ChapterTwo
Ethan Van Owen studied the two older gentlemen perched on stools at the oak bar in his wine-tasting barn. They swirled the wine in their glasses, inhaled deeply, then sipped it, swishing the wine a bit before spitting into a bucket discreetly placed next to them for the tasting. They jotted down some notes in their notebooks before repeating the process with the next wine. Subtle instrumental music played in the background, lending an air of elegance to the proceedings. Ethan had learned that atmosphere and appearance meant everything, especially with these men, potential investors who liked to be catered to, if he wanted their money.
Ethan knew these types. He had grown up with them, was one of them once upon a time. Now he was on the other side of the bar and could understand why people thought them all pretentious and obnoxious. He stifled a sigh, pasted on a salesman’s smile, and poured a glass of his Blanc du Bois and waited for their verdict. The white-haired man, older than his partner by several years, pursed his lips, then took another sip.
“What flavor am I tasting? Apple?”
Ethan smiled, the perfect blend of cool confidence and salesmanship. “Apple and grapefruit. Adds a nice complexity, don’t you think, Gordon?”
The older man nodded, trying to look wise and knowledgeable. “Very nice. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind taking a couple of bottles of this home for my wife. She prefers white wine.”
“Absolutely. I’ll grab that for you before we leave. Tom, what do you think?”
The younger man, Tom Bennington, cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Nice flavor in your wine, Ethan. Your father must be very proud. You turned your grandfather’s hobby into a real competitor.”
At the mention of his father, Ethan’s stomach clenched, but he kept a smooth face. Years of practice as his father’s son had been ingrained so deeply that five years away working in the fields couldn’t break the habit. He glanced out the barn door behind the men and to the back fields, where his grandfather had started his retirement hobby, the original fields. Once his grandfather had passed away, the farm had been overseen by a half-assed manager. No growth or plan for expansion was ever desired or expected, especially since vineyards in East Texas had been hit hard with disease and poor growing conditions.
The vineyard might have stayed in this ruinous state if not for the disaster that had befallen his own life. Needing a break, an escape, he came here, where he’d spent some of his summers, and took over management. Being a Van Owen, he couldn’t drink the profits and sit on his ass and, needing a distraction, he dove into winery management and learned as much as he could. Then he revitalized the fields, drew up a development plan and got to work. He had started with a blend of riesling then switched to a hardier variety, more resistant to the Pierce’s disease that was so predominant in East Texas, to develop the Blanc du Bois wine. The investment was starting to pay off, and his little winery was growing in reputation and popularity. Encouraged, he’d branched out into a few muscadine varieties, to develop a sweet red wine. What had once been an escape was now a vocation, a passion, and he loved the land.
With success came a desire for more—more wines, more grapes, more success. But more needed capital. Knowing many men in their social circle were always looking for boast-worthy investments, Ethan had reached out to a couple of them, offering a limited partnership so he could expand and grow. He’d get the money he needed and they could talk at dinner parties about how they were part owners of a vineyard and live off the prestige. The idea was all these men wanted, and a return on investment. Ethan wanted to retain control and expand. The arrangement suited both parties.
If only they’d stop dancing around the subject and make up their minds. Tours of the fields, of the wine-making operations and now a tasting was all part of the dog and pony show. Time to ante up.
Ethan gestured to the prospectus in front of each man. “Would you like to go to my office and discuss any further questions you have?”
The men exchanged glances, but it was Gordon Lexington who spoke. “I think we’ve seen all we need to. And it’s a nice day. I’d like to stay here and finish my wine, if you don’t mind.”
Stifling his irritation, Ethan pulled up a stool and sat. “What else can I tell you about our operations?”
“You’ve been very thorough, Ethan. Your father would be impressed with the prospectus,” Tom replied. “You do understand we’ll need to share this with him, as his firm handles our portfolio now. But I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”
“Actually, I’m surprised he isn’t here. You did include him in the investment, didn’t you?” Gordon asked.
Ethan gritted his teeth. He had not discussed his plan with William Van Owen. Lately, his father had been pushing harder and harder for Ethan to return to Houston and take on the mantle of the family business. He considered the vineyard a diversion, nothing more. He was blinded to the business opportunity that Ethan saw. But there was no way around it now. His father would know Ethan had no intention of coming home, not if he planned an expansion. Now came the time for bluffing. Another William Van Owen trick.
“Of course you should share it with him. But, keep in mind, I brought you in first. I need to prepare soon for the expansion. We do a lot of the preparation in the fall, and if I am going forward with this, then I need to move quickly. So, if you’re not interested, I may need to loop in some other options.”
Ethan held his breath and waited for their response. To provide an air of nonchalance, he sipped his wine and studied the color in the glass.
Finally, after long considering glances, the older man spoke. “We still want to share this with your father, but you’ll have an answer within a week. Will that suffice?”
Ethan suppressed a smile of satisfaction, settling for a cool professional one instead. “Of course, gentlemen. Now, I’ll grab those bottles you requested.”
As he walked away, the tension didn’t drain away. He might have gained two investors, but he had to deal with the bigger problem, the one he’d been trying to avoid. His father.
* * *
After the men left, Ethan returned to his office and scrolled through weather reports on his computer. This wedding couldn’t have come at a worse time. Harvesting was ongoing, especially of the muscadine vines, but some of the other vines were heavy with grapes and not quite ready for full harvest. In addition, he had maintenance tasks, watching out for disease and bugs, keeping the birds from eating their ripening crop, thinning the canopy so the sunlight and air could fully penetrate the vines and, of course, checking the grapes for harvest. But he had employees who could handle all of that. What concerned him more were the weather reports of a tropical storm coming off the Gulf. Hermitage was a little too close to the Gulf for comfort, while most other vineyards were inland, and with the vines heavy with ripening grapes, a powerful storm could spell disaster. The meteorologists thought it would stay out to sea or track well east and north of his vineyard.
He never trusted the weather or women. Both were too unpredictable.
Next week would bring the perfect storm in both areas. This tropical storm could cause some serious damage to his crops, just as the grapes were ripening and heavy on the vine. And he had to face Delaney Winters, the only woman who’d ever broken his heart, and handed him the pieces before walking away without a backward glance.
He’d rather face the storm.
Judging by the weather model, he’d get his wish. Wednesday afternoon into Thursday morning. High winds, heavy rain, possible hail. And he was supposed to be hanging out on the island with friends, partying and trying not to be ensnared in Delaney’s web. He’d considered inviting Cami Spencer, a sometime escort for society functions, as his partner for the wedding. He wasn’t too ashamed to admit he’d wanted a buffer between him and his old flame and to show he’d moved on. It was all about pride, and he wasn’t above using Cami to get what he wanted. She’d make out too. She’d get invited to an exclusive wedding in Houston Society and the exposure that went with it. She knew the score. His heart was gone, obliterated five years ago, leaving an empty shell.
If only the empty chasm would accept that, heal, and move on.