Chapter 5 #2
Thirty minutes later, I pull into the winery parking lot. Just as I thought, there’s a total of four cars. I could have called this in from the kitchen and saved myself the drive, but here I am, doing my grandmother's bidding like the well-trained grandson she raised me to be.
I kill the engine and sit there for a moment, both hands on the wheel. My reflection stares back at me from the rearview mirror, and before I can stop myself, I'm straightening my collar and running a hand through my hair. I catch myself mid-motion and drop my hand like it burned me.
What the hell am I doing?
I'm a grown man. I've built a breeding operation from the ground up, negotiated six-figure horse deals without blinking, and relocated an entire ranch across state lines.
And right now, my palms are sweating because a woman I've spoken to exactly once might be on the other side of that door.
My stomach is doing things stomachs have no business doing, and my heart is hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
I push through the tasting room door, and my eyes betray me immediately, cutting straight to the glass wall before I've taken two steps inside.
But the production area beyond sits dark.
The tanks stand idle. The workspace where I last saw her, scrubbing equipment with that fierce concentration, is empty.
My chest hollows out, and I stand there longer than any rational person should, staring at a vacant room as if she might appear through sheer force of will.
"Well, look who's back." Tabitha's voice pulls me around. She's leaning against the bar with the easy posture of someone who's been watching me stand in the doorway like a fool. "Flying solo today?"
"Rachel's taking it easy." I cross to the counter and hold up Gran's list, grateful for something to do with my hands. "My grandmother is hosting a dinner party. She heard through the grapevine that Sunny has a talent for pairing wines with food and insisted I place the order directly with her."
Tabitha takes the list, but her eyes stay on me a beat too long.
"Directly with Sunny, huh?" The amusement creeping across her face tells me she's connecting dots I'd rather she didn't. "Well, your grandmother has good instincts.
Sunny's pairings are something else." She sets the list on the bar and tilts her head, watching me with open enjoyment.
"Unfortunately, she took a few days off to visit family in Austin.
She'll be back tomorrow, though. If you wanted to come back then. "
The disappointment lands like a stone in my gut, and I fight to keep it off my face. From the way Tabitha's smile deepens, I'm not succeeding. "I'm sure you can handle it just fine. You'll find the menu on the back."
"Your grandmother sounds like a woman who knows exactly what she wants," Tabitha says, flipping the page with a grin that suggests she's not just talking about wine.
"Tabitha." The growl in my voice catches even me off guard. "Just fill the damn order. Please."
She raises both hands in mock surrender, still grinning, and moves out from behind the counter with the list. I watch her work her way along the displays, pulling bottles and cross-referencing the dinner selections, occasionally scratching out one of Gran's choices and substituting her own.
"I'm swapping the merlots for our Tempranillo blend," she calls over her shoulder.
"It'll pair better with the brisket." She adds a Viognier to the box and pauses, consulting the list again.
"Several of these bottles won't be ready for another week, though.
You'll have to come back to pick them up. "
I snort. "Naturally."
"But don't worry." She turns, cradling two bottles against her hip, and the look on her face is pure, undiluted mischief. "I'll make sure Sunny's working that day. I wouldn't want you to miss her again."
My face burns hot enough to brand cattle. I pull out my card and slide it across the counter without meeting her eyes. The receipt takes all of two seconds to sign. I grab the case, mutter something in the general vicinity of "thanks," and make for the door.
I drive back to the ranch with Tabitha's laughter still ringing in my ears and my pride in roughly the same condition as roadkill.
Oscar meets me at the front door with his usual unflappable calm and takes the box of wine without comment, though his gaze lingers on my face long enough to suggest I'm not hiding my mood as well as I think.
"Well?" Gran's voice reaches me before I even make it to the front room. "How did it go?"
I find her perched on the edge of the couch, her book closed in her lap, reading glasses folded on top of it. She's not even pretending she was doing anything other than waiting for me to walk through that door.
"They had everything you wanted except for a few bottles. I'll pick those up when they're ready, in about a week."
"And?"
"And what?" I spread my hands.
"Don't play dense with me, Charles. It doesn't suit you." She levels me with the look that has been extracting confessions from Hayden family members for three generations. Stronger men than me have crumbled under that gaze. "What did you think of her?"
"Tabitha?" I keep my voice even. "She's knowledgeable. Professional. Good at her job."
Gran's face contracts into a scowl that could curdle milk. "Who is Tabitha?"
"The woman who manages the tasting room." I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the grin from breaking through. "She was very helpful."
