do otherwise.
Rolling down the driver’s-side window, he breathed deeply of the fresh country air. He smelled wild onions and home, and a smile flirted with his lips.
It was springtime in Texas, and this northwest section of the Hill Country was alive with color. Green grass proved that the March showers had indeed arrived as needed. Yellow dandelions, purple asters, and pink prairie phlox dotted the rocky landscape and hugged the thick ankles of the grazing cattle on Scooter Harwell’s Rocking H ranch on the left side of the road. Matt’s land stretched off to the right.
Rolling, rocky hills protected the prettiest valley in Texas. The creek winding through his land had been named Black Eagle Creek by local Indians and fed into the Brazos River a short distance below the dam that formed Possum Kingdom Lake. Matt owned twenty-five hundred acres, but he leased the majority of it to area ranchers. His interest and that of his partner, Les Warfield, lay in the hundred acres he drove toward now—Four Brothers Vineyard and Winery.
He spied the trellises on the hillside first. When he’d left the vineyard back in January, the grapevines had been barren wood. Now he saw sprigs of color against the gray vines.
“April,” he murmured, thinking back to Les’s viticulture lessons. They’d had bud break in March and April. Buds would mature in June, and harvest in this part of Texas happened in August.
Matt didn’t know if he’d be here for harvest this year or not. Basically, that’s what he’d come home to figure out. Since he’d spent the last decade making life-and-death decisions in an instant, surely he could get a handle on his current problem in three friggin’ weeks. He just needed some downtime to gather his thoughts and make up his mind.
Knowing he’d find Les in the lab at this time of day, Matt drove past the old ranch house where Les had taken up residence to the new building. There, he switched off the engine and climbed down from the truck’s cab, pausing to stretch the stiff muscles of his left leg before shutting the door behind him. For a long moment, Matt stood beside his truck, taking stock of the scene around him. Above, puffy white clouds drifted in a brilliant blue sky. Yellow sheets drying on the clothesline behind the house flapped in the gentle breeze. Les’s tuxedo cat, Queenie, strolled nimbly along the wooden fence rail that stretched between the house and the Four Brothers tasting room, currently open only on weekends. If he looked just right, he could see the chimney of the lake house a half mile away where he stayed when he came to Texas. This was a good place, he thought. A dream of a place.
But in all honesty, it was Les’s dream, not his.
Twenty years Matt’s senior, the old sailor had taken Matt under his wing on his first tour of duty and the two men had bonded. In subsequent years in ports of call all over the world, they’d solidified their friendship over a common interest in fine wine. When Les retired five years ago, he’d approached Matt with the idea of founding a vineyard, and they’d formed a partnership utilizing Les’s talent and Matt’s treasure.
Matt had wavered about what he wanted from this hunk of land ever since he’d bought it. Originally, he’d purchased the Double R ranch as a way to stick it to his father. The owner of the Double R, Randolph Rawlings, had been Branch Callahan’s bitter rival, and Branch had coveted the ranch land for years. Rawlings sold his property to Matt with the proviso that Branch never set foot on it. Of course, now that Rawlings was cooling his heels in prison on a variety of charges, including the attempted murder of Matt’s sister-in-law, Maddie, Matt felt no need to honor that agreement.
Nevertheless, Matt wasn’t ready to let bygones be bygones and invite Branch to Four Brothers. His loyalty to Les was the most convenient reason for that decision. Les and Branch got along about as well as a couple of tomcats
Rolling down the driver’s-side window, he breathed deeply of the fresh country air. He smelled wild onions and home, and a smile flirted with his lips.
It was springtime in Texas, and this northwest section of the Hill Country was alive with color. Green grass proved that the March showers had indeed arrived as needed. Yellow dandelions, purple asters, and pink prairie phlox dotted the rocky landscape and hugged the thick ankles of the grazing cattle on Scooter Harwell’s Rocking H ranch on the left side of the road. Matt’s land stretched off to the right.
Rolling, rocky hills protected the prettiest valley in Texas. The creek winding through his land had been named Black Eagle Creek by local Indians and fed into the Brazos River a short distance below the dam that formed Possum Kingdom Lake. Matt owned twenty-five hundred acres, but he leased the majority of it to area ranchers. His interest and that of his partner, Les Warfield, lay in the hundred acres he drove toward now—Four Brothers Vineyard and Winery.
He spied the trellises on the hillside first. When he’d left the vineyard back in January, the grapevines had been barren wood. Now he saw sprigs of color against the gray vines.
“April,” he murmured, thinking back to Les’s viticulture lessons. They’d had bud break in March and April. Buds would mature in June, and harvest in this part of Texas happened in August.
Matt didn’t know if he’d be here for harvest this year or not. Basically, that’s what he’d come home to figure out. Since he’d spent the last decade making life-and-death decisions in an instant, surely he could get a handle on his current problem in three friggin’ weeks. He just needed some downtime to gather his thoughts and make up his mind.
Knowing he’d find Les in the lab at this time of day, Matt drove past the old ranch house where Les had taken up residence to the new building. There, he switched off the engine and climbed down from the truck’s cab, pausing to stretch the stiff muscles of his left leg before shutting the door behind him. For a long moment, Matt stood beside his truck, taking stock of the scene around him. Above, puffy white clouds drifted in a brilliant blue sky. Yellow sheets drying on the clothesline behind the house flapped in the gentle breeze. Les’s tuxedo cat, Queenie, strolled nimbly along the wooden fence rail that stretched between the house and the Four Brothers tasting room, currently open only on weekends. If he looked just right, he could see the chimney of the lake house a half mile away where he stayed when he came to Texas. This was a good place, he thought. A dream of a place.
But in all honesty, it was Les’s dream, not his.
Twenty years Matt’s senior, the old sailor had taken Matt under his wing on his first tour of duty and the two men had bonded. In subsequent years in ports of call all over the world, they’d solidified their friendship over a common interest in fine wine. When Les retired five years ago, he’d approached Matt with the idea of founding a vineyard, and they’d formed a partnership utilizing Les’s talent and Matt’s treasure.
Matt had wavered about what he wanted from this hunk of land ever since he’d bought it. Originally, he’d purchased the Double R ranch as a way to stick it to his father. The owner of the Double R, Randolph Rawlings, had been Branch Callahan’s bitter rival, and Branch had coveted the ranch land for years. Rawlings sold his property to Matt with the proviso that Branch never set foot on it. Of course, now that Rawlings was cooling his heels in prison on a variety of charges, including the attempted murder of Matt’s sister-in-law, Maddie, Matt felt no need to honor that agreement.
Nevertheless, Matt wasn’t ready to let bygones be bygones and invite Branch to Four Brothers. His loyalty to Les was the most convenient reason for that decision. Les and Branch got along about as well as a couple of tomcats
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