Growing up in the shadow of Harlan Garrett’s various social circles of associates and competitors, Scott acquired a keen sense of the business world and the men who jostled for the top prize of “success.”
Success. The word, at times, was spoken when other words such as “opulence”, “affluent”, “privilege” and “wealthy” made a person sound conceited or uncaring. In conversation, a businessman could be considered successful or ruthless. The first description was a more polite observation - the latter could be more accurate. It took the war, imprisonment, and later, conversations with his father, for Scott to understand true success spoke of “encouragement”, “contentment” and “happiness.” Yes, there were two types of successful gentlemen - and Scott knew which one he strove to be.
Scott also realized the type of businessman George West was about to become by the expression on his host’s face when they parted ways. A type of man whose own success will no longer satisfy him and he’ll focus on what others have - their possessions and their accomplishments. Over the years, Scott watched his grandfather excel to be that sort of man. He witnessed Harlan preying on struggling businesses and gobbling them up like a fine dessert. Kinsey’s inheritance invested in the Westcott vineyards could certainly improve the menu for George West.
While his new friend and confidant, Blue, escorted him down the Westcott lane, Scott noticed the same immaculate vineyards as El Pinal’s - minus the hired hands’ continued work into the late season. A lack of finances could be the possible reason for their absence. Scott caught himself. ‘Don't assume. Don't judge.’ However, there was one person his jury deemed guilty - Kinsey. With his patience exhausted, a “come to Jesus” meeting would be in his cousin's near future.
The road curved to the right and traveled under the winery’s stone and stucco arch which framed the view of the vine-covered hacienda in the distance. Nearing the home of Philip Westcott, Scott was impressed with its modest red-tiled roofs and architecture. ‘Not as grandiose as El Pinal but, by God, impressive in its own right’. However, as Scott drew nearer his eyes pulled more from the scene in front of him - empty flower boxes and planters, lack of colorful bench pillows, an arbor in need of pruning. Blue let out a whinny to offer Scott a possible reason. “Agreed, my friend. A woman’s touch is absent here.” Dismounting, he smiled. ‘When we get back to the ranch I need to thank Teresa. She does so much.’
Scott tied up Blue even though he doubted the horse would make an effort to leave unless requested. A familiar laugh bounced off the courtyard’s adobe wall. Scott readjusted his hat as his long strides followed the sounds of a lighthearted conversation taking place beyond the grape arbor. Rounding the corner, he came upon his cousin sitting at an outdoor table with a man who appeared to be his own age. Spotting an open bottle of wine momentarily raised Scott’s eyebrows before they plummeted into a scowl. ‘It's morning and she's drinking?’
“Scott! You’re here!” As if greeting her first guest for afternoon tea, Kinsey rose and approached Scott.
Through a forced smile and clenched teeth, Scott could only manage one word. “Kinsey.”
Not skipping a beat in her chatter, she took his hand. “You arrived sooner than I expected! Please come. Mr. Westcott is anxious to meet you.”
“Kin-SEY.”
Guiding him back to the table, his cousin’s introductions continued. “Mr. Westcott! Our earlier conversation regarding the vineyards can now resume! I thought we should wait until your arrival, Scott, so Mr. Westcott wouldn't need to repeat himself.”
“KIN-sey.” Scott placed a hand on each of his cousin's shoulders while smiling sweetly. “Always thinking ahead. Only one of the many reasons I find you so...endearing.”
“I’m guessing Miss Furlong is an admirable chess player.” Seth Westcott joined the conversation by rising and extending his hand. The man possessed the same height - the same build - if it weren’t for the sandy colored hair and dark green eyes, Westcott could be Scott’s double. “Mr. Lancer, a pleasure to meet you.”
Scott knew he was stuck in the protocol of politeness and decided to make the best of it by accepting Westcott's welcoming handshake and matching his warm smile. “The pleasure is mine, sir. Yes, my cousin is indeed a worthy chess opponent although steer clear of her poker games.”
“I will certainly make a note of that.” Seth Westcott's easy going laugh seemed genuine. “Miss Furlong has been telling me all about you.”
“You have me at a disadvantage.” Scott’s eyes drifted to the open bottle of wine sitting in the middle of the table. “I know very little about you.”
Westcott's gaze followed Scott’s until it rested on the bottle. “Oh...ah...no. I guess this might look as if….it's not what you think.” Their flustered host picked up the wine bottle to pour a small amount in a glass. “I wanted to see the legs.” Scott stared and crossed his arms. “Not Kinsey’s - I mean, Miss Furlong’s...our wine…the legs...” Seth Westcott’s voice trailed off as he swirled the liquid around in the glass for a moment and then held it up for Scott to view. “See the lines of droplets inside the glass?”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “I believe the French call it the tears of a wine.”
Letting out a sigh, Westcott nodded and set the glass back down on the table. “Perhaps it would be best if I started over. Mr. Lancer, welcome to the Westcott Winery. Miss Furlong mentioned your time is limited today, but could I interest you in a brief tour of our vineyards? My grandfather is currently in Sacramento, but I would be happy to show you around.”
Kinsey seized the moment. “Yes! A tour! What an extraordinary suggestion, Mr. Westcott. I’m certain we have time.”
Seth Westcott’s smile returned. “With your permission, Mr. Lancer, may I have a moment to fetch our buckboard.”
“Of course.” Once again resting a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, Scott gave it a slight pat. “Please take your time. Miss Furlong and I need to catch up.”
Kinsey’s backpedaling started the moment Seth Westcott was out of hearing range.
“Scott, you have every right to be upset.”
“I'm not upset. Try again.”
“All right...you're angry.”
“I'm not angry. Take another stab at it.”
“Fine. You're mad.”
“Bingo.”
“Honestly, Scott. I believe in the old proverb when you see an opportunity to improve your lot, act quickly and resolutely - you may never get another chance. Loose translation - Opportunity is knocking at our door. We must open it and let it in.”
Scott pushed back his hat while nodding in agreement. “Very good. But let's also consider this wise saying - Spare the rod and spoil the child. Loose translation - Kinsey, I'm going to tan the seat of your britches the minute opportunity has finished its knocking.”
As if on cue to abruptly end the current conversation, Seth Westcott pulled up in the buckboard. Standing up, the young man swept off his hat and bowed low at the waist. “Miss Furlong, your chariot awaits.”
Kinsey clapped her hands in delight.
Scott rolled his eyes. ‘Grape-crushin’ Casanova.'
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