Jamie beamed. “And I’ve heard the same about yours.”

  Jill waved him away but not without a smile. She walked behind the counter and put on an apron. “It’s a gorgeous day out. You two have been working too hard. Go play hooky, everyone else is. Brian and I can handle it from here.”

  “Did the doctor give his approval?” Cathy asked.

  “Yes. He approved a few hours a day to start. I’m fine.”

  Jamie and Cathy exchanged glances. She was not sure it was a great idea to spend more time alone with him, but the offer was too tempting to turn down. She threw off her apron.

  “Why not?” she said and kissed Jill on the cheek. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

  “Of course. This will help me get back into my routine. Now you two get out of here and go cool off somewhere.”

  “Ready when you are,” Jamie said, tossing his apron behind the counter.

  Was he really? Cathy thought. Was she? Cathy took out her keys and they waved goodbye.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jamie got into the car and immediately rolled down his window. Not that there was a hint of a breeze today.

  “Where do you want to go?” Cathy asked him as she started the car.

  “Somewhere cool would be good.” He wondered if there was such a place on this blazing hot day. With the back of his hand, he wiped his brow.

  Cathy pulled the car onto the street and started up River Road toward

  Forestville. “Even the river will be warm today,” she said. “And we don’t have time to go to the ocean and back.”

  Just as they made the curve past Rio Nido, the old brick tower at the Korbel Winery came into view.

  “I’ve got an idea where we can cool off and taste ice cold champagne as well.” Cathy turned into a tree-lined parking lot.

  “What a great idea,” Jamie said. “The wine cellars will be cool, and I can finally sample some of the Methode Champenoise California Champagne I’ve heard so much about.”

  Cathy led the way up the brick steps. Jamie admired the historic tan building with the flags on top. Ivy crept around the big letters that read: KORBEL WINERY est. 1882. They proceeded into the quaint two-story brick building to start the tour.

  “Welcome,” the tour guide said. “Today we’ll chill down in the wine cellars while I tell you about our vineyard’s history.”

  The small crowd laughed and followed him downstairs. Cathy and Jamie listened carefully as he spoke about the two-thousand-acre estate that produced award-winning, internationally recognized California Champagne.

  When they reached the cellars, the guide pointed out the antiques, historical artifacts of the trade, and old photos of the family on the walls. “And every brick of this building was made by hand by the Korbel brothers,” the guide said.

  Jamie whispered to Cat, “That must have been a labor-intensive job!”

  She kept walking, admiring the photos. “Look how wild the land was in the old pictures.” Cathy motioned to a faded black and white picture behind the winery of miles and miles of untouched forest.

  He stood behind her, not too close, and read the caption. “I would have liked to see those dense redwoods lining the hills when the brothers arrived in 1850.”

  The crowd moved in behind them, forcing him next to her. Her hair had a faint smell of mint and he wanted to bury his face in it. Instead he turned away, looking for something to distract himself.

  “Look at this,” Jamie said, pointing to an old sign on the wall for the train station that used to run there around the turn of the century. “Can you believe it? Guerneville to San Francisco by train for $1.75.”

  Cathy joined him for a look. “The old days,” she said.

  The guide continued talking about the politics, innovations, and scandals behind the scenes and the crowd moved on.

  “This must have been quite a place back then,” Jamie said.

  They followed along, proceeded through the rooms like any normal couple on vacation, hitting the local tourist areas. He could almost pretend this was just a regular day with Cathy. Almost.

  The guide opened a large door and waved them in. “I’ll leave you here now in the competent hands of Mark, who will be pouring three different tastings for you today.”

  Cathy walked over to the bar. Jamie followed. He wanted to reach out, put his arm around her.

  “Today we’ll be serving the famous Korbel Brut that was formulated in 1956 as a lighter, dryer champagne for the American taste.”

  Mark placed glasses before them and filled them with champagne. Jamie sipped the cool, crisp liquid. “Excellent,” he said.