Gran's lips purse so tightly they nearly disappear. "I instructed you to speak only with Sunny."
"Well, she wasn't in today, Gran. She’s visiting family in Austin." I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, savoring the rare opportunity to watch my grandmother's plans unravel. "I'm sorry to report that your grand scheme was thwarted."
She sniffs and picks up her book. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I’m talking about. You and Rachel cooked this up together, and you're both about as subtle as a brass band at a funeral."
"I'm observing. There's a difference." She turns a page without looking at it, which tells me everything I need to know about how this conversation is sitting with her. "You work too much and you need to get away from this ranch more often. Meet some people in the community. That's all this is."
I leave before she can build up steam for round two. This isn't the first time she's told me I work too much, and I know she isn't wrong. But I don't need my grandmother orchestrating my love life with the same military precision she applies to ranching provisioning systems and barn renovations.
Thank God she can barely figure out how to make a phone call. If she ever masters that smartphone, she'll have dating profiles set up for me on every app in existence and a classified ad running in the Stone Creek Gazette before I can change the password.
That evening, I settle into the veranda rocker with a glass of the Viognier I bought today and watch the sun melt behind the hills.
The pastures roll out beneath me in shifting shades of gold and green, and the horses have clustered near the pond, their tails swishing lazily in the warm evening air.
The French doors open behind me, and Gran appears with a light shawl draped over her shoulders and her own cup of tea balanced in both hands.
She lowers herself into the chair beside me without rushing, the way she does everything these days, with intention rather than the urgency that used to drive her.
She gazes out at the land for a long moment before she speaks.
"I forgot to mention. Rachel and Mason have invited us to Sunday dinner. Alice is making brisket."
"I already told Mason we'd be there."
Gran nods, satisfied, and takes a sip of her tea.
The steam curls upward and disappears into the cooling air.
"Your grandfather would have loved this place," she says quietly, her eyes still on the pastures.
"All this space and potential. He always said the Hayden operation needed room to breathe, and Kentucky was starting to feel like a pair of boots two sizes too small. "
I smile. My grandfather has been gone for nearly fifteen years, but his words still move through our family like water through limestone, shaping everything they touch.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, turning to study her in the fading light. "And don't give me the answer you give the doctors."
Gran's mouth twitches at that, and she sets her tea on the arm of the chair.
"Better than I have in years. The doctors said this move would be too much stress, but they were wrong, as usual.
" She pauses, and something honest and unguarded passes across her face.
"Having purpose gives you strength, Charles.
This ranch, this family, watching you and Rachel build your lives here.
" She smooths the shawl across her lap with careful fingers that still bear her favorite rings.
"That's better medicine than anything they could prescribe. "
The tightness I've been carrying loosens at her words. I study her profile against the fading sky and notice the color in her cheeks, the way she sits straight in her chair without the careful repositioning she used to need.
We sit together as the sky shifts from rosy gold to the deep purple that settles over Hill Country like a quilt.
The fireflies multiply, scattered across the pastures in tiny pulses of light, and somewhere beyond the eastern property line, the vineyard lights flicker on, a warm glow against the darkening hills.
I stare at them. The Viognier on my tongue reminds me of Tabitha's pride when she poured it, and that memory leads exactly where I've been trying not to let it go.
Sunny moving between those steel tanks with that fierce concentration.
The moment her eyes found mine through the glass and held, just long enough to make my breath catch, before she turned away.
"I'm heading in." Gran rises from her chair, slower than she used to but steadier than she was a year ago.
She pauses in the doorway and gives me the look that says she already knows exactly what I'm thinking about.
"Don't stay up too late brooding, Charles.
Whatever you're thinking about will still be there in the morning. "
Her footsteps fade down the hall, and the quiet rushes in to fill the space she left behind.
I turn back to the view. Crickets sing in the tall grass. An owl calls from somewhere near the tree line, and another answers from further away. The air carries the scent of spring growth and fresh-cut hay, and the warmth of the day still radiates up from the stone beneath my boots.
I think about the road that brought me here.
Six generations of Haydens in Kentucky, and I'm the one who pulled up the roots and planted them in new soil.
A year ago, that thought would have kept me up all night.
Now, sitting on this veranda with Texas dust on my boots and my horses settled in pastures that already feel like theirs, the only thing keeping me up is a woman with a sharp tongue and blue eyes that could cut glass.
I drain the last of the Viognier and set the glass on the railing. The vineyard lights still glow along the eastern hills, steady and warm against the darkness. One week until those bottles are ready.
I head inside, already counting the days.