Page 41 of Taken Away

“Those shoes,” Bennett muttered without looking back. “You know this is a winery tour, not a runway? One bad step on a wet patch and you’re on your ass.”

Her temper flared.

“Ya know,” she snapped over the echo of their footsteps, “I came here for a four-day stay for Mabel’s funeral and a will reading I thought would be simple. I didn’t pack for field tours and tank room walk-throughs. I had no idea I’d be doing production chic this week. So pardon me if my wardrobe offends you.”

Bennett stopped with his hand on the door latch.

For a beat, all she heard was the drip of water and a distant pump.

“I’m not offended,” he said, quieter now. “Just don’t want you getting hurt.” A pause. “Mabel would’ve skinned me alive if you went down in here.”

Guilt pricked under her anger, but she kept her mouth shut.

He pushed the door open.

The wooden door didn’t lead outside. It opened into a narrow stone corridor that sloped downward, tunneling into the hill behind the barn.

The change was instant. The air turned heavy and still, dropping to a steady fifty-five degrees. Humidity vanished, replaced by an intoxicating blend of toasted French oak, vanilla, and damp earth. The sweet vapor burned the back of her throat—the angel’s share.

Bennett flipped a toggle.

Soft sconces flickered to life along the curved ceiling, revealing a cavern carved into the rock. Hundreds of oak barrels were stacked five high in long, straight rows stretching into the cool dark.

Aubrey shivered, the cold biting at her bare arms as she stared down the endless rows. The walls felt less like a cellar and more like a vault. A place built to protect things worth keeping.

“Cold?” Bennett asked quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You always this stubborn?”

“Only around arrogant men.”

“Then you’re gonna have a long year.”

Despite herself, Aubrey’s mouth twitched.

Bennett stopped beside a row marked in cream stencil: Tree of Life – Block 12 – Cabernet Sauvignon Reserve.

“This is where the magic happens?” she asked, her voice muffled in the dense, alcohol-soaked air.

“This is where the work ages,” Bennett said. He reached into his canvas bag and pulled out a long, curved glass tube with a bulb at the top—a wine thief. “You can stare at spreadsheets until your eyes bleed, Langford, but this”—he tapped the stenciled block name with his knuckles—“this is the asset. Tree of Life Reserve pays for a lot of salaries.”

He stepped up to a barrel, pulled the silicone bung with a solid pop, and lowered the glass tube into the dark liquid inside. He placed his thumb over the air hole, drawing up a deep, ruby-purple wine that caught the amber light.

He swung around, holding the thief over a clean stemware glass from the rack. He released his thumb, letting the wine stream into the bowl.

He held it out to her. His knuckles were rough, his gaze steady.

“Taste it,” he said softly.

Aubrey hesitated, her fingers brushing his as she took the glass. The stem was icy. She lifted it to her lips; dark cherries, leather, and raw oak hit her at once. She took a sip.

The wine was powerful and unfinished, tannic enough to pull every trace of moisture from her tongue. She coughed once, eyes watering as the heat bloomed in her throat.