A house is made with walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
“I shall never grow weary of this view.”
“Nor should you, Freckles. It will soon be your home.”
The lane leading to the Westcott hacienda curved through the family’s vineyard which boasted row after row of neatly cultivated grapevines lined up like soldiers standing at attention. The sight invariably reminded Scott of a dress parade with columns of vines forming a flowing possession over San Joaquin Valley’s sloping hills. He could certainly understand the pride Phillip Westcott and his grandson, Seth, had for their land and legacy. Scott experienced the same rush of deep satisfaction each time he passed under Lancer’s stucco arch.
“However, sir - ” Kinsey wagged her finger. “Lancer will always remain home in my heart.”
His cousin’s school marm authority whisked a smile on Scott’s face. “Yes, ma’am. There was never any doubt.”
Also not a surprise: Seth being the first to greet the travelers as their buckboard slowed to a stop near the hacienda’s entrance. Assisting Kinsey down from the wagon, Westcott’s arms encircled his fiancé; relief tightened his hold.
Scott had penned a letter to the groom-to-be describing Mannheim and Yarra’s unsuccessful plot of extortion with carefully chosen words in hopes of instilling a confident air that all ended well. Considering Seth had patiently remained at the vineyards to await the cousins’ arrival confirmed the letter’s success.
Westcott’s one arm let go of Kinsey long enough to express his gratitude with an offered handshake. “Thank you for keeping the little lady safe.”
Planting boots on the ground, Scott accepted the grasp of appreciation with a smile. He knew the man had questions. There would be a time for answers.
“Our wild pup!” Catching up with greeting the travelers, Philip Westcott’s gravelly announcement earned him a warm hug and kiss on the cheek from his grandson’s future wife. “It’s about time you’ve come to stay.”
Scott tossed a grin over his shoulder to point out the buckboard’s menagerie of trunks and bags. “Oh, she’s staying.” Realizing there was a missing participant in the welcoming committee inspired a good-natured query. “Is Grandfather holding court inside?”
Seth rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, not exactly.”
The grin dissolved. “What does that mean… exactly?”
“Say now, I think this calls for some Westcott hospitality.” The patriarch delivered a friendly slap and a shake to the questioner’s shoulder. “Why don’t we get you a glass of vino in one hand and a good cigar in the other.”
*********
“Sacramento!” Kinsey’s dreamy intonation gave the city a status of romantic utopia.
“Sacramento.” In sharp contrast, Scott’s verbal delivery made it sound like the last stop before the gallows as he scrutinized the unlit cigar in his hand.
“Your grandfather mentioned his desire to purchase a residence to escape the cold Boston winters. Harlan felt now would be as good of a time as any in finding what he called a suitable haven for his old bones.” Philip Westcott rubbed his chin while observing his guest’s pondering silence. “Son, can I offer you a suggestion regarding your current situation?”
“Good advice, sir, is always welcomed.”
A gnarled index finger pointed at the Cuban. “It works better when a struck match is applied to the end.”
A slow nod acknowledged the elder’s jest.
“My mother felt her guidance in finding the perfect Sacramento sanctuary would be invaluable and accompanied Mr. Garrett.” Seth aimed a smirk at his best man while ceremoniously presenting a matchstick. “So, it’s been rather quiet around here these last few days.”
“Yes. True sanctuary.” As a symbol of his peaceful existence in the absence of the Smiling Cobra, Philip blew a smoke ring that rose and dissipated above his head.
Accepting the gifted match, Scott struck it across the courtyard’s wooden table. “When was Grandfather planning on returning?”
“When you go fetch them.” Seth struggled to contain a chuckle.
Westcott’s answer of enlightenment was met with Scott’s silent stare stopping all movement until flame journeyed to fingers; cutting short the matchstick’s mission with its owner’s one-worded opinion. “Damn!”
“Oh, how extraordinary!” Kinsey’s enthusiasm ignored her cousin’s irritation and singed digits. “I do believe the Greek gods have begun their work on my star wish.”
“No. This is not the Greeks' shooting stars.” Scott shook out his hand’s sting from the failed attempt of lighting a smoke. “This is my grandfather’s annoying nature.” Snagging another matchstick, success was soon achieved with a few puffs and glowing tobacco embers.
The younger Westcott crossed his arms and sat back, brow creased in puzzlement. “I was unaware of Greeks shooting out stars. Considering the distance, their accuracy can’t be all that good.”
“Honestly, Seth! That’s not what Scott meant.”
Westcott’s subtle wink, indicating he was quite aware of what his business partner had inferred, went unnoticed by the little lady who continued to explain. “The Greek gods grant wishes made on shooting stars. Seeing one last night, I promptly wished for Scott and Emily - ”
“Emily?” Philip quirked at his inability to make a connection with the name.
“Emily Browning.” Seth leaned in. “The lovely head chef at the Arcade Hotel who finally got a certain stubborn Bostonian to eat lobster.”
“A New Englander had turned his back on a crustacean?” The elder Westcott shook his head. “And the Eastern elite wept.”
Hiding a growing grin at Philip’s campy dismay, Scott sipped his wine.
“As I was saying, gentlemen, I wished for Scott and Emily to experience together never-ending happiness and undying love… and the blessing of children.”
The Westcott patriarch’s eyes widened. “Children you say.”
The young lady silently mouthed five as her raised palm of splayed fingers confirmed the number.
“Scott Lancer… ” The corners of the elder gent’s mouth twitched in anticipation of a good joke. “You best quit wasting time sitting here drinking wine and smoking cigars. Duty calls!” Philip’s enjoyment of his humor inspired a contagious laugh that ended in a cough and snort.
