Cherished

by HELEN HARDT

“I can’t disagree,” I say. “I may be studying to be a sommelier, but I live pretty frugally back home in LA. Burgers are sometimes a luxury.”

  “Oh?”

  Crap. I’ve just opened the door into my life in Cali, including my childhood. Something I didn’t mean to do.

  I choose to laugh it off. “Oh, you know. I’ve been a starving student for nearly eight years now.”

  “I get it. When I first moved out of my parents’ house, I ate my share of ramen.”

  “Haven’t you always had a job here?” I ask.

  “Of course, but this is a small town. Tending bar isn’t exactly lucrative, and I didn’t do it full-time while my father was in charge. He and my mom couldn’t afford college, so I was on my own, and with student loan payments and all… You know the drill.”

  Indeed I do. Except for the loan payments. Because my mother and I had basically nothing, I got most of my college paid for by grants, and I received full scholarships for all my grad school. I don’t want to invite any more inquiries about my past, though, so I simply nod.

  Brendan puts the hamburgers on a platter and sets them on his small table, where the Latour already sits.

  I gesture to it. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  I pick up the bottle. The label is understated, with the red logo showing a lion atop a castle and the lettering in a slightly ornate serif font. “Where did you get this?” I ask.

  “I appropriated it from a case my dad got about ten years ago.”

  “You appropriated it?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “But then Dad said I could have it.”

  The mention of Brendan’s dad triggers a memory. “Jade told me that your dad had an uncle who died here in Snow Creek.”

  “Yeah. At a wedding, of all things.”

  I lift my brows. “A wedding?”

  He nods. “A wedding at Steel Acres, actually.”

  My heart plummets to my stomach. When Jade spoke of her beginnings with Talon, she kept mum about certain things.

  What kind of secrets is she keeping?

  “At the ranch?”

  “Yeah. The wedding of Talon’s dad, Brad Steel.”

  “Brad Steel. The name is familiar. Oh, yeah. One of Dale’s cousins is named Brad.”

  He nods again. “Joe’s kid. Named after his grandpa, I guess.”

  “So what happened at the grandfather’s wedding?”

  “Man, that was long before my time, and no one talks about it anymore, but basically my great-uncle was Brad Steel’s best man. The way I hear it, he passed out while giving his toast, and he never woke back up.”

  Icicles grab at the back of my neck. “What happened? I mean, how did it happen?”

  “No one knows. For a while, there were rumors of a drug overdose or poisoning. Like I said, this happened over sixty years ago.”

  “Surely there are records.”

  “Weirdly enough, there aren’t. I only know what’s been passed down by my family.”

  “How old was your uncle?”

  “Great-uncle. He was young. Twenty-two or twenty-three.”

  Acid churns in my gut. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah. I always wondered why my dad wanted to come here.”

  “Why did he?”

  “He was trying to figure out what happened. He hit dead end after dead end, but he loved this place, so he stayed and opened up the bar.”

  “Did he even know his uncle?”

  “That’s just it. He didn’t. But he was named after him, so I guess he felt close to the situation or something.”

  I nod. “I guess I get it.”

  “Then you’re ahead of me. I don’t get it at all. But I love Snow Creek. My mom’s a local. They met when Dad first got here, so she probably had a hand in why he stayed as well.”

  “It is a charming little town.”

  “It’s home.”

  I nod once more. I could easily hang my hat here.

  But I won’t.

  I’ll see my internship to its end, but after that, I need to leave.

  I need to get away from Dale Steel.

  And then a lightbulb shines above me. Brendan and Dale went to school together. They’re the same age. Maybe Brendan has some insight.

  I clear my throat. “Jade tells me you and Dale went to school together.”

  “We did.”

  “So…are you friends?”

  He pauses a moment, wrinkling his forehead. “That’s an interesting question.”

  “It’s a yes or no question,” I counter.

  “For most people, yeah, it is. For Dale?” He sighs. “It’s kind of hard to answer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure Dale has friends.”

  “What do you mean by that? Is he not friendly?”

  “No, he’s perfectly friendly. He’s a good guy. He’s just… I’m not sure I can describe it. We hung out sometimes. We had fun. But something doesn’t quite fit. It’s like he’s got a shield around him or something.”

  “He doesn’t let people in,” I say, more to myself than to Brendan.

  “Yeah. That’s it. And we were in high school, you know? And we were guys. It wasn’t like we had slumber parties and pillow fights.”

  “I hate to rain on your parade, but not all high school girls have slumber parties and pillow fights. I think I went to one slumber party in my life, and I’ve never been in a pillow fight.”

  He gasps in mock surprise. “Say it’s not so!”

  I can’t help a giggle. “Some high school girls are very social, but so are some high school guys. But I get what you mean. It’s different.”

  “Yeah. Snow Creek is hardly a thriving metropolis, so the guys in our class were all friends. Everyone liked Dale, and he liked everyone else as far as I know. But there was something different about him.”

  “He’s closed off,” I say.

