by HELEN HARDT
Our server brings a carafe of Chianti and a loaf of crisp Italian white bread.
“This is lovely,” Jade says.
“I agree. I feel like we’ve traveled back in time.”
“Lisa Lorenzo is a second-generation Italian American. Her parents moved to Snow Creek when she was in high school. I believe she graduated with Donny.” Jade wrinkles her forehead. “No, she was a few years younger. She graduated with Henry. With so many offspring, it’s hard to keep them all straight sometimes.”
“Everyone knows everyone around here,” I say. “A far cry from LA.”
“Yes, but you get used to it, and once you do, you’ll never want to live anywhere else.”
“Snow Creek does have its charm.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t give you the tour I promised. We ended up having that drink, and then you and Brendan hit it off.”
I look down at the piece of bread I’m swirling in olive oil.
“Ashley,” Jade says after a few minutes of me swirling and being mesmerized by the darkness of the balsamic vinegar making images in the light-green olive oil.
I look up. “Hmm?”
“It’s okay that you hit it off with Brendan.”
“I know.” I force out a chuckle. “It’s so strange…”
“What?”
“You’re Dale’s mom. And here I am talking about seeing someone else, when you and I both know…”
“I love my son,” she says. “More than you’ll ever know, at least until you have children of your own. But…he gets in his own way sometimes.”
“Meaning?”
She swallows the bite of bread she was chewing and then sighs. “Dale has never been able to open up. Especially not to me.”
I nod. “I’m sorry you’re not as close as you’d like to be.”
“Don’t get me wrong. He and I have a wonderful relationship. But he has a few walls built up, and I fear no one will ever be able to knock them down.”
“That sounds like a challenge,” I say.
“Oh, it’s not. When I say he gets in his own way, I mean a lot of things, but mostly I think he gets in his own way of being happy.”
“Do you think he could be happy with me?”
“How could he not? You’re smart and lovely, and you have so much in common. If he’d just let himself feel something.”
“You don’t think he feels?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not explaining this very well. He loves us all. Especially his father and sisters. Yes, he feels for all of us and would do anything for us. For any of his cousins as well. He’s a good man.”
“I know that.”
“But he’s built a wall around himself. It’s been there since he came to us, and it seems to grow taller with each passing year. Sometimes I want to bulldoze it down and yell at him to just unmask his feelings. But it won’t do any good. Men like Dale need to come to the realization on their own.”
“Men like Dale?”
She nods. “He’s a lot like his father, as I’ve told you before. He can’t be pushed, Ashley. And believe me, I know how it feels to want to push.”
“I haven’t pushed him.”
I don’t feel my words are untrue. Maybe I’ve pushed him a little, but mostly I’ve just conversed with him, maybe played devil’s advocate a bit. And I haven’t discouraged his physical attentions. Should I have? It’s not really in my nature. I like sex. A lot. I don’t apologize for that.
None of this is suitable conversation to have with his mother, though.
“I’m not saying you have.”
“I know it was a mistake to go into his house that day Penny ran off. If he’d been home, I’m not sure what I would have said or done.”
“Doesn’t matter, because it’s over. I’ll keep your secret. There’s no harm done anyway.” She smiles, takes a sip of the Chianti, and then grimaces. “Oh, my. I used to love Chianti, but I’m spoiled now, with my brother-in-law’s and my son’s wines.”
I haven’t tasted the wine yet, so I bring the goblet to my lips. I let the liquid rest on my tongue for a few minutes. It’s a little too acidic for my tastes, but it’s a basic table wine. “This isn’t Chianti Classico,” I say. “You’ll find it better once our food arrives, especially if you order something with a tomato base.”
She smiles. “You just sounded a lot like Dale.”
“He does know his wine.”
“As do you.”
I can’t help a laugh. “Well, I am almost a doctor of wine!”
Her tone becomes serious again. “If you’re able to get through to my son, you have my blessing. You’re a wonderful young woman.”
My cheeks warm. Jade has no way of knowing how much her words mean to me, and I can’t begin to express the thought in mere words myself. So I say simply, “Thank you.”
“If I had it my way, you’d be together,” she says. “I want happiness for my son, and if he’d let himself feel something, I think he could find happiness with you.”
“Dale knows he’s loved,” I say. “I can tell that just by my limited interaction with him.”
I force myself not to wince at the use of the term “limited interaction.” Our interaction has hardly been limited physically. But emotionally? It’s been very limited. Nonexistent, even.
“I believe you’re right,” Jade says. “Dale knows how much we all love him. What he doesn’t know, though—and may never be able to grasp as long as he lives within those walls he’s erected around himself—is how much he’s cherished.”
Chapter Eight
Dale
I turn to my father. “It’s your money. If you want to help him, help him.”
“I’d like to have the support of his biological sons.”
“You have mine,” Donny says.
Begrudgingly, I finally say, “Fine. You have mine as well.”
Why so much anger? So he abandoned his kids. He’s not the first lowlife to do that. And he bears no blame for what happened to us.
