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“My brother Joe handles the beef ranch,” Talon says. “He takes a lot of pride in his work. I hope you enjoy your first taste of Steel beef.”
I smile. “I’m sure I will.”
After everyone takes a steak, Darla passes around potatoes, veggies, and fruit salad. I take modest portions of each, even though I’m starving. I don’t want to be rude.
Brianna takes nearly as much as Dale and Talon. The girl can eat! Diana takes less than I do. She worries constantly about her weight, even though she’s drop-dead gorgeous and I don’t see an ounce of fat anywhere on her.
I wait until the others start, and then I cut a piece of filet. The inside is red and juicy. Here goes nothing. I spear it with my fork and bring it to my mouth.
I chew.
While all eyes stare at me.
Juicy and flavorful, but no sounds. It’s just meat, after all. I find myself wishing for trumpets or something—anything to focus on other than the ten eyes trained on me.
“Well…?” Diana finally says.
“Delicious, of course.”
I’m not lying. It’s as good a steak as I’ve ever tasted. But it’s still just a steak. I’m from the California coast. Seafood is my jam.
Looking around at the five other people at the table, I can see that they’re beef-fed. Big, strong, and good-looking.
Definitely beef-fed.
I’d better get used to eating a lot of red meat for the next three months. I take another bite and then rub my arms against the chill in the air.
“Cold?” Jade asks me.
“A little.”
“How can you be cold?” Brianna asks. “This is a gorgeous Indian summer evening.”
“California’s a different kind of warm, Bree,” Diana says. “Ashley will get out her down-filled parka when it goes below sixty-five.”
They all laugh—everyone except Dale. He stays stoic, eating his meal quietly.
I filter out the sound colors easily as conversation hums around me. I eat my food, joining in when someone asks me something directly or brings me into the discussion.
Dale, though? Quiet. All quiet. It’s almost as if he knows what his voice does to me and he’s purposely not speaking.
But he couldn’t know.
Though I did tell him that sounds have colors for me. But not all colorful sounds affect me the way Dale Steel’s rich, low voice does. It’s a husky timbre, and oh, that dark-red hue.
Abruptly, Dale pushes his chair outward and rises. “Thanks for dinner, Mom, Dad. I need to get to the vineyards. It’s a crucial time.”
“It’ll be dark soon,” his mom says.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dale says. “I have to check the grapes several times a day during this season.”
I stand quickly, speaking before I think the words through. “Take me with you.”
He doesn’t meet my gaze. In fact, he looks past me. “This is something I like to do alone.”
Silence.
No one tells Dale to let me go along. They seem to know this is his thing.
Still, I’m here to learn.
“Please,” I say. “I won’t be any trouble.”
Finally, he looks at me with those clear green eyes and their jingling bells. “Get a sweater, then. If you’re cold here on the deck, you’ll be freezing out in the vineyards.”
Point taken. “Thank you for dinner,” I say to Talon and Jade.
“Our pleasure,” Jade says, and then she eyes Dale.
A look passes between them, one I can’t decipher. It’s more on Jade’s end than Dale’s, but he responds. Only slightly, but he does. His eyes narrow just a touch, and if I weren’t staring at him all evening, getting to know his facial expressions, I may not have noticed.
The relationship between them seems…awkward. Actually, Dale’s relationships with everyone at this table seem awkward.
Or do they? Maybe he’s just the strong and silent type. After all, he hugged Diana, and he seems to get along well with his father.
Spending the next three months in his presence, I’ll no doubt learn a lot about the enigmatic Dale Steel.
But I have the distinct impression that no one knows the real Dale.
No one.
Until now.
I’ll get to know the real Dale. Somehow.
Chapter Six
Dale
See, this is why my mom and I never got close. She always wants me to be someone I’m not. Not in a bad way, really. She’s a great mom, and she loves me. I know that as well as I know the vineyards on the slope.
She just doesn’t get me, not in the way my dad does. She doesn’t have that issue with Donny, Diana, or Brianna. Just me.
For a long time, I thought it was my fault, but Aunt Mel assured me time and again it wasn’t. We can love each other as mother and son. We can take a bullet for the other—and I definitely would take a bullet for her—but sometimes that nurturing closeness just isn’t meant to be, and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.
The look she gave me meant she was concerned I was going to do something that would bother Ashley. Why would it bother her that I told her to get a sweater?
