Tangled Vines Read Free Page A

whom she had a nodding acquaintance when she deigned to acknowledge him at all. But the rivalry was there. It was a secret to no one.
    â€œI spoke with Emile this morning,” Katherine said. Emile was, of course, Baron Emile Fougere, owner of Chateau Noir in France’s famed Medoc region. “He will be attending the wine auction in New York next week. I have arranged to meet him there.”
    Her fingers closed around the cane’s carved handle. Its presence was a constant reminder of her own mortality, something Katherine had been forced to acknowledge last year after she had been immobilized for two weeks from a fall that left her with a severely bruised hip and thigh.
    In the time she had left, Katherine was determined to ensure the future of Rutledge Estate. As painful as it was to admit, she doubted that it would be secure in the hands of her grandson.
    She cast an assessing glance his way. Sam had his father’s strong muscles, his height and build. There was a coolness to his light brown eyes and a hardness to his features. And yet, he had never shown any pride in the wines that bore the name Rutledge Estate. And without pride, there was no passion; without passion, the wine became merely a product.
    Under such circumstances, she had no choice but to look outside the family. This past spring she had contacted the current baron of Chateau Noir and proposed a business arrangement that would link the two families in a venture to make one great wine at Rutledge Estate.
    An agreement in principle would have been reached by now if Gil hadn’t entered the picture, proposing a similar agreement to the baron. He had done it to thwart and irritate her, Katherine was sure.
    â€œNaturally you will accompany me to New York,” she told Sam when he stopped the Jeep in front of the house.
    â€œNaturally.” Sam came around to the passenger side and assisted her from the Jeep.
    Katherine turned to the house and paused, her gaze running over it. An imposing structure, it had been built twenty years before the end of the century by her late husband’s grandfather. Modeled after the great chateaux in France, it stood two-and-a-half stories tall. Creeper vines crawled over its walls of old rose brick, softening their severe lines. Chimneys punctuated the steep slope of the slate roof and the windows were mullioned long and narrow with leaded-glass panes. It spoke of old money and deep roots.
    The entry door of heavy Honduran mahogany swung open and the ever-vigilant, housekeeper, Mrs. Vargas, stepped out. Dressed in a starched black uniform, she wore her gray hair scraped back in a chignon.
    â€œThat man Dougherty was here earlier, demanding to see you,” the housekeeper stated with a sniff, indicating what she thought of his demand. “He finally left after I informed him you weren’t in.”
    Katherine merely nodded in response as Sam walked her to the marbled steps of the front entrance. “Have Han Li fix some tea and serve it on the terrace,” she ordered, then glanced at Sam. “Will you be joining me?”
    â€œNo. I have some things to do.” Unlike Katherine, Sam wasn’t so quick to dismiss Len Dougherty.
    Sober, the man was harmless enough. But drunk, he was known to turn violent, and that violence could be unleashed on property or people. Sam intended to make sure it wasn’t Rutledge.
    Traffic clogged downtown St. Helena. Its postcard-perfect Main Street was lined with turn-of-the-century buildings of stone and brick, a collection of quaint shops and trendy restaurants. A Toyota with Oregon plates pulled out from its parking space, directly into the path of Len Dougherty’s Buick. Cursing, he slammed on the brakes and the horn.
    â€œDamned tourists are thick as fruit flies,” he muttered. “Think they own everything, just like the Rutledges.”
    That thought had the panic coming back, bringing with it the tinny taste of fear to his mouth