Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Elton stood on the ATV’s bench seat, soaking up the incredible view and enjoying another sip of the velvety estate red Archer had poured for him before they’d set out on the promised tour.
Archer had driven them from the main house, past the distillery and commercial winery building, through vineyard blocks, and up to the highest point on the property.
Less than half the winery’s acreage was planted, according to Archer, but from this vista, all Elton could see were rows and rows of spindly stalks disappearing into the misty post-rain horizon.
“It’s gorgeous up here.”
“You NorCal people and your fog,” Archer muttered from behind the wheel.
“Mist today, not fog.”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”
Smiling, Elton held the glass of wine to his chest, tapping it right over his heart.
“Either way, gets me right here.” This calm, quiet beauty was the opposite of his daily reality; it was exactly why he came to wine country in the winter.
Especially this winter, when his world was louder than it had ever been.
Also loud—Archer revving the ATV’s engine.
Elton tipped out of his peaceful bubble and into the roll bar, wine sloshing in the glass, nearly a direct hit to his shirt. “Hey!”
“Hold on,” Archer belatedly warned, brows waggling above the silver rims of his aviators.
“Before you hit the gas would’ve been nice.”
“Get down, then, before I hit it again.”
Laughing, Elton lowered onto the bench beside him, and they took off down the hill, winding along another gravel road through a mix of vineyard blocks and oak groves, this side of the property steeper and more wooded.
As they rounded the last bend, the familiar medicinal smell of bay laurels tickled Elton’s nose.
If he’d learned anything growing up in the Bay Area, those trees meant water was nearby.
Soon enough, a weathered fence and small lake appeared, the water surrounded by the broad-leafed evergreens, and at the far end sat three buildings.
Archer aimed the ATV down the narrow road toward them.
“What are those?” Elton asked, pointing at the structures.
“The original farm buildings.”
Unlike the smooth fieldstone walls and honey-colored wood of the residence, distillery, and commercial winery buildings on the other side of the property, the fieldstone at the base of these structures was rough and irregular, and the wood siding was dark and weathered, as if the buildings had emerged from the lake and grown right alongside the trees. “How old?”
“Several generations before the prior owners.”
They bumped along the uneven gravel, Elton admiring the cozy setting while finishing the rest of his wine, taking the last sip just as Archer swung the ATV in front of the largest of the three buildings.
It was long and narrow, with a pitched roof and wide double doors inset every few feet along the exterior wall, like in a stable. “The barn?” he deduced.
They climbed out of the vehicle, and Archer led him toward the middle of the structure where the barn doors were open wide. “Guess you earned that FBI badge.”
Elton’s scoff morphed into a gasp when he stepped inside.
The bones of the building were clearly old, but the insides were thoroughly modern.
Engineered lumber and steel struts reinforced the structure, state-of-the-art machinery spoke to a sophisticated operation, and an elevated platform hinted at something special brewing in the attic. “This is not generations old.”
“Like I said, we renovated. We use this area for processing during harvest and for aging and bottling the port.” He gestured toward the line of small barrels along the back wall, then to the glassed-in areas on either side of the open space.
“Offices on one side, kitchen and lounge area on the other, with two guest suites taking up the rest of the space behind the common area.”
“And up there?” Elton asked, pointing to the raised platform.
“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll show you,” Archer said with a wink before he disappeared back out the door.
Lingering inside, Elton pretended to be engrossed in the machinery while mentally replaying each of Archer’s winks, each of his smiles, each of his many grumbles from that afternoon.
In the vineyard, it had been easier to stay focused on the stunning views and not on the stunning man beside him.
But left alone with his thoughts, Elton couldn’t distract himself from the rugged winemaker and the buzz of flirtation between them.
Fuck, what was he doing? And what did he expect?
Archer Scott was exactly why he’d come back here. Why he’d suggested La Montagna Nebbiosa for his friends’ anniversary party last fall. Why, months before then, he had, for only the second time in his career, used his professional resources for personal reasons.
To find the man he’d locked eyes with fifteen years ago.
The man who’d only gotten hotter over the years, aging like the fine wine he tended.
Archer was halfway to gray, his skin tan and wrinkled in all the best ways, and fuck if that same heated hazel gaze from a decade and a half ago hadn’t sparked into a flame last fall.
Had made Elton think, Maybe now. The climate of hope then had made that maybe seem like a possibility.
Four months later, that maybe felt like both an impossibility and an imperative, and that double-edged sword of uncertainty was making Elton doubt himself.
He didn’t like the feeling.
Gravel crunched under tires outside, and Elton temporarily shelved his doubts.
He strolled to the open doorway just in time to see Noah climbing out of the Defender and into Ezra’s waiting Benz.
They’d promised to bring his vehicle down before heading to the airport.
“Thanks,” Elton called out. “Safe flight.”
“I made him promise to play nice,” Ezra said, aiming a pointed look at Archer before laughing and tearing back down the road.
“You didn’t want to catch a ride back with them?” Elton asked.
“Why?” Archer jutted a thumb over his shoulder at the cozy-looking cottage on the banks of the lake, across the parking area from the barn. “That’s my place.”
“You stay here on the property?”
“I need to have my feet on it.” He scuffed his boots in the gravel. “My hands in the dirt,” he added with a clawing gesture.
Digging in.
Elton used to feel that way about his work. “I get it.”
“Good. You can get your hands dirty with me tomorrow, then.”
Elton’s brows raced north, chasing his non-existent hairline, and Archer laughed out loud as he carried Elton’s luggage toward the nearest set of closed barn doors. “Don’t worry, city boy. I’ll take care of you.”
“City boy?” Elton said, arms crossed.
“Your hands are soft, your designer boots are shiny, and there’s not a speck of dirt on your clothes or under your nails.
” He unlocked the doors and pushed the luggage inside the guest suite Elton spied over his shoulder.
When Archer turned back around, Elton’s entire world was reduced to twinkling hazel eyes. “Am I wrong?”
“I thought you were a winemaker, not an investigator.”
“I’m also a farmer and all we do is solve problems.”
Elton grinned. “Oh, so now I’m a problem?”
Archer tilted his head, as if considering. “Remains to be seen. Be ready tomorrow at six.” He skirted around Elton and out the door, headed for the ATV.
“Hey, Archer,” Elton called after him. “Thank you for today.”
The silver fox grinned and fuck if a dimple didn’t pop out beneath the gray scruff. “We’ll see if you’re still thanking me tomorrow.”