Page 11 of Taken Away

“‘To my niece, Aubrey Langford, I devise and bequeath the real property known as Blackwood House, together with all contents, outbuildings, business interests, investment accounts, and the remaining one hundred and eighty-seven acres of the Blackwood property…’”

The room went still. Even Mary Lou stopped crying.

Aubrey stared at her. “The what?”

“Blackwood Estate Winery,” Eleanor said.

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey said, her brow furrowing. “I knew she made wine, but... a full winery?” A sharp memory pieced through her shock: damp cellar stone, the sticky-sweet scent of fermenting grapes. She remembered her aunt bottling hobby wines in the basement years ago, her mother always dismissing it as 'Mabel’s little mountain pastime.' She hadn’t realized it had grown into anything beyond a few rows of grapes and a tax write-off.

“Honey, you didn’t know?” June blinked.

“You mean she truly didn’t know?” Helen hissed.

Mary Lou clutched her pearls, delighted through the tears. “Lord, Mabel would love this.”

Aubrey looked from face to face. “Know what?”

Eleanor’s expression softened a fraction. “Your aunt owned Blackwood Estate Winery.”

The words meant nothing.

Then everything.

The black barn she’d passed on the drive in. The endless rows of vines terraced up the mountain. The long black fencing. The sign at the road she’d barely glanced at because she’d assumed it belonged to someone else.

Blackwood Estate Winery.

Her aunt’s.

Aubrey shook her head slowly. “One hundred and eighty-seven acres?”

“That’s only the vineyard side,” Red said quietly from near the doorway.

Every head turned toward him.

“The original cattle land sits across the road and runs clear up toward the north ridge.” His expression stayed unreadable. “Blackwood’s been here a long time, long before anybody started serving cabernet to tourists.”

“How much land are we talking about?”

Red gave a faint shrug. “Enough that your aunt spent most of her life trying to keep pieces of it from getting carved up and sold.”

Silence settled over the room again.

Blackwood wasn’t just a winery.

It was a legacy.

“No,” Aubrey said faintly.

“Yes,” Mary Lou said. “Mabel was richer than God and meaner than a copperhead at bridge.”

“She was not mean,” June snapped.

“She absolutely was when somebody touched her Chardonnay.”

Eleanor cleared her throat.

“In addition to the property, your aunt has left you an annual salary equal to your current compensation package with Ashford Hospitality Group in Pennsylvania for the duration of the one-year term.”