  The next glass was Blanc de Blancs, made from 100% chardonnay grapes, followed by Blanc de Noirs.

  Jamie finished the last sip and set his glass on the wood bar. “Delicious. I would carry this in my own restaurant.”

  “High praise coming from you,” Cathy said, sipping the bubbly champagne. “Which one did you like best?”

  Jamie thought for a moment. “The Blanc de Noirs is quite dry. It was my favorite.”

  Cathy ordered a bottle of the Blanc de Noirs to take with them. “When you get the perfect job, we will open this and all celebrate together?”

  Jamie wished he had as much confidence about finding a job as Cathy seemed to have in him. The look in her eyes motivated him to keep trying. “Thank you,” he said. “I hope we’ll pop that cork soon.”

  As he spoke, the whole picture of what getting a job meant unfolded before him. It meant moving out of Cathy’s house and probably out of her life as well. A dull headache started at the back of his neck. It was probably the champagne and the heat.

  The tour guide reappeared and reminded everyone to walk through the rose gardens before leaving the grounds.

  Jamie looked over to Cathy and held open the door. “Care for a walk?”

  “Sounds lovely,” she said. “I hope it’s cooled off some.”

  They walked down the dirt paths bordered on both sides by rose bushes of every color and size mixed in with native plants and other varietals of flowers. The old homestead was off in the distance, with miles of vineyards stretching behind it.

  “What a truly beautiful place,” Cathy said.

  “You have great gardens too,” Jamie said.

  Cathy smiled. “Nothing like this. Maybe someday.”

  Someday. Jamie wondered when his someday would come. “I’d love to have my own vegetable garden sprawled behind my own home.”

  Cathy touched his arm. “You’ll have that. Soon.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “How can I stay in my usual funk when you say things like that?”

  Her laugh was musical and light. He closed his eyes and let it move through him. Desire welled up. He wanted this woman. To be with her. Not just today, but always.

  She turned and wandered back toward the main building. He followed close behind, hoping she would not head back to the car.

  Cathy stopped and fanned her face. “Let’s sit down here for a while,” she said.

  Jamie joined her on the shady bench under a massive redwood tree. He rested his arm around her shoulders. For several minutes, they sat quietly and people watched. It felt like the most natural thing to be side-by-side, enjoying the day. Cathy nestled her head against him. He wanted to hold her forever, let all his responsibilities disappear and walk off together into these lush woods. A few sips of champagne and his thinking was crazed. But he knew the alcohol wasn’t what muddled his thinking; it was Cathy.

  Jamie caressed her arm with his fingertips. Her bronze skin was electric under his touch.

  Cathy sighed and looked up into his eyes. His lips brushed hers and he was lost. He pulled her into his arms and let this kiss linger.

  She pulled back, breathing hard.

  “Cat, I don’t know what to say.”

  “We’re in an impossible situation. What can we say?” she said, looking up at him.

  Jamie hated seeing her sad. He kissed her forehead. “You have it all together on the outside, Cathy, but I see the pain in your eyes. I don’t want to cause you any more.”

  “The pain would be not seeing you,” she said. “But the guilt…”

  Jamie clenched his teeth. “It haunts me too.”

  “We must stay away from each other then,” Cathy said.

  “It’s too late for that,” Jamie said. “I care too much about you.”

  A tear rolled down Cathy’s cheek. “What kind of person am I falling in love with my friend’s husband?”

  “You’re the kind of person who needs love. Just like the rest of us. I’m the one who is not being fair.”

  “Good people do bad things sometimes,” she said. “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

  Neither did he. Just how long before someone got hurt? Or was it already too late?

  A breeze off the river hinted at a cooler evening to come. People walked by them, voices trailed off.

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought about leaving. Even before I met you,” Jamie said. “If I got a divorce, there is not a court in this state that would award me custody of Amber. Pam would take her away and I couldn’t live with that.”

