She was nervous as she walked up to the podium in the county supervisor’s hearing room to present the case for the ranch. It helped that a team was there to add to what she presented and to answer questions. And it also helped that Zav had talked most of their neighbors into coming out to speak on behalf of the project. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he’d promised in return. The two neighbors he hadn’t managed to convince hadn’t come to the meeting. That was probably a bit of Zav’s diplomatic work as well. He’d have scones for life if the permit was approved.
She laid her notecards in front of her and kept herself from fidgeting with her sweater while Jed set up the PowerPoint. But she did slip her hand into the pocket of her cardigan to finger the charmstone. It was her talisman. She knew it would see her through.
As Jed clicked through the slides, she reminded the supervisors that the windmill—in actuality a highly sophisticated turbine—was, even at one hundred and forty-eight feet, now thirty percent lower than the one originally proposed before its rejection by the planning commission two years before.
“We’ve also reduced the power it produces from six hundred and fifty to three hundred kilowatts,” Alana reported. “Even so, the downsized windmill will meet the existing electricity demand of the ranch, including powering the mill.”
Zav gave an eloquent speech about her grandmother’s pioneering efforts in both organic farming practices and sustainable energy, practices designed to help Sonoma County’s agriculture industry. He then called up his attorney to read quotes from an analysis of the wind project by county staff that had found that no significant environmental impacts would result from the windmill’s operation. The attorney also cited a study by a local bird observatory that concluded negative impacts to raptor populations would be unlikely since the large blades of the turbine would spin slowly and the birds would have time to see them. A representative from the Green Sonoma Alliance spoke on the ranch’s behalf and argued that the windmill was a positive model for using green energy to power agriculture.
A small group of citizens from the North Coast expressed concern that the Tavonesi wind project could set a precedent. Windmills would be sprouting up all over the county, they argued. They were rather shocked when the chairman of the committee said that he wished Sonoma could harvest more wind power and put up more wind turbines but that given the current political climate, such a practice would be highly unlikely.
In closing, Zav made the case that for now, the Tavonesi windmill was a beautiful, inspiring and decent choice for a county looking to be a leader in alternative sources of power.
Alana saw the chairman suppress a smile. Zav had a reputation for disliking technology. The look on the chairman’s face told Alana that she wasn’t the only one who knew he’d been sweet on her Nana.
To Alana’s great relief, the permit for the windmill was unanimously approved.
Zav had coached her to low-key their victory, so she simply thanked the supervisors, gathered her papers and followed her team out of the hearing room.
She was about to step into the ranch Jeep when a man from the North Coast citizen’s group stopped her.
“Don’t you think it’s rather hypocritical, you flying around the planet in private jets and living the high life and then having a green windmill and an organic ranch?”
Alana didn’t bite the guy’s head off. His approach might be rude, but there was a grain of truth to his comment, even if she only rarely got to enjoy a private jet.
“Well,” she said, lowering her sunglasses and peering over the top at him, “we’ve all got to start somewhere.” She slid behind the wheel. “And by the way, the windmill’s not green. It’s white.”
After the permit meeting Zav insisted on returning with her to the ranch and meeting the woman who’d dared to squat on his land.
“Who knows?” he said. “Maybe I’ll ask for back rent.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Of course not. But I want to meet her. She had some gall just setting up like that on my ranch.”
“You didn’t even know she was there.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Alana turned down the drive to the Tavonesi Ranch.
Zav looked over to where the windmill stood, high on the west knoll, its three graceful blades as still as a sentry in the afternoon sun. “You did well today,” he said. “Jo would’ve been proud.”
Alana swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I think she intended to team us up from the beginning. I only wonder what other surprises she has lined up.”
“I know of one,” Zav said.
“Spill.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise. You’ll have to wait. Maybe even a couple of years. It has conditions attached.”
Alana groaned.
“Nobody said this was going to be easy.” He chuckled, apparently pleased with himself.
“I feel like I’ve fallen into some sort of video game and only passed the first challenge.”
“I wouldn’t know about video games,” Zav said. He pointed out the window. “Looks like you have a welcoming committee.”
She pulled up in front of the frantoio. Jed must’ve called in the news, and the staff must’ve seen the Jeep coming down the drive. They were lined up like in a scene from Downton Abbey, except that smiles were plastered on their excited faces.
Gustavo opened her door and helped her out of the Jeep with a flourish. Peg ran up and hugged her.
“You did it!” Peg exclaimed.
“With a ton of help,” Alana said as a flush of embarrassment shot through her “You all did the work. I just showed up and presented it.”
“Showing up is sometimes the most important part,” Peg said as the other staff members congratulated her one by one.
“None of this would’ve happened without Mr. Hartman,” Alana said. She motioned to him to join her; he’d hung back, watching and nodding.
He shook off her praise and thanks.
“C’mon.” Peg said. “Isobel has a surprise for you.” She pointed to Zav. “For both of you.”
She led Alana and Zav to a tent the staff had set up beside the entrance to the frantoio. A long cake with a marzipan windmill was flanked by forks and plates.
“It’s beautiful, Isobel. But what if—”
“I knew you’d succeed, Alana. I made this cake yesterday.”
“Good thing you didn’t haul out the champagne,” Zav said gruffly as Isobel handed him his plate. “We don’t know if the damned thing works yet.”
Alana laughed. “Jed says we can have it running by next Wednesday. I say we haul out the champagne then, invite all the neighbors.”
