Three Dog Night (The Dogmothers Book 2) Page 3

  “To Waterford we go!” someone yelled.

  “Let’s go muddin’!”

  “Are you out of your mind, Shane? Did you forget you have a nine-week-old baby at home?”

  “Yeah, on second thought, count me out. How about you, Aidan?”

  “I’m in. Who’s gonna stop us? Gramma?”

  “If I know Finola Kilcannon, she’s firing up the four-wheeler right now.”

  The howls of laughter disappeared along with their footsteps, but Grace stood there for a few minutes, listening to the echo of a family and a feeling she’d never had, longing for it as much as she longed for that kiss.

  Chapter Three

  “I think Bitter Bark is letting us slide this morning.” Cassie propped her elbows on the stainless-steel pass-through in the kitchen of Santorini’s, looking at Alex. “Thank God we’re slow, since I’m hung the hell over right now.”

  His younger sister’s usual bright eyes did look understandably tired after last night’s festivities. “How’s Braden?” he asked as he slid a tiropita on the plate and considered some way to make the flaky egg-and-cheese pastry a little more gourmet and a little less Greek deli.

  “All warm and cuddly in bed, waiting for me to come back to him.”

  “Ew.” He made a face.

  “What? We’re engaged!” She fluttered the sparkling diamond on her left hand. “So can I leave early since I don’t really work here anymore but I knew you were short-staffed?”

  “Yes, you can go early, Cass.” John walked in from the back office, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses as he peeked into the dining room. “There are exactly two tables alive out there.”

  Alex shot a look at his brother, a mirror image of himself right down to the close-cropped beards they grew to honor their father, the perennially bearded Nico Santorini, when he’d passed away.

  “You think we should close early?” Alex asked, optimistic that he had a better way to spend his Sunday. Surely the Bitter Bark customers would understand. The entire town held Daniel Kilcannon and his whole family, which now included the Santorinis, on a pedestal so high a man could break his neck looking up at it.

  “I have a walk-through with the new floor manager in Chestnut Creek,” John said, referring to the original Santorini’s Deli. “So I’m out of here in a few.” Just then, the bell rang with the arrival of customers, making Cassie grunt with frustration.

  “You’re out,” she said to John. “But the day laborers who dragged their booze-soaked butts in here out of love and pity have to stay.”

  “Just get the new arrivals served,” John said. “Then we’ll put up the closed sign.”

  “Hallelujah,” Cassie sang as she walked out. “I’m going home to get lai—”

  “Cassie.” The double-older brother warning shot came out in perfect unison.

  “Lazy,” she finished on a laugh. “I’m going home to get lazy.”

  Alex was still smiling as she headed into the dining room, because he loved when his sister came in to help them out. It was rare these days, since her event-planning business was growing, but he always welcomed her spunky, sassy self in this kitchen.

  It made him feel less…stuck. But, oh, he was. Stuck at Santorini’s Deli like the falafel burger he’d just tossed on the flat-top grill.

  “You okay?” John asked, making Alex remember that even the slightest sigh would be picked up by twin radar. And the one he’d just let out wasn’t slight, but then, Alex never did anything half-assed, even brood.

  “I thought I’d work on some recipes this afternoon when we close,” Alex said, flipping the chickpea and breadcrumb pattie he’d recently added to the brunch menu. “I bought all the ingredients at the farmer’s market the other day.”

  “Yeah, I saw the Paris ham and Gruyère in the walk-in fridge. I knew that wasn’t for our menu.”

  Because the biggest change on their menu since their grandfather opened the first Santorini’s in 1953 was transforming a fried falafel ball into a veggie burger. “No menu changes” was one of the few demands their father had made from his deathbed.

  “I just wanted to practice so I don’t lose some croquette-making skills,” Alex said. “I’d bring some to the Kilcannon Sunday dinner, but I take it there isn’t one today.”

  “Cassie just told me the Kilcannon-Mahoney family texts were flying with a discussion of an impromptu gathering this afternoon for some Bloody Marys even though the big wedding was yesterday.”

