Free Tangled Vines by Janet Dailey

the gardens and green lawn. Beyond it stretched the valley and the opposite wall of mountains, seared yellow by summer heat and a long drought.
    Dust hung in the air, a constant reminder of the tinder-dry conditions. One cigarette carelessly tossed by a tourist could easily start a major fire, and at this time of year, the roads in the valley were jammed with vacationers touring the multitude of wineries.
    One carelessly tossed cigarette or one well-placed match: Sam hadn’t been able to rid himself of that thought. Except for that one confrontation with Len Dougherty, there had been nothing. The man had been quiet. Too damned quiet, in Sam’s opinion.
    â€œDid I tell you we will be staying at the Plaza?” Katherine poured hot tea into a dainty porcelain cup, aromatic steam rising from it to add its scent to the air.
    Sam frowned. “Isn’t the wine auction at the Waldorf?”
    â€œYes.” She added a twist of lemon. “Which will ensure privacy for us at the Plaza.” She stirred her tea and watched the surface swirl as if absorbed by it. “Clayton and I stayed at the Plaza,” she said almost idly. It took Sam a second to realize she was referring to her late husband and not his cousin Clay who had been named after their grandfather. “He had wanted to take me to Europe on our honeymoon, but Europe was in the throes of the First World War so we spent a month in New York instead. We had a marvelous time.”
    Her expression softened, as it always did when she spoke of her late husband, Sam’s grandfather. Seeing it, Sam could almost imagine Katherine in love, yet he still found it difficult to imagine her deferring to anyone’s wants and desires except her own.
    â€œI remember we saw Will Rogers,” she mused. “He was starring in the Ziegfeld Follies at the time. That was before he went to Hollywood, of course, and -”
    â€œExcuse me, Madam,” Mrs. Vargas broke in, the thick rubber soles of her shoes silencing any sound of her approach. “Mr. Rodriguez is here to see Mr. Rutledge. He insists it’s urgent.”
    Sam glanced past the housekeeper and saw Ramon Rodriguez standing outside the French doors to the terrace, anxiously fingering the hat he held in front of him, sweat running down his face. Ramon was one of a crew of three men Sam had sent out earlier to check and repair boundary fences.
    â€œWhat is it, Ramon?” In one motion, Sam was on his feet. Something told him the quiet was over, even before Rodriguez answered.
    â€œIt is old man Dougherty. We were over by his place and he went loco, started shooting at us.” The words tumbled from him as he gestured, using his hands and his hat. “He’s got Carlos and Ed pinned down. I got to the truck and got out of there as fast as I could.”
    â€œCall the sheriff and get them out there.” Sam flung the order at Katherine as he grabbed his hat and headed for the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?” She tapped her cane on the flagstones.
    â€œTo Dougherty’s.”
    â€œWhy?” Katherine demanded. “There is nothing you can do. The sheriff will handle it when he arrives.”
    Halting, Sam threw her an impatient glance. “I hired those men, Katherine. And I sent them out there to check the fences. I am not about to sit here while Dougherty is taking potshots at them.”
    She didn’t agree with his reasoning or his decision; that was evident from her expression. Sam didn’t waste time arguing his case.
    â€œCall the sheriff,” he repeated, and pushed through the French doors. The wide central hall opened before him and he broke into a run. Ramon was right behind him, the hall echoing the sound of their footsteps beating across its marbled floor.
    Out the front door and down the steps, Sam headed straight for the estate pickup Ramon had left parked at the head of the drive. The key was in the ignition. He climbed into the