Chapter 10

10

T ucker walked around the rows of grapevines with Braden, half-listening to what the winemaker said.

Because his thoughts were centered on Reagan Bradley.

He didn’t know what to do about the feelings stirring within him about her. Feelings he never expected to experience again. An attraction which wanted to suddenly consume him. Yes, he had kissed her impulsively and admitted he was drawn to her. He had deliberately kept the kiss friendly and gentle, though. All the while, raging desire rushed through him for the former New Yorker. Thank goodness he’d been able to control himself.

“Earth to Tucker,” he heard.

Turning, he saw Braden Clark grinning at him.

“You zoned out on me, Tucker. Is wine that boring? Or is it because of a woman? I’m assuming it’s Reagan.”

He winced. “Am I being that obvious?”

Braden shrugged. “I just caught you looking at her last night at the table. There was something in that look which let me know you were interested in her.”

‘I can’t be!” he said vehemently. “I’m in love with my wife.”

Braden’s eyebrows shot up, and Tucker knew he needed to explain.

Calming himself, he said, “I’m a widower. Never even used that word before to describe myself. Josie and I were hit by a drunk driver a couple of years ago. I survived. She didn’t,” he said flatly.

Sympathy sprang to Braden’s eyes, and he placed a hand on Tucker’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry to hear that, Tucker. Losing someone you love so unexpectedly hurts.”

“I never thought I would be interested in another woman. I took off once my body healed from the crash. I’ve wandered this country restlessly ever since, never staying in one place for too long. I’m not sure why I came back to Lost Creek, only that I knew I needed something from this place.”

Nodding understandingly, Braden said, “You’re not the only one who’s come to Lost Creek searching. Needing to heal. The same is true for me. Dax and Holden. Even natives such as Harper and Ivy and your cousin Ry have returned to their roots. Because they know this town has something to offer that other places don’t.”

Braden paused. “I was homeless before I came here, Tucker. My family had a thriving wine business in California, and I was engaged to be married to a woman I loved. Everything I thought my life was going to be vanished in the blink of an eye. My dad went to jail. The family lost our winery and all our money. My fiancée jilted me, embarrassed by the whole situation. Lost Creek was my last chance— and it became my salvation.”

Tucker was surprised by Braden’s story. “It’s hard to think of you anywhere but this place. With Harper. The two of you look like you’re meant to be together.”

Braden smiled. “We are. Harper herself was also engaged to a real jerk in Austin. Both of us being dumped by our partners altered the course of our lives. They changed again when we met one another. I love the life I’ve built here in Lost Creek with Harper. I can’t wait for our baby to come into the world and for us to be parents to him.”

Looking at Tucker thoughtfully, Braden said, “It sounds like you’re in need of some healing yourself. I think Lost Creek is where that can happen. Other than a visit with her aunt, I’m not sure why Reagan is here. I think we all knew not to push her last night. She seems like a terrific lady, though, and she fit right in with our group. Same as you did, Tucker. Who knows? Maybe you and Reagan will remain in Lost Creek and find a path with one another.”

It wasn’t his place to share her story, so all Tucker said was, “Reagan has been on an emotional rollercoaster herself, same as me. I don’t know if she’ll make Lost Creek her permanent home or not.”

“Don’t close any doors,” Braden advised. “If Reagan isn’t the one for you, she may be the one right now who you need. Fate might have brought the two of you together in Lost Creek, even if it’s only for a short time. You still love your wife. That’ll never change. But I’ve discovered hearts are a funny thing. They’re big enough and can be filled with more love without losing what you feel for anyone else.”

He took those words to heart. Maybe he still could love Josie and make peace with that as he moved forward and tried to begin the next chapter in his life.

Possibly one with Reagan Bradley.

“You’ve got my attention now, Braden,” Tucker promised. “Let’s get back to our tour.”

Braden took him through the vast fields, explaining about the vines and why they grew so well in the Texas Hill Country. Without lecturing, his new friend made the talk interesting. Tucker learned a lot about how the vines were protected when the temperatures dropped and the times of year the different varieties of grapes were harvested.

