Guarding His Fortune

by Stella Bagwell

  “Not exactly,” she answered. “But my father is concerned. Chaz is working for him. Not me.”

  “Dad, Gerald Robinson is Savannah’s uncle,” Chaz explained. “I’m sure you’ve not forgotten the arson that occurred on his estate or how seriously Ben was injured. Miles Fortune, Savannah’s father, is worried that he and his family have become targets. Especially here in Austin.”

  “Oh, I can understand someone going after Gerald. There’s no doubt he’s made enemies over the years. But who would possibly want to hurt a pretty little thing like Savannah? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s exactly what I told my father, Mr. Mendoza,” Savannah responded to Esteban. “Unfortunately, he doesn’t view the situation like you do.”

  Esteban gave her a wide smile. “Well, if you were my daughter, I would see the situation differently, too. I would probably hire two bodyguards to keep you safe.”

  Carlo chuckled. “So the bodyguards could keep an eye on each other? Dad, your mind will never lose its naughty streak.”

  “I hope not,” Esteban said with a laugh, then purposely glanced at his wristwatch. “You three are going to have to excuse me. I have a luncheon meeting in the next half hour.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Mendoza,” Savannah told him.

  “I hope we meet again soon, Miss Fortune. And see that you take proper care of her, Chaz,” he said to his son.

  Esteban strode off toward a black car parked a few feet away from Chaz’s. As she thoughtfully watched him go, she said, “You two have a charming father.”

  Chaz groaned, while Carlo said with a chuckle, “That’s what all the women say.”

  “Too many women,” Chaz muttered.

  Savannah wondered what that comment could possibly mean, when the hand that had been resting against her back all this time suddenly nudged her forward.

  “If you’ve seen enough out here, let’s go inside.”

  “Sure,” she said to Chaz, then glanced at Carlo. “Will you join us?”

  “Sorry. Chaz is going to have to be your official guide this morning. Schuyler is expecting me back home. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  “Certainly not. Please tell her hello for me.”

  “Will do.” He looked at Chaz. “I’ll call you later. We need to talk about the nightclub.”

  “Any time,” Chaz told him.

  Carlo hurried away and the two of them walked on to the building. After he punched in a code to allow them entrance, they walked down a hallway to a wide door that required another passcode to enter.

  Curious about the extra security, she said, “There must be something top secret behind this door.”

  He glanced at her, his expression sober. “You could call it top secret. This is where Mendoza wine is made. No one outside the family is allowed back here without supervision. The blends for each label often change, but the notes for each wine are kept in a safe in the main office. Only immediate family members are privy to the combination of the safe.”

  “Wow. You’re not taking any chances, are you?”

  His lips took on a wry twist. “I don’t take chances. Unless I’m forced to.”

  He pushed open the door and ushered her into a large area with a cement floor and a high open ceiling. A row of tall stainless steel fermenting tanks lined one side of the room, while the opposite side was equipped with a long chute-like conveyer, along with huge tubs and tables for washing and sorting the grapes.

  Gazing curiously around her, she said, “I know next to nothing about wine-making, so this question is probably going to sound stupid, but I’ll ask anyway. Is anything in the tanks right now? And when does it go from here to an aging barrel?”

  “There’s no fruit fermenting now. The new crop of grapes won’t be harvested until late July or down into August. Depending on the weather. That’s when this area of the winery gets extremely busy. The fermenting process usually takes about ten days and then it goes into barrels. From there, the time depends on the type of wine being made. Naturally, the longer it ages, the more expensive it gets.”

  “Yes, that part I do understand.” She flashed him a smile. “My studies have taught me that reaching your goals takes time. And patience.”

  One of his dark brows arched upward. “And you have both?”

  She laughed softly. No doubt, he was remembering the stubborn fight she put up yesterday when she’d learned her father had hired him as her bodyguard. “Well, I admit I need to work on the patience part.”

  A faint smile crossed his face. “We all need to work on that.”

  He gently cupped a hand around her elbow and urged her forward. His touch caused a fiery sensation to shoot up and down her arm and though her brain told her to step away from the temptation, she remained at his side and wondered once again what it was about this man that constantly reminded her that she was a woman.

  The two of them ambled through the work area until they reached a set of large double doors. Chaz opened the one on the right and as Savannah stepped through the opening, she spotted hundreds of wooden barrels stored on racks that reached almost to the ceiling.

  After he’d shown her the bottling area, they walked back down the hallway where they’d originally entered the building. Along the way, Chaz explained how the grapes were harvested by hand and was something that had to be done quickly and at exactly the right time to get the perfect flavor of the fruit. A part of Savannah’s brain was listening intently, while the other part was registering the grace and strength of his body, the seductive scent emanating from his shirt and the way his black hair glistened beneath the overhead lighting. Just being near the man fractured her common sense.

  Near the end of the hallway, they reached a rough-hewn wooden door with a sign that read Tasting Room.

  Chaz grabbed the brass handle and after pulling the door wide, gestured for her to precede him into the open reception area. “We might as well be the first to visit the tasting room today,” he said.

