Saving Tate

By Margaret Antone

Photographic artist and creative agency director, Tate Elliot, reluctantly returns home to help his two brothers bring their family business back from the brink of ruin. The Rose of the West, a formerly celebrated lifestyle magazine based on their family farm in the wine country, is faltering badly, and threatening to take their heritage down with it. But can Tate satisfy the new publisher, a woman with very different ideas for the direction of the magazine and the power to kill it, especially when he discovers her to be a woman he’d dated and dumped as a young, immature man? The only woman he'd never, ever forgotten? More importantly, after discovering the attraction has only deepened with the passage of time, can he win back her trust, her love?

Alexa Poutrakis needs to prove herself to her father, head of the family publishing firm. Revamping a beloved lifestyle magazine and generating interest from a 21st century audience could be the ticket to achieving her goal. But could she work again with the man who broke her heart years ago? Dare she risk her heart a second time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margaret Antone
• Release date: Dec 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9780983758839

Margaret Antone

Margaret Antone is the pen name of a California author and avid reader who grew up thinking everyone made up stories to put themselves to sleep at night. And didn't everyone hear dialogue between characters in their heads? Eventually disabused of that notion, she decided to start writing the snippets down. The snippets became stories and the stories turned books for others to enjoy. Although her educational path and professional career took her into science and technology fields, she has continued to work on fiction in her “spare” time. A member of the RWA and SCBWI author organizations, Margaret makes her home in the bay area with her family. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at: [e-mail]

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Saving

Tate

By Margaret Antone

Saving Tate

By Margaret Antone

Copyright 2013-2016 De Vries Creative LLC

All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-9837588-3-9

Cover copyright 2013-2017 by De Vries Creative LLC

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Saving Tate is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Copyright

About the Author

Prologue

Ten years earlier

Lexie Poutrakis glanced around the studio apartment. Her boyfriend, Tate, was really lucky to have a place of his own, or maybe was just doing really well selling his photographs. Lexie wasn't sure, but even with her family connections, she still had to room with two other girls.

They had been together for a year now, not that she was counting. Was it too soon to expect a ring? Granted, he never said the words. Still, she figured he felt the same way.

She nodded in approval at her improvements. Tate was pretty messy, but she liked taking care of him, making him dinner every weekend. And for tonight, everything had to be perfect.

She checked again on the moussaka baking in the oven. Tate's favorite dessert, a huge dish of baklava, already cooled on the counter. Candles flickered in little crystal holders from her favorite thrift store, and fresh cut flowers within a tiny china vase brightened the center. The tiny table set for two held dishes also bought yesterday on top of her handmade placemats. Three colorful block print pillows matching the placemats cheered up his too-brown couch and the new plants on the coffee table made it look homier.

When the key turned in the lock, she ran to the door. Surprise!

Tate just stood in the doorway for a moment, a look of confusion on his face. He shrugged out of his battered leather coat and kicked the door shut with his foot.

Lexie? Tate dumped his camera equipment bag onto the floor. What are you doing here?

She hesitated for a moment. I cooked us dinner.

Why? It’s Wednesday.

It’s a special Wednesday, Lexie murmured, rushing over to pick his discarded coat up from the floor, folding it neatly over the back of the couch.

Tate glanced about the room, his gaze settling on the tiny table. What's going on?

Like I said, it's a special day. Lexie gave him a hug. Can you guess?

Tate tucked her head under his chin with one hand and hugged her back with the other. Lexie loved that about Tate. His touch always seemed like a reflex, but in a good way, as if the caring came from deep within.

When Lexie drew back, however, he still appeared confused.

It's our one year anniversary.

One year anniversary, Tate repeated slowly. He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his feet a bit.

So I made your favorite food, Lexie grabbed his hand and tried to lead him into the kitchen.

He resisted. Lexie, I sort of had some things to do tonight.

Oh. Lexie dropped his hand.

He glanced around the apartment, seeming to take it all in for the first time. Where's my laptop?

