Free Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair Page B

“Since this happens to be on the north half of the property, tomorrow night that bed is mine, sweet cheeks.”

CHAPTER 5
    T he water tank’s only part of your problem,” Walt Larson, the hardware half of St. Helena Hardware and Refurbish Rescue, said as he took in the disaster that used to be Frankie’s well. “In fact, I’d say that llama of yours did you a favor.”
    An odd keening sound followed by a belligerent
“Wark”
echoed across the property moments before a low rustling came from the general direction of the tool shed. Mittens peeked his little Rastafarian head out, ears peeled back, dentures bared.
    The second Walt had arrived, truck tires crunching down the gravel drive, Mittens, afraid he was about to be tranquilized and carted off to Alpaca Paradise, had hightailed it across the property and taken up residence behind Saul’s old rusted-out tractor.
    “Alpaca,” Frankie corrected Walt, and Mittens snorted, then went back to chewing on the tractor seat. He was a nervous eater. “And I know that the property needs a lot of love, but right now I can only afford the water tank.”
    “Well, first you need a new water pump,” Walt said, whacking the metal pipe that was connected to the wellhead with a wrench. “The motor’s working too hard just to supply the house and few vines you have.”
    Poppycock.
    “How long do you think this one will last?” Frankie mentally estimated how much a new motor would cost and then doubled it because that was how her luck seemed to be going. They hadn’t even started the water tank portion of the visit and already she was out of money.
    “It won’t.”
    “What do you mean it won’t?” she asked, suddenly wondering if the old man was taking her for a ride. “You haven’t even pulled it out to look.”
    “Don’t need to. You hear that clanking noise?” Walt yelled over the awful grinding, as though to prove his point. “That’s the motor, struggling. Telling me it needs to be replaced.”
    “What are you? The well whisperer?”
    “Nope, but I hear whispers all the same.” He raised a disappointed brow. “People coming in the store are talking about how you and that DeLuca are shacking up.”
    “We aren’t shacking up, so much as living under the same roof.”
    “And how come spring you two are going to plant this whole lot with vines. Together.”
    Frankie rolled her eyes. Walt was built like a tree stump, smelled like cooked cabbage, and had a penchant for prattle—which was how he’d managed to keep his hardware store open when one of the big DIY stores opened up in Napa. Knowing everybody else’s business was good for business in a town like St. Helena.
    And although his last name wasn’t Baudouin, he was Frankie’s third cousin on her grandmother’s side—she even called him uncle—so, being a good and loyal relative, he harbored the appropriate amount of disdain for the DeLucas.
    But what had his lips pursing was that his biggest competition was Tanner Construction, owned by former NFL running back and DeLuca Wine’s newest business partner, Jack Tanner. So if they were developing the land together, Nate would insist on using his guy. Who was cheaper—and faster, Frankie thought as she watched Walt stick a welding rod to his ear, then rested the other end on the pipe like it was some kind of well-stethoscope.
    “You and your store have been serving Baudouin Vineyards since before I was born,” Frankie assured him. “So even though we are going to plant all twenty acres, DeLuca will plant his half and I will plant mine. Both using our own chosen suppliers.”
    “Good to hear. After the Showdown, there was all that talk about you and the buttoned-up brother necking, then when Charles…”
    “Fired me?” Frankie added, but what she wanted to say was
disowned
. Because that’s how it had felt. Still felt. She was within throwing distance from her childhood home, from her grandfather’s land, and yet he hadn’t dropped by once