As the tour commenced, Scott found the scenery similar to that of two days ago. Like El Pinal, the Westcott Vineyards greeted visitors with neat rows of grapevines stretching out to blanket the rich, dark, San Joaquin soil. Scott had learned the valley and the river which ran through it were named after Saint Joachim - believed by some religious traditions to be the father of Mary, mother of Jesus.
‘Fathers.’ While he rode along in the rear seat of the wagon, the word momentarily stuck in Scott’s head before it was pushed aside by Seth Westcott.
“My grandfather is a better guide than myself.” Steering the buckboard with Kinsey by his side, Westcott turned around to address Scott. “The man is never at a loss for words.”
‘Neither was George West.’ Thinking back to their El Pinal visit, he wouldn’t call West a braggart, but the man came damn close once or twice. Scott wrote it off as a gentleman who was proud of his possessions. However, in contrast, Seth Westcott's quiet, modest demeanor expressed the pride of his vineyard ten-fold.
Scott smiled. “No words are needed, sir. The land speaks for itself.”
Seth Westcott’s grin widened. “Indeed it does, Mr. Lancer. Indeed it does.”
“Stop! Please.” Kinsey’s sudden request made both men jump. Once the wagon slowed to a halt, she clambered down off her seat and looked up at her cousin. “One minute. I want to see it all up close.” Before Scott could respond she turned and, with a few steps, disappeared among the grapevines.
“Oh...well...” Pointing to the place where Kinsey vanished, Westcott inquired. “She all right on her own?”
With a sideways glance toward his host, Scott raised an eyebrow. “Any rocky cliffs in the vicinity?”
Laughter accompanied Westcott’s response. “Sounds as if there’s a good story behind that question.”
“There is. My cousin can be rather spontaneous. She keeps me on my toes.”
“Spontaneous.” Seth Westcott nodded. “I gathered as much when she showed up this morning. The expression on your face when you arrived confirmed my guess.”
“My apologies, Mr. Westcott -”
“No apologies necessary. My day was to be filled with boring chores and endless paperwork.”
Scott flashed a knowing grin, thinking many of his days consisted of the same.
“Your visit is a welcomed surprise.” Westcott held out his hand for the second time. “I answer to Seth. ‘Mr. Westcott’ is my grandfather.”
“Understood, so…” He shook Seth’s hand. “ ‘Scott’ will be good here.” Sighing, he stood up in the wagon and squinted against the sunlight. “One of Kinsey’s minutes can turn into an hour. Excuse me while I retrieve the little lady.”
Catching up with his cousin, Scott found her kneeling between two rows of grapevines to examine a handful of soil. “The search party of one has come looking for you.” He hunkered down beside Kinsey. “Playing in the dirt?”
“Scott, I’m falling in love.”
"Oh?" He slowly nodded while picking up a handful of the dark soil to scrutinize. “Falling in love...I see. Kinsey --”
“With the land!” Kinsey brushed her hands free of soil and stood. “Honestly, what did you think I meant?”
Watching his cousin march back down the row towards the wagon, Scott tossed the dirt aside, stood, and adjusted his hat while gazing up at the bright blue sky. “Lord, hear my prayers.”
The building which housed the Westcott's grape presses and vats appeared smaller but not inferior to the one the cousins had viewed at El Pinal. Upon entering the winery, Scott found the equipment and process impressively efficient. Also impressive was Seth’s knowledge of his family's business and his contagious enthusiasm for producing a high-quality California wine.
Scott was prepared to be all but ignored during his visit to the Westcott’s. Instead, Seth made no effort to pay extra attention to Kinsey. He spoke to them both as if they were what they were -- potential business partners. Correction. Equal potential business partners. It was clear Seth respected Kinsey’s questions and opinions by the way he took the time to listen and respond. And, in doing so, the younger Westcott was gaining Scott’s respect. The title of a “Grape-Crushin’ Casanova” began to dissolve.
“Guess I can ramble on like my grandfather.” Seth gestured toward the presses and oak barrels. “If you have any questions, I’ll do my best to answer them.”
Scott spotted Kinsey across the large room observing every nook and cranny. ‘Sure bet she’s gathering new subjects for her sketchbook.’ Turning his attention to Seth’s motion toward the presses, he inquired. “Ever consider converting to steam power to increase your production?”
“Ah, I can guess what inspired your question - El Pinal’s moving forward with their renovations. Yes, Mr. West is quite...successful.”
Scott caught Seth’s hesitation and knew what he was really thinking.
The young Westcott crossed his arms and nodded. “We would jump at the chance to convert. Unfortunately, the banks won’t take the leap of faith with us. My grandfather keeps traveling to Sacramento to convince them otherwise. He would have delayed this latest trip if he had known of your arrival.”
“Which leads me to my next question.” Scott’s gaze returned to Kinsey. “Even though we appeared at your doorstep unannounced, I feel it isn’t the first time you had heard “Furlong” or “Lancer” mentioned. My apologies if I assumed incorrectly.”
