A Taste of Chardonnay Page 17

  She wished she could be more like him, accept celebrity with aplomb. But then, why shouldn’t he? Ryder had nothing to be ashamed of. His mother hadn’t abandoned his family to run off with a strange man and died in a car crash. His father wasn’t a serial philanderer. And as far as she knew, no one in his family had ever done time. Ryder got attention for all the right reasons, whereas she, on the other hand . . .

  Char forced her gaze away. She looked down at the table without seeing the gold-banded china and massive floral centerpiece. Her mouth was dry as the desert. She reached for her water glass, but she could only choke down the tiniest sip. Then she sensed his presence grow stronger, drawing her like a magnet. Her heart pounded, the roaring in her ears drowning out the buzz of conversation. She fought and lost a powerful urge to look up again, and there he was, mere feet from her. Her eyes sank into his, her breath coming fast and shallow. When she’d had him on her bed just hours ago, wasted, she’d bared her soul to him. Her face warmed, remembering. She’d told him she loved him. Did he care? Had he heard a word she said?

  Ryder maintained steady eye contact with Char even as he leaned over to listen to a seated woman in a red dress whose hand held his forearm captive. This close, Char saw a certain sadness beneath his public smile. The longer he looked into her eyes, the blacker his pupils grew, till they eclipsed all their hazel color. Char’s burning eyes blinked first, and just that quick, someone was taking his other arm and pointing to a distant table, and he allowed himself to be led away.

  He didn’t want anything more to do with her. He couldn’t have said it louder if he’d shouted it from the podium.

  It seemed like forever until the waiter came to clear the plates in preparation for the live auction.

  “Was your meal all right?” he asked. “Looks like you barely touched your food.”

  “Just nerves.” She managed to maneuver her lips into a polite smile.

  “I understand. Anxious for the outcome of the contest,” he said, swooping her plate away.

  The majority of the auction articles were part of the silent bidding. Before dinner, bidders had written their best offers down on a slip of paper next to the displayed item. That part was over now, and the winning bids were being tallied behind the scenes.

  Next on the agenda was the live auction. Only a few of the more extravagant items—trips, spa stays, and the like—were included in that. An FRF-donated helicopter tour of the wine country roused a lively bidding war, and Char’s stay at a well-known Yountville bed-and-breakfast drew a good price, too.

  Then the music began again for dancing, while the McDaniel Foundation staff added up all the money.

  “I brought you something.” Meri plopped down next to her with a plate. “Chocolate mousse.” She strained to be heard over the orchestra.

  Char shot her a questioning glance. “Dessert has already been passed out. White cake with strawberry filling.”

  “I went back to the kitchen and pleaded a strawberry allergy.” Meri winked.

  What would she do without her sisters? Char picked at her mousse with her spoon. She didn’t want to seem unappreciative, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t even stomach her favorite food.

  Even so, she forced down another bite. Anything to distract her from the random glimpses of Ryder she’d been catching on the dance floor. No one had asked her to dance—not that she wanted to. All she wanted was for this night to be over.

  She checked the time on her phone to see it was only ten minutes later than the last time she’d looked. She sighed. Counting up the money was taking forever.

  And then, finally, the end drew near. Dr. Nicole Simon took the podium, and the music stopped.

  The atmosphere was supercharged. Everyone was out of their seats, in anticipation of the results. Even the waitstaff had come out from the kitchen, hugging the walls to be among the first to hear who won the challenge.

  Char blew on her freezing hands, until Meri took one and Savvy grasped the other.

  Dr. Simon’s opening remarks barely registered on Char’s ears. It wasn’t until she got to the important part that Char started paying attention.

  “I have the winner of the half-marathon, based on the handicaps. As you know, the individual prize is fifty thousand dollars.”

  Nicole fumbled with the envelope.

  “And the winner is: Stephen Fuller of the Wine Country Community Group.”

  Char’s supporters sent her sympathetic smiles. She joined in the applause for Stephen when he went up to accept his award.

  “There’s still the grand prize,” whispered Meri in her ear.

  Char smiled wanly. All she was waiting for now was the chance to congratulate the big winner and slip off quietly into the night. She’d already begun racking her brain for alternative funding options for her foundation.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the news we’ve all been waiting for: the winner of the challenge and one million dollars.”

  Dr. Simon paused for effect.

  Char’s sisters captured her hands once more and clenched them tight enough to break the bones in her fingers. Meri, the youngest, shimmied in her excitement.

  “While this year’s winner is a first-timer in our contest, its founder is an experienced fund-raiser and volunteer. This person has ladled soup, washed and folded donated clothing, and swept floors at a homeless shelter. Five years ago, this individual came to me and told me she intended to participate in the next challenge. She was only an ambitious teenager at the time, and I wouldn’t have thought any less of her if she’d recanted. But in the intervening years, she earned a degree in public service from the University of Connecticut . . .”

  But Char didn’t hear what came next, because Meri was squealing and Savvy had a death grip on her arms, and then her whole team was on top of her, jumping up and down, whooping and yelling. Dr. Simon raised her voice to be heard, and as Char’s full name was broadcast, the entire room erupted.