  The huge room was much like Savannah remembered from the night of the Fortune reunion party. High-vaulted ceilings were supported by dark wooden beams, while ceramic tile in a pattern of dark blues and greens covered the floor. To one side was a long marble-topped bar where a few wine bottles, each with a different label, sat ready for customers to sample. Behind the bar, cushioned racks held more bottles. A few feet away, several small square tables made of dark wood and matching carved chairs were grouped near a wall painted with a mural of a sunny vineyard.

  “Will the winery be open later today?”

  “The Sunday hours are one o’clock to seven. Weekdays we open at noon and close at eight. The servers will be arriving soon to get everything ready.”

  She trailed a hand over the marble surface of the bar, then moseyed toward one of the tables.

  Following a few steps behind her, he said, “Before I took you on a tour of the place I should’ve asked whether you like to drink wine. If you don’t, that’s perfectly fine. I have some friends who can’t stand the stuff. They prefer a cold beer. Or a shot of bourbon, or scotch.”

  “I don’t drink much alcohol of any sort,” she admitted. “But my parents always have wine with dinner. Sometimes I have a glass with my family. I honestly know nothing about the different labels or taste. All I can tell you is that my parents buy very expensive bottles. Perhaps they’ve had Mendoza wine.”

  “Possibly. But now that you’re here, you’re welcome to try a glass,” he suggested.

  He was far more potent than a glass of wine, she thought. Put the two together and her head would definitely be swimming. Yet, she didn’t want to disappoint him by declining his offer.

  “I’d like that,” she told him. “If you’ll pick it out for me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  While he went after the wine, she seated herself at one of the tables.
Moments later, he arrived carrying a tray loaded with two glasses, a tall green bottle and a small plate of neatly arranged fruits and cheeses.

  As he placed everything on the table, she remarked, “Oh, I didn’t realize you serve food here at the tasting room, too.”

  “We don’t. This is something we keep around for ourselves and the staff.” He seated himself directly across the table from her, then uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount of wine into each glass. “This has a sweet and fruity taste. Since you like sugary cereal, I thought you might prefer it.”

  First the camellias and now the cereal she’d eaten for breakfast. What else had Chaz noticed about her? That she was having trouble keeping her eyes off him? Had he already figured out that she was totally lost and insecure when it came down to developing a relationship with a man?

  Trying to ignore those unsettling questions, she turned her attention to the wine and after giving it an appreciative sniff, she took a short sip. All the while, she was desperately aware of his dreamy brown eyes watching and waiting for her reaction.

  Her cheeks warm, she stared at the pink tinged liquid in her glass. “Mmm. This is very good. And sweet.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be sure to let my cousin Alejandro know. This blend is one that he specially crafted for his wife, Olivia—another Fortune woman, by the way.”

  What was it about all the marriages connecting the two families? Savannah wondered. Did mixing Mendozas and Fortunes create some sort of hypnotic spell or fiery chemistry? Maybe that had happened with a few family members, she surmised. But it was more than clear to Savannah that Chaz’s senses hadn’t fallen under any type of romantic enchantment. At least, not toward her. Sure, he’d given her the rose. But that had been nothing more than a polite gesture. He’d certainly not had the kind of twinkle in his eye that Esteban had when he’d kissed the back of her hand.

  “Olivia and Alejandro,” she repeated the names as she tried to match them to faces she’d met during her prior visit to Austin. “You’re talking about Olivia Fortune Robinson, Gerald’s daughter?”

  “That’s right. She and Alejandro are married and live here in Austin.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I recall. If I met your cousin Alejandro, I’m not remembering him. But like I said, my brief time here in Austin was one big whirlwind.” She took another sip, then reached for a thin sliver of cheese. “How did your family get into the wine business? Did your father start all this?”

  The corners of his mouth turned slightly downward, and she suddenly wondered how close Chaz actually was to his father and brothers. He’d said he’d moved here to Austin to be with them. Surely that meant they were all a tight group. But that didn’t necessarily mean everything was always hunky-dory between them, she surmised. There were times when things could get darned strained between her and her family.

  “Alejandro is the reason the Mendozas are in the wine business. It began years ago with his working at a wine bar in South Beach. He took the job to help put himself through college and the experience motivated him to change his major to one that would educate him for a career in the wine industry. He’s the one who actually purchased the winery, then convinced the rest of the family to join him.”

  “South Beach,” she repeated. “Alejandro wasn’t originally from Austin?”

  “No. He and my father and all of us cousins lived in Miami before we migrated to Texas.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully. “I wondered why you didn’t have much of a Texas twang. Do you still have relatives back in Miami?”

  “Uncle Enrique and his five children live there.”

  He lifted the wineglass to his lips and beneath her lowered lashes, Savannah watched his bicep stretch the sleeve of his polo shirt to the extreme limit. Where did all those muscles come from? Most men would have to work out for hours every day in the gym to be as buff as Chaz. If he had a routine exercise regimen, he hadn’t mentioned it. Which had her wondering if he was just one of those guys who didn’t have to work at being fit. He was just naturally a hunk of sexy strength.

