Free Tangled Vines by Janet Dailey Page A

driver’s side and turned the key, stepping on the gas and gunning the engine. The door on the passenger’s side was yanked open, Ramon’s stocky frame filling it as he scrambled onto the seat. Sam waited a split second to make sure Ramon was all the way in the truck, then popped the clutch and peeled up the drive.
    â€œWhat happened? Give me all of it this time.” Barely slowing, Sam swung the pickup onto a narrow dirt road, one of several that crisscrossed the property, linking the vineyards, pastures, and winery together.
    â€œI don’t know. It happened so fast.” Ramon struggled to arrange his thoughts in some semblance of order. “We were checking the fences, like you told us. When we get to the north side, we find a section down. A fence post, it had rotted -“
    â€œWhere on the north boundary?” Sam knew every inch of Rutledge land, every dip and rise, every tree and rock on it. Dougherty’s ten acres formed a rectangular piece that butted Rutledge property on two sides, carving a corner out of it.
    â€œYou know where the fence runs halfway down the slope, above where Dougherty’s house is? It is there, in the middle of it.” Using his hands, Ramon tried to illustrate the exact location. “When we find the rotted post, Ed and Carlos – they stay to dig it out and I go back to the truck to get a new one. On my way back, I hear somebody yelling – Dougherty, I think – then boom! boom! boom! – he starts shooting.”
    â€œEd or Carlos, were they hit?” Sam pictured the spot in his mind. It was a new vineyard, the young vines in the middle of their second summer’s growth.
    â€œI don’t think so. When I called to them, Ed shouted they were okay.” He paused and shook his head uncertainly. “The last time I saw them they were on their bellies, making love to the ground.”
    Hearing that, Sam felt a rising anger. It jumped along his jawline as he increased the truck’s speed, dust plumes rising like rooster tails in the vehicle’s wake.
    â€œWhat about Dougherty? Where was he?” He didn’t even try to guess the reason Dougherty had suddenly opened fire.
    â€œSomewhere by the house, I think. I couldn’t see.” Ramon lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug.
    Within minutes of leaving the house, they reached the point where the dirt road angled sharply to the right. Braking, Sam slowed the truck and pulled off the track onto the grassy shoulder. This was as close as they could get by road to the property line the estate shared with Dougherty, still one hundred yards distant. From here, they’d have to go by foot.
    Beyond the road, the land rose gently to a rounded knoll, ringed with tiered rows of young vines and crowned by a high blue sky. Sam climbed out of the truck and paused briefly. With the rising terrain blocking his view of the trouble site, he strained to hear some sound that might indicate the current state of the situation. The stillness was broken only by the breeze whispering through the vines and the odd noise from the pickup’s rapidly cooling engine. There were no gunshots, no shouts. Sam wasn’t reassured by that.
    â€œThis way.” Ramon headed across the road toward the vineyard on the other side. Sam followed.
    The plowed ground between the young vines formed an aisle that circled the swell of ground. The dry earth showed tracks of previous usage, confirming that this was the route the crew had taken. Sam spotted the fence line and slowed his steps when Ramon did. The sun was at his back, its searing rays burning through the cotton of his shirt and heating his flesh.
    As they neared the corner post, Sam heard the sharp crack of a rifle shot. A yelp of pain followed it as he and Ramon hit the ground.
    â€œYou aren’t going to get me to fall for a fool trick like that!” The shouted statement came from Len Dougherty. Sam recognized his voice at