Except that maybe he does. We were alone in our house the day we were taken. If he hadn’t abandoned us, maybe our mother could have been there with us instead of working all the time.
But many single mothers leave their children home alone, and they grow up just fine without ever experiencing what my brother and I did.
Still, the rage claws at the back of my neck.
Rage I never let myself feel before. I tamped down all emotions long ago to survive.
I had to.
For if I’d allowed myself to feel, I wouldn’t have been able to deal with what happened to me. The horror and torture I endured to spare my brother.
It was worth it. It still is. My brother is a fine young man, and though he may have his struggles, he’s put the past behind him in a way I’ll never be able to.
I’d do it all again to protect him. I have no regrets.
Which is a lie. That thing buried inside me is pawing at its cage, determined to escape.
I ignore it and focus on my conscious regret.
Allowing emotion to overtake me.
I’m in love.
I’m in love with Ashley White, and the feelings are so overwhelming I can’t make sense of them.
They’re beautiful but chaotic. Like all the perfect notes of a symphony but with discordant undertones that keep it from its pureness.
And those feelings have also given rise to the intense anger that consumes me now.
“I want to meet him,” Donny says once again.
“All right,” Dad says.
“And just so you know, he’ll never be my real dad.” Donny smiles.
“I know that.” Dad returns his smile. “Trust me, I’m not in any way feeling displaced.”
“Good,” I say. “You’ll never be displaced.”
“Are you boys hungry?” he asks. “We can hit up one of Denver’s fine restaurants.”
“Starved,” Donny says.
I regard my brother. He just had news that cou
ld have upended his life, but he’s jovial as ever, starving as usual.
I worry about him sometimes. Though I took the brunt of abuse while we were in captivity, he still took a lot. Yes, we had the finest therapy money could buy once we came to the ranch, but I fear something remains in my brother that he doesn’t let anyone else see.
And I fear it could come out with a vengeance.
If it does, I’ll no longer be able to protect him.
Dad and I return to the ranch at noon the next day. We eat a quick lunch with Mom at the house.
“I had the pleasure of dining with Ashley last night,” Mom offers.
“Oh?” Dad says.
I say nothing. Of course she ate with Ashley last night. Ashley lives here, Dad and I were in Denver, so they ate together. I fail to see the point in my mother’s assertion.
“Yes,” she continues. “We went into town and ate at Lorenzo’s.”
“Lisa Lorenzo’s new place?” Dad says.
Mom nods.
Lisa Lorenzo is several years younger than I am. I remember her, as she hung out with Henry and Brad sometimes.
“We stopped at Murphy’s for a drink first,” Mom continues.
Dad nods. “How’s Sean?”
“We didn’t see him.”
“I suppose not, now that he’s retired.”
“He’s around sometimes, but last night Brendan was manning the bar.”
“How’s Brendan, then?”
“He’s good. Busy. He seemed quite taken with Ashley.”
The bite I just took of my sandwich lodges in my throat. I can’t respond. I wouldn’t anyway, but I physically can’t.
“That’s not surprising,” Dad says.
“Not at all,” Mom agrees. “She’s a lovely girl. Like a ray of sunshine around here.”
I take a drink of water and swallow hard, dislodging the ball of bread and meat from my throat.
A ray of sunshine.
Everything I’m not.
God, I have no business dragging her into my life, especially now that I’ve let loose the hell inside me.
Ironically, she was the catalyst.
Or rather, the feelings she brought out in me that I can’t control—those are the catalyst.
I like Brendan Murphy. He and I went to school together from fifth grade on. We weren’t best friends, but then I wasn’t best friends with anyone. He’s a good guy—smart, nice, hardworking.
And right now I want to fucking pummel his face into the ground. Punch his nose until an artery spurts blood.
“Both she and Brendan could do a lot worse,” Dad says. “Though I think Ashley should be focused on her internship.”
“I agree,” I say gruffly.
“What makes you think she’s not?” Mom queries.
“I didn’t say that,” Dad argues.
“She’s certainly entitled to a social life.”
Dad stiffens slightly. Only slightly, but I see it in his facial muscles. This bothers him, and I don’t have a clue why.
It bothers me too. A lot. But why should it bother Dad?
I wipe my lips with my napkin and rise. “I need to get back to work.”
“You left half your sandwich,” Mom says.
“Not that hungry.” No lie there. The thought of Ashley and Brendan Murphy effectively killed my appetite.
“Honey…” Mom begins.
“Let him go, blue eyes.”
Yeah, Dad gets me. He knows when I need to leave a situation.
He knows when I need to think, or when I need to be alone.
And now, more than ever, I want to know exactly how he knows.
I’ll figure it out. Somehow. But at the moment?
I’m going to find Ashley and do whatever I must to make sure she never sees Brendan Murphy again.
Chapter Nine
Ashley
Cutting clusters of ripe grapes from a vine is harder than I imagined it could be. I didn’t realize how sore I was from yesterday’s work until I began doing it again this morning. Now, having just finished lunch, I’m at it again, sweat dripping from my brow even though it’s not even seventy degrees outside.
