The story she insisted she wasn’t doing.
Maybe there was still time for damage control. He gave her a grim smile. “There will always be some variations between batches—it’s only the small vineyards with small outputs that can almost guarantee that every bottle will taste the same. We bottle thousands of cases of Chardonnay. There’s going to be a little variation—”
She gave a snort of disgust. “I’m not talking about a small amount. I’m talking about a huge difference—enough to make it taste like two completely different wines. Please don’t take me for a total idiot.”
Joshua held on to his temper with difficulty. “What you’re suggesting is not possible. When we have a batch that comes out so much better, we bottle it as a reserve selection. Why would we pretend it’s the same? Especially when we can command a higher price?”
“To garner awards? To deliberately entice the public to come out in droves and buy an award-winning wine when the one they get is vastly inferior to what they’re expecting? Not that they’d ever find that out.”
His brows drew together at the accusation. “We would never do that.”
“Maybe I should ask Caitlyn that question, since she makes the wines.” Alyssa started to turn away.
She was going to confront Caitlyn? After he’d told her not to question his staff? She was challenging him, walking away from him, after all but calling him a liar. He glared at her shapely back, irate that he noticed how her hips flared in the snug jeans. “It’s not necessary. I am the boss. I speak for Saxon’s Folly. We don’t indulge in questionable practices designed to mislead the consumer. You can quote me on that in your damned article.”
Looking past her he saw that a new group of tasters were heading in their direction. “We’ve got company. Better behave yourself,” he said softly, and he knew by the sudden tension between her shoulder blades that she’d heard.
Arranging his features in a pleasant, welcoming smile, he added, “You leave tomorrow. My final word is that you’re not to go to the winery … or try to interview my staff without me present.”
She threw him a searing look over her shoulder. “I’ve no reason not to behave. I’m telling you the truth, Joshua. I’ve no intention of writing this story. I’m too close to … everything.”
But instead of feeling relief at her revelation, Joshua felt annoyance because it underlined how much his brother had meant to her. Too close to … everything. His irritation was exacerbated as Alyssa flashed the wide smile that caused his body to snap to attention. Even more irritating was the fact that it wasn’t directed at him, but at the approaching enthusiasts.
He couldn’t trust her for a moment. She would do exactly what was best for Alyssa Blake, as always. He started to seethe.
Mata Hari indeed.
When Alyssa stirred on Monday morning, an appalling sense of dislocation rocked her at the thought of leaving Saxon’s Folly later today.
The end had come before the beginning had started. She still had so much to learn about Roland. Grief eroded to a raw ache as she walked down to the stables for the last time with an unusually silent Joshua beside her.
Earlier, she’d considered calling off the ride, given Joshua’s annoyance with her yesterday. But now as Alyssa watched Joshua saddle the two horses, she found she was looking forward to visiting a place that Roland had loved.
It would give her a chance to say goodbye. Closure. That’s what she was looking for.
Then she could put Roland finally to rest. She wished that she could tell the Saxon siblings the truth. She’d come to like them all very much. She watched Joshua tighten the girth. With him the connection went deeper than fondness. The last thing she wanted was to leave him with the wrong impression of her relationship with Roland.
But she’d promised Kay ….
In return for her silence she’d gotten a week to trace Roland’s footsteps, learn about his life. And that week of time had a high price: her secrecy. She’d given her word and she could not go back on that. End of story.
Joshua led Breeze toward her, his expression unreadable. “Come, I’ll give you a leg up.”
She approached a little nervously. Breeze turned her head, pricked her ears and gave Alyssa an enquiring look.
“Bend your leg.”
Alyssa obliged. The next moment Joshua hoisted her through the air. She landed in the English saddle and picked up the reins, while he adjusted the stirrups.
She stared down at his dark head. His hand brushed the inside of her jean-clad thigh, causing a frisson of heat. Her breath caught. She hated this tense awkwardness that yawned between them like a chasm and craved a return of the Joshua who had shown her around the vineyards. The Joshua with love for the land and passion in his eyes.
Even though she’d told David she couldn’t do the article, Alyssa couldn’t help wishing that Joshua would cooperate on the story. That way he’d have a chance to air his side of the situation to the public and she’d be able to do the article that David wanted so badly—and even clear up the damage she’d done to Joshua’s reputation last time.
The end result would be win-win all round. Then she and Joshua might be able to resolve this friction between them. Become colleagues or even—
“How does that feel?”
At the question she abandoned her wishful thinking and stood up in the stirrups. Both legs felt even. She pulled a face. “Wobbly. Like I haven’t been on a horse in a very long time.”
Joshua’s head tilted back and his black-as-midnight eyes clashed with hers. Her heart flopped over.
“Your stirrup leathers … are they even?”
“They’ll do.” Alyssa made a pretence of fiddling with the reins—anything to avoid looking at Joshua, not to feel that shameless heart-stopping surge of want that simply glancing at him aroused.
“Okay.” With economy of movement, Joshua swung himself easily up onto the bay’s back. Alyssa watched furtively through lowered lashes as he settled himself. He sat straight, totally at one with the horse beneath him; the broad shoulders tapering down beneath his blue-and-cream-striped shirt to where his faded jeans rode low on his hips. She didn’t even see the command he gave to make the bay move. No doubt he’d been riding all his life.
As they rode out of the stable block, a black horse trotted poker-legged along the length of the fence, neck arched, his head held high. Beautiful but defiant.
“I’m glad you’re not riding him.” Alyssa tipped her head in the stallion’s direction.
“I want to enjoy the ride.” Joshua turned his head to look at the horse. “And I won’t if I ride that animal. It takes hours to catch Ladykiller.”
Alyssa gave the stallion a look of sympathy. But the horse belonged here. She didn’t—and never would.
Joshua had made that very clear.
An hour later the rolling grasslands ended. The trail entered dense, overgrown bush and narrowed dramatically. They rode in single file with Joshua ahead.
Alyssa looked around with interest. Roland would’ve taken the same path and passed beneath the same trees. She called out, “So how much farther to go?”
Joshua turned in the saddle. “Not long now. We’re nearly there.”
Birds chirruped in the canopy overhead and bits of sunlight dappled the lush green ferns under the trees. Alyssa’s heart lifted. She banked the scents and sounds to remember later, when she was back in the rat race of Auckland amidst the hurly-burly of deadlines and rush-hour traffic.
“Hold