  Alex choked a laugh. “Damn, those Irish give the Greeks a run for their money in the drinking department. You’d think they’d spend the day recovering.”

  “But we hold our whiskey so well, lad.”

  They both turned at the familiar brogue, spotting tiny Gramma Finnie on the other side of the pass-through and Yiayia only a few steps behind. Gramma clutched a squirmy brown dachshund he knew well, and even though he couldn’t see the floor from his vantage point, he had no doubt Pyggie, their other doxie, was on a leash next to his own grandmother.

  They were all frequent customers and never came without the dogs. Though they usually didn’t bring them into the kitchen.

  “Spanakopita coming right up,” Alex said, knowing Gramma’s order. “And, Yiayia? Can I interest you in a falafel burger?”

  She made her best face of disapproval, but it just wasn’t as effective since she’d discovered Botox. “A falafel burger? Alex, your father would be turning in his—”

  Next to her, Gramma Finnie placed a subtle but firm hand on Yiayia’s arm. “Agnes,” she whispered. “Kindness, remember?”

  “A falafel burger sounds…delicious.” Yiayia’s stiff shoulders softened, along with her tone. “But we’re not here for food, I’m afraid. We need help.”

  His grandmother handed the leash to Gramma Finnie, who hung back while Yiayia rounded the pass to come back to the cooking area. Her husband had started the first Santorini’s Deli back when it was just a deli, so her arrival in his personal space wasn’t unexpected, but the desperate look on her face was.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, aware that John and Cassie had moved in closer to listen.

  “I’ve lost everything.”

  “What?” All three of her grandchildren asked the question at the same time.

  In the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, Gramma Finnie sighed. “I fear that’s a wee bit dramatic, Agnes,” she said. “You’ve lost yer bag and the few dollars that were in it. Hardly everything.”

  Yiayia flashed a look to her friend. “I had photographs in there. And forty-dollar lipstick.” She tried to frown. “I’m upset about it.”

  She didn’t look too upset, but…Botox.

  “Where did you leave it?” Cassie asked.

  “The last time I remember, I put it under our table at the wedding. I don’t know how I walked off without it, but I must have.”

  “Did you call the winery?” Alex asked. “I’ll be happy to do that for you.”

  Gramma Finnie nodded. “Aye, we called. No one answered. ’Tis too far for me to drive.”

  Alex didn’t argue with that. Finnie’s driving skills—or lack thereof—were the stuff of Kilcannon family folklore that even the Santorinis had heard by now. “But I can,” he said, his fingers already on the apron tie.

  Grace Donovan, here I—

  “John can,” Yiayia said, narrowing her eyes.

  “I have a meeting in the opposite direction,” John said. “Anyway, you can drive that Buick boat out there, Yiayia.”

  Yiayia shook her head. “The mountain roads are too dangerous for me,” she said.

  “I was lost in the snow and nearly died out there last Christmas,” Gramma Finnie added.

  “Dangerous?” Cassie asked. “It’s October. There hasn’t even been a frost yet.”

  “I’ll go.” Alex flicked at his apron tie.

  “No, no, no, Alexander.” Yiayia’s voice rose to that note it always reached when she wasn’t getting her way. She pivoted to John. “You mus
t go, Yianni.”

  “Alex just said he’d do it,” John said, heading back to the office, ignoring the order.

  “Let me get those dogs out of the kitchen.” Cassie skirted around the pass to relieve Gramma Finnie of the leashes. “And y’all can fight it out. I’m not going, that’s for sure, so I’d take Alex’s offer.”

  “Alex has to cook!” Yiayia called after her.

  “Not to mention…” Alex put a hand on Yiayia’s shoulder. “I’m not the one you’re trying to set up with Grace Donovan.”

  His grandmother’s eyes flashed, and Finnie snorted a soft laugh.

  When Yiayia opened her mouth to argue, Alex put his hand over her lips, careful not to touch her sticky lipstick. “You’re wasting your time on John.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Grace Donovan already likes me.”