I straightened up a bit, Lexie said, so I could set the table for our dinner.

Lexie! You didn't unplug it, did you?

The screen was black. It didn't seem like a big deal.

Not a big deal... Tate covered his eyes with one hand and uttered an oath. I was in the middle of a download for a potential client. It takes forever on that old thing.

I didn't know, Tate...

You can't just come in here and do stuff, Lexie.

But... Lexie blinked rapidly.

Tate took one look at her and swore softly again. Sorry, Lexie. I know you were being nice. Appreciate your making dinner and all, it's just...

Not what you wanted tonight, Lexie said in a small voice.

Tate shook his head and flopped onto the couch, only to jump back up again. "What is all this stuff?" Tate's voice had a slight edge Lexie had never heard before.

He shoved the new pillows out of the way and sat back down. One pillow landed on the floor, where he kicked it out of the way. The other landed in the middle of a plant.

Lexie swallowed. I was trying to make it cozier.

I don't need cozy, Lexie. But I do need clients. He sighed, leaning back against the couch to stare at the ceiling.

Sorry, Tate. Thought it would be fun to celebrate the year. Figured you would enjoy a dinner. I guess I got carried away. Lexie trailed off when Tate turned toward her, a strange look on his face.

Lexie, you're twenty-one...

...almost twenty-two...

"Whatever. You’re young. We're both young. I chose not to go on to college, hated high school and all that. I love photography, am willing to do whatever it takes to become successful in the field..."

And you are going to be huge, Tate. Your work is amazing.

Tate held up a hand. Let me finish. I may not be college material at the moment, but Lexie, you went. You graduated. You’re smart. Summa damn laude smart. Way too smart to be hanging around in that dead end editorial assistant job, or to be playing Martha Stewart and wasting your free time hanging out here.

That's what you think I'm doing, Tate? Wasting my time? I'm here because I want to be. Because I want to make a home with you.

There is no home about this place, Lexie, it's a temporary crash pad. It’s not even mine.

Not yours? Lexie sat slowly down onto the nearest chair.

Tate scrubbed his face with his hands. I couldn't afford a place like this, Lex...

But I thought...

Tate had the grace to look guilty. That's what I wanted you to think at first. That it was my place, that I was successful enough to afford such a great apartment, especially in this city. The reality is, a family friend is letting me stay here temporarily, but I acted like it was mine and just never corrected that impression. I mean what girl wants to go out with a broke loser?

You're not a loser, Tate.

Lexie, would you listen to yourself? I misled you. I'm not the hero you seem to be making me out to be. Like in all those silly books you read for your job. I'm just starting in the business and most days I barely scrape by. Why do you think I always want to eat in?

Lexie shrugged, not trusting herself to speak. She bit her lip. Hard. She would not cry.

Tate took a look at her face and swore again. He came over and pulled her up, enveloping her in a big hug.

Sorry Lex. You're a great girl, it's just all this, he pointed to the table and other decorations, is moving a bit faster than I am comfortable with.

Lexie pulled back and turned away. A flush of embarrassment crept into her face at the accuracy with which he had assessed, and evidently rejected, her unvoiced expectations. It put her back up. A few plants and pillows and the gift of a home cooked meal and you think I'm marching you down the aisle?

Tate winced.

Lexie moved around him to find her coat.

Tate sighed. Lexie, I... Let's just eat, okay?

I don't think so, Tate. Lexie gathered her purse, very deliberately put the key on the side table, and pulled the door behind her. It was only when she reached the elevator and realized that Tate hadn't even bothered to come after her that she let the tears flow.

A week later, and still no word from Tate. Lexie had wanted to give him some space, but did he really need a week’s worth?

She glanced at the clock for the hundredth time that day. Thank God. Time to go home. She gathered the manuscripts she hadn’t gotten anywhere on, turned to go, when a coworker stopped by her desk.

Wow, how'd you manage to keep Tate's secret? Susy said, parking her rear on the edge of Lexie's desk.

