“Scott, your father knows how to settle the dust in the back of a man’s throat.” Seth admired the amber liquid in his snifter as it was refreshed by the Lancer patriarch.
Upon his return to the Great Room, Scott had discovered a pouring of the good stuff patiently waiting for him on the side table. “That he does.” A sip was taken to settle his own dust.
“I understand two cases of Westcott wine were delivered to the kitchen.” Murdoch eased himself back into his chair with a brief grimace. “I'm betting more than one of those bottles will be uncorked this evening.”
“Compliments from my grandfather. He looks forward to meeting you, sir.” Westcott’s semblance was relaxed, yet respectful. “Murdoch Lancer’s reputation as a fair and honest man is well-known in the San Joaquin Viticultural District. Attributes difficult to maintain for some men when establishing their legacy.
“Sounds like trouble in the vineyards.” Johnny leaned in the doorway. “Thought you all were amicable fellas - sittin’ around sippin' wine and watchin’ your grapes grow.”
Seth’s smile showed no signs of being annoyed by Johnny's remark. “Only on our days off.”
Scott hid his amusement with a sip of scotch when hearing Westcott’s reply. Similar to a ranch, vineyards required hard work. Days off were rare.
Approaching the liquor cabinet, Johnny studied the display of glass decanters before making his selection. “Half-pint like my gift?” A crystal stopper was lifted and spirits splashed into a glass.
Seth’s forehead creased with confusion at the posed question - unsure if it was meant for him.
“My brother’s nickname for Kinsey is Half-pint.” Scott’s gaze followed Johnny’s path from the cabinet to an empty chair.
Murdoch shook his head. “First words out of that little lady’s mouth when we met were Mr. Lancer, you're a tall drink of water. I then pointed out she measured about half a pint. Unfortunately for the girl, my youngest son enjoys making a nickname stick.”
Seth nodded. “Well, nicknames do have a habit of hanging around.”
“You speak from experience.” Scott’s question laced with humor leaned more toward a statement.
“According to my mother, I never crawled. I scooted around on my behind.” Westcott sighed. “Let me tell you...being a thirteen-year-old boy and still called Scooter isn't pleasant.”
Guffaws snorted with Seth chuckling at himself the hardest. Westcott was good-natured, yet serious when times called for it. It was a damn good mix of a personality for a man to possess - in business dealings and dealing with -
“Gentlemen, your laughter is contagious.” Giggling, Kinsey stood inside the doorway Johnny had occupied earlier.
As the men rose from their seats, Teresa joined her friend. “And those snorts can serve as a dinner bell.”
Ambling across the room, Johnny inserted himself between the girls followed by a quick bow at the waist and elbows cocked at his sides. “Ladies, allow this gentleman the honor to be your evening's escort to yonder supper table.” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across his face.
Resisting one of his heavy sighs but not an unstoppable eye roll, Scott finished off his drink with one large gulp.
Murdoch’s prediction held true when more than one wine bottle was uncorked during dinner. Westcott's full-bodied vino matched comfortably with Maria’s well-seasoned creations of menudo and tlacoyo.
“Your family stomps a good grape, Westcott.” Johnny’s unexpected compliment invited laughter to be seated at the dinner table.
Seth raised his cut-glass goblet. “Thank you, John. My grandfather would be pleased to learn his wine may have converted a tequila drinker.”
The light-hearted word exchange swept away any tension still lingering between the two men and inspired a friendly interrogation of Seth from the rest of the Lancer brood.
When did your family settle in California?
Tell us about your grandparents?
Are grapes really stomped?
Do you have relatives in Boston?
When did you take your first sip of wine?
How big is your vineyard?
Seth gladly answered each question between mouthfuls of spicy food - appearing solemn once or twice when speaking of his father’s passing and his mother’s return to Boston.
It was the unspoken words Scott noticed most. Murdoch’s nods accompanied his grunts of satisfaction. Teresa’s eyes danced between Kinsey and the potential business partner. Seth’s attention settled on Kinsey at the end of each of his answers to be greeted with the lass’s soft smile. The lopsided grin of resignation Johnny displayed.