There were cheers all around. Rafael kissed Isobel on the nape of her neck as she handed him his plate. The gentle, loving gesture stopped Alana. There, in that gesture, that moment, she saw what was missing from her life.
After everybody went back to their work, Alana sent Zav off with Gustavo to meet Iris.
Seeking a few quiet moments, Alana walked down to the barn.
She had the ranch and she had a sense of purpose. So maybe she didn’t need anybody special. She cursed Matt again for dropping into her life and turning everything upside down. The irony was he’d done it without trying. Life, it seemed, had plans of its own.
Some nights as she lay sleepless, she wished she’d never met him. The problem was, when she did sleep, she dreamed of him, and lately they’d been vivid dreams—sensual, passionate, world-rocking dreams.
The barn door creaked as she pushed it along the track and opened it to let in the light. A swallow flew out. They’d made nests in the rafters, and Gustavo hadn’t had the heart to flush them out.
She ambled to the north-facing window, where she’d set up her easel, and uncovered the painting she’d been working on for the past week. Sophie stared back at her from the canvas, wide-eyed and smiling, surrounded by the butterfly garden. The fairy village in the bottom corner was just taking
shape. Although she wasn’t one to use elements such as glitter, this painting called for it, and she made a mental note to get some when she next went to town.
But as she lifted her brush to fill in the thatching on the fairy houses and stared at the look in Sophie’s eyes, a deep wave of sadness shuddered in her. Just as she was paying attention and getting her feet under her, she discovered she didn’t have what she now knew mattered more than anything.
But she couldn’t blame Matt. He’d shown her what true passion felt like, what it meant to have body and heart fully engaged. And no matter how sad she felt about having to push him away, she knew she’d done the right thing. That part felt good. It also felt downright rotten.
She looked out the barn door, across the hills dotted with olive trees and out farther to the land surrounding the orchards that would be forever held in trust as a wild habitat. The property was beautiful, full of life and full of promise. Why couldn’t she have it and love too?
Next time, if there ever was a next time, she vowed she wouldn’t let love slip through her hands.
But Zav was right. She had the ranch. She might not know how to run each of the divisions, but she knew how to hire the right people and had learned how to work with the amazing talent already in place. A weight had lifted when she’d realized she needn’t take on every detail, as Nana had. She could keep at her painting, build a small studio space into the barn, and maybe even fit in some traveling during the quieter season after the harvests. Somewhere along the line, Nana’s dream and her own had merged, and what flowed out of that meeting was a life that Alana had grown to love. She intended to make her plans known after the celebration she was secretly planning for when the windmill was finally operating. The thought of that party made her smile.
She decided to take the painting up to the house and finish it there. Her stomach rumbled as she made her way up the path. Cake wasn’t a proper lunch, not even for her.
She leaned the painting against the kitchen cabinets and checked out the fridge. She pulled brightly colored sweet peppers and an onion from the crisper. Inspired by their colors and shapes, she decided to attempt a frittata. She’d never cooked much, but since she’d been at the ranch, the delicious meals that both Mark and Isobel made straight from the garden had inspired her. And anyway, how hard could a frittata be?
She chopped the peppers, put them in a pan, then drizzled olive oil into it and turned on the flame. She started to put the bottle back on the counter, but instead stared at the grassy green liquid. It was beautiful. So was the label on the perfectly shaped bottle. Greens and umbers colored the olive tree, and a slash of blue on the lizard and the red of an acorn woodpecker added just enough color to make the image pop.
The body care line needed a perfect label. Something similar, but not quite... and just that quickly she had an idea. She turned her painting around and studied it. In the hands of a graphic designer, the fairy garden would make an intriguing brand. Maybe they should even keep an image of a child and—
Smoke pulled her out of her musings.
Isobel rushed into the room just as the smoke alarm blared. She grabbed the pan off the flame and ran out the back door. When she returned, she waved a kitchen towel under the smoke alarm.
“Alana, grab a towel. Wave it, like this. You’re taller.”
Alana waved the towel and sure enough, the blaring ceased.
“I’m sorry,” Alana said, feeling more stupid than sorry.
Isobel surveyed the peppers and onions Alana had spread across the counter.
“You’ll need some basil with that,” she said as her eyes crinkled with a smile. She started out the back door that led to the kitchen garden, but stopped when she saw Alana’s painting propped against the cabinets. She stood for a moment and put her hands on her hips.
“It’s not finished,” Alana said, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious.
“It’s how Señora Tavonesi would have wanted it.”
“The garden?”
“And the child enjoying it.” She held Alana’s gaze and then turned to clip a few sprigs of basil from a pot near the door.
Isobel spread the basil onto a cutting board and chopped with efficient, confident strokes. “I’ll make this frittata for you today.” She waved her knife at Alana. “Tomorrow I’ll show you how to make it.” She turned her attention back to her chopping.
“Isobel?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For believing in me.”
Isobel stopped chopping and smiled at Alana. “Your nana believed in you. From the beginning.”
Alana picked up the painting and headed upstairs. In a quiet place deep inside, a place growing stronger each day, she was starting to believe in herself. Starting to trust herself.
When she got to her room, she leaned the painting against her bed, stepped back and, hands on hips, she stared at it.
It was good. Really good.
She grinned.
And she kept grinning, even as tears fell down her face. She smiled because not only was she finding it easier to believe in her strengths and her instincts, but because she discovered she actually liked herself, the woman she was becoming, the Alana Tavonesi who wasn’t always a screw-up but a competent and talented woman.
A woman who could happily be both quirky and capable.
The woman Nana had known she could be.