  Cathy squeezed his hand. “Amber comes first. We both know it. And Pam.”

  Jamie sighed and pulled his feelings in check. The names of his wife and daughter brought him to reality. The warm buzz from the champagne dissipated, and he dropped his arm from Cathy’s shoulder.

  “You’re right,” he said. He stood and stretched his legs. “We better get back.” They walked toward the car in silence, followed by the sweet scent of roses on the breeze.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It felt like there was a forest fire in the kitchen today, with flames racing down Cathy’s neck. The café at Health & Hearth never felt so much like a hearth before. The heat was supposed to break tomorrow. Her three houseguests were out swimming somewhere, laughing and having fun. Cathy felt left behind. At least lunch was slow enough to handle and now, with Brian showing up, she could go home.

  “Help is here,” Brian, said clearing the last table.

  “And not a moment too soon.” Cathy threw off her apron.

  “Everything copacetic?” he said.

  “Fine. I’m just tired.” The kind of tired that sleep would not fix, she thought.

  “Bummer,” Brian said before turning to wash dishes.

  Bummer was not the word for it.

  ****

  Cathy wondered where to go now. It was darn depressing being in the house alone. The bills called to her from her office, but that was the last thing she felt like doing on a hot sunny day.

  She pulled into her driveway and headed inside. She might as well go down to the river and work on her tan, and her skimpy, black bikini would help with that. She packed a large beach towel, thermos of ice tea, and Coppertone, then hunted for a junky book to keep her mind occupied. Oliver’s Story, the sequel to Love Story, was on her nightstand. It was probably a tear-jerker. Perfect. She slid her beach-back chair under her arm, pushed down her sunglasses, and headed out. Cathy’s flip-flops snapped her heels as she walked down the dirt path to the road where she could cross.

  She tried not to think about where Jamie and his family went and what they were doing, but without much success. Cathy was the one who told them to go to the beach, so she had no right to be upset at being left behind. She kicked a pebble out of the way and entered the sandy area. A mob scene awaited. Some good-looking guys with great bods were playing volleyball on the sand. Cathy staked her towel close enough to watch. Men in shorts, no shirts, and in motion were always a good distraction.

  The suntan oil glistened on her skin. She hoped no one kicked sand or tried to put the move on her. She dove into the book and threw it down after a few pages. Oliver’s best friend was telling him he looked ill and what did he recommend? That Oliver marry again. The guy’s wife, his soul mate, recently died and he should get married again? Like that would cure anything.

  It was hard to concentrate. The smell of Coppertone permeated the air, and kids were screaming as they ran in and out of the river. Shouts came from the volleyball game, and Cathy turned her attention there. Bodies jumping, sliding in the sand, pounding the heck out of the ball—it was fairly entertaining.

  “Hey, man, out of my way,” some big guy yelled as he lunged for the ball.

  A tall, dark-haired guy in yellow trunks gave Cathy a side-glance and a mega smile that must have worked like a charm on most women. She picked up her book and buried her face back in it. After a minute, she peeked over the cover to see if he got the hint and saw the volleyball heading right at her. It landed right by her towel, scattering sand all over her smooth, oiled legs. Mr. Good-Looking was heading her way to retrieve it. Peeved, she held the ball up to him. He grabbed her hands and pulled her up with it.

  His eyes scanned her sparsely clad body. “Come on and join us. You sure look in good enough shape to play.”

  His grin was contagious. Maybe she would. Hitting something might feel really good about now. She followed him onto the court and took her stance in the warm sand.

  “Name’s Jeff,” he said, watching for the ball.

  “Cathy.”

  He made a grand dive and saved the ball from hitting the ground as he set it up for her. She pounded it over the net with great satisfaction.

  “Good shot,” he said as his hot, moist skin brushed against hers. “Live around here?”

  “Nope.” It was none of his business.

