No Ordinary Fortune Page 5

  “You should.” He swept out his arm toward the classy golf cart in an after-you fashion. So she climbed into the front seat and waited for him to join her.

  Moments later, he started the engine and took off to show her the property, stopping several times to point out different vintages of grapes.

  Despite the sun, there was a bit of a chill in the air, especially as they zipped along the narrow blacktop road just big enough for the cart, but Schuyler wasn’t about to complain. Not when she was getting a private tour of a beautiful Hill Country vineyard by a handsome Latino.

  When she’d mentioned the women he dated, which had been his cue to reveal whether he was committed to anyone in particular, he hadn’t even blinked. She could probably come right out and ask, but she didn’t want him to think she was interested in him.

  Okay, so she was. More than a little—and more than she cared to admit.

  Carlo probably had his contact list filled with the names and numbers of beautiful women, each of them eager to have his attention. Schuyler would bet her trust fund that he wasn’t the kind of guy who spent many Saturday nights alone.

  She didn’t, either. Not that her dating life was all that active. She preferred to keep things light, fun and unencumbered. And that meant that she almost always came home alone. It was easier that way.

  But maybe she ought to reconsider her philosophy on men and dating. She wouldn’t mind going out on the town with Carlo Mendoza on a Saturday night—or any night of the week for that matter.

  They turned to the left, onto a small dirt path that was still damp from the recent rain, dodging several puddles along the way.

  Schuyler didn’t like taking vehicles off the road. When she was fifteen, Glammy took her out to practice driving her classic Volkswagen, a hot pink Bug Glammy called Mary Kay.

  Since you don’t have a learner’s permit yet, Glammy had said, your father will freak if I take you on the public highway. Let’s go out in the country. I know just the place.

  It had been raining earlier that day, and when they got out onto the dirt road, they’d soon sunk axle deep. So much for Glammy’s good intentions. Daddy had freaked anyway, especially when he got the towing bill.

  “Aren’t you afraid of getting stuck?” Schuyler asked Carlo.

  “No, I drove out here with Alejandro yesterday, before he left for a seminar in California. And we didn’t have any trouble getting through.”

  The vineyards continued to stretch along the right shoulder, but when Schuyler’s gaze turned to the open hillside on the left, she gasped and pointed. “Look at those bluebonnets. I’d heard they were going to bloom early this year. Would you mind pulling over so I can get a picture?”

  “Not at all.” Carlo stopped along the side of the pathway and waited while she pulled her smartphone from her pocket and headed off to get a good shot.

  Schuyler might have dropped out of art school, but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate natural beauty. And sometimes, she liked to dabble in watercolors. If the painted version of that hillside turned out as good as she hoped it would, she’d frame it and hang it in her bedroom at home.

  She caught movement to the right and spotted a longhorn cow lumbering toward a rusted-out farm tractor. Now there was an unusual sight. She raised her cell phone, snapping a picture first, followed by a video.

  How cool was that? As she backed up, continuing to film what she suspected was a stray cow, she stepped in a puddle that practically swallowed up her Jimmy Choo ankle boot and knocked her off balance. Before she could blink, she plopped to the ground, splattering muddy water.

  “Dang it,” she muttered, as she glanced at her drenched leather boot, hoping it was waterproof and not ruined. Sheesh. She’d had the pair for only a few months.

  Before she could get to her feet, Carlo was at her side. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a little dirty and wet. But it’s no big deal.”

  He reached out his hand, and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

  “I’ll take you back to the winery so you can clean up,” he said.

  “That’s not necessary. A little mud never hurt anyone, but that puddle did a real number on my Jimmy Choos.” She brushed her dirty hands together, then wiped her palms against her denim-clad hips and smiled. “Oh, well.”

  His eye twitched, and one side of his lips quirked into a crooked grin. “You’re something else.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but a humorous spark in his eyes indicated he hadn’t meant it as a criticism.

  “In what way?” she asked.

  “Most women would be flipping out about the dirty water and mud, not to mention the ruined boot.”

  “I told you that I’m not like most women.”

  “You were right.” He studied her face for a moment, his gaze locking on hers. Then he lifted his hand and brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek.

  “Did the mud splatter up that high?”

  “Just a little.” His cleaning efforts turned soft, gentle, tantalizing. Surely her face hadn’t gotten that dirty.

  She could have stepped back and taken over wiping her cheek of a lingering smudge, but she liked his soul-stirring touch. His eyes seemed to be caressing her face, too, setting off a quiver in her belly.

  “Did you know that the color of those wildflowers is the same shade as your eyes?” he asked.

  Her breath caught. “No, I didn’t.”

  “They’re pretty.”

  “The bluebonnets?”

  “Your eyes.”

  About the time she thought he might kiss her, he nodded toward the cart. “Let’s head back to the winery so you can dry off and clean up before you catch cold.”

  She didn’t much care about the mud or the wet foot or the chill in the air, but she headed back to the cutesy little cart like a soggy damsel who’d been rescued by a handsome prince.