  After all the ups and downs of the past forty-eight hours, Char thought she might burst. While her mouth bowed in a huge grin, her chest heaved, as one after another of her family, friends, and teammates embraced and congratulated her before passing her like a soggy beach ball toward the stage to collect her prize.

  Papa appeared from out of nowhere, disobedient as usual, but for the first time, she was glad. The fact that Miranda was draped across his arm didn’t even faze her, what with everything else she was attempting to absorb.

  “I could not abandon you. Not again,” he said, his expression more poignant than she’d ever seen it. “Never again.” He kissed both her wet cheeks.

  How much more could a girl take?

  Papa steered her to the base of the stage steps.

  Char gazed up to where Dr. Simon glowed with dignified pride.

  Lifting her dress, she picked out the steps in her towering heels and glided to the mike. From up there, the applause sounded deafening.

  Somehow, the content of her speech took precedence over her emotions. She thanked her family, her team, and her contributors, and then took advantage of those crowded around to lay out her plan for her foundation.

  “Chardonnay’s Children are truly the children of the vineyards. They are the sons and daughters of immigrants. These children are, in a sense, victims, here through no fault of their own. In many cases, they suffer from fear, isolation due to language barriers, an achievement gap, and poor housing options.

  “Here in Napa County, only twenty-two percent of Latinos go on to college, versus forty-two percent of Anglos. My foundation will educate parents on the importance of education, fund ESL and civics teachers at our new after-school center, and encourage community involvement to lessen isolation. We will also work for more affordable housing. And this is only the beginning.

  “But immigrants are not the only ones who need our help. There is no shortage of suffering in our county or of victims.”

  Where had that statement come from? That wasn’t part of he
r prepared speech. From her spot on the dais, she glimpsed Meri and Savvy exchange an “uh-oh” look.

  Char dug down deep and found an inner well she hadn’t known existed. She waited for the confused murmuring to die down. Finally, she knew what had to be said to let the healing begin. Her healing. She couldn’t control anyone else.

  “While all of the worthy organizations represented here tonight deserve our admiration and support, there is one particular cause that is close to my heart. That cause is fire prevention and victim assistance.”

  From the epicenter of the room, Ryder’s line of vision found hers. He shook his head and mouthed the word no. Instinctively she knew: He didn’t want her to squander her moment in the spotlight on him. She tore her eyes away from his. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to go on.

  “In some ways, our causes overlap. Half of all the people who die in fires had no smoke alarms, despite semiannual public service announcements to install fresh batteries. But these reminders only work if people understand the language they are given in.

  “Yet there is another, more personal reason that this cause is so important to me. And that is because of my connection to some very special friends.

  “Seven years ago, my father owned an immigrant worker camp. It was built to give farmworkers—hardworking men, far from home—a safe place to sleep and to eat.”

  The buzz began again, down on the ballroom floor.

  “Though that camp may seem inadequate now, it was a product of its time. Despite responsible oversight, and to the everlasting regret of my entire family, the Southside Migrant Farmworker Camp was the site of a tragic, accidental explosion in which two migrant workers and one firefighter lost their lives.”

  The crowd hushed in disbelief that the ugly, open secret would be dragged out here, in this high-class setting, with Xavier St. Pierre in attendance—and by his own flesh and blood.

  “I am not here to make excuses. But it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t take this opportunity to honor the memory of the men who died that night. Their names are Mateo Perez, Gabriel Garza, and Roland McBride.”

  A tentative smattering of applause reached her from dark pockets of the room. And then she spotted movement. The crowd, parting to make way for Ryder, weaving toward the stage. Toward her.

  As mysteriously as it had arrived, Char’s self-assurance crumbled, stranding her there on quaking knees with a trembling lower lip, exposed before the eyes of the entire Napa Valley. With Ryder’s every step, the applause swelled.

  He leaped onto the stage. Like a movie in slow motion, he strode toward her. She no longer heard the ongoing sound of clapping. Of the hundreds of faces in the room, the only face she saw was his.

  When he reached her, he took a moment. But it wasn’t a put-on. It was real. Ryder McBride acted as though they were the only two people in that room. Because to him, they were.

  Finally, he pulled her into his embrace. He rocked her back and forth while she released pent-up tears of regret and desolation. Filled her up again with love . . . hope . . . redemption.

  Suddenly she could hear again. The earlier cheers were eclipsed by the current bedlam. His embrace and the uproar of approval seemed like they would go on forever.

  At stage right, Dr. Simon attempted to fan away her emotions. And then up climbed the others. Papa. Her sisters and Ryder’s family. And dozens more, flooding the stage, all wanting to get close to her and Ryder, to be part of their reconciliation.

  Over the heads of the crowd, a designer-clothed arm waved like that of a film director and Amy’s voice could be heard above the din, supervising some unseen photographer. “Are you getting this? Do we have video? I want video!”

  Chapter 32

  10:10 p.m.

  Thirty-two retweets

  AmySmartPR @AmySmartPR 10m

  @ChardonnayStPierre wins #NapaCharityChallenge, reconciles with @RyderMcBride in massive group hug @NapaUnbound @GouldEntertainment

  Chapter 33

  Saturday, August 26

  “This could be dangerous,” said Ryder, nuzzling the point of Char’s breast.