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  “I know. I’ve been working with him since I got here.” And sleeping with him…

  “So you’ve experienced it.”

  “Yeah, which is weird, because his brother doesn’t seem that way at all. Of course I’ve hardly said two words to him. He was here for one day before Diana left for Denver.”

  Brendan nods. “Donny’s definitely different.”

  “I wonder why he still goes by Donny.”

  “His real name is Donovan. It’s what he prefers, I guess.”

  “Do you remember when Dale and Donny came to the ranch?”

  “Yeah. They were both quiet at first. We were still in elementary school. Donny opened up pretty quickly.”

  “But not Dale.”

  “Right. Not Dale.”

  I can’t imagine Dale ever opening up to anyone, so what Brendan says next surprises me.

  “He and Donny went through a lot of therapy, or so I heard.”

  Therapy requires a lot of opening up. “Why would they need therapy?”

  He shakes his head. “Beats me. Maybe they came from an abusive home or something. I mean, why else would two brothers be adopted when they were ten and seven? They were probably in the social services system, and Talon and Jade adopted them from there.”

  Why? Good question. From what I’ve learned, the Steels are generous people, but taking on two young boys who probably came from less than optimal circumstances… But did they? Dale himself told me he never went hungry.

  Of course, not going hungry and being abused aren’t mutually exclusive.

  An ache squeezes at my heart. I can’t bear the thought of Dale enduring any kind of abusive situation.

  “What happened to their parents?” I ask.

  “No one really knows. The Steels kept the whole thing pretty quiet. I probably shouldn’t say this…”

  “Say what?”

  “I like the Steels. They’re great. They do a ton for this town, and they support all the local businesses. And I like Dale and Donny. But public records have a way of disappearin
g sometimes, if you get my drift.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “You’re not the first person to wonder about Dale and Donny’s past. Most people in town have at one time or another. But there’s nothing out there. Nothing.”

  “Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.”

  “It’s not like anyone’s hired a PI or anything. It’s not our business, and most of us can’t afford it anyway. But people wonder, you know?”

  I nod. I know. I’m probably more curious than anyone in Snow Creek, because I’m in love with one of them.

  “Then with Jade being the city attorney, and all,” Brendan continues. “She has access to all local and state records. Probably even federal records.”

  “That doesn’t mean she can make them disappear.”

  “No, but the Steels can pay for just about anything they want. If they want something—or someone—to disappear, they can make it happen.”

  Shivers crawl across my back. “Someone? Are you kidding me? They could make someone disappear?”

  Brendan twists his lips. “I can see you bring out things in me that I don’t normally talk about. We haven’t even started the wine yet.”

  I smile coyly. “By all means, let’s taste it. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dale

  Dad shakes me this time, gripping my shoulders. “Dale! What the hell is going on? Open your fucking eyes!”

  I hesitate, but only for a split second.

  This is my dad. The man who rescued me. The man who loves me and whom I love.

  My eyelids flutter open. He’s blurry at first—dark hair, flesh, and the pinkness of his cheek and eye.

  He’ll have a black eye tomorrow. A black eye that I gave him.

  “What is it, son?”

  Son.

  The word cascades over me. I’m still his son. I just punched him, and I’m still his son.

  “Dale! For God’s sake, talk to me.”

  I part my trembling lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Never mind about that,” he says. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

  “You’re…”

  “What? Answer me!”

  “You’re concerned about what I need?”

  “Of course I am. You’re my son.”

  My son. Not for long. Not when he discovers who I truly am.

  “But I just…”

  “You sure as hell did. Where’d you learn to punch like that?”

  Dad taught Donny and me how to fight. The father and son talk about how to turn the other cheek whenever possible but to defend yourself if you have to.

  I gave him a martial arts punch, though. Something I learned on my own.

  “An…app,” I say. True story.

  “It’s a damned good app.” He loosens his hold on me. “I’m going to get up now. And then you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

  I inhale and hold the air in my lungs for several seconds before I let it out slowly.

  I need to regain control. Difficult, now that my emotions—which I’ve held captive inside me for so long—are running rampant, as if they’re whooshing through my veins along with my blood.

  I know my father. He won’t leave me until he’s convinced he knows what’s going on and that I’m okay.

  Which means I need to focus.

  Focus, so I can pretend.

  I’m not a good actor. I never have been. But I’ve never had to be, as long as the feelings stayed buried deep inside my soul.

  I inhale and exhale several more times.

  “You okay?” Dad asks.

  I nod.

  It’s a lie, but I nod.

  “Good. We’re going to go upstairs and sit down. Then you’re going to tell me what the hell just happened here.”

  I nod again.

  Another lie. But at least I have a few minutes to compose a viable story.

  I rise, wearing only my jeans and boots. I follow my father up the basement stairs, through the hallway, and into the kitchen.

  “Drink?” he asks.

  “Sure.” It’ll give me more time.

  He heads to the bar in the adjacent room and returns a few minutes later with two bourbons. He sits down at the kitchen table and gestures me to sit next to him. I plunk down in the chair, and he slides a lowball glass of amber liquid toward me.