  “I can’t believe you’re not concerned about ruining that shoe.”

  “It’s not that I don’t care. But whining about it isn’t going to help.”

  Besides, their budding friendship or whatever was sparking between them just might prove to be a lot more valuable than a pair of pricey shoes.

  Chapter Four

  “Do you have a change of clothes?” Carlo asked Schuyler on the way back to the winery.

  “I keep a packed gym bag in my car, which always has yoga pants, a shirt and shoes.”

  “Good.” He drove the cart to the parking lot, pulled alongside her BMW and waited until she removed a black canvas tote from the trunk. Then he took her to the entrance of La Viña and parked in front. “There’s a restroom inside. After you clean up, we can have an early lunch.”

  Once they climbed the steps and reached the double glass doors, Carlo pulled out his keys while Schuyler studied the hours posted on the sign.

  “The restaurant doesn’t open until five o’clock,” she said.

  “That’s right. We offer a brunch on weekends, but we only serve dinner on weekdays. That’s going to change in the future. Word has already spread about our menu and the service, so we’ve been seeing an increase in the number of diners.”

  “So you were right,” she said. “Word of mouth is the best promotion of all.”

  “Ah, you were listening.”

  “Always.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. Or flirtation. It was hard to tell. “But I’m a little confused. If the restaurant is closed, how are we going to have lunch?”

  “Don’t worry.” He tossed her a smile. “I don’t need a chef to put out a nice meal. Go change your clothes. I’ll wait for you here, then we’ll raid the fridge.”

  “That sounds like fun, not to mention clandestine.” She winked, then disappeared into the bathroom.

  Women, especially the pretty ones, tended to take a lot of time fussin
g with their appearance, so Carlo expected a long wait. But when Schuyler returned just moments later wearing a lime-green tank top, black yoga pants and gray running shoes, he was again reminded that she wasn’t anything like his usual dates.

  She’d run a brush through her hair and applied pink lip gloss. He couldn’t help noting that she rocked that stylish, curve-hugging outfit. The good Lord had blessed her with a great shape, and it seemed that she worked hard to keep it that way. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed his admiring gaze, because she scanned the restaurant interior, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted. “This is amazing.”

  She was amazing. But she was talking about the renovation he’d designed. She pointed to the large windows that provided an unrestricted view of the vineyard, as well as the rounded oak-paneled ceiling that resembled the shape of a wine barrel. “I’m impressed. This would be the perfect venue for a wedding reception.”

  “You’d consider getting married here?”

  At that, she balked. “Who, me? Oh, no.” She slowly shook her head, those luscious blond locks tumbling along her shoulders. “I’m too much like my grandmother to consider making a lifelong promise like that.”

  “Your grandmother never married?”

  “No. At one time, she’d actually hoped Julius Fortune would follow through with his divorce, which he’d told her was in the works, although it really wasn’t. I can’t believe that lothario was able to juggle so many affairs without his wife catching him.”

  “Who says she didn’t know? I’ll bet some people would put up with just about anything for money.”

  Schuyler blew out a humph. “Not me.”

  He believed her. She wore wealth and status well, but he figured she didn’t consider money to be a cure-all. Neither did he, which meant they might make a perfect match, one that wasn’t encumbered by well-intentioned vows most people found hard to keep.

  “Come on,” he said. “I promised you lunch, although it’s going to be a joint effort.”

  “I’d be happy to help, but will the chef be upset to find out that we’re taking over his kitchen? I’d suspect that he’d be a little territorial.”

  “I do this all the time, so he won’t mind.”

  Once in the kitchen, Carlo pulled out the fixings for a garden salad, along with some grilled chicken and a small container of dressing left over from last night.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you fix a fruit and cheese platter? I’ll make a salad.”

  While they worked, Carlo put a small loaf of French bread in the oven to warm.

  “Where’d you learn your way around a kitchen?” Schuyler asked.

  “I’ve worked in restaurants for years and learned a few tricks from several of the chefs. How about you? Do you like to cook?”

  “Not especially. But then again, it’s not too much fun preparing food for one. So I eat most of my meals out.” She reached for a bunch of grapes, rinsed them and placed them on the cheese platter, alternating clumps of green and red. Next, she added apple slices.

  “Good job,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She glanced at the bowl he’d filled with a spring mix of greens, tomatoes, mushrooms, avocado, pine nuts and chopped chicken. “That looks good, too. I’m impressed.”

  He gave a slight shrug. There didn’t seem to be any reason to tell her that most of the women he dated liked having him cook for them. He’d have them sit on one of his kitchen bar stools and pour them a glass of wine. Then, while soft jazz played in the background, he’d fix one of his special dishes, like chicken marsala. It was part of the foreplay.

  Yet this was different.

  Or was it?

  He kept his thoughts to himself as he and Schuyler set the food out on a table in the dining room, next to a window that looked out on the sculpture garden. He held out her chair, and after she took a seat, he sat across from her.

  “That cheese platter looks great,” he said.

