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No Aunt Mel tonight, though. No time. I’m expected for dinner in—I check my watch—a half hour. Time to walk over.
My rescue dog, Penny—black all over except for cookies-and-cream paws—follows at my heels.
“Gotta go, girl.” I pet her soft head. “Back in a few hours.”
I leave out the back door and head up the path to the main house.
I breathe deeply.
Nothing like fresh air to heal what ails you.
I like having my own place but still being close to my parents. They saved Donny and me twenty-five years ago. If not for them and the help they got us, I have no idea what might have become of us.
Even considering my past, I never forget how lucky I am.
I don’t dwell on it. I don’t let it rule me.
Still, I stumble occasionally, when the dark part of me that I’ve buried creeps to the surface. It happens less and less.
And I won’t let it happen tonight.
I reach the back door of the main house and walk up the stairs of the large redwood deck and through the French doors leading into the airy country kitchen.
“Hey, Darla,” I say to the cook.
“Hi, Mr. Dale.” She looks up briefly from the stove and meets my gaze.
I head down the small staircase to the family room and find my father at the bar. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, son. Join me in a Peach Street?”
“You know the answer to that one.”
I’m not a big drinker of anything other than wine, but I love Peach Street bourbon, which is made right here on the western slope. It’s my dad’s favorite.
He pours us each a double.
“Is Dee home yet?”
“She and her friend arrived about a half hour ago. They wanted to freshen up after the long drive.”
“I’ll have one of those.” My youngest sister, Brianna, walks down the stairs to join us.
“Barely twenty-one, and she loves the stuff.” My father smiles.
Brianna gives me a quick hug. “Hey, bro. How’re you doing?”
“Good. Same as yesterday.” I squeeze her back.
I’m not a hugger, but I have a soft spot for my sisters. Diana was born shortly after Donny and I came to Steel Ranch, and Brianna four years later. Both adorable and energetic, they helped me see something beautiful in the world when I needed to most.
Both of my sisters favor my father—tall, with dark hair and eyes—but Brianna more so. She’s a miniature Talon Steel in female form. Watching them drink Peach Street bourbon together always makes me smile. Diana can’t stand the stuff.
“Ready to go back to school?” I ask.
“I suppose so. I already feel senioritis setting in.”
“You made it a lot further than I did.”
“You can still go back, Dale.” She takes a sip of her drink.
“Not my thing.”
“Leave your brother alone,” Dad says. “He’s learned more from Uncle Ry than he’d ever learn in a college classroom.”
Indeed. The vines were my teachers, and Ryan my advisor. I didn’t need some stupid degree to show the world I knew everything about the wine business and winemaking.
“At least I’m only in Grand Junction,” Bree says. “Why did Donny have to go all the way to Denver?”
“Denver’s hardly far, baby girl,” Dad says. “And that’s where all the big firms are.”
“I know.” Bree pushes out her lower lip. “I miss him.”
“We all do,” Dad agrees.
I do, most of all. Donny was my only companion during those months of horror. Other than Dad, he’s the closest to me.
“Speaking of college, though,” Bree continues, “this friend of Dee’s is getting a doctorate in wine. I never knew there was such a thing.”
“It’s called oenology,” I say.
“I know that,” she snaps. “I just didn’t realize there were doctors of wine.”
“You can be a doctor in just about anything,” Dad says. “Mom and Donny are doctors of jurisprudence.”
“I know that,” she snaps again. “The two of you give me credit for being so stupid.”
Dad laughs. “Baby girl, if there’s one thing you’re not, it’s stupid. We’re just teasing you. You’re the one who didn’t think a person could get a doctorate in wine.”
“I just meant…” She huffs. “Oh, never mind.”
I laugh a little myself. Bree never stays upset for long. She’s always quick to take offense but also quick to get over it.
“I actually agree with you, Sis,” I say. “I learned more from Uncle Ry than anyone could have taught from any textbook.”
“You sound a little skeptical,” Dad says.
“Honestly? I am. Uncle Ry says I’m supposed to train this woman. Train her? If she’s nearly a”—air quotes—“doctor in wine, shouldn’t she be training me?” I roll my eyes.
“You’re the best,” Bree says, taking another sip of her bourbon. “Everyone says so, especially Uncle Ry.”
“My point exactly,” I say. “I got where I am without a doctorate in anything.” Other than hard knocks, but that’s another story.
“You have a lot of natural talent in the area,” Dad says, “plus you had your uncle guiding you. Not everyone has an uncle who’s a master winemaker.”
