Free Follow the Sun by Deborah Smith Page B

flamboyant clothes. He bought the best brands, and he had an eye for color, but he kept his style simple.
    “You look like a Yuppie Indian,” Jeopard said teasingly.
    She flashed him a droll smile. “Silence, white eyes.”
    They left the city behind and headed north toward the wine country. In just over an hour they were deep into some of the most beautiful agricultural land in the world.
    The rented sedan slipped through lush valleys filled with sheep grazing in emerald pastures and vineyards backed by tree-tufted mountains. The landscape was as picturesque as anything Jeopard had seen during several excursions in France, and when he rolled his window down he sighed at the heady, ripe scent of early summer greenery.
    Tess made a husky sound of appreciation in her throat and slid over to him. She draped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. A poignant emotion filled Jeopard’s chest.
    “It’s good to be alive,” he said abruptly.
    Tess laughed. “You sound as if you just realized that fact.”
    “Maybe.”
    She kissed his cheek again, and her voice was tender. “Jeopard, what have you done in your life that makes you so sad?”
    Seen too many people die
, he thought. “Spent too much time watching soap operas.”
    She chuckled but patted his shoulder kindly, her fingers caressing him through the material of his shirt.Her unquestioning, intuitive sympathy worried him a little. She sensed too much about him, which meant that one day soon she might find his dark side.
    What would she think of her lover then?
    ‘That’s it!” she said suddenly, bouncing forward in the seat and pointing. “Glen Mary Road. To the winery!”
    A minute later they were grinding down a two-lane gravel road between rolling hills striped with long rows of vine-covered redwood stakes.
    In the distance an impressive stone mansion rose majestically amidst other stone buildings. The home was square and functional but enhanced by graceful turrets. Dense ivy covered the walls of the lower floor.
    A sign at the driveway invited them to tour the Glen Mary vineyards, winery, and museum. Jeopard parked in a nearly deserted lot, and Tess bolted out before he removed the ignition key.
    She waited for him impatiently, grasped his hand, and tugged him behind her while he jovially protested the indignity. They passed under a vine-covered arch, pushed open a mahogany door easily ten feet tall, and entered the mansion’s foyer, a cool, marble-floored place decorated with Persian rugs and dark, heavy antiques.
    An elderly woman in a tweed suit sat behind a desk. She smiled up at them and said, “Welcome to Glen Mary. Ten dollars each, please. Here are your brochures. The upstairs is closed to the public because the current owner lives there. We hope you enjoy our gift shop and museum. The tour of the winery buildings begins in thirty minutes.”
    Tess did a good imitation of smiling nonchalantly during the woman’s spiel. Jeopard thought.
    “I’m Tess Gallatin, and I spoke to the manager about visiting an old cemetery on the property.”
    Thirty years fell away from the receptionist. She leaped up spryly. “Gallatin. Oh, my, yes. Mr. De-Forest wants to meet you. He’s the owner. He’s soexcited about your visit. If he’d gotten to talk to you himself …”
    The woman motioned exuberantly toward a hallway. “Follow me. I’m Mrs. Johnson. I’ve worked here for years. You don’t know what to expect, I can tell. I’m sure you’ll be delighted. Oh, my!”
    “Oh, my!” Tess exclaimed as the woman started into the main part of the house, waving for them to follow. She looked at Jeopard in shock. “She must know something about my family.”
    “Oh, my,” Jeopard repeated dryly, smiling. He put a supportive hand under her elbow and propelled her forward.
    “Here, look,” Mrs. Johnson called, stopping at the oversized entrance to a large room. “Our museum.”
    Tess and Jeopard followed her into a softly lit, elegant room with