Here With Me by Beverly Long Page B

witty or
smart to say but it had been too close a call. He managed a nod and
was grateful when Bernard ran toward them and Melody’s attention
was diverted to the older man. His face was pale and his hand shook
when he held it out to touch her face.
    “Are you all right?” Bernard asked.
    “I’m fine,” she said.
    Bernard whirled around. Montai was off his
machine and standing thirty feet away, his face much paler than his
bare arms.
    “Damn it, Montai. What the hell happened?”
Bernard demanded.
    The boy shook his head. George could see he
was scared to death. “I don’t know. I wasn’t anywhere near that
barrel. I put my load at the end, just like you showed me how to
do.”
    Bernard walked to where the barrel had rolled
from and looked up. Then he looked over his shoulder, back at
George and Melody. “Somebody forgot to set the chock. Who the hell
could have done something so damn stupid?”
    Montai shook his head. “I never touched
them,” he said, his voice quivering.
    George looked across the aisle. Sure enough,
in front of every remaining barrel, there was a small angular piece
of wood, propped just so, to keep the barrels in place. It was
pretty easy to see what had happened. Montai had dropped his load
on the opposite end and there’d been just enough vibration to start
a chain reaction.
    Bernard walked over and kicked the oak
barrel. It didn’t even roll an inch. The metal banding around the
two ends and in the middle was bent but the lid had stayed on.
“I’ve been doing this for forty years and I’ve never see anything
like that,” he said. “If it would have been full, it would have
never budged, but these barrels are empty. We’ll use them this
fall.”
    Montai wiped a hand across his mouth. “I’m so
sorry, Melody. I would never want to see you hurt.”
    “I know that, Montai,” she said. “It was a
crazy accident. It’s not your fault.” Her voice sounded
surprisingly strong.
    George was grateful for that because his
knees felt pretty damn weak. When Melody turned to look at him, he
wondered if she somehow knew.
    Her eyes looked concerned. “Was that your
head that made that thump?”
    “My shoulder,” he said, relieved that she was
focused on something else entirely. “It’s fine,” he lied. He was
going to have a hell of a bruise. It would match the bruises on his
ribs that he’d seen in the mirror when he’d changed clothes at the
store.
    “Empty, those barrels weigh almost a hundred
and fifty pounds,” Bernard said.
    “Well, it didn’t hit me so there’s no sense
worrying about how much it weighs. Whatever you do, don’t tell
Grandmother,” Melody said.
    She’d no sooner finished speaking before the
dogs, followed by Tilly and Louis, bounded into the shed. They ran
up and sniffed the barrel, then ran circles around it, like nobody
needed to tell them that something was wrong. George noticed that
Montai had slipped into the shadows of the wine barrels.
    “What’s going on?” Tilly asked.
    “Barrel slipped off the stack,” Melody said,
her voice very matter-of-fact. George didn’t miss the warning look
she sent Bernard’s way.
    Louis propped a foot on the barrel. “Thank
goodness it wasn’t a full one. Could have been a waste of a
promising Cabernet.”
    “You stupid idiot,” Bernard said, evidently
deciding to ignore Melody’s warning look. “That barrel almost hit
your niece. And would have, too, if George here hadn’t pulled her
out of the way.”
    Louis had the decency to look shocked. “I had
no idea,” he said. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Melody.”
    Tilly took a step closer, her eyes bright
with speculation. “What happened?”
    “Nothing,” Melody said. “Nothing happened. It
was a stupid accident and we all need to forget about it.”
    No one said a word. Finally, Louis smiled,
showing all his teeth. “Fine. I got an e-mail from Marty. Orders
are pouring in for the 2004 Chardonnay. He wants another forty
cases.”
    Bernard ran a