There was no hesitation in Seth’s response. “The name ‘Lancer’ carries a fine reputation in the valley. It has come up in conversations with Mr. West. And, recently, with another gentleman my grandfather mentioned.” Seth paused. “Calhoon?”
Scott froze. “Culhane?”
Thinking, Seth began to nod. “Yes. Culhane. Grandfather said the man was representing someone back east.”
Scott closed his eyes. ‘Harlan.’
“Mr. Westcott?” Both men turned in the direction of Kinsey’s query to see her pointing to the Westcott Vineyards label pasted on an oak barrel. “Who is the woman?”
Seth joined the younger cousin by the stack of barrels. “My grandmother. She’s the reason why the Westcott Winery exists.”
“She’s lovely.”
Scott watched his little cousin softly smile at the illustration as he repeated the name. ‘Harlan.’ He certainly didn’t need to be a “good guesser” to figure out his grandfather’s involvement. In fact, his gut had been telling him this the moment the cork popped on the Stockton Hotel champagne. ‘Dammit, sir. Quit pulling the strings.’
Once arriving back at the Westcott’s hacienda, Scott made it clear there would be no more stalling. “Kinsey, we have a long ride ahead of us. We should express our gratitude.”
“Of course. Mr. Westcott, it has been a thoroughly enjoyable morning, thank you. Please accept my apology for interrupting your day. This visit was rather impetuous on my part.” A sly grin crossed Kinsey's face. “Which I’m positive will be pointed out to me five miles down the road back to Stockton.”
“The pleasure was mine, Miss Furlong. You were a ray of sunshine.”
“Oh. Imagine that.” Kinsey blessed her cousin with a surprised look. “I’m a ray of sunshine. How extraordinary!”
Scott raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Indeed.” He shook Seth’s hand. “I’ll be in touch when we determine how to proceed.”
“How to proceed? So this isn’t a final goodbye. Excellent! I anticipate seeing you again very soon, Mr. Westcott.”
With a sigh followed by a grin, Scott stated the obvious. “Well, Seth, it appears the decision has been made for us. Give your grandfather my regards and tell him I...no...we will be in touch. All right, Kinsey, it’s time you share your sunshine with our two horses.”
Seth bowed. “Miss Furlong, I look forward to your return.”
The ride back to Stockton consisted of a vastly one-sided conversation - Kinsey’s small talk versus Scott’s one-word acknowledgments. Spotting a stand of trees off to the side of the road, Scott decided no better time like the present. Leaning out, he took hold of the other horse’s reins.
“Scott, what are you doing?”
“We’re having a talk.”
“Here? Now?”
Dismounting, he glanced to his left. “I estimate we traveled about five miles, so yes, right here and right now. Please get down.”
Kinsey rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Scott -”
By reaching up to hook his fingers around the back of his cousin's belt, it took only one tug to dislodge her from the saddle and over his shoulder. Setting Kinsey down, Scott walked the horses over to the nearest tree and tied them up. Turning around he discovered she hadn’t moved from the spot he had planted her. Feet spaced apart, hands on hips, her hat pulled down low. ‘If that isn't a look of defiance I don't know what is.’ Scott patted the neck of Old Blue and mumbled. “Patience is a virtue. Got it. Thanks for the advice.”
Approaching his sparring partner, Scott stopped a few feet short, adjusted his hat low on his brow and adopted a similar stance. ‘We must look like two mountain goats preparing to butt heads.’
Deciding to be the first to commence the showdown, Scott pointed his finger. “You should not have ridden out here unescorted.”
“I wanted to see the Westcott Vineyards and you had no business stopping me.”
“It is my business when it involves you foolishly riding off on your own. You were alone and you had no idea what would come across your path. You don’t understand what a dangerous choice you made this morning.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Scott felt himself gathering steam. “No, you can’t, Kinsey Rose. Not out here! Not like this! You don’t know what the hell you’re doing! For an extremely intelligent young lady you can, at times, be amazingly stupid. So, we are back to following the rule I laid down the day you arrived. You will stick to my side like glue. And, I swear, you decide otherwise -”
“How dare you, Scott Lancer! You have no right to talk to me like this!”
Even though her hat shaded most of her face, he saw the beginnings of an epic thunderstorm. Undaunted, he kept going. “I have every right to talk to you like this.”
Kinsey hissed. “No! You don’t! You’re not my father!”
Scott concluded the snap he heard in his head after his cousin’s last statement could only be one thing - the sound of the final straw breaking the camel’s back. “You’re damn right I’m not your father! Unlike your father, I care what happens to you!”
“Shut up!”
“No. You’re going to listen what I have to say. You want to climb a mountain and proclaim your independence? Fine. Do it. I applaud your courage. But, by God, when your careless acts could hurt you then I’m stepping in. You’re MY responsibility and I refuse to let you stumble aimlessly into harm’s way. Not on my watch, you don’t. Get that into your pretty little head. Not on my watch! Your mother is too much like your grandfather, but your father…” Picking up a stone, Scott threw it across the road out of frustration. “I find it incomprehensible how any father could walk away from his daughter.”
“Or son.”
Scott stopped. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and turned to his little cousin.
“Touché, Freckles.”
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