  “I have an eye for color and design. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “Did you ever think about doing something with that?”

  “Actually, I went to art school for a while, although I dropped out—something that upset my dad.” Schuyler plucked a green seedless grape from the cluster on the cheese board and popped it into her mouth. “He couldn’t understand that my time there wasn’t a waste.”

  He found himself leaning forward, intrigued. Maybe even entranced. “I’m sure you benefited from your time there. Why did you find it valuable?”

  “I learned a lot and I definitely have an eye for color and design, but I really haven’t put any of it to good use—as my dad reminds me sometimes.”

  “So you’re a colorful, fun-loving tumbleweed for the time being.”

  Her smile dimpled her cheek. “I guess so. But I have another focus right now. And that’s to sort through the family mystery, although it’s not the least bit mysterious to me.”

  “The Fortune connection.”

  “Exactly.” She reached for a rice cracker. “In fact, I’m going to take a drive out to Paseo tomorrow and visit Nathan Fortune.”

  “That’s one long-ass drive for a little chat.”

  “I figure Paseo is about five hours from here. If I leave early in the morning, I should be back by late afternoon or the evening.”

  Carlo nodded, as if it all made sense to him—this quest to meet her family. “So why Nathan? How does he fit into all of this?”

  “He’s pretty much an outsider, so he probably has an interesting take on the dynamics. When I read his sister-in-law’s articles in Weird Life magazine, I remembered some of the things Glammy told me about my dad’s biological father, and I connected the dots.”

  “Glammy?”

  “Sorry.” She smiled and placed a small slice of white cheddar on her cracker. “I was trying to call her Grammy, like the other kids in the family, but I had a speech impediment when I was a little girl, so that’s how it came out. And the nickname stuck. Anyway, Glammy and I were very close.”

  “She sounds like an interesting character.”

  “She’s gone now, but Glammy was pretty unique, and I idolized her. On the other hand, her unique personality sometimes embarrassed my dad.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, for example, I went to a private high school in an exclusive part of town. On the night I graduated, she showed up wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt and a pair of fluffy bunny slippers. I thought a vein on my dad’s forehead was going to burst.”

  “Did it embarrass you?”

  “No, not at all. Glammy showed me how to tie-dye one summer, and we had fun making matching tops. So that was her way of letting me know she remembered the fun we’d had that day, which was pretty special. And the slippers? I’d given them to her for Christmas. Besides, she’d had an ingrown toenail, and she chose comfort over style.”

  “You must have loved her a lot.”

  “I really did. You have no idea how much I miss her. We were a lot alike. Two orange peas in a purple pod, my dad used to say.”

  “Does that mean you own a pair of bunny slippers?”

  She laughed. “I wish I did, but no. My dad wasn’t too happy that my grandmother and I had so many similarities. For example, she had a penchant for art, mostly retro stuff, psychedelic colors and that sort of thing. She was the first one to encourage me to express myself artistically. And she stepped in and convinced my dad that it wasn’t a bad thing for me to transfer from college to an art school. He’d just about gotten used to the idea, when I decided to come home after two semesters. He doesn’t let me forget that I sometimes disappoint him, like she used to.”

  “Tell me more about your grandmother.”

  Schuyler brightened. “She was amazing. Years ago, when she lived in San Francisco, her name was Mary Johnson. She was working at a nightc
lub and met Julius. That’s when he told her he was in the process of getting a divorce. They hit it off, and he put her up in a fancy Houston condominium. She’d assumed that he would eventually be free to marry her, but Julius wasn’t interested in making an honest woman out of any of his lovers.”

  Carlo poured them each a glass of iced tea. “When did they break up?”

  “When Glammy got pregnant with my father, it was the beginning of the end. Julius asked her to sign a confidentiality agreement, promising to give her the deed to her home and to leave her financially comfortable. He also insisted that she name their son Kenneth rather than one of her unconventional suggestions. She agreed, and the affair ended.”

  “Did she admit to you that Julius was your grandfather?”

  “Not in so many words. She honored that confidentiality agreement, although keeping that secret just about killed her. When my dad was six, she legally changed their last name to Fortunado. I think she chose a Latin form of the name she believed we all deserved but could never claim. She also changed her first name to Starlight, which my dad never understood.”

  “Starlight? Sounds like a hippie name.”

  “Yes, but you have to remember she lived in San Francisco in the 1960s. And just between us, I think the name suited her a lot better than Mary did.” Schuyler used her fork to spear a piece of chicken from her salad. Before popping it into her mouth, she added, “My dad loved his mother, even though he considered her to be a little too flamboyant and over the top. I’m sure that’s why he chose a quieter life for himself.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  “Life wasn’t meant to be boring. And just so you know, Glammy wasn’t a flake. She was one of a kind.”

  “It’s easy to see that you admired her.”

  “And adored her. She loved all of her grandchildren, but there was a special place in her heart for me. Over the years, we became especially close, and when she died, I was heartbroken. I was also determined to live my own life the way Glammy had.”

  “And that means being a little out of step with the other members in your family.”