They went into a large building, where Braden explained the process of creating a wine from start to finish. He saw the tank room, where grapes were destemmed and crushed, along with the tall tanks where the liquid was first stored and fermentation began. Braden also took him to the barrel room, where a quarter of the barrels were new ones from France and Chile, and the remaining barrels were recycled for a time.

Entering Braden’s office, Tucker saw records kept on each crop of red and white grapes produced at Lost Creek Vineyards, meticulous notes that made him realize how vast and complicated producing wines actually was.

“I do samplings each day of various barrels,” Braden told him. “I know you’re doing a tasting with Ivy soon, but let me have you test a few with me now.”

They did so, and Braden shared different tidbits about the small samples so Tucker had an idea what to look for as he tasted the wines.

Glancing at his watch, Braden said, “Let me text Harper. Reagan should be with her by now, and we can go pick her up and bring her back here for a mini-tour.”

Soon, the two men were riding in a golf cart across the property, headed toward Harper’s office. Reagan joined them in the cart, and Braden drove them back to the rows of grapevines. Tucker accompanied Reagan and Braden on the much quicker tour, glad he had received the full-blown explanations from Braden about the business.

Reagan had several questions about the barrels used to store the wines, and Braden went into detail, discussing American and European oaks.

“In Eastern Europe, especially Romania, they cut the wood and allow it to sit outside for two to three years in the elements before they toast it. They pull off the weathering and cut the wood around a frame hoop. Sand it and drill a hole to tap into for tasting the wines stored in them over time.”

“Where in the U.S. do wine barrels come from?” she wanted to know.

“Mostly Kansas and Missouri,” the winemaker told her. “American oak barrels are about seven hundred dollars each, where French ones cost about eleven hundred a barrel. French oak gives a wine a smoother, softer taste. They’re good for a merlot.” He laughed. “Cabs, on the other hand, are tough. Any barrel will do for them. And once we’re done with a barrel, we recycle them. Old barrels have been used to make the benches, tables, and chairs you see scattered about the winery, especially outdoors at the tasting room, so watch for that when you go there.”

“You’re incredibly knowledgeable, Braden,” Reagan praised. “Thanks so much for taking me around and sharing with me what goes into producing wines.”

“Let me get you over to the tasting room,” Braden said. “It’s a little after four-thirty now. Not many customers show up so late in the day this time of year during the week. Ivy might be ready for you now.”

They climbed into the golf cart again, and Braden dropped them off at the tasting room. Ivy greeted them and since no clients were in sight, she quickly showed Reagan around. Tucker perused the gift shop while they did so, seeing the variety of clever merchandise which bore the Lost Creek Vineyards label.

Ivy had them stand at the long, sleek bar for their tasting.

“Since neither of you happen to be wine drinkers, let me tell you a little bit about what we produce here at Lost Creek Vineyards.”

Ivy launched into a fascinating explanation of the difference between white and red wines, telling them that most novices preferred whites to begin with.

“Whites run from the sweet to the dry, but they are lighter in body. Some have almost a buttery taste to them, and it’s easier to discern the floral notes in a white. Reds, on the other hand, are full-bodied. When we start in a minute, I’ll tell you some of the flavors to look for, such as plums, apples, or vanilla. I’ll see if you can pick up any others.”

She provided bottles of water for them to cleanse their palate between samplings and also pulled out a tray.

“These are some various cheeses. Wines pair with different types of food. You may have heard that whites are for fish and chicken dishes, while reds lean toward pairing well with beef. We’ll nibble a little from this tray as we go along. These cheeses will enhance the flavors of the wines.”

Before they took a single sip, Ivy explained what to look for in a wine, including how to hold it against a napkin to check for color and how to swirl and sniff deeply before sampling. She also told them why she would pour different wines into various shaped wineglasses and finished up with telling them during the tasting, they shouldn’t swallow immediately. Instead, they needed to allow their taste buds to absorb the wine and let its flavors explode in their mouth before swallowing.

“This is fascinating,” Reagan said. “I never knew how complex wine really was. I told you my parents were well-to-do, and they drank the best wines available. I’m sure neither of them had any idea about all this background regarding wines or what makes one wine better than the next.”

They started with several whites, sampling everything from a Chardonnay to a Sauvignon Blanc. They finished with a Riesling, which was much too sweet for Tucker’s taste buds, and the face he made caused both women to laugh.