Johnny was the first to excuse himself as the evening meal wound down claiming a bunkhouse poker game and Jelly’s money demanded his presence. Murdoch rose, apologizing for his exit. Unfortunately, it was paperwork, not a poker game, that demanded his presence. Gathering the plates, the two young ladies headed to the kitchen where Maria’s fast and furious Spanish could be heard.
¡Cuéntame sobre el joven! ¡Tan alto! ¡Tan oscuro y guapo!
Scott’s eyes drifted from the direction of the kitchen to his guest’s self-conscious grin. “You speak Spanish.”
“I do.” Crossing his arms, Seth’s chin dipped to his chest.
From his shirt pocket, Scott removed two cigars pilfered from the wooden box on his father’s desk. “Best let the ladies have their privacy.”
Outside, dusk gradually surrendered to the stars overhead - their brightness diminished slightly with cigar smoke swirling upwards as Scott offered an apology. “For the rest of your stay, the only thing grilled will be a good steak.”
“I enjoy your family - the questions - the conversations.” Seth puffed out a ring of smoke. “Too often the evening talks with my grandfather are limited.”
Scott understood. Many a Boston supper was eaten in silence.
“You served in the war.” Seth’s statement of knowledge required an explanation. “Your cousin mentioned it. She’s quite proud of you.”
“Cavalry - under Sheridan.”
“Most think Californians were rather apathetic during that time. Maybe detached is a better description. In a way, I guess we were. Hard to understand what was taking place in the east when your backside’s touching the Pacific.”
“Hell, I was ass-deep in the Boston Bay and didn’t fully understand what was taking place as I signed the papers, put on the uniform, defended the cause.” Scott examined his cigar and tapped a few burning ashes off its end. “To this day I can’t completely comprehend what men did to each other in those four years.”
“Truth is the war deeply divided Californians as it did the rest of the country. Secessionists dominated the southern half of the state. Grandfather tried to remain neutral in his opinion. Hard to do when surrounded by sympathizers. Difficult to support the north when each morning the migrants from Mexico and a few Chinese - people in not much better shape than the slaves - are picking your grapes.”
“His opinion now?”
“What’s the saying?” Seth drew another puff on the cigar. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Further discussion of the war was put on hold as they finished their cigars.
Finally, Seth claimed travel, food, wine and a good smoke were telling his brain it was time to retire. “Besides, I best get rested up for that croquet game.” Good-nights were exchanged as the men went inside.
Murdoch sat behind his desk appearing distracted. Deciding a confession was inevitable, Scott postponed sleep and detoured his travels into the Great Room. “I borrowed two of your Cuban cigars.”
“Borrowed?” His father straightened up in his chair. “And now you're done smoking the cigars and wish to return them to the box.”
A sheepish grin was added to the confession. “Perhaps borrowed was a poor choice of a word. I plan to replace the cigars during my next trip to San Francisco.”
“Not necessary. However, I strongly suggest you never borrow the last two Cuban cigars.”
“Your leg has been bothering you.” Scott quickly changed the course of the conversation - a tactic that sometimes resulted in a more in-depth discussion.
“My leg is fine. Is there a reason why your cousin is doing laundry at this hour?” The immediate redirection proved this would not be one of those times.
Scott cleared his throat. “Well -”
“Son.” Murdoch briefly raised his hand for silence. “Correct me if I'm wrong. History has taught me that when you start a sentence with the word well, a long explanation follows.”
“Well -”
Again, a raised hand called for silence. “Goodnight, son.” A slight smile tickled the corners of Murdoch’s mouth.
Scott nodded with a grin. He enjoyed his father’s sense of humor most when he least expected it. “Sleep well, sir.” The need to have the last word surfaced at the doorway. “Rest your leg.”
Instead of heading to his room, Scott made his way through the kitchen. Spying a half-consumed bottle of Westcott wine leftover from dinner, he grabbed it and headed toward a lighted sideroom which was designated for storage and laundry. “Thought you’d be in bed, young lady.”
Positioned behind a washboard, Kinsey was elbow deep in lathery suds while foamy water sloshed out of the copper tub. “That was my intention…” Brown eyes peered up from the soapy task. “Until a buzzard perched on my window sill.” Like Murdoch, a slight smile danced at the corners of her mouth.
Scott sat down on a bench opposite his cousin and took note of Johnny’s pink shirt as it raked up and down the board and then finally wrung out - thus ending its torture in the name of cleanliness.