Lexie looked up, raised an eyebrow.

Tate's new job, Susy gave her a wink.

His new job... Lexie managed to get the words out in a fairly normal tone of voice.

Oh, don't be coy. The boss already knows.

She does?

Yeah. Tate told her yesterday when she called him for a new assignment. Said he couldn't take it because he was headed to the airport for his new job in Paris.

Lexie's stomach gave a lurch. Tate was in Paris? For a new job?

Must be a fairly long assignment if he wouldn't even entertain the idea of doing a few photographs for us, Susy prompted.

Robbed of any ability to speak, Lexie murmured, Mmm.

Susy leaned toward her to let out a conspiratorial whisper, It's okay, you don't have to tell me now, but if you quit to go to Paris, let me be the first to know, okay?

Lexie attempted a smile and nodded.

Susy laughed and patted her shoulder before she left.

Lexie sat numbly at her desk trying to make her mind understand.

Tate had left.

Tate had left for what sounded like a long time.

Tate had left not only New York City, but the country.

And he had never said goodbye.

Chapter 1

Tate McGee Elliot stopped his Ducati motorcycle at the crest of the hill he and his brothers used to refer to as Darwin grade. The name fit, as a number of fools had raced down the narrow farm road in the dark, only to meet nature’s selection process when they came up against the unexpected, sharp turn in the valley below. Fence posts near the bottom bore testament to the impacts, a few with fading plastic flowers to mark someone’s final moments.

Tate’s late mother, Rose, known to be a bleeding heart, had tried everything from signs to asking the county for speed bumps. But the daredevils still came. After one kid plowed through the fence and ended up in the ancient chicken coop, Tate's parents had planted a row of redwoods. If his mother couldn’t save the daredevils, his father would at least protect his animals.

He glanced over his family’s old farmstead for a moment. Nestled in the valley below, it and the few remaining neighboring farms stood out as an isolated sea of green fields and orchards set amidst rolling hills now covered in the more lucrative vineyards. Living as he did in San Francisco, it would be hard to explain why he was seeing his childhood home, located only one hour north of the city, for the first time in over a decade.

And sitting here looking at it just procrastinated the moment of inevitability. Tate sighed.

Gunning the engine, he steered the motorcycle down the hill faster than he should, but then he’d driven down this road a thousand times. He knew exactly where to slide to the center to avoid the worst of the sharp angle and deep pothole that developed every year after the rainy season. The neighbor’s Holsteins glanced up and watched him fly by, but didn’t stop their placid chewing. Only a small calf skittered away from the barbed wire fencing that edged the road.

From the top of the hill, the farm had appeared unchanged. But as Tate roared up the dirt and gravel driveway, signs of neglect became apparent. The roof of a chicken coop, green with moss, had caved in on the shady side. A fence post, rotten at the bottom, lay on the ground, taking rows of barbed wire with it. Now only an added top line remained horizontal, propped up with a piece of angle iron, leaving a gaping hole any animal could walk through.

And come to think of it, where were all the animals?

Tate frowned as guilt gnawed at his stomach. He had waited too long to return, even now only answering the call of his brothers.

Pulling up next to the battered old Ford truck that his brother Grady had driven since high school, and a spotless BMW that by process of elimination must be his brother Heath’s, he killed the engine and lifted his helmet.

So the prodigal son finally returns. Tate recognized Heath’s voice before he turned around.

His younger brother, one leg propped on a galvanized watering trough, watched him.

Would that be me or you? Tate put the helmet on the motorcycle’s seat before walking toward Heath. Except for the curly, dark-brown hair where his own grew straighter, he could be looking at a tanner, younger, and slightly taller version of himself.

Heath? Taller? When had that happened? Had to be those hiking boots Heath favored.

Heath laughed. Probably all three of us.

He gestured to the red-haired man coming out of the barn before standing to shake Tate’s hand and pull him in for a one-armed hug.

