Page 17 of A Vintage of Regret
"Paranoid about what?"
"Possible missing money, though he didn't come out and say that. So far, all I see is that most likely a couple of numbers were transposed. It happens. But I'm no accountant. That's Grant's expertise. But ever since Robert Wilkerson was arrested for that Ponzi scheme that the mayor invested in, he believes almost everyone is a liar and a thief."
"That's almost funny considering Jessip's a politician and hasn't followed through with some of his campaign promises," Bryson said. "Grant was friends with Wilkerson, but he was smart not to invest with him."
"Grant can be an arrogant ass, but stupid he’s not. Too bad he couldn't prevent his mother from investing in that scheme, but I guess she did that without anyone's advice." His dad shook his head. "And, Jessip? Well, he's a decent man… for a politician." He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
Bryson lifted his cell. "The motion detector went off on the corner of the property closest to town. I did a quick look on my cell. I think it's Riley, which isn’t shocking, all things considered. I'm heading to the security office to double-check."
"I'm not surprised that girl hopped the fence." His dad let out a long breath. "How is she?"
"She looks good. Tired. But that’s to be expected. But honestly, I don’t really know," Bryson said.
“Twelve years is a long time,” his father said quietly. “All you can do is be there for her.”
"I'd better go check the cameras. Don't stay up too late, or Mom will have your head."
"I'll be going up shortly." His dad lifted his glasses and pushed them back up on his face.
Bryson made his way down the hall and into the security office. He sat down in the big chair and stared at the glow of the security monitors, rubbing the back of his neck. It was nearly midnight, and he'd been tossing and turning for the last hour.
He leaned closer, staring at the grainy image. A familiar shape. Slender. Purposeful. Still too far from the sensor for the spotlight to catch. But even before she stepped into the faint halo of moonlight, Bryson knew.
Riley.
He wasn't going to let her be out there alone. Not in the place where her father had died. Not when grief had a way of swallowing people whole. Shutting off the light, he headed out into the night with memories of the past. His heart hammered in his chest like a teenage boy sneaking out of the house to meet his girlfriend, like he'd done so many times.
The cool air wrapped around him, sharp with the scent of grape skins, wet soil, and the faint trace of sulfur from the last barrel clean. The vines stood like silent sentinels in the dark, their heavy leaves rustling softly as he walked the path. His boots crunched over loose gravel as he spotted her, standing with her hands in her jacket pockets, looking out over the rows.
He paused for a moment and just stared at her under the glow of the moon.
With her long dark hair pulled up on top of her head in a wild bun, stray strands cascading down her back, she was still themost beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Her jeans hugged her curves, showing off the soft lines of her body.
Seeing her here was like taking a trip back in time. He was lost to his youth. He couldn't rectify his mistakes because there was always one decision that would never change. One choice he'd never do differently, even if every other thing that led up to that moment, he'd do over.
It was an impossible situation.
"You always did like this spot," he said, his voice low, not wanting to startle her.
She turned slowly. The moon cast a silver sheen over her face, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the set of her shoulders. Tired. Guarded. Beautiful in a way that punched him straight in the chest.
"I didn't think you'd see me," she said softly.
"I see almost everything out here," he replied, then added, "New cameras."
"Can you see the whole vineyard?"
"No." He shook his head. "Just certain access points. Like the fences near town. Or up by the hills."
"Did you see my dad on the cameras that morning?"
"He would have come in through the access road from the house. But I didn't look," he admitted.
A pause.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, glancing back at the vines. "I thought maybe… I don't know. I just wanted to be near him. Near where he took his last breath, as if that would somehow connect me to him.”
Something in Bryson’s heart cracked at the vulnerability in her admission. He understood that hollow feeling, the way loss made you grasp for any thread that might still tie you to the person who was gone. It was the same reason he still used his grandfather’s pruning shears, still followed the same paththrough the vineyard that two generations of Boones had walked before him. "That makes perfect sense."
