tried to warn him. No, she hadn’t come right out and told him what would happen—that he was about to be given a free peep show that would drive a grown man to his knees. and he suspected his own stubbornness had inspired hers. Still, he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive her for showing him what he could have had, if not for his own foul temper and his need to keep punishing himself by not taking anything he truly wanted. Being noble was all well and good, but if it came with blue balls, he’d far prefer being selfish.
“Enough,” he reminded himself, trying to return his focus to the task at hand. The wine cellar. He still couldn’t believe it was here, or that it held so much.
Buddy had found a treasure trove in the basement right before his accident, one he hadn’t even realized was there until he’d started trying out keys to locked rooms. That’s what had sent him hurrying down the porch steps to find Oliver. He’d intended to show it to Oliver and ask him to help inventory it.
Now that it looked like Buddy wouldn’t be doing any stair-climbing for a while, Oliver had promised he’d get started. Buddy had agreed gratefully, telling him to help himself to anything he found…unless it was worth a king’s ransom, in which case he would need it for his medical bills.
He hadn’t even thought about that, but now that his employer had brought it up, Oliver couldn’t help worrying about it. Buddy had sunk his life savings into this place. God, he hoped this accident didn’t bankrupt the man.
Caught up in the old man’s excitement, he’d stopped by the store to pick up reference books with grades, rankings and values of old wine. Once he’d found the room and gotten started, he’d been shocked by the sheer quantity of bottles. Obviously, his own great-uncle, who’d bought out his siblings, including Oliver’s grandmother, hadn’t even realized what he had in his possession. He’d been from back East and never done a proper inventory on the place. The group that had bought the estate from him had intended to get investors to renovate it into some corporate retreat, but had never fully investigated, either.
Buddy had bought the whole place—and its contents—out of bankruptcy and was legally entitled to everything here. Including this treasure trove. If the previous owners had realized what they’d had, this stuff would have been on auction blocks around the world, not still stored in this secure room, created solely for keeping wines in pristine condition.
Okay, there was dust. A few cobwebs—Candace would hate the spiders. But for the most part, the setup was ideal and the bottles—more than one hundred of them, possibly close to two—looked sealed and correctly colored. It was very likely many of them were aged to perfection.
This collection could be the answer to Buddy’s financial problems. Some of the bottles weren’t easily cataloged and an appraiser would have to do it. Many, though, had been listed in the books he’d brought with him as being worth thousands of dollars. There was a small fortune within these walls, and, frankly, Oliver couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more.
They weren’t all gems. He had found a few broken ones, dry corks or just plain duds according to the books. Some that were good wines still weren’t worth much, even if in mint condition. Those included vintages that had been bottled during a surplus production year and just weren’t collectible.
It was one of those he was eyeing now. A 1971 burgundy from one of his favorite vintners that was still around today. Buddy had told him to feel free to help himself to anything that wasn’t too valuable, and this one wasn’t worth more than about a hundred bucks.
He deserved a hundred bucks worth of wine, especially after putting up with Buddy’s sexy, infuriating granddaughter.
“How’s it going?”
Said sexy, infuriating granddaughter who almost startled him into dropping the bottle. He spun around, seeing her eyeing him from the doorway. “Oh. You’re back.”
Obviously he had lost track of time down here. It was probably a good thing she’d come looking for him—fully, if sexily, dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a lightweight pink sweater. With his luck, he’d have consumed the bottle of wine and headed upstairs after she was home and ready for bed, wearing that flimsy little bathrobe and nothing else.
His horny-man brain quickly rebelled at the idea that that would have been bad luck. But he shut that part of his brain down.
“Visiting hours are over. It’s after eight. I saw the lights were on upstairs and thought you might still be here. Grandpa told me where to look for you.”
She looked like she wanted to come in, but was carefully eyeing the cobwebs and shadowy corners.
“All clear,” he told her with a smile, knowing what she was looking for. “I think the mutant spider from outer space is still trying to find his way home.”
That was a lie—there were enough webs down here to house the spiders from Harry Potter’s Dark Forest. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.
She managed a weak smile and slowly entered, her attention focused on shelf after shelf of bottles. She whistled as she walked around the twelve-by-twelve chamber. “Wow. He wasn’t exaggerating, was he?”
“Definitely not.”
“Amazing!”
“You have no idea.”
He quickly filled her in on what he’d discovered, and saw her eyes light up with hope as she realized her grandfather might have actually stumbled into a treasure to help him make this old house into the showplace he envisioned.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m no expert,” he told her. “I can only judge by what the books say. Buddy will have to get an appraiser out here. And of course it depends on whether the wine is any good, or if it’s gone over.” Then he lifted the bottle, holding it up against the milky light coming from the overhead bulb. “I was just about to crack open a bottle of the cheaper stuff and check it out.”
She nodded anxiously, looking like a kid agreeing to a dare. “Oh, yes, let’s!”
“Are you a wine fan?”
“I’m a woman. Of course I’m a wine fan.”
Reaching into his pocket, Oliver drew out a multifunction tool that had a wine opener on it and almost held his breath as he uncorked the bottle. He was careful not to shake it in case of sediment and immediately smelled the air for any scent of vinegar.
Nothing. So far, so good.
Testing the cork and finding it completely moist and not at all crumbly, he began to hope they weren’t about to drink a bottle of salad dressing in the making. “This really should be decanted so it can breathe.”
Her face fell.
“But there’s no point in going upstairs to find a decanter and glasses until we know whether it’s worth drinking.” He lifted the bottle and extended it to her. “Ladies first.”
She didn’t put on any fussy airs or complain about drinking out of an old, dusty bottle. Wiping the rim with her hand, she lifted it to her mouth and took a tiny sip.
Her eyes closed. She remained very still. Then she sipped again.
When she opened her
