“And they go nowhere,” she murmured, thinking aloud. “Just fade away.”

“No,” he said, sounding suddenly fierce. “Baby Doe will not go unidentified. I won’t let that happen.”

“Because he may be Dylan?”

He met her eyes briefly, then returned his gaze to the road. “Because no child deserves that.”

She studied his profile, her chest tight with emotion. She couldn’t imagine being in his position, seeing the kind of ugliness he did, day in and out, and feeling the responsibility to somehow make it right.

He changed the subject. “How about I fill you in on who you’ll meet tonight?”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

“First, you’ll meet my mother and father. Dad’s a crusty old bastard, a fact Mom mostly ignores. She’s a class act, hence her approval of your dress.”

“Siblings?”

“Two brothers. Joe and Ferris.”

“And where do they fall in the Reed lineup?”

“Joe is the oldest, Ferris the youngest-”

“And you’re monkey in the middle?”

“Something like that. They both work for the family winery.”

“But not you. Why?”

“Long story.” He swung onto Sonoma Highway. “I expect the entire Sommer clan will be in attendance. Our families are close, but also in competition. A little industrial espionage is always in order.”

She laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not really. You’re sure to meet Treven tonight, Harlan’s older brother. He runs the Sommer outfit. He has two sons. Clark’s the older, Will the younger. Both are also in the business.”

“Rachel will be there?”

“Almost certainly.” He shot her a quick grin. “She’s a hoot, isn’t she?” When Alex agreed, he added, “But don’t be fooled. She’s as sharp as they come. Smart and ambitious. She lives for that winery.”

“What does she do?”

“Head winemaker.” He made a sharp right onto a private road. The iron gates were open, but judging by the card reader and keypad, that wasn’t always the case. “It’s a big deal, actually. Traditionally, the title of head winemaker has been a man’s domain. Only recently have women begun making names for themselves. Helen Turley, Mia Klein, Heidi Barrett-and Rachel Sommer.”

“I’m impressed. And frankly, intimidated.”

“In her case, you can check that at the door. Rachel is real people.”

“But the others aren’t?”

He pursed his lips, as if in thought. After a moment, he said, “Some are. But there are plenty of egos in that group. And plenty of bullshit.”

“Should I have worn boots tonight?”

“Hip waders.”

She laughed just as the house came into view. The large stone structure sat on a hill. Light spilled from the windows. The surrounding trees had been laced with tiny white lights. Jazz floated on the cold night air, at once earthy and elegant.

“More impressive than the Sommer place, isn’t it?”

It was. The house was grander. More manorlike. In light of the fact he’d wanted no part in the business, the obvious pride in his voice surprised her.

Interesting, she thought. No doubt there’d been a lot more to his opting out of the family business than he’d let on.

He parked and they climbed out. Alex was happy to see she wasn’t the only one in a dress. But Reed hadn’t been exaggerating-attire ran the gamut from grunge to bling.

Obviously, Reed had warned his family she would be his date this evening. One after another they approached her with some version of “Little Alexandra, I can’t believe it’s you!”

His brothers found them first. They were both dynamic, though in very different ways. Joe commanded and Ferris charmed. Their personal styles reflected that. Joe’s hair, silvering at the temples, was close-cropped. He wore a button-down shirt, open at the throat, and a pair of dress trousers. His shoes were polished to a shine that rivaled the glint of the Rolex watch on his wrist. Ferris’s hair was shaggy, his smile open and disarming. His choice in clothing: casual hip.

Reed resembled neither, with his thick, chestnut-colored hair, light eyes and rugged build.

After Reed introduced them, Ferris caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Danny didn’t tell us you were gorgeous,” he teased. “Hoping to keep you all to himself, selfish bastard.”

“Typical Dan.” Joe held out his hand and smiled. “Wonderful to see you again after all these years. My brother told you about his reputation with the ladies, I’m sure?”

“Actually, he didn’t.” She smiled back at the man. “However, he did remind me I had a raging crush on him at five.”

The two men burst out laughing. “Way to go, Bro. Smooth.”

To his credit, Reed seemed unfazed by their ribbing. “Laugh your asses off, guys. I’m still the one introducing you to the lady on my arm.”

Joe threw up his hands. “Hey, I’m out of this. Hitched. Ferris, on the other hand, needs some serious help.”

Considering the way he lingered over her hand, Alex seriously doubted that. As they left the brothers moments later, she leaned toward Reed. “Ladies’ man? And here I thought you were busy working the streets, not the sheets.”

He grinned down at her. “Funny. Nice play on words.”

But no denial. Alex tucked that fact away for later.

Wine, tonight’s zinfandel and in general, was the evening’s star attraction. As they moved through the party, talk revolved around it: the weather, grapes and current growing season, which wines were worth tasting and which ones weren’t. Everybody, it seemed, was an expert.

Alex was torn between finding it fascinating and totally affected. Reed had no such conflicts-as he led her through the party he kept up a running, sometimes irreverent, sometimes outright sarcastic monologue of who was who and why they thought so.

As he exchanged her empty glass for a full one, he said, “Here comes my father. Prepare yourself.”

She followed the direction of his gaze. She saw immediately where Reed had gotten his looks. He was a big man, with a head of thick silvering hair, whose gait-his very countenance-shouted, I’ll do it my way, thanks.

Now she knew where Reed had gotten that as well. And perhaps, why he had opted out of the family business.

“Dad,” he said stiffly. “Good to see you.”

“Son. Glad you could make it.”

The tension between the two was palpable, Alex noted.

“Where else would I be tonight?”

“You tell me. It’s only wine, after all. Not life or death.”

Alex felt Reed stiffen beside her. She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Alexandra Clarkson.”

The older Reed turned to her, pinning her with his piercing blue eyes. Only then did he take her hand. “Patsy’s girl.”

“Yes.”

“Wayne Reed.” He released her hand. “I hear you rented a place in town.”

“I did.”

“You’ll not be bothering Harlan.”

She bristled. “I had no plans to.”

“Good. Enjoy the party.” Without another word he turned and strode off.

She watched him go, working to recover her balance. “That went well,” she muttered.

Reed laughed. “I told you he was a crusty bastard.”

“In some cases, crusty is charming.”

“Not Dad’s. But you know that now.”

That she did. “You didn’t tell me there was such bad blood between you two.”

“Just disappointment.” Before she could comment, he added, “Here comes Mom. Big surprise.”

His mother, Lyla, proved to be the epitome of elegance and hospitality. Alex realized instantly that she played peacemaker between father and son. Or rather, she tried.

As Reed had predicted, she approved of the dress. “Don’t you look lovely!” she exclaimed, catching Alex’s hands and looking her over. “Little Alex, grown into a beautiful woman.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lyla.”

“To meet me? Why, we’re old friends.” She linked their arms. “Come, let me show you something.”

Alex glanced at Reed, who shrugged, his expression amused. He followed as his mother led her through an alcove into a large, paneled room. The room was richly but comfortably furnished, the walls hung with photographs, some of celebrities and politicians, framed medals and certificates. A scent lingered in the air, at once woodsy, sweet and somehow familiar. A fire crackled in the massive stone hearth. A video monitor played a promotional piece about the making of the Bear Creek Zinfandel.