Displaying the garment for inspection, an opinion was requested from the laundress. “So?”
Scrutinizing for lost buttons, a verdict was given. “As Winnie use to say...Goodenough.”
“Goodenough.” With a nod, Kinsey draped Johnny’s shirt over the back of a chair next to his pants which were drying in a similar fashion. “I miss Winnie.”
Scott turned, leaned back and nabbed two empty jelly jars off a shelf. Blowing the dust off of each of the makeshift glasses, he poured equal amounts of wine to finish off the bottle. “I miss her too, Freckles.” His outstretched hand offered a jar of the shared wine as his little cousin perched on the edge of the tub’s table.
Accepting the drink, Kinsey studied the contents. “Do you think she would have approved of Seth?”
“I do.” A sip was taken. “Although she’d need to hear his middle name before passing final judgment.”
“Phillip.”
Scott raised an eyebrow.
“Seth’s middle name is Phillip.”
“Oh?” A raised eyebrow remained to emphasize his word’s teasing tone.
“His grandfather’s name… you know… Phillip… oh-honestly-Scott! I’m certain the McGuire twins have abundant, first-hand knowledge on more than just your middle name.”
“We’re not talking about my love life.”
“Well, we’re not talking about mine.”
“I think we are.” Scott watched his little cousin’s turn of the head cut her grin of embarrassment in half.
“You’re irredeemable.”
“I am.” Enjoyment was obvious with the new descriptive word added to his list of traits.
“Let’s say Seth’s correspondences weren’t always about business.” Kinsey sampled her drink.
“In the few letters that did discuss business -” Scott’s measured cadence signaled the beginnings of a more serious discussion. “Did Seth mention the Sacramento meeting?”
“Yes. He’s concerned.” A frown. A sip. “Smaller wineries are disappearing - going bankrupt - swallowed up by the bigger -” Kinsey’s forced laugh possessed the qualities of splintered glass. “I was about to say dingos.”
“Appropriate reference.” Scott’s expression was one of dismay. “George West is a big dingo.”
“He was such a lovely host.”
“He’s a competitive businessman. That doesn't make him evil.” Scott’s mind visited his grandfather and the members of Boston’s Union Club. “Look, we’re aware of the competition. We now know the nature of the beast.” The time had come to make a commitment. “We should confirm with Seth our desire to invest before he leaves for Sacramento. I believe this knowledge would be well carried in his back pocket.”
“Agreed.” Wine in a jelly jar was momentarily fascinating.
Kinsey’s lack of eye contact spurred to ask the question which had been tugging at Scott’s brain. “Is Seth aware of your inheritance?”
“Some… a little… a few details.” A tip of the jar resulted in a generous sip. “He thinks you're the main investor, which -” Kinsey’s index finger stabbed the air. “I want to point out, is not a lie considering you’re the trustee and handle my finances.”
Skepticism cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a reach.” Scott set his empty glass aside. “I know we agreed to limit the knowledge of your grandfather’s will to family and, quite frankly, I’m surprised it has managed to dodge the whisper-down-the-lane gossip thus far. However, circumstances are about to change. Honesty up front makes for good business partners.”
Doubt creased a brow. “Yes, but what does money do to a relationship?”
“That’s a very good question. Wouldn’t it be best to have the answer sooner and not later?” A slight nod from his cousin indicated cautious agreement. “These necessary discussions with Seth will be easier than you think.”
Taking the last sip of her wine, Kinsey smiled. “It should be tomorrow. The three of us could go riding.”
“I can’t think of a better setting to talk about the future, little one.” Scott leaned forward and retrieved his cousin’s empty glass. “There’s a lot of Lancer land to show off starting at daybreak - best get some rest.”
Sliding off the table, Kinsey took a few steps, turned and grinned. “His family does stomp a good grape.”
“That they do.” Scott’s thumb waggled toward the doorway. “To bed.”
Creaks from the fifth and seventh staircase steps announced his cousin was headed in the right direction. Taking the two jelly jars, Scott dunked them in the laundry tub’s soapy water for a quick rinse. A brief inspection and a satisfied nod of approval returned them to their proper place on the shelf.
“Goodenough.”