Chapter 29 - The Roots Take Hold
Sterling Vance didn't last five minutes once the local federal magistrate reviewed the documents. By noon, his law license was under emergency review, his firm had severed all ties with his name, and he had fled New Mexico back to Phoenix with his tail firmly between his legs.
The federal marshals apologized for the inconvenience, packed up their SUVs, and rolled back down the mountain, leaving the vineyard in absolute, undisturbed peace.
That evening, the storm clouds finally broke, washing the mountain air clean and painting the western sky in brilliant shades of amethyst, gold, and fire.
We gathered on the wide veranda of the hacienda. Tessa poured a bottle of the vineyard’s first experimental harvest—a bold, earthy red wine produced from the vines our father had planted decades ago—into simple glass tumblers.
Leo and Julian Jr. were fast asleep on a pile of wool blankets by the stone hearth inside, worn out from a full day of chasing horses through the high grass.
Julian raised his glass, looking across the valley toward the snow-capped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains. "To ghosts who finally stayed buried."
"To roots that actually hold," I replied, clinking my glass against his with a sharp, resonant ring.
May you like
Tessa leaned her head against my shoulder, her hand resting warmly in mine. "We made it, Grant. We actually made it."
"We're just getting started," I whispered, watching the stars ignite one by one across the vast, open desert sky.
