A Gift to Last Page 0,44

to him. Years. The troubles currently plaguing California's wine industry had dominated the local news channels for weeks. Fan leaf virus was causing the ruin of many vineyards, and of course, Phil had wondered about Greg. But he hadn't heard anything definite until that very day. What he'd learned made him eager to sing.

After all these years, it was payback time. Greg had deserted a woman in need; Phil hadn't known Catherine well, but he'd liked her...and he'd heard rumors about a pregnancy. Then, perhaps worst of all, Greg had ignored his own mother on her deathbed, and when Phil had confronted him, he hadn't shown any genuine remorse.

Naturally, because of his religious beliefs, Phil tried not to hate his brother. He was willing to admit, though, that he felt strongly antagonistic toward Greg, not to mention gleeful about his financial woes.

He hadn't missed the fact that the one place Greg hadn't come to apply for a loan was Pacific Union. A wise decision. Given the opportunity, Phil would have relished personally refusing his brother's application. More than that, he'd done everything he could to make sure Greg didn't obtain funding. Actually, he'd handled that situation in a pretty clever way. He'd sent word through the banking community that when an application came to them from Bennett Wines, no one was to accept it. He'd given the impression that he'd be the one helping his brother.

If Sandy learned about this, she'd be furious. She'd accuse him of sabotaging Greg's business, but that wasn't how Phil viewed it. All he'd done was make sure Greg didn't get anything he didn't deserve. It'd probably be the first time, too. From childhood on, Greg had been the favored son. His fascination with that damned vineyard had guaranteed his special position with their father. And perhaps because he was the youngest, Greg had been coddled by their mother.

Even when she was dying, she'd made excuses for him. It was now ten years since they'd buried their mother, and every time Phil thought about the funeral, the fury he still felt toward his brother threatened to consume him.

The grief Greg had shown was as phoney as a three-dollar bill. If he'd cared even a little about their mother, he would have come to the hospital when she asked for him. They'd known her illness was terminal! Nothing could have been more important; nothing should have kept him away. When Phil found out that Greg had chosen to attend the settlement hearing on his divorce case instead, he'd completely lost his temper.

The two brothers had nearly come to blows at the wake. What irked Phil the most was the grieving-son act Greg had put on for family and friends.

Grieving? Yeah, right.

Phil had been appalled by the number of people who seemed to fall for Greg's act. Phil had been hurting, too, but he'd disciplined himself not to show his emotions. Grief was private, after all. He'd also grown accustomed to the reality of her death, because he'd been there. His mother's illness had lasted several months, and Phil had been the one to sit at her bedside, to read to her and comfort her.

Sure, his brother had come to visit on occasion, but he always had a convenient excuse for not staying long. In the beginning it was because he was harvesting the grapes. That was followed by the wine-production period, which he said demanded constant supervision. During the last months of their mother's life, Greg had been involved in his divorce, too. His second divorce.

As far as Phil was concerned, his brother's marital problems were exactly what he deserved. The first wife, who'd lasted ten years, was bad enough. The second one, who looked shockingly like the first, had stayed around three years, possibly four, he couldn't remember. Phil had heard that there was a third Mrs. Greg Bennett, and he couldn't help wondering if she'd go the way of her predecessors.

"Phil, hurry, or we're going to be late," Sandy called from the kitchen.

They'd finished dinner and washed their few dishes, and while Sandy was collecting the sheet music, Phil watched the last of the national news.

"I'm ready," he called back, turning off the TV. Preoccupied with thoughts of his brother, Phil hadn't heard a word of the newscast.

The church parking lot was only partially filled when they arrived. The choir director smiled in greeting, but didn't allow anyone to waste time. The Christmas cantata was only two weeks away, and there remained plenty of