Dale’s still in Denver. What would he think if he knew I’m having dinner with another guy tonight? Dinner and a bottle of Château Latour?
I wipe my forehead with the back of my leather-gloved hand.
He won’t care.
As much as it hurts, I have to face reality.
He won’t freaking care.
I hold the cluster of grapes gently in my hand and then cut the stem with my sharp pruning shears. Next, I lay the fruit gently in the trays sitting next to me.
Other harvesters work diligently—and a lot faster than I do. I’m all theory and no practice as far as this step in winemaking goes. Sure, I’ve had classes about what I’m doing, but I’ve never actually participated in the process until now.
I hold back a chuckle. Dale would be loving this. He’d expect much more from a doctor of wine.
Is he back from Denver yet? I have no idea. Jade told me at breakfast that she expected them back today, but she didn’t say when. Then she and I both went off to work, and I’ve heard nothing since.
Does Dale ever participate in the harvesting? He must. As far as he’s concerned, these vines are his.
Of course, these aren’t the Syrah vines. I’m cutting Cabernet Sauvignon grapes today. I remove another cluster from the vine and lay it gently alongside the others. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my forearm and begin again.
“Good work.”
I nearly jump out of my jeans. That gruff low voice. I know it better than I know my own. The dark-red color of it warms me and chills me simultaneously.
I turn and meet Dale’s green gaze. “Thank you. It’s more difficult than I imagined.”
“Some things you can’t learn from a book,” he counters.
I don’t reply. He’s right. I simply nod and turn back toward the vines.
“You’re done here,” he says.
I turn back to face him. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I need you for the tasting.”
“There’s no tasting today.”
“No, but tomorrow we’re doing the lunch and tasting, and I have to get you prepped.”
“Can’t we do that tomorrow morning?”
Dale draws in a breath and then exhales slowly. His nostrils flare slightly. Is he angry? Angry that I’m questioning him?
Finally, “No. We’ll do it now.”
“All right, then.” I set my cutting tool down, remove my gloves, and place them in the bucket with the others. Then I follow Dale out of the vineyards to his truck.
He opens the passenger door for me. “Get in.”
I smile more sweetly than I’m feeling. “Thank you.”
He starts the engine, and we drive for a few moments in silence.
Then I turn to him. “How was Denver?”
“Fine.”
“And your brother?”
“Also fine.”
“Your dad?”
“What is this? Some grand inquisition?”
“Just making conversation.”
“We’re all fine.”
But the tension in his jawline says otherwise. Talon and Donny may be fine, but Dale most certainly isn’t.
My instinct is to ask what’s wrong. Already, though, I know he won’t answer.
Don’t push.
I hear the words in Jade’s voice.
I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Three p.m. I’ll need to be done here by six to get back to the house, clean up, and then meet Brendan for our dinner at seven thirty.
I’m looking forward to it.
Not because I want anything to happen between Brendan and me. In fact, I want the opposite.
But damn, I’m yearning for some actual conversation. With Diana gone, the only person I have to talk to is Jade. I adore Jade, but she’s a generation older than I am and she works full-time in Snow Cr
eek so she’s not around a lot.
So yeah. I’m looking forward to good food, good wine, and good conversation. Nothing at all wrong with that.
Dale pulls into the winery parking lot. He turns to me, and his eyes soften.
“What?” I can’t help asking.
“You have a smudge of dirt on your nose.”
“I’ve been harvesting. I’d be surprised if I didn’t.”
“It’s…”
“For God’s sake. What?”
“It’s cute.” He pulls a red bandana out of his pocket and reaches toward me, gently erasing the smudge.
Yes, gently. His touch is so gentle, and I warm instantly.
“If it’s so cute, why did you remove it?”
He doesn’t reply. Simply folds the bandana and shoves it back into his pocket. Then he leaves the truck and walks to the passenger side, where he opens the door for me. I get out and follow him into the building to the tasting room.
“So what do I need to know for tomorrow?”
He clears his throat. “We serve lunch in here. My cousin Ava caters it. Have you met her?”
“Briefly, at the pool party before Dee left.”
“She’ll deliver the food by eleven thirty, and lunch is at noon.”
“Do you want me to set up or something?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “We have people to do that.”
“Okay. What should I do, then?”
“You need to be here during lunch to answer questions from the tasters. Of course, we’ll provide lunch for you as well.”
“Won’t you be here?”
“Yes. So will Uncle Ryan.”
“I’m sure the tasters will direct their questions to the two of you,” I say.
“They may, but I’ll be deferring to you.”
My eyebrows shoot upward. “You will?”
“You’re a doctor of wine, after all.”
Is he being sarcastic? I honestly can’t tell at this point. He liked what I did at my first tasting.
I say once more, “Not yet. I only have my master’s in wine.”
“Good enough. Neither Uncle Ryan nor I possess a master’s or doctorate of wine, so you’re ahead of us. You’re the expert.”