“Let’s move on to reds,” Ivy said, and they sampled a Pinot Noir, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon.

“I already lean toward the reds,” he told them. “I like how mellow and rich they are.”

Reagan chuckled. “I’m the opposite. I’m really drawn to the whites we sampled, especially the Moscato and Sauvignon Blanc.”

“We also need to try a few blends and get your opinions regarding those,” Ivy said. “After Braden was here for several months, Dad asked him to take over as the chief winemaker for the Lost Creek Vineyards label. We’ve always been a family operation, with Dad creating the wines and doing the marketing, while Mom handled all the bookkeeping, insurance, and taxes. Dad wanted to step away from the actual making of the wines, however, and focus his time on marketing and growing our label’s footprint. Braden has continued to make our reds and whites, but he is really moving us more into blends.”

Ivy explained to them the ratio of various blends, and Reagan said, “If I would’ve had a teacher like you in school, you would have been my favorite, Ivy. I feel I’m learning so much in such a short amount of time.”

Ivy laughed. “I could talk about wines all day. I do miss being able to sip one, though.” She patted her belly fondly. “It’s a good thing I know enough about the process and taste so that I’m still able to manage the tasting room and conduct tastings with customers who are eager to learn more about wine.”

They tried a couple of blends, and Reagan said, “I think these are my favorite. They seem to bring the best of both worlds together.”

“I do like them,” Tucker added. “Not that I’ll give up beer anytime soon, but I have a greater appreciation now of all the hard work which goes into making a wine. I discovered a few tonight that I’d actually choose to drink again. Over beer.”

“I’m always bringing different wines to Wednesday dinners,” Ivy said. “I check with whoever is cooking the meal that week and then choose bottles accordingly.” She looked at them hopefully. “You two better join us again. Finley will be preparing a Mediterranean feast this coming Wednesday.”

Reagan shook her head. “It was lovely to be invited this week, but I don’t expect an invitation every week. Tucker’s different. He’s from here. Well, sort of.”

“No, Reagan,” Ivy protested. “We want you to come. For as long as you’re in Lost Creek. You don’t have to give me an answer now.” Then she grinned. “Finley and I will tag team and simply wear you down at coffee tomorrow.”

Laughter bubbled up from Reagan, and Tucker thought he’d never heard a sweeter sound. He pushed aside the thought, telling himself he’d come back to it later and decipher what it meant.

“I’m looking forward to coffee in the morning with the two of you,” Reagan said. “And to seeing your art at some point if you’re willing to allow me a glimpse.”

“My studio is above the hardware store on the square. It used to be an apartment Mayor Bennett leased out, but I’ve taken over the space for my painting. Why don’t you stop by about eight-thirty before we’re due at Java Junction? You can see my work then.”

“Is that too early?” Reagan asked.

Ivy replied, “I’m an early bird. There are times I get to the studio at six and paint several hours before I leave to come here for my shift at eleven-thirty.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you. Or interrupt your painting time,” Reagan said.

“I finished something new yesterday,” Ivy said. “All I’ll be doing tomorrow morning is sketching, trying to figure out the next subject I’ll paint. You won’t be interrupting anything, and I won’t even have brushes to clean before we head to Java Junction.”

“Then I’ll park on the square and meet you there,” Reagan promised.

“Em texted and asked if I could drop you two back at the B&B,” Ivy said. “Give me a couple of minutes to clean up, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Anything we can do to help?” Tucker asked.

“Thanks for the offer, but it won’t take me long.”

He and Reagan walked through the rest of the tasting room, viewing the different awards Lost Creek Vineyards wines had received over the years.

“This is really laid out nicely,” Reagan commented.

“Ivy told me the original tasting room was much smaller, but the architect who worked on the event center designed a new tasting room to her specifications.”

“From what I gather, the Hill Country is a popular weekend destination for wine tasting and antiquing. Aunt Jean usually books up most weekends, especially the two cottages on the property.”

“Are you still up for dinner at Blackwood BBQ?” he asked.

Her gaze met his. “I am. I can’t wait to eat some Texas barbeque again. It’s been too long. It will also give us time to talk more.”

Tucker nodded. “Yes. It’s something I know we need to do. There are things I need to say to you, Reagan.”