  Yiayia raised a carefully drawn brow. “Do you know how many times she made a beeline to avoid you last night? Finnie and I lost count.”

  “Proving she likes me.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Finnie, help me out here.”

  Gramma Finnie came closer, barely having to bend to see between the warmer and pass counter. “We’ve given it a great deal of thought and decided John’s the one for her.”

  “She’s not your type,” Yiayia insisted.

  “And we talked to her,” Gramma added. “She’s into science and stuff. He likes numbers and spreadsheets.”

  An age-old competitive streak shot up and down his spine. “You don’t even want to give me a shot?”

  Yiayia closed her eyes. “The Dogmothers can’t fail, Alexander.”

  “The what?” He almost choked on a laugh. “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack,” Yiayia said. “Which I almost had a few months ago, but because we had so carefully arranged for Braden and Cassie to fall in love, I was saved. Do you remember that?”

  He studied her for a long moment, digging into his memory bank for all the ways he’d learned to handle his Yiayia when he was little. She’d been much nastier then, and more manipulative.

  But he always knew how to get around her…then and now. The only thing that drove her more than the need to get her own way was the need for Santorini’s Deli to run exactly as she said it should.

  “You want to know what I remember?” he asked as he slid off the apron. “That you run a grill that makes mine look like a kindergartner was in charge.”

  Slowly, her gaze shifted to the cooktop. “Well, I surely wouldn’t inflict that…thing on a customer.”

  “The falafel burger? It’s a new menu item.”

  “You know how your father and grandfather felt about those.”

  “You’re welcome to take over for a bit, while I run out to Overlook Glen Vineyards.” He tipped his head. “To retrieve your handbag.” If it was even there. “So, help us out, Yiayia?”

  He pressed the apron into her hand, getting that look he knew so well, the one that said she knew she’d been outsmarted.

  He smiled. “And you know how your son and husband felt about having a Santorini in the kitchen.”

  “‘With a Santorini at the grill, there’s always money in the till,’” she quoted, defeat in every word as she turned to Finnie with a plea in her eyes.

  But the little Irish grandmother just clasped her hands on the top button of her baby-blue cardigan. “I think we should trust the lad on this one. You know, the Irish say, ‘Love isn’t logical.’”

  He leaned in closer and gave Yiayia a kiss on the forehead, then frowned at her. “John? Are you kidding me?”

  She glared at him. “A falafel burger? Are you kidding me? I think I just heard your grandfather cry from his cloud in heaven.”

  He was still laughing when he jumped into his Jeep Cherokee and headed back to Overlook Glen for round two. Or three. Whatever. He’d win the last one, and that was all that mattered.

  Chapter Four

  Grace took her coffee to the terrace, still wearing her sleep pants and a T-shirt, safe in the knowledge that no one would see her this morning since Desmond had left for good. Her staff was all part-time, brought in for events as needed, and the harvest workers had long gone, though a couple of her best men had agreed to come and help with the press later this week now that fermentation was nearly complete.

  So, she had the most important meeting in the brief history of her winery and her very first press without a vintner both in the same week. And she was alone. What a surprise.

  Walking across the patio, she pushed a few chairs under the tables as she passed, pausing to pick up a stray flower that had fallen during last night’s festivities. The cleaning crew would come tomorrow and make sure the place looked amazing for the big meeting, which she’d have to somehow manage without any assistance.

  She could do it. That was how Grace Donovan had rolled her entire life. Well, most of it. The years she remembered clearly, anyway.

  Grace’s memory of life before she was a foster child was foggy and thin. Except for…Bitsy and Jack.

  She shook her head, wanting the names and mental image to disappear. She didn’t want to think about siblings she didn’t know and might have invented. Didn’t want to think about who she was before she was no one’s child. How could she when the world she lived in now was so very beautiful?

