Scott quietly observed Kinsey as she watched the lightning bugs dart about in the Mason jar. Her wide-eyed expression of wonderment made him smile. It also made him question her past. ‘Demanding adults. How much of a childhood did they deny you, Freckles? Another common bond between us.’
Somewhere in the hacienda, Mrs. West could be heard stating her views on what she considered an appropriate bedtime. A slightly higher voice delivered Harriett’s rebuttal. George West rolled his eyes. “Excuse me. I believe a negotiator is required. I bid you both a good night.” A booming voice - a protest quickly brought to a halt - one half-hearted cry of defeat - and then silence. With only the fireflies to listen in, Scott seized the moment to share what he had learned regarding Philip Westcott and his winery.
Before he could begin, however, he caught Kinsey’s hand moving across the table for the bottle of wine. Scott’s hand arrived first and maneuvered her intended objective a few inches beyond her reach. “Uh-uh. You’re done.”
“We’re sitting in the middle of a vineyard and you’re denying me a glass of wine?”
His cousin could be quite successful as a theatrical actress. “No. We're sitting in the middle of a vineyard and I’m denying your third...no, wait...fourth glass of wine.” By her expression, he guessed Kinsey’s muse placed him as an unreasonable headmaster.
“No one told me I should be counting my glasses of wine.”
“Not to worry. I’ve been counting for you.”
“Please explain why I can’t have one more.”
“Well, I want us to have an important discussion and I’d like you to remember what we talked about.”
“That’s silly. Of course, I’ll remember.” A new approach was initiated for the bottle.
The wine retreated a few more inches to avoid a right flank attack. “All right. Perhaps I don’t want to hear you complain about a headache as we travel back to Stockton tomorrow.”
“Ridiculous. I don’t complain.” Kinsey claimed the upper half of the bottle with both hands.
Scott took hold of the bottom half preparing for the final skirmish. “Let’s try this one. If you don't start listening to me, little bug, I’m going to light up your tail to match that of your friends in the jar.”
“You're being obtuse.”
Scott looked surprised. “Obtuse? There’s a new word to describe your older and wiser cousin.”
With an all-knowing smile, Kinsey let go of her half of the wine.“I've been making an effort to expand my vocabulary. To converse well, you must read much; you must have a quick comprehension, and listen attentively whenever there is any opportunity of acquiring knowledge. Chapter one. Page nineteen.”
“Very good.” Scott set the bottle aside.
“There’s more. Overlook the deficiencies of others when conversing with them, as they may be the results of ignorance, and impossible to correct. Chapter one. Page fifteen.”
Scott held up his hand, smiling. “Let’s agree if you listen attentively to acquire knowledge, I will make an effort to not display any deficiencies which need to be overlooked.”
Grinning, Kinsey raised her hand and extended her little finger as a white flag. “Pinky swear. Truce.”
Wrapping his finger around his cousin’s, Scott confirmed. “Truce.”
Retelling the details of Philip Westcott, he found Kinsey’s thoughts matched his own first reaction. Taking time to examine the situation and think it through, Scott found the words such as perfect, fortunate, and God-send no longer rang true. Crossing his arms, he sat back and stared at the jar of fireflies.
“It appears the Westcott winery could be exactly what we were hoping for and yet-” Kinsey’s eyes narrowed. “You sit with a look on your face.”
Scott shifted his focus from the glowing jar to his cousin. “What look would that be?”
“The Look of Concern - and I don't know why. Fate handed us the perfect opportunity.”
“No. Fate served us the perfect opportunity on a silver platter and past experience has taught me it rarely happens without strings attached.” Striking a match, Scott relit his cigar. ‘West dancing around the question regarding my grandfather - Culhane and the bottle of champagne - Yes, little one, I'm concerned.’
“Scott, let’s extend our stay in Stockton another day. We could ride north, meet Mr. Westcott and put your worries to rest.”
“No. Murdoch expects us back the day after tomorrow.”
“One more day. He’ll understand.”
“No. I have commitments to the ranch.”
“You have commitments to me!” The palm of Kinsey’s hand accentuated her statement with a slam to the tabletop.
Scott had assumed his cousin’s storm clouds were a thing of the past since he hadn’t seen one for some time. He was wrong. Hooking the toe of his boot in the rung of a nearby empty chair he dragged it next to his. “Sit here, please.”
“My seat is here.”
“And now it's not.”
Secretly relieved, he watched Kinsey reluctantly rise to sit beside him. Unfortunately, the thundercloud remained. “Yes, young lady, I have commitments to you. And this will be the first and last time you will point it out to me. You are very important in my life and your statement was unnecessary. Agreed?”
Scott was hoping his voice would be stern enough to dissipate the dark cloud, but he had to settle for a slight nod as she sat down. “Kinsey, I want to learn more about the Westcott Winery before we visit. Consider the knowledge our high ground. The high ground has worked well for us in the past and I believe it’s what we need again. If you disagree, do it now so we can talk it out.”
“You think your grandfather has his hand in this.”
“I’m uncertain...maybe.”
“I’m not ready to go back to the ranch.”
Scott frowned. ‘What the hell?’ “You don’t want to go home?”
“You return to Lancer.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’ll stay in Stockton for a few days.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Out of the question. You are not staying alone in a hotel in Stockton.”
“I’ll be perfectly fine.”
“Kinsey, I said no.”
“I need time to reflect.”
“Very well. You can sit in your bedroom and reflect on the word no meaning ‘no’ ”. Scott’s few glasses of wine and fatigue were beginning to replace his patience with weary frustration. “Kinsey, why don’t you tell me the real reason you're avoiding the return home.”
Without a response, he saw Kinsey’s storm blow out as quickly as it blew in. His cousin picked up the jar of fireflies and held it in her hand.
He decided to take a guess on why their discussion took a sudden turn. “Freckles, it will all work out with Johnny.” His cousin unscrewed the lid to the Mason jar. Sensing an escape, the bugs took to flight; buzzing around their heads before heading back to the grape arbor. “Harriett might be upset when she discovers an empty jar in the morning.”
Kinsey smiled at the final firefly balancing on the rim of its temporary home. “I’ll tell her everything shines brighter when free. She’ll understand.”
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