  They won the serve and Jeff easily sent it over the net. It felt good to work off some of her tension running around in the sand and pounding something. The afternoon breeze moved through her hair and cooled her sweaty body. After a few games, the players dispersed and Jeff followed Cathy back to her towel.

  He pointed up the beach a bit. “Want a beer? I’ve got some over at my cooler.”

  “I don’t like beer.”

  His eyes roamed her body. A month ago she would have been more than tempted.

  “How about we clean up then and I’ll take you out for a glass of wine and dinner?”

  Much better offer. She weighed her options: eating alone at home wondering about Jamie or having Jeff take her out.

  “Sounds fine,” she said, “but I’ll meet you there.”

  His smile showed triumph. Don’t get too excited there, boy, it’s only dinner, she thought.

  “I’m renting a place for the week downriver a little,” Jeff said. “I don’t know my way around yet. You choose. Where should we meet?”

  He seemed like he could afford a good dinner and nothing nearby was particularly interesting. “The Village Inn it is then,” Cathy said. “They have great food, and it’s only a few miles down River Road in Monte Rio.”

  Jeff stood up and brushed sand off his rear. Cathy took in his tanned, muscular legs.

  He flashed a smile. “See you there at seven?”

  “Why not?” She could think of quite a few reasons, but caution and reason had left her when Jamie and his family walked out the door that morning.

  ****

  After showering, blow-drying her hair, and painting her nails, Cathy chose a revealing red sundress and low-heeled sandals. Why am I doing this? she thought. Wearing red like the Scarlet Letter. I’m not interested in seeing Jeff’s bedroom, and this dress will send the wrong signals. Too damn bad, I feel like wearing it.

  A Stephen Stills song came on the radio and she hummed along until she realized the words were talking about if you can’t be with the person you love, you might as well love the one you are actually with.

  She parked in front of the quaint Village Inn, nestled in the giant redwoods. Years ago, the inn was used as the filming location for the movie “Holiday Inn.” She could imagine Bing Crosby singing in the bar and Fred Astaire dancing on the outdoor patio. It didn’t look much different now. Painted window boxes filled with red geraniums set off the yellow paint and white trim exterior.

  Inside, the place buzzed with tourists. Jeff was easy to spot in the waiting area with his deep tan against a white linen shirt that set off his good looks. He waved Cathy over and she took a seat in a cane-backed chair. Over in the bar, she could see people drinking margaritas. At one table they were working on a puzzle. The mom and son team that owned the place kept it real friendly. It had a casual but elegant atmosphere with cloth table coverings, fresh flowers, candles on every table, and great food with an Italian flair. Not to mention their famed homemade desserts.

  “You look gorgeous,” Jeff said, rolling out the last syllable.

  “Thanks. You look great yourself.”

  Before Cathy could get comfortable, the hostess, dressed in a full-length silk caftan, led them to a table in the back. Cathy loved these seats by the window that faced the river.

  Jeff helped her into her seat and then took his across from her. She perused the superb wine list and freshly printed daily menu. The smell of garlic and fresh fish made her mouth water as she considered her options.

  “Shall we order a bottle of champagne first?” he asked.

  “That would be nice.” Cathy wondered if he thought this was a special occasion.

  “Schramsberg Vineyards is superb.”

  She nodded. Expensive taste.

  “Then we’ll order that,” he said, closing the menu.

  The waiter approached their table and went over the evening specials, including the vegetarian chef’s special cheese soufflé.

  Cathy ordered the shrimp and linguine fra diavolo and a butter lettuce salad, and Jeff ordered the pork lasagna and minestrone soup. Already she questioned why she’d come. She couldn’t think of a thing to say and she would rather be home weeding her garden. Her impulse to join him was just like her old self, only looking for the next good time. She also really needed a good distraction.

  “Do you come here often?” he said.

  “Once in a while, when I’m in town,” Cathy said.

  “Where do you live when you’re not vacationing on the River?”

  “Around.” She shrugged, trying to convey a look of mystery.