“Speaking of wasting, my cousin flittered away his wish for a slice of chocolate cake.” Kinsey’s tsk’d tongue expressed her displeasure.
“Flittered?” Scott’s stifled smile could no longer ignore his friends’ ribbing. “Well, young lady, the Greek gods begged to differ with your views of the finer offerings in life.” A glass raised to toast the wisdom of the gods. “I enjoyed every bite. And as for our Sacramento Sanctuary Seekers, they’ll be staying put a few more days before they are fetched. We arrived well ahead of the wedding day to allow me time to fulfill my roles.”
“Roles?” An eyebrow raised in female skepticism.
“Two, actually. The first is that of a business partner. I’d like to go over some figures and discuss where to best channel our future investment money.”
“And the second, my dear cousin?”
“The role of best man. I need to be certain the groom doesn’t get cold feet. I refuse to repack that buckboard.”
********
“It was a good harvest.” Seth opened his ledger displaying carefully penned numbers.
Morning sun streaming through the hacienda’s beveled-glass window created a prism of colors to highlight the vineyard’s yearly profits. Scott smiled. “A pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
“I wouldn’t go that far but it was enough to stop the bank from snapping at our heels.”
“The vineyard proprietors who signed on with Westcott’s kept to the agreement and stayed afloat. That should slow El Pinal’s march through the valley.”
“We only lost one. Mallory folded and headed back to Ohio.”
Scott remembered talking to the gentleman during the viticulturist meeting at the Stanford mansion. A jittery fella; not surprising he gave up and caved in.
“Of course, you can guess who scooped up the land at half price. Geoooorrrrge.”
Seth’s drawling delivery of their competitor’s name never failed to amuse Scott. George West, owner of El Pinal, had begun a slow and steady monopoly of California’s wineries around the same time Kinsey expressed her desire to invest in the state’s growing industry.
“We stuck a hot poker up that bastard’s ass.” Westcott’s expressed satisfaction painted an entertaining picture.
“We did indeed. I heard he stormed out of a prominent San Francisco dining establishment when spying the Westcott label displayed on a shelf above an El Pinal bottle.” The ledger’s impromptu rainbow had traveled across the vineyard’s encouraging figures and disappeared off the page’s edge. “Entitled men like George West don’t take kindly to being denied and will look for any opportunity to show us his gratitude. We can’t let our guard down while enjoying this small victory.” Snagging a map from papers scattered about the desktop, Scott unfolded it and traced a route across the country. “We need to keep a clear eye and now push distribution east.”
“Why, sir, I do believe you’ve pointed out the tracks of Leland’s Continental Railroad.”
“Kinsey’s wish from the very beginning was to produce the finest wine served in Boston. I’m surprised she’s not here giving the Greek gods all the credit.”
“Grandfather’s teaching her the art of pruning vines.” Seth closed the ledger and aimlessly shuffled papers.
Scott recognized Westcott’s awkward stalling. “Is there something that needs getting said?”
“I believe there is.” Seth refolded the map and tossed it aside. “John was the one who decided to bring Kinsey here after Mannheim’s arrival. Your letter didn’t state it outright, however, I couldn’t see that unwise move getting your nod of approval.”
“No, it didn’t. I had insisted she stay at Lancer.” Crossing ankle to knee, Scott studied a man whose anger had been kept in check out of respect for his business partner and friend. “Johnny paid the price for his poor decision.”
“So did the little lady and that high cost doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Nor should it.”
“You know, your brother has a way of making it damn difficult at times to like him.”
“I’ve experienced that frustration.” An eyebrow cocked. “Truth be told, it makes me want to, at times, stick a hot poker up his ass.”
Seth’s chin dipped with a slight grin at hearing his own words repeated. “I suppose it does.”
Seeing Westcott’s tense demeanor lessening encouraged a query. “Anything else weighing on your mind?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Scott frowned at the prospect he had misread his business partner’s acceptance of Johnny’s conduct. “I’m listening.”
“Well… ” Seth’s hand swept over the various documents piled in front of him. “I think another day, maybe two, we’ll have this neatly wrapped up. And now that the buckboard is finally unloaded - ” Westcott delivered his version of an eyeroll. “Why don't you drive it up to Sacramento to see if my mother has guided your grandfather to his winter haven and then pack them on the next stage to Stockton.” The orator paused to check on his audience of one. “Are you with me so far?”
Scott sat back and crossed his arms. “So far.”
“Good.” Seth cleared his throat. “You, on the other hand, should stay a few days in Sacramento and check into a nice hotel.” A mischievous grin danced on Westcott’s lips. “Maybe sample a few lobster canapés, of course”
“Of course.” Scott sensed being set up.
“And then you and that head chef of yours could take a nice ride in the buckboard back to us… spend a few quiet days together strolling the vineyards before the wedding.” A donned satisfied smile signaled the end of the pitch. “I think it’s important to have my best man relaxed and happy.”
“Right.” Scott squinted at his business partner for clarification. “Tell me, whose idea was it for my cousin to be conveniently pruning grape vines and absent from this conversation?”
“Well… ” With a shrug, Westcott spread out his arms to present a reasonable explanation. “I also think it’s important to keep the little lady relaxed and happy.”
Westcott Vineyards
Stockton, California
I continue to be assured Kinsey has chosen the right man to spend the rest of her life with. Today Seth Westcott decided to take the high ground regarding my brother’s untimely actions regarding Mannheim and Yarra when many men would have picked a different route to the battlefield. I commend his self-control; a fine attribute for a gent to possess.
It has also been confirmed that when it comes to granting star wishes the Greek gods can’t hold a candle to my little cousin.
I leave for Sacramento by the end of the week.
Maybe-yes.
S.