  Taking the steps down toward the vineyard, she paused to inhale the crisp autumn air and drink in the jaw-dropping view. She’d owned Overlook Glen Vineyards for just over three years, but she never took this vista for granted. Especially in October, when the blue foothills were tipped in every shade of gold and red from the peaks of the mountains on the horizon down to the valley below.

  Her thirty acres were almost all stripped of their grapes now, but still boasted rows of green vines. In addition to the huge terrace where outdoor events were held, the property included the three-story, four-thousand-square-foot building that housed a massive kitchen, two offices, and a mini ballroom for indoor events on the first floor and her apartment on the third. The second floor had three more bedrooms and one bathroom, all empty now. But once she had money—next year, if she landed that wedding—she planned to add two more bathrooms and turn those into “bed-and-breakfast” suites for guests.

  To this day, she couldn’t believe her good fortune when the winery real estate agent had called with a secret “pocket listing” of a very small North Carolina vineyard that hadn’t even hit the market yet.

  The moment Grace laid eyes on the rolling hills of neat grapevines and the gray stone walls and mullioned windows of the winery house, her reaction to Overlook Glen had been nothing short of visceral. Everything about the house, the wine-press building, the cottage, and, especially, the wine cellars had smacked her with a feeling she’d never known before.

  Home.

  And that wasn’t a word she’d used often or casually, if at all. The buildings, land, view, and even the smell of the place tugged at her heart. Tears had sprung to her eyes the first time she’d entered the cold wine cellar corridor and touched the oak barrels. She’d inhaled familiar scents and felt the hard slate under her feet and cool air on her arms. Home.

  She’d searched for almost a year, after getting her oenology degree, for a small, affordable family-run winery to purchase, with most of her effort focused on Upstate New York and Virginia. But when she saw Overlook Glen, there was no doubt this slightly run-down and shockingly well-priced property on a ridge over a verdant green valley was the one she wanted.

  With the money Grace had saved on the bargain-sale price, she’d been able to make some basic repairs and renovations, update the kitchen, and invest in what she needed to launch a profitable event facility. In addition, she’d purchased newer winemaking equipment and had started bottling her own wine two years ago. For those harvests, she’d brought in a vintner, but this year—this week—she’d be calling the shots herself when they bottled the press that had been fermenting for a few weeks.

  With another deep inhale, she nav
igated her way down to the tractor path that ran the perimeter of the vineyards, finding her way to the cottage much easier in the daylight than last night. Her knees were still scraped, but the only thing that really hurt was the knowledge that Desmond had left.

  Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he got a few miles away, realized he was being a prima donna and world-class jerk for leaving her high and dry, and came back.

  But when she leaned over to peek in the tiny window, she knew that had not happened. The front room was dark and deserted.

  Deciding to grab the note he said he left, she twisted the knob and opened the squeaky door. Or…was that the door? She frowned at the sound, which she heard again and realized wasn’t the door. A soft mew or a…bark?

  What had Desmond said about a pack of dogs? She froze in the doorway, looking around, half expecting wild wolves to jump out at her. For a moment, it was silent, then she heard that cry again, so soft it was nearly inaudible.

  Didn’t he say they were outside? Abandoned? Not his?

  “Hello?”

  She stepped into the tiny living area, peering into the adjacent kitchen separated by a small counter with two barstools, the only actual place to eat in the little house.

  “Anyone home?”

  She took a few more tentative steps, peering into the kitchen to see the back door was wide open. Oh great, Desmond. Anything could be in here, hiding around a corner.

  Holding her breath, she kept walking, bracing for an animal to lunge at her, tentatively rounding the kitchen bar, waiting for a…

  A single bark startled her, making her jump back just as a patter of footsteps tapped behind her in the hall. Spinning around, she fisted her hands and braced herself, then all her breath came out in a whoosh as her gaze dropped to the ground and landed on the tiniest ball of brown fur, with a wagging tail, giant eyes, and a pink tongue hanging out.

  “Oh, you’re just a puppy!” Instantly, she dropped to her knees, holding back so as not to scare him. “Hello there, little guy.”