Tate turned afterwards to greet his youngest brother, Grady, in the same fashion. The back slap Grady gave staggered him forward. Geez, when had his little brother turned into such a bruiser?

So what the hell is going on here? Tate asked. He made a circle with his hand. We’ve got more way than Dad just breaking his hip. The farm looks like crap.

It’s bad, Tater, Grady said. Only the magazine’s test garden beds and hoop houses look cared for.

The use of the old nickname came so naturally from Grady that Tate didn’t even think to correct him. He glanced around the farm his great-grandparents had started. Their great-grandmother’s kitchen garden had long ago been expanded into a test garden for the family’s almost century-old lifestyle magazine, Rose of the West. Those garden beds and growing houses did look neat and tidy. But the family had always retained a private residence there as well, which at the moment appeared derelict.

So the company workers had to see what was happening on the rest of the farm. Tate kicked at a corral fence post. The rotting wood crumbled under his boot.

Grady shrugged. You’d think. But then again, you know Dad.

Probably told them to mind their own damn business. Heath wiggled the fence post Tate had just kicked. He rotated it forty-five degrees in each direction without much effort. But this place is only part of the problem.

Heath put a hand up over his eyes to block the sun, and looked at Tate. "Rose of the West is faltering, badly. Print subscriptions are way down, costs have gone up, and Dad hasn’t kept up with the times. The website sucks, doesn’t work on the latest tablets or smartphones, and according to the new publisher, Dad has six months to turn it around or they pull the plug."

New publisher? Tate asked, zeroing in on the one piece of new information. Since when did Dad stop publishing it himself?

Still trying to figure that out, Heath said. But in the mean time, we need to decide what to do. You know what would happen if this magazine folded. There’s got to be at least a couple hundred people working at headquarters downtown. We can’t let it all go away, all that history, all that hard work. Mom’s legacy.

If Mom was still alive, Dad wouldn’t be in this predicament. Tate kicked the fencepost again. And I wouldn’t have left over a decade ago. But he didn’t need to voice the thought. All three of them had lived the disaster left in the wake of their mother’s death.

His brothers gave each other a look.

Something you’re not telling me? Tate asked.

Grady sighed. Gets worse, Tater. Looks like Dad mortgaged the farm to pay the bills over the last few years.

What? Tate stared. I thought it was all tied up in a trust?

We thought so too, Heath said. But Grady found some papers in the house that look like he managed to get around it somehow.

You’ve got to be kidding me! How could he be so stupid? This land has been in Mom’s family free and clear for generations. And it was even more important to her than the magazine. What was he thinking?

Heath shook his head. Whole situation’s a mystery.

Dad’s not talking. Grady said. Not sure it would help if he did.

Tate intercepted another glance between his brothers. What else?

Heath blew out a breath, and looked Tate in the eyes. We think Dad has early stages of Alzheimer’s. You know how stubborn he always was, how he never wanted us to interfere with the farm, the magazine—

His life. Tate couldn’t keep all of the bitterness out of his voice.

So we did what you did, Heath continued, even though we never had as bad a falling out as you. We haven’t been out here in years. We left him alone, like he wanted.

Until a few weeks ago, when he didn’t show up in the office. Grady picked a stalk of oat grass and started chewing on it. One of the hardier old salts who could stand up to his temper came out here to check on him.

And found him with a broken hip, not able to get to the phone for help. Had probably been lying there for hours. He was in pretty bad shape, Heath added. Took him to the hospital, but seeing as they weren’t next of kin, couldn’t do much more.

So they tracked me down. Grady grimaced. You can imagine the look I got when I said none of us had seen him in years. I felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. I mean, geez, how far away do I live? He gestured to the hills above the farm.

Tate put a hand on Grady’s shoulder. Screw what other people think. We know the truth.

Didn’t make it any easier. Dad was lucid sometimes. Not so much at other times. We thought he had a head injury at first, maybe from the fall, because he just didn’t make sense.

"Started