  She drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it. “You Mendozas have a big family. Kind of like the Fortunes.”

  He made a sound that was something close to a snort. “There is no other family like the Fortunes.”

  His comment had her sitting just a bit straighter in her chair. “I hope you’re not lumping the New Orleans Fortunes with those who are scattered across Texas. You might not believe it, but my father is nothing like Gerald Robinson. He hasn’t sired a bunch of illegitimate children or had a series of adulterous affairs. My mother isn’t secretly plotting revenge or hell bent on harming people she’s never even met!”

  A half grin suddenly curved his lips. “Whew! Glad you got that off your chest?”

  She could see he was joking, which made her even more aware of her defensive rant. “Sorry, Chaz. I didn’t intend to get carried away. It’s just that I’m learning that being connected to this set of Texas Fortunes is not all sunshine and lollipops.”

  “No need for you to be so defensive. I wasn’t referring to your branch of the family. It’s Gerald and his ex that are causing all the worries.”

  She swished the wine around in her goblet, while wondering exactly how much Chaz knew about the Fortunes here in Austin. Enough for him to figure out that they had as many problems as they had thousand-dollar bills. And that was more than any one person could count.

  Sighing, she said, “When Dad first learned that he and Gerald had the same father, he wanted the truth of the matter kept under wraps. No one in the family was to breathe a word about any of it. He kept pounding out the fact that the New Orleans Fortunes were nothing like Gerald Robinson and his branch of the Fortunes. Our reputation was untarnished, but it would hardly stay that way if people learned we were related to Gerald.”

  “But somehow the information about Miles and Gerald got out anyway.”

  Besides Kenneth and Gerald, her father had also discovered he had two more Fortune brothers, Gary and David, both of whom lived far away from Texas. Could be that Chaz had already learned that particular information through his sister-in-law, Schuyler, or maybe he hadn’t. Either way, Savannah wasn’t going to go into those details with Chaz. The situation was already awkward enough without adding to it.

  She nodded. “Secrets have a way of getting out. And because the family connection was revealed, you’re now a bodyguard to a graduate student. Simply because she’s Gerald Robinson’s niece. It’s crazy.”

  “In many ways, the Fortune wealth is toxic. It makes people crazy,” he reasoned.

  Glancing over the rim of her glass, she studied his face. “You make it sound like having money is more like a curse than a blessing.”

  “I didn’t say that. I only meant that money makes puppets out of many people.”

  Savannah considered his remark before she eventually replied. “Hmm. I guess it’s like those miners I talked about in the San Juans in the 1840s. Gold fever probably caused most of them to die either by the hand of someone else or the elements.”

  “Exactly. Money often makes people behave irrationally.”

  Well, she could’ve told him it wasn’t money that was putting irrational thoughts in her head but rather his rugged presence. For her to be thinking how she’d like to kiss the wine off his lips was totally absurd.

  He drained his glass and glanced at his watch. “If you’re finished, I’m going to put these things away. Before the place gets busy, I need to check out a few things in the office. It will only take a few minutes. Will you be comfortable here?”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait for you out in the garden.”

  “Fine,” he replied. “I’ll catch up with you there.”

  He gathered everything from the table and left the tasting room. Once he was gone, Savannah picked up the pink rose he’d given her a
nd made her way back outside to the sculpture garden.

  The midday sun filtered through the trees to dapple the ground and warm her bare shoulders. With no one else around, the garden felt like a private haven, something she desperately needed at the moment. She longed to escape this strange, unexpected reaction she was having to Chaz. She wanted to stop thinking about him. She wanted to stop studying every little nuance of his features, his voice and rock-hard body. She needed to quit fantasizing about touching him. Kissing him. Making love to him. He was off-limits. Totally off-limits!

  She meandered through the statues until she reached a wrought-iron park bench positioned beneath the drooping limbs of a live oak. Savannah took a seat on the bench and as the soothing sound of the nearby fountain washed over her, the image of the hugging cherubs caught her attention.

  For some inexplicable reason, the sweet innocence of their intricately carved faces made her think of her late friend, Bethann. She’d been like a sister to Savannah and as they’d entered their teenage years together, they’d planned, and hoped, and dreamed about their futures. Bethann had been a true romantic in every sense of the word and had insisted she’d be married before she was twenty-five. Her wedding would be filled with flowers, lace and candles, and she and her prince-charming husband would have at least four children. She’d dreamed of living in a beach house, where the children could play in the sand and swim, while she and her husband watched the sun set across the water.

  But then Bethann had gotten sick with a rare lung disorder and Savannah had watched helplessly as her friend begin to wither away, until she’d finally lost the battle to live. Bethann’s dream of having a prince charming and four children never had a chance to come true.

  Since then, Savannah had focused her entire life on the science of diseases, always driven with the thought of sparing some other young person from Bethann’s fate. During the many years of acquiring an education, Savannah had failed to meet her own prince charming, much less marry one. There were no children on the horizon or immediate plans to have a family of her own. What would Bethann think about her friend’s loveless life? Would she appreciate the fact that Savanna’s nights were spent with her arms wrapped around a theory book instead of a man?