2 Crushed by Barbara Ellen Brink Page A

pointing it menacingly toward him and
approached the grill. “Need any help? Smells great.”
    She pulled open the sliding door
and stepped through. “You want something cold to drink?”
    “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
    Her lips turned up slightly. “All
right.” She slid the door closed and disappeared.
    Adam sat down in one of the green
mesh patio chairs and stretched his legs out. It had been a long day following
Mario around the winery, learning all he could in a blitz-sized lesson plan in
a Spanish immersion class. He looked out across Margaret’s vineyard to
Fredrickson’s and beyond. The valley was awash with a mellow pink and orange
glow. The setting sun reflected off shiny, dark, grape leaves fluttering in the
breeze, as shadows stretched long from trees and poles.
    He laid the fork on the table and
crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t know how to safely bring up the
subject of Agosto Salvatore, but he couldn’t get it off his mind. She would
probably accuse him of sticking his nose in her private business, which was
what he would be doing. But he couldn’t be neutral when it came to Margaret
Parker.
    “Here you go.” She stepped through
the slider, a frosted glass in each hand.
    He jumped up and took the drink she
offered. “Thanks.”
    She checked on the food and closed
the grill lid. “Almost done. You do like your steaks pink inside, don’t you?
Cause I prefer not to ruin a perfectly good t-bone by incinerating it.”
    He grinned and raised his glass in
salute. “My kind of woman.”
    “You’re not just saying that to get
on my good side, are you?”
    “Which side would that be? They
both look good to me.”
    She shook her head and sighed. “How
long have you been practicing this routine?”
    “As a Fredrickson it just comes
natural. You noticed how quickly my sister got her hooks into Handel.”
    “With those two I think it was
mutual.” She turned away to open the grill and placed the steaks and potatoes
on a platter.
    With her back to him, Adam found it
easier to ask a hard question. “Why are you upset about their engagement then?
Shouldn’t true love be worthy of celebration?”
    She shut off the gas and closed the
lid before turning slowly around with the platter in hand. “I thought we’d eat
inside since it’s getting dark,” she said, her voice hard and flat.
    He pulled the slider open and
watched her go inside ahead of him. She moved stiffly erect as though an angry
puppet master had a hold of her heartstrings. He followed slowly, carrying
their drinks, wondering how he managed to stick a size twelve foot into his
mouth so easily.
    The dining room table was set with
white china edged with swirls of black and red. Two candles served as a
centerpiece, already lit and flickering in the low light of the room. A bottle
of wine and two long-stemmed glasses completed the picture. She’d done all this
for him and he’d just screwed it up.
    She set the platter down on the
corner of the table and motioned for him to sit. “Let’s eat before it gets
cold.”
    As he took his place at the table,
she flipped the lights on and leaned over to blow out the candles before taking
her chair. A thin wisp of smoke wafted toward him and he waved it away. “I’m
sorry. I thought you were upset about their engagement. When I talked to you on
the phone you sounded angry.”
    She laid her fork down and met his
eyes. “I wasn’t angry. I was surprised. You managed to turn what should have
been a happy announcement into a sad why
am I the last one to know moment. You seem to have the ability to change
the simplest occasions into dramatic events. Why do you do that? Hmm?”
    “I didn’t know I did.” He leaned
forward and picked up the bottle of wine. “May I?” He filled both goblets and
sat back, lifting his slightly toward her, a tentative gesture of apology. “To
new friends, future family, and the ability to reconcile them both.”
    She lifted her wine glass and
clinked