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Lately he’d been doing a lot of work at the kitchen table.
“You need a refill of mulch?” Fraser asked.
“Sure.” Garrett picked up the wheelbarrow and trolleyed it to Fraser’s wagon. From here, the house beckoned, warm and friendly, and he imagined the smell of bacon frying, maybe one of Jenny’s egg casseroles, some fresh muffins.
She’d been pampering all her kids lately, what with the full house, and he didn’t mind a bit. Although, she had seemed particularly tired, going to bed early.
Getting up early, too, with her Bible open. Clearly worried, probably about Iris.
Both of them, for that matter.
Fraser scooped mulch into the wheelbarrow. “Hear from Iris since you’ve been back?”
“No. But Ned’s there, so…”
“Iris can take care of herself, you know, Dad. She’s tough.”
“I know.” He took off his cap, ran a hand across his brow. “But she’s my only daughter, so I’m allowed to worry a little.” A lot.
Fraser reached for the water bottle on the four-wheeler and handed it to him. “I remember when she tried to go out for football.”
He uncapped the bottle. “She would have, if the rules hadn’t been stacked against her.”
“And gotten flattened on the first snap.”
Garrett wiped his mouth. “Maybe. But she was fast. Could have been a back, maybe. And she was used to playing with you guys. And you weren’t easy on her.”
Fraser made a face and took the bottle. “Maybe we should have been. She’s a little hard on herself. Doesn’t take help easily.” He took a drink.
“Please tell me one of you boys who does.”
Fraser wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Ouch.”
“You get that from your mom.” He winked.
Fraser laughed. “Sure we do.” He climbed back on the four-wheeler and gunned it.
Garrett went back to the bedding of the vines, working down the row, then the next. His stomach was roaring by the time he finished his supply, dropping it on the last root.
Jonas was already wheeling his wheelbarrow down the alley between crops. “Sibba called and I missed it. I’m heading in to call her back.” He tapped his phone, seated in his canvas jacket pocket.
“Is she headed back to Slovenia?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know. She’d like to stay in America, just to stay closer to her to grandfather.”
“Just her grandfather?” His dad smiled.
“Okay, yeah, we need more time together too. I’m not quite ready to propose yet. Fraser and I were chatting about maybe seeing if Ham’s security team at Jones, Inc. could use her. Or maybe the Caleb Group, the outfit Logan Thorne runs.”
“What you’d like is for her to change professions.”
A sigh from his second-oldest son. “I can’t ask her to do that. I love her despite her daily job. But yes, in my wildest dreams, she finds something else just as important but way less dangerous. Just don’t know what that is.”
“So you’re going to stop chasing storms for her?”
Jonas pointed a finger at him. “Always have to ask the hard stuff, don’t ya.”
Garrett laughed. “You’ll figure it out, son.” He clamped him on the shoulder, squeezed, then dropped his shovel into the wheelbarrow and followed him to the supply barn. They ran their main winery operation out of the refurbished red barn that once held the tractors and equipment. Now it held French and American oak barrels, fermenters, racking tanks, hoses, a forklift, and most of all, wine.
