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Harrison chuckled.
Rowan chewed her thumbnail. “I took a semester of plant pathology. It’s a virus. I remember this one especially, because I thought the red leaves were lovely.” She looked around the table. “But red leaves are rarely something you want to see in a vineyard. Usually means nutrient deficiency or disease.”
Nathan Brady typed on his laptop.
She continued. “Cluster size will be stunted, grapes won’t ever get as sweet. It’s just luck that it hasn’t spread more than it already has.”
More typing from Nathan, preparing notes for interviews with other candidates. Everyone else leaned in, listening to her.
Seeingher.
Rowan felt suddenly, viscerally jealous. She looked around the table, wanting to be a part of what the Bradys had here. Even tangentially. Even temporarily.
In that moment, shewasa part of it, and it felt good.
While Nathan’s fingers flew over the keys, she blurted, “Ican’t sign a contract. I need to be able to leave once I get a fellowship.”
Nathan’s hands lifted from the keyboard. He glanced over the edge of the laptop screen. “We’d work around that. When could you start?”
Harrison went unnaturally still in her peripheral vision.
Rowan raised a finger. “I have some other conditions, as well. One, I need enough time off to be able to work on my manuscript. And for interviews, whenever that might be.”
Nathan nodded. “Workable.”
“Also, you agree, in writing, to not tear down the greenhouse, and you let me restore it.”
“In writing? I thought you didn’t like contracts?” Nathan said.
Touché.
“This is different.” She sniffed and waved a hand. “Three, you need a small flock of sheep.”
“Sheep?” Gianna echoed.
Every eye was on her, and she was sweating, but she didn’t care. “Estate vineyards are working farms,” she said. “Healthy grape production is hugely dependent on managing the vineyard floor. Weed control, cover crops, mowing. All that can be minimized with a flock of sheep in the fall and winter. Targeted grazing in late summer. It’s better for the environment and ultimately, cheaper. They can be trained to return to a paddock even without a sheepdog. Just rattle a feed bucket.”
“That tends to work on William,” Gianna teased.
“Have you ever trained sheep?” Nathan asked.
“No. But I’d love to try.”
William thoughtfully scratched his chin. He had a divot there, like Harrison’s. “Could probably keep a small flock in the little barn up in the west pasture.”
“Also, you need a donkey,” Rowan interjected.
Duncan sat back and crossed his arms. “Plot twist.”
“We already have an ass.” Nathan glanced at Duncan, and Maren snorted.
Rowan swallowed before she made her final bid. The important one. The one she could use to convince herself that it made sense to do this.
“Last. You let me use my own research as the basis for cover cropping, rehabbing the grapes, vineyard maintenance. And you sign off on me writing about the work I do here, if I want to publish something someday.”
Gianna’s eyebrows climbed. She shared a brief look with William, who shrugged. Nathan clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, and Duncan wore a sly grin. Maren seemed proud. Harrison looked down at his hands in his lap, an unmistakable smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.
“Well, then.” Gianna slipped on her glasses. The crystal chain twinkled in the light of the chandelier. “What kind of sheep should we get?”