  “Drink,” he says.

  Reluctantly, I pick up the glass and watch the bourbon swirl.

  What sounds does this color conjure up in Ashley’s mind? I bring the glass to my lips and take a small sip, letting it sit on my tongue for a moment as if I’m tasting wine.

  So different from wine, yet no less alluring. This, my father’s favorite bourbon, is smooth as silk and smoky as a forest fire.

  Delicious all around.

  I swallow. It doesn’t burn. It simply melts my throat with its heat.

  Finally, I meet my father’s gaze. I haven’t come up with an alibi, so I’m going to have to go with my gut. He’ll ask me something, and I’ll answer.

  Dad takes a drink and sets his glass down. “I’m ready.”

  “For what?”

  “For your explanation of why you did this.” He points to his cheek and eye.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are. What I want to know is what precipitated it.”

  “I was working out.” I pick up my glass. “I guess I lost control. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s twice now. You don’t have to say you’re sorry again. What’s going on, Dale?”

  A loaded question if ever one existed.

  A loaded question my father doesn’t actually want the answer to.

  “I haven’t worked out in a while. I decided to today, and I lost control.”

  “That was more than losing control. You weren’t punching and kicking that bag. You were punching and kicking a person.”

  I say nothing. I can’t deny his words, so I don’t even try.

  So much for pretending.

  “I understand,” he says.

  Does he? Does he really?

  I shake my head. “You can’t.”

  He stays silent for a moment. A moment that seems like an hour or two while I wait for the Talon Steel wisdom to cross his lips.

  My father always has wisdom on occasions like these.

  “As a matter of fact,” he finally says, “I can.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ashley

  Brendan hands me the bottle of Latour. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  I smile. “That’s kind of you, but being an almost doctor of wine doesn’t give me any special way of uncorking. As a bartender, you probably do it more often than I do. At least for now. When I’m a sommelier, I’ll do it a lot.”

  “Fair enough.” He uncorks the Latour with an expert hand and then pours it into a glass carafe. “Let’s give it a few minutes.”

  “Good call. Grand crus need their breathing time.”

  Though I’m anxious to taste the wine. Because it’s an excellent cru and vintage, of course, but also because it may loosen Brendan’s tongue even more.

  My curiosity is warranted, as I’m in love with Dale. But I’m also being nosy for the sake of being nosy, like when I walked into Dale’s unlocked home.

  I should know better.

  The chance to find out details the Steels won’t tell me has fallen into my lap, though. Details that may help me understand the man I love better. I can’t walk away from this chance.

  “Help yourself to a burger,” he says, “before they get cold.”

  I smile and load my plate.

  “Those buns are from Ava Steel’s bakery,” Brendan says. “She makes the best bread I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Oh?” I squirt ketchup on top of my burger. “I’ve only met her briefly.”

  “She’s awesome. Really down-to-earth. If you met her and didn’t know who she was, you’d never guess she was a S
teel.”

  “Really? I think the Steels are pretty down-to-earth.”

  “They’re nice folks,” he says. “But I wouldn’t call them down-to-earth. They live in the lap of luxury.”

  I let out a laugh. “Well, that’s true enough.”

  “Ava doesn’t, though. She lives above her bakery, in a place kind of like this. She lives off the money she makes herself.”

  “That’s pretty cool,” I say.

  “It is. She’s amazing.” He smiles slightly.

  “Methinks you might have a little crush on Ms. Ava Steel.”

  “Oh? No, not really. She’s way too young for me.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  I burst into laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m only twenty-five!” Then I stop myself. Maybe Brendan doesn’t think this is a date. To him, it may be a couple of people who appreciate wine sharing a nice bottle.

  “Are you?”

  “If you tell me I look older, I’m walking right out that door.”

  “Of course not. You look amazing. I guess I just thought, with your knowledge of wine and all…”

  “That I must be ancient?”

  “No.” His cheeks turn ruddy. “I’m not scoring a lot of points here, am I?”

  I give him a good-natured punch in the arm. “I went straight through college to get my masters and now my doctorate.” I deliberately ignore his “scoring points” comment because scoring points with me is impossible. I’m in love with another man.

  Somehow we’ve gotten off the subject of the Steels, which is what I want to be talking about.

  “The Latour is probably ready now.” I reach for the bottle.

  “Yeah. You do the tasting honors.”

  “Happy to.” I pour myself a small portion of the dark-red liquid. “Beautiful color. Deep red with a tinge of brownish orange. Like any good aged Bordeaux.”

  So far from the color of Dale’s voice, though. Syrah is much different.

  “A lot of the vines in Pauillac are over a hundred years old.” I swirl the wine around in the glass, watching the wavy shapes it forms against the crystal. “They also use biodynamic farming, just like the Steels do.”

  “Do they? I didn’t know that.”

  I continue swirling the wine, releasing its bouquet. “Yeah. Biodynamic farming tends to make the wine a purer reflection of the terroir.”