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“Not a darned thing.” Her face lit up.
Responding to her smile, he leaned closer. “I know a ‘quaint place.’ How ’bout I pick you up at noon?”
Chapter 5
“Between ‘quaint place’ for lunch and ‘supper’ at your aunt’s, I wasn’t sure what to wear.” Wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater over skinny pants, I climbed into his truck’s front seat. “Hope I’m dressy enough yet not over-dressed.”
“You look great. Actually”—he side-glanced—“terrific.”
“Thanks.” Squirming at the compliment, I buckled my seatbelt. “Where are we headed?”
“You’ll see in a minute.” He turned off the main road onto a climbing, two-lane highway through the mountains. “This route is part of the Scenic Loop Drive, one of the most scenic in Texas.”
Unfamiliar with the rugged landscape, I studied an imposing rock formation ahead. “What’s that?”
“Mount Livermore, more familiarly known as ‘Old Baldy.’ At over eight-thousand feet, it’s the tallest peak in the Lincoln Mountains—the second highest range in the state. Only the Guadalupe Mountains are taller.” Keeping his eyes on the road, he smiled over his shoulder. “In fact, this whole area is called a ‘sky island.’ ”
I rolled the words over my tongue. “Sounds like a paradox—an island in the sky, not water.”
“If you think of the desert as an ocean, the mountains rise above it like an island.”
I glimpsed the peaks poking through the clouds. “Yes, here, the name makes sense.”
He turned right onto a steep, caliche drive.
The sun flashed, its glaring brilliance like the reflection of a splintered mirror.
Just before I shut my eyes against the blaze of light, a man appeared in a vintage uniform—brown trousers, blue shirt, and white suspenders.
When I opened them, the image was gone. A mirage? Orderly rows of vines came into view. “That’s your vineyard?” Bobbing my head left and right, I strained to see past Luke.
“Yup.” As if suppressing a proud smile, his cheeks dimpled. “Chateau Mont Bleu. Thought you might like to see it.”
“Absolutely. I love vineyards. I went to a grape-stomp once as part of a harvest festival.” I chuckled at the memory. “We picked grapes, trampled them with our bare feet, and then made purple footprints on souvenir t-shirts.”
“So, you’re an expert vintner, huh?” Tongue-in-cheek, he turned toward me as he slowed the truck.
“Hardly. That’s the extent of my expertise—other than in wineries’ tasting rooms.”
“Let me know if you ever want to pick up a few hours—or weeks—of work.” He scratched his chin, his five o’clock shadow sounding like sandpaper. “It’s hard to find experienced help in these parts.”
“Thanks, but I’d be more a hindrance than help. What I know about winemaking I learned in a five-minute how-to.”
“If you picked it up that quickly, you’re a fast learner.” Cutting the engine, he gestured through the windshield. “Home sweet home. Want a tour before lunch?”
“Definitely.” A quick glance took in an adobe cabin, a lean-to that sheltered a vintage tractor, and a DIY structure with rough, untreated siding.
He pointed out the buildings as we strolled the grounds. “This hunting cabin and lean-to were here when I bought the property, though a bit worse for wear. After restoring the cabin, I lived in it while I converted the old root cellar into a wine cellar”—his cheek dimpled in a smile—“actually, a warehouse with living quarters in the back.” He thumped an unfinished, poured-cement wall. “Later this spring, I’d like to add an open-air tasting room.”
“Here?” Walking closer, I studied the modest building.
Pacing off from the structure’s side, he faced me and held his arms wide. “This’ll be the edge of the covered patio. I’ll put a load-bearing column in this corner to support the roof and place the bar in the opposite corner, against the wall.” A spring in his step, he sped across the space, demonstrating his plans.
“Sounds ambitious.” Visualizing his design, I followed after him.
“With a shoestring budget, I’m hoping sweat equity makes up for lack of capital.”
“I’m sure you’ll realize your dreams, sooner or later.”
