Awakened

by HELEN HARDT

  But still, I keep a part of me locked away—that part that I don’t let myself dwell on. That part I can never share with anyone.

  Not even myself.

  “You must be Ashley.” Mom holds out her hand. “I’m Jade Steel. We’re so happy to have you.”

  My mother is fifty years old, but she doesn’t look a day over thirty-five. She’s always been gorgeous, but the woman seems to improve with age.

  “Hi, honey.” She kisses me on the cheek.

  I love my mother. I do. But we’re not close. Not like Dad and I are, and not like she and Donny are. He bonded with her as soon as we came here twenty-five years ago, but I took longer. I eventually became really close to Dad. Like I said, he understands me. But Mom? It just never clicked. Maybe because I have more memories of my natural mother than Donny does.

  It used to bother her. She even dragged me to a few therapy sessions with her to try to break through, but I held back. I’ve always held back with her. She eventually accepted it.

  She’s a great mom, and I’m lucky to have her.

  But I know she still wishes things were different between us. Maybe someday, but after twenty-five years, it’s not likely. Aunt Mel and I have talked about it a lot over the years. I’m closer to her than I am to my mother. As brilliant as Aunt Mel is, even she couldn’t fix the issues between Mom and me—and she fixed a lot of other problems I had. Well, she and I together. It was a damned lot of work, but well worth it.

  What neither of them ever understood is that it wasn’t Mom’s fault. I missed my natural mother so much during those early years, and I never let Jade take her place.

  Still, I kept a few things from Aunt Mel—those things buried too deep in my soul to ever let loose.

  “Now that you’re home,” Dad says to Mom, “let’s get out on the deck. I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” Brianna pipes in.

  Bree is always starving. She eats like a teenage boy and doesn’t gain an ounce. It bugs Diana, who watches her weight. Bree is tall and thin with the build of our grandmother, Brooke Bailey, who was a supermodel in her day. That helps, but the biggest part of Bree’s amazing metabolism is that she runs ten miles a day, rain or shine. Diana, on the other hand, hates exercise. She’d rather have her nose in a book.

  We head to the deck, where Darla has set up our dinner. Steel beef, as usual. Filets tonight, in honor of our guest. I like a filet as much as the next person, but I prefer a rib eye. It’s so much more flavorful.

  Somehow, I end up sitting next to Ashley.

  “You two should get acquainted,” Diana says, “since you’ll be working together.”

  My sister knows me. She knows I hate making small talk. Isn’t it enough that I have to spend the next three months with this woman? I’ll do my job. I’ll teach her everything I know about winemaking, but I have to be social on top of that?

  Ashley smiles.

  Pearly white teeth surrounded by natural pink lips. And that oh-so-California blond hair.

  She gestures to the bottle of wine in front of me that Darla has opened and left on the table. “Tell me about this wine.”

  I pick up the bottle and pour a tasting portion into her glass. “This is a simple table red. My uncle’s been making it for decades, but I made a few subtle changes.”

  She swirls the red liquid in her glass and then inhales. “Mmm. Berries and red fruit.”

  I nod. Elementary, really. Most basic red wines have aromas of berries and red fruit. Tell me something I don’t know, Doctor. “What else?” I ask. Let’s see what that fancy wine degree really taught you.

  She sniffs the wine again, closing her eyes. “Give me a minute. I have to filter out the sounds.”

  Huh? Last time I checked, wine doesn’t make a sound.

  “Ashley has synesthesia,” Diana pipes in.

  “What’s synesthesia?” I ask.

  Ashley opens her eyes. “It’s a neurological condition. My brain processes information with several senses at once.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “Meaning sounds have colors for me, and colors have sounds. Sometimes smells have sounds. Right now, the nose of this wine is playing a violin melody, so I need to ignore the sound and focus on the individual scents.”

  O…kay. Interesting that she chose a career that required her to smell and taste on the daily.

  “It’s the most fascinating thing,” Diana says.

  “I’ve heard of that,” Mom says. “Is it true the most common type is associating colors with letters and numbers?”

  Ashley nods. “Yeah. What I have is more uncommon. My letters and numbers don’t have colors, but sounds do. And smells do. My senses intermingle a lot.”

  “Interesting,” Mom says. “Does it run in your family?”

  “It’s often genetic,” Ashley says, “but not in my case. I’m the only one in my family that I know of.”

  “This is all really interesting,” I say, “but are you going to tell me what else you get on the nose?”

  Diana shoots daggers at me with her eyes. Yeah, I’m being rude. I’m not a rude person, but I can’t help the irritation at having this intern thrust on me. This wine is our basic table blend, to be enjoyed with pretty much everything. Still, I’ve worked hard to make it special, and I want to see if she can pick out the nuances.

  Ashley inhales again. “Red fruit… Pomegranate, yes. And goji berry.”

  I can’t help myself.

  I chuckle.

  Chapter Five

  Ashley

  He’s laughing.

  Freaking laughing.

  Okay, just a short husky chuckle, but oh my God, the sensation. That dark and lusty almost-black color of Syrah…

  It’s everywhere, invading and overtaking my senses so I can’t accurately process the fragrance of this wine.

  How am I supposed to answer his questions when his voice sends me into a tailspin?

  I try my best to filter out everything else and sniff the wine once more. No goji berry. What was I thinking? It’s cranberry. What a stupid rookie mistake.

  I open my eyes and meet Dale’s green gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s cranberry, not goji berry. And just a touch of smoky blackberry.”

  He nods, not cracking a smile. “Good. You’re right. Pomegranate and cranberry. The blackberry comes from a bit of Syrah I added to Uncle Ryan’s blend of Pinot Noir, Grenache, and Merlot.”

  “You blended Pinot Noir with Syrah?”

  “It’s a little unorthodox,” he says, “but I think it works. Don’t you?”

  “Yeah. At least in the aroma. I haven’t actually tasted it yet.”

  “Please.” He gestures.

  I sip the wine, letting it coat my tongue and the inside of my mouth. I swallow. “It’s fruit forward, which isn’t surprising for a blend meant as a table wine. But there’s something…” I raise my glass toward the bottle. “May I?”

  Dale pours me a full glass, and I take another sip.

  “It’s delicious,” I say. “It doesn’t require a lot of contemplation, which I assume is what you’re going for with a table wine, but it’s that bit of Syrah. That smoke and dark fruit on the finish. I’ve never tasted anything like it before in a blend.”

  Dale nods. “Syrah is my favorite grape.”

  I widen my eyes. It’s my favorite as well, but I don’t say so. “Diana says you make a Syrah.”

  “We do. This year’s crop looks amazing. We’re going to begin production on our first old-vine Syrah.”

  “And I get to be a part of that?” I nearly squeal. “I can’t wait!”

  Dale stays stoic. No reaction to my outburst, though Diana and Brianna both erupt into giggles. Even Talon and Jade smile.

  But not Dale. Would it kill him to smile at me?

  Apparently so.

  “I can’t wait until tomorrow,” I say. “I want to see the vineyards tonight.”

  Dale seems hesitant. Clearly he doesn’t want me here. