figured meant that he wanted the two balls to touch. He shot another surreptitious glance toward Gina, remembering with a pang of regret the sweet softness of her lips. He must have been crazy to turn his back on her in Scotland.

  “All right,” Rocco said, interrupting his reverie by slapping a ball in Josh’s hand. “Now you.”

  Josh, whose mind for the past few moments had been engaged in wistful remembrances of a heather-strewn moor, stared at him blankly.

  “Go ahead. We have to bowl until one of our balls is closer to the pallino than the ball that Fredo rolled.”

  Josh hefted the ball in his hand and summoned enough bravado to convince himself that this game was a piece of cake. Unfortunately, he slipped as he rolled the ball, and it landed about as far away from the others as it could without jumping the sides of the court.

  “You’ll do better next time,” Rocco said before rolling another ball, which edged somewhat closer to the pallino than Josh’s.

  Rocco’s team bowled until all balls had been thrown, but not without a lot of good-natured jesting. After that, it was Fredo’s turn again.

  “When both sides have bowled all their balls, the side with the ball closest to the pallino gets a point. A point is also awarded for any other ball from that side that is closer to the pallino than any ball rolled by the opponents. Thus, only one team can score in a frame, and that side can get up to four points. The first team to score sixteen points wins,” Rocco told him.

  Josh didn’t need long to figure out that bocce was a game of strategy. The pallino could be moved by a shot, so a p
layer often scored by knocking the pallino closer to balls previously rolled by his team. On the other hand, a player whose team already had balls in scoring position sometimes chose to place a ball in front of the pallino to keep it from being moved.

  Whenever it was Josh’s turn, he managed to goof up. If he tried to land his ball close to the pallino, it inevitably pushed the pallino the wrong way. If he wanted to keep it from hitting the pallino, it always did. He found that he couldn’t estimate how much a ball would roll from where he stood to throw it, and he tended to throw short. If he didn’t throw short, he overcorrected.

  Rocco, on the other hand, was a virtuoso. “Bocce is as simple or complicated as you want to make it,” he told Josh, and then he’d proceed to blow everyone away with a cunning move.

  When the game was finally over, Josh realized that he was the one who had virtually lost for Rocco’s team. Even though the others tried to gloss over his many errors, he felt bad about letting the team down.

  “Don’t worry, we’re playing two out of three to win,” Rocco said by way of reassurance, which was not at all reassuring to Josh. He looked around, wishing an excuse to bail out would come to mind. But Gina had disappeared, and Mia was hanging over a bench, waiting to cheer him on.

  Well, maybe this time he’d give Mia something to cheer about. He forced a halfhearted grin and girded himself for the second game.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t play any better in the second game than he had in the first. The only good thing was that now he knew the rules. The third game was a disaster, though his teammates were generous in not blaming their loss on him. Still, by the time everyone dispersed, Josh felt extremely apologetic, not to mention dejected for letting the team down.

  “That’s okay,” Rocco told him. “A lot of guys wouldn’t have even tried to play.”

  Josh resisted the temptation to invite Rocco and company to play lacrosse. Or hockey. Or water polo, in which he excelled.

  Mia jumped down from the bench and ran over. “Don’t worry, Josh,” Mia consoled him. “You’ll get better at bocce.”