Solid Gold Seduction. Zuri Day
Eduardo replied, his dark eyes twinkling. “Wine.”
The Drakes laughed.
“I think you’ve got a stellar crop here,” Dexter continued, picking a grape and examining it closely: skin, pulp, seeds and all. “I know it’s been a long time coming—”
“Five years,” Warren interjected.
“But I think the wait will be well worth it.”
“I couldn’t have done any of this without your expertise, Dex.”
“I’m just glad that you followed my advice and planted grapes instead of marijuana.”
“Hey, don’t knock that hustle! The medical marijuana business is booming. Weed is the number-one California crop!”
“Yes, but can you imagine the money you’d have had to spend on security? There are guys who’d want that crop, and they’d have no interest in turning it over to doctors and dispensaries.”
“What really sealed it for me was all of the regulatory guidelines and bureaucratic red tape I would have had to deal with in getting the product into those authorized distribution channels. It would have been a nightmare. With my grapevines, I just have to pick up the phone, call you down from your throne in Southern California and have you oversee and execute the hard stuff.”
“Ha! I’m afraid that’s not how it works!”
“No?”
“I hope you’re paying attention to these lessons I’m teaching. Because next year it’s all on you.”
“Come on, now, Dex! I—” His phone rang. “Oh, hold on. It’s Jackson.” He tapped the cell phone screen. “Hey, Boss.” He paused, listening. “Oh, okay. Sure, I’ll be right over.” He ended the call. “The gate has come in,” he said to Dexter and Eduardo. “I need to go down to where the men will be installing it.”
“No worries, Warren. Eduardo and I will have a short meeting with the workers and that will pretty much wrap up my visit.”
“I appreciate it, man.” Warren gave Dexter a shoulder-bump hug. “If you’d like, you’re welcome over to Mom’s house for dinner. As always.”
“I’d love to but I’ve already booked a flight back to San Diego. Faye says little David has a bit of a fever. So I’m going to go on back and help her out.”
“The doctor tamed the playboy. Who would have ever imagined Dexter Drake would pass up a Friday night in San Francisco for a night with a wife and a kid’s spittle?”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Dexter replied.
“That’s what you did!”
“You’re right. I thought a wife and children were for other people and that my role in life was to be the cool uncle who spoiled nieces and nephews before sending them back home.”
“All kidding aside, I hope your son will be okay.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Okay, Dex. I need to run. Give Faye my love.”
“Will do.”
The two men shared a final handshake before Warren turned and left.
After a short ride in the golf cart—another of Dexter’s suggestions—Warren arrived at the section of the fence in the area described as the “south forty.” There were four crewmen there, one wearing a gray shirt with the logo of the company that had sold Warren the gate. The gate and corresponding hardware had been unloaded and the workers were arranging the pieces on the ground.
Warren walked over to the man sporting the company logo and held out his hand. “Warren Drake.”
“Steve Humphries,” the man replied, his grip firm, his scruffy day-old beard showing wisps of gray that belied his boyishly good looks. “I thought we’d make the opening there,” he said, pointing to where one of the men had a measuring tape, marking off the fence in two places. “Would you prefer that the gate swings inward or out?”
“Which do you suggest?”
Steve looked at the fence and at the land beyond it. “How will the gate be used?”
“The neighbor has cattle that will be coming in to drink at the stream, just over that ridge.”
“In that case, I think swinging inward would be most beneficial. Are there a lot of cattle?”
Warren squinted, recalling past conversations with Charli. Then he looked at Steve. “That’s a good question.” He retrieved his cell phone. “Shoot, I don’t have her phone number. Do you need this information to get started?”
“No. But I do need to explain the automatic lock system and how it can be activated and deactivated, even from a remote location.”
After receiving a crash course on operating the gate, Warren drove the cart to where his car was parked but on second thought, continued past it to the stables. He jumped out and went over to where one of the workers was grooming Coal, his pride and joy.
“Hello, Mr. Warren.”
“Hello, Anthony.”
“Want me to saddle him up, sir?”
“No, I’ll handle it. You can finish feeding the other horses and then clean out their stalls.”
He walked over to the majestic black stallion, who immediately began bowing his head in greeting.
“Hello, Coal,” Warren said, his voice low and soothing as he stroked the lustrous mane of the proud beast. “It’s time to go and visit a pretty lady. Ready to go for a ride?”
Chapter 10
As he rounded the bend in the road leading up to the Reed ranch house, Warren sat straighter in the saddle, for the first time wishing he’d forgone his favorite Raider ball cap for the Stetson he’d purchased a few years ago but seldom wore. The blazing sun overhead was only partly the reason. There was something about his prickly neighbor that made him want to cowboy up, in more ways than one. Not that he was trying to impress her or anything.
No, never that.
He neared the wooden gate surrounding the property and looked at the garden beyond it. No sign of her. The area around the barn, stables and detached garage was equally quiet. He reached the fence, dismounted and looped the horse’s reins over a post. He removed his cap, wiped the sweat from his brow and knocked on the door.
A wiry man who looked to be anywhere from sixtysomething to as old as God came to the door. Although it was warm he wore heavy denims and a flannel shirt. There was a stained white apron tied around his middle, a kerchief at his throat and a toothpick clenched between his teeth. Warren imagined that the man could have ridden with the great Bill Pickett, perhaps even been related.
The man opened the door, sharp, white eyes peering out of his weathered face. “Afternoon.”
“Afternoon, sir. Is Charli here?”
The eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Warren,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Warren Drake. I own the ranch and vineyard just down the road.” He clasped a hand that felt like steady work and hard living. “And you are?”
“Griff.”
“Griff? Nice to meet you. Is Griff your first name or your last name?”
The toothpick moved from one side of Griff’s mouth to the other. “Yep.”
“Okay.” Clearly you are where Charli learned her good manners. Feeling that voicing this thought was not the best course of action, Warren decided upon another approach. “I have some news for her regarding her cattle, and the