Chapter 2 #2
Eleanor’s expression softened a fraction. “Your aunt owned Blackwood Estate Winery.”
The words meant nothing.
Then everything.
The black barn she’d passed on the drive in. The endless rows of vines terraced up the mountain. The long black fencing. The sign at the road she’d barely glanced at because she’d assumed it belonged to someone else.
Blackwood Estate Winery.
Her aunt’s.
Aubrey shook her head slowly. “One hundred and eighty-seven acres?”
“That’s only the vineyard side,” Red said quietly from near the doorway.
Every head turned toward him.
“The original cattle land sits across the road and runs clear up toward the north ridge.” His expression stayed unreadable. “Blackwood’s been here a long time, long before anybody started serving cabernet to tourists.”
“How much land are we talking about?”
Red gave a faint shrug. “Enough that your aunt spent most of her life trying to keep pieces of it from getting carved up and sold.”
Silence settled over the room again.
Blackwood wasn’t just a winery.
It was a legacy.
“No,” Aubrey said faintly.
“Yes,” Mary Lou said. “Mabel was richer than God and meaner than a copperhead at bridge.”
“She was not mean,” June snapped.
“She absolutely was when somebody touched her Chardonnay.”
Eleanor cleared her throat.
“In addition to the property, your aunt has left you an annual salary equal to your current compensation package with Ashford Hospitality Group in Pennsylvania for the duration of the one-year term.”
Aubrey’s hand froze on her water glass. Her pulse skipped. Ashford Hospitality Group was a private corporation; executive compensation packages were locked behind NDAs and secure HR servers. How could an old woman running a winery in the Blue Ridge match her salary down to the penny?
It didn’t feel like casual curiosity. It felt like someone had quietly kept track of her life from a distance for years.
“She—how would she know that?”
Deck looked down, tracing a thumb over his file folder. “Mabel kept up with ye more than ye realize, lass.”
Eleanor continued. “There are conditions attached to the inheritance.
“‘Provided, however, that Aubrey Langford shall reside upon the property and actively participate in the management of Blackwood Estate Winery for a period of no less than three hundred and sixty-five consecutive days. She must also work in the business during that year in an active management role. She may not sell, transfer, or abandon the business during that period.’”
“Absolutely not,” Aubrey said, her corporate defenses slamming down like iron gates. “That is legally unenforceable.”
“‘Upon satisfaction of these conditions,’” Eleanor read on, ignoring the interruption, “’title shall vest fully and irrevocably in Aubrey Langford on the three hundred and sixty-sixth day.’”
She turned the page.
“‘If, however, Aubrey Langford shall refuse this bequest, fail to complete the required term, or attempt to liquidate Blackwood Estate Winery or its lands during that year,’” Eleanor went on, “’the real property known as Blackwood Estate, together with all vineyard acreage and the main residence, shall pass into the Blackwood Land and Conservation Trust, to be held in perpetuity and operated by a managing board consisting of my attorney, Eleanor Harper; my winemaker and business partner, Bennett McCrae; and a third member appointed by the Jackson County agricultural council. ’”
A low murmur rippled through the room.
Eleanor glanced up, then back to the text.
“‘No member of my immediate family shall have authority to sell, subdivide, or materially diminish the lands placed in trust, nor shall they derive any personal profit from such a sale should it occur against the intent expressed herein.
“‘Blackwood has buried enough bitterness for one lifetime,’” Eleanor read, her voice softening. “’I will not let this land be carved up again, nor let old grievances decide its fate. Let those who truly love this place tend it.’”
She turned another page.
“In addition,” Eleanor continued, “to Walter Grady, who has faithfully served Blackwood Estate for more than thirty years, I leave my grandfather’s gold pocket watch and the sum of fifty thousand dollars.”
Mary Lou dabbed at her eyes. “Well, that was nice,” she sniffed. “Walter practically kept the place running.”
“‘To my business partner, Bennett McCrae, who already holds a forty percent stake in the operation of Blackwood Estate Winery…” I devise the north ridge property, including the adjoining vineyard, lake parcel, and sixty-two acres bordering the western edge of Blackwood, contingent upon Aubrey Langford satisfying the foregoing conditions.’”
Aubrey’s jaw dropped.
Partner?
Bennett went perfectly still. The color drained from his face.
“What?” he breathed.
“‘The acreage transfer shall only occur if Aubrey Langford fulfills the terms of her inheritance and remains at Blackwood Estate for one year.’”
Aubrey turned toward him so fast her chair nearly tipped.