  When she leaned back from straddling him, his dad’s old wheeled desk chair rolled a few inches, throwing her off-balance. She gasped and he tightened his grip on her hips.

  “See what I mean? What is it you have against plain old beds?” he asked.

  “You’d better back off on the first responder training. You’re almost too safety conscious. What is it you have against chairs?” she countered.

  “And vineyards?” He began counting on his fingers. “And pickup trucks? And—”

  She interrupted him. “Okay, I get it. Fine. If that’s the way you want it, we’ll only do it in bed, once a week on Saturday nights with the lights off.” She smiled coyly. “Is that what you want, Chief McBride?”

  His smile faded.

  “What’s the matter? You look disappointed.” She faked a pout.

  Quick as a flash, he turned her over his knee and gave her rear end a swat through her jeans.

  “Stop!” she squealed, kicking, her laughter ringing off the concrete block walls of her building, where for the past two months they’d been supervising renovations and scrounging for secondhand office furniture together.

  She heard a knock.

  “Stop! No, really, stop!” She jumped up and yanked down her shirt. “I heard someone!”

  Then they both heard it. Ryder hopped up, too.

  “Someone’s at the door.”

  Still giggling, Char peeked around the corner of the office to see a little boy’s nose pressed up against one of the front windows.

  “That’s Juan! And Juanita and Amelia! Look, they’re loaded down with stuff. I’ll get the door. You help her with the bags.”

  She hurried to let them in.

  Ryder took one of the bags, and Char followed them over to the brand-new kitchen, where Juanita began unloading, stocking the cabinets and the fridge.

  Ryder held up a jar of homemade salsa. “What time’s supper?” he asked, making a show of rubbing his stomach.

  “You go,” Juanita said, shooing him away with her dish towel. “Go away. Let me cook.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Ryder, dodging her aim.

  “I will call you when is supper.”

  “C’mon, Juan. How’d you like to shoot a little hoops while your mom’s cooking?”

  “Yeah!” shouted the little boy.

  Char took Amelia’s hand, and they followed them out to the newly fenced and lined basketball court. While they watched, another car pulled up and parallel parked, and out came Lori MacKenzie and her son Jimmy. Ryder yelled for the boy to join him and Juan on the court.

  “How’s it going?” asked Lori. Char had met the MacKenzies at Ryder’s mom’s house, soon after the challenge. The McBrides were good friends with the MacKenzies.

  “Almost finished. They’re painting the trim starting tomorrow, then your new offices should be all ready.”

  “I can’t wait,” said Lori. “I don’t mind working at the market, but the hours are killing me. I want to be home with the kids in the evenings and on the weekends. Jamie’s technically old enough to watch Jimmy, but still . . .”

  “Ryder feels lucky to have you taking care of things for the FRF. It’ll be nice. Even when Jimmy’s off from school, he can be here with you, on the playground, or playing games inside. And I’ll be glad to have you and Juanita around to keep me company while I’m here running the Chardonnay’s Children side of the building.”

  “Lucky for me I have an office background from my previous job. I just hadn’t found anything in my field since James died, what with the recession and all.”

  “By the way, has he made a decision?” Lori asked, lower so Ryder couldn’t overhear.

  “About moving back to LA after this film wraps? Yes,” Char said, feeling her cheeks warm and a smile tighten her cheeks.

  “Well?” Lori asked.

  In reply, Char held out her left hand
.

  “Oooooooh!” Lori squealed and grabbed Char’s fingers. “Oh my gosh! Oh, I bet his mom is thrilled. She’s always been a fan of yours, you know. And Bridget! She’s gotta be over the moon! When’s the wedding?”

  Char shrugged. “We don’t know. He just gave me the ring over the weekend. But he has decided one thing: He’s going to take a break from acting. Now that he’s getting paid for First Responder, Triple Play’s almost finished shooting, and the FRF is settled in their lease here, he wants to take the winter and fix up his mom’s place. Then—and this is so exciting!—he’s enrolled in San Jose State for the spring semester.”

  Lori’s jaw dropped even lower than when she’d seen Char’s ring. “You’re kidding! Ryder McBride, going back to college?”

  “It’s what he’s always wanted. He quit after his junior year to help out his family, you know. . . .” Char left the rest of the story unsaid. Lori knew all about Ryder’s family. She and Ryder’s mom had grown super close since both their spouses had been killed in the line of duty.

  “Anyway, Ryder thought he’d take some time off acting. Doesn’t mean he won’t read some interesting scripts if they come his way. He’s just in no hurry to jump into the next big thing.”

  Ryder left the boys chasing after balls on the court and sauntered over to the women.

  “Congratulations.” Lori hugged him.

  “Thanks,” replied Ryder. He draped an arm around Char’s shoulder. It was the kind of small gesture that made her feel so loved. She’d never take that feeling for granted.

  “Hear you’re going to start cracking the books again. Better keep an eye on him, Char. All those young girls down at San Jose State . . .”