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Our connection is severed, in some strange way.
Because Dale has something on his mind. Something he won’t share with me.
Something I hope to uncover on my own.
I sit across from Ryan in the tasting room, where we nosh on a lunch provided by some of the staff. Steel beef, of course, on pumpernickel with kalamata olive pesto and a salad of heirloom tomatoes and baby greens. Steel peach cobbler for dessert.
“I’m going to take you out to the slopes this afternoon. Harvest is beginning.”
“Without Dale?”
“Grapes don’t stop growing just because Dale has personal business to attend to.”
“Do you know what’s going on?” I ask. “With Dale, I mean.”
He pauses a moment before replying. “My brother and his sons have to take care of some stuff. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry.”
That’s all I can say.
Dale used those same words.
“It’s okay. But I’m concerned. Is Dale okay?”
“Of course. He’s fine. As are Talon and Donny. Just a few things that need tending.”
“But he’ll hate missing the harvest.”
“Dale’s seen dozens of harvests, Ashley. And he’ll be back long before it’s done. No need to worry.”
I nod. Ryan’s right. But I do worry. Dale is so… I want to say distant, but that’s not quite right. Because though he is distant, he’s also not. We’ve been as close as two people can be.
He was all in during our lovemaking. All in.
We both were.
Leaving the vines right now to go to Denver must be killing Dale. I want more than anything to take away whatever pain he’s bearing inside.
I know it’s there. I just don’t know what it is.
“We’ve been monitoring the growth and the weather reports daily,” Ryan continues. “It’s time to begin. The hand harvesters started this morning.”
“Hand harvesters?”
“We’re still a relatively small operation. Harvesting by hand is best, though we do use machine harvesting after the grapes for our flagship wines are picked.” He smiles. “Want to tell me why we use hand harvesting when machines are cheaper?”
“Of course. Harvesters only pick perfectly ripened and healthy bunches, and they’re also able to handle them gently to prohibit bruising of the fruit. Damaged fruit can lead to oxidation.”
“Good.”
“Did you know that in Champagne, hand harvesting is required?” I ask.
“Is it?” He winks.
He’s giving me a chance to show off my knowledge, and I decide to take him up on it. Why not? Dale may not be impressed with my education, but Ryan is. Or at least he’s doing a good job pretending.
“It is, by law,” I continue. “One day I’d love to visit the region and take part in the harvest. They need over a hundred thousand pickers each season.”
“You’d really like to take part?” he asks.
“Does that surprise you?”
“Somewhat. I understood you to be most interested in tasting and sales, not in production.”
“I am. But what wine scholar wouldn’t want to experience harvest time in Champagne? Or Bordeaux or Bourgogne, for that matter. Or the northern Rhône. Or southern. Heck, anywhere in France. Or Italy.”
“You haven’t had the pleasure?”
“No. Not yet.” Not really on the radar for someone who grew up homeless and relies on scholarships for her education.
“Would you believe I’ve never been to France either?”
I stop my jaw from dropping to the floor. “You haven’t?”
He shakes his head. “Never felt the need. I’ve been a few places. Jamaica, for one. Key West. The US and British Virgin Islands.”
“You like tropical places.”
He laughs. “True enough.”
“Why not travel more, though? I mean…you have the means.”
“We do. But we Steels are homebodies, for the most part. There’s no more beautiful place on the planet than the Colorado western slope.”
“I’ve always been partial to the coast,” I say, “but this is a beautiful place.”
“My brother Joe would move to the coast in a minute if he could,” Ryan says. “I swear that man is part fish.”
“Brock’s father?”
“Yeah. Brock got his love of the water and his swimming talent from Joe. But Joe also loves ranching. He loves working with the animals. Plus he’s a born businessman. He and Bryce—he’s married to Marjorie—handle all the finances and investments for us. The two of them have been best friends since we were kids, and I swear, together they’re unstoppable.”
“Brock said he works with his dad.”
“Yeah, definitely. Brock is Joe’s mini-me. His older brother, Bradley, is much more like their mother, Melanie.”
“Brock told me his brother runs the Steel Foundation.”
“He does. Well, he and Henry—he’s Bryce and Marj’s oldest—run it together.”
“What does the foundation do?”
“Mostly fundraising. Our two biggest projects are mental health research and child trafficking rescue.”
I widen my eyes. “Interesting. Why those two?”
“Our mother, Daphne Steel, suffered from mental illness her whole life. It’s an homage to her.” He looks down at his plate. “As for the other, it’s just something we as a family feel strongly about.”
“Two very worthy causes.” I take a sip of my water.