“Partner? You’re a partner?” She looked around the table, corporate instincts flaring.
“Excuse me? What kind of game is this? How does a man I met in a bar last night end up with a seat at my family’s table and sixty-two acres of land I didn’t even know existed?
” A collective, sharp intake of breath rattled through the room.
Mary Lou gasped, clutching her pearls. June looked horrified, and Red Stephens actually stepped forward, his weathered face hardening.
“Watch your mouth, girl,” Red said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You don’t know a damn thing about what happened here.”
“Aubrey, stop,” Eleanor said, the silk gone from her tone, leaving only steel. “Bennett didn’t ‘convince’ Mabel of anything.”
She set the will down and folded her hands.
“He is a master viticulturist who walked away from a massive career out west. Mabel brought him on six years ago, and he’s been the backbone of this operation ever since.”
Eleanor fixed Aubrey with a level stare.
“You’re treating him like an opportunistic stranger trying to take advantage of your aunt’s estate. What you’re missing is the decades of expertise he brought with him, and the years he spent consulting on soil and clonal selection for top-tier vineyards across the country.”
“He rebuilt Blackwood after your aunt nearly lost it,” she said evenly. “The little hobby operation you thought she was running? Bennett turned it into one of the most respected boutique operations in the Southeast.”
Deck leaned back quietly. “Mercer Distribution fought like hell for the rights to carry Blackwood.”
“Without him,” Eleanor finished, “those one hundred and eighty-seven acres you were left would be nothing but a tax liability and tired dirt.”
Aubrey had seen Mercer’s logo on every high-end wine list she’d ever signed off on; she knew exactly how hard they were to impress.
Her mouth stayed open, but whatever argument she’d been loading died on her tongue.
“There is also a letter,” Eleanor said quietly, reaching for an envelope. “One for each of you.”
She opened Aubrey’s first.
“‘Aubrey,’” Eleanor read, and suddenly Mabel’s voice seemed to fill the room. “’If you are hearing this, then I am gone, and you are likely already planning your escape back to Pennsylvania. You always did hate getting mud on your shoes.’”
Mary Lou snorted. Aubrey stared at the table, her throat burning.
“‘But you’re going to stay. Live in the house. Learn the business. Give this place a chance. You inherited more than land, sweetheart. You inherited a life. And whether your mother ever admitted it or not, your roots are here.’”
Eleanor unfolded the second page.
“‘And as for Bennett McCrae—Lord help you. He is stubborn, impossible, and usually right. But he has looked after me for a long time. He was the son I never had, and I loved him dearly. So Bennett, look after Aubrey for me. She will pretend she doesn’t need you. She will be wrong.’”
The room went completely quiet.
Aubrey, already humiliated, exposed, and raw, snapped.
“I don’t need anyone looking out for me,” she said, glaring across the table at Bennett. “Much less him. Especially him.”
She heard how harsh she sounded and hated that she couldn’t seem to stop.
Mary Lou burst into tears. “Oh, she was matchmaking from the grave.”
“She absolutely was,” June whispered.
Eleanor set down the letter.
Bennett was staring at the empty leather chair at the head of the table where Mabel should have been sitting, arms crossed, waiting to tell them all to shut up.
His hands rested flat on the walnut table, the knuckles white, his breath coming slow and heavy as if he were trying to anchor himself in a room that had just pulled the floor out from under him.
He looked up at Aubrey, his eyes bloodshot, completely wrecked.
Something in her chest tightened, quick and disloyal. He looked nothing like the smug stranger from the bar and far too much like a man with nothing left to lose.
“Mabel was not a lonely old woman,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had a quiet, vibrating register that cut right through her defenses. “And I didn’t ask her for a single percent of this company. I didn’t want your family’s land, Aubrey. I just wanted her back.”
He rose slowly, straightening his sport coat.
“If you want to walk away and forfeit the estate, go ahead. Someone will carve it up soon enough. But don’t you ever come into this town and insult what Mabel and I built.”
He turned on his heel and walked out. The heavy office door shut behind him with a definitive click.
From the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw Deck watching her again, the easy warmth gone from his expression.
This, she thought grimly, was the look he gave people who ended up in files.
Finally, Eleanor removed her glasses and rubbed lightly between her brows.
“The funeral is tomorrow afternoon at First Baptist on Main Street,” she said quietly. “Mabel would have wanted all of you there.”
Silence settled over the room again.
Everyone in that room had known Mabel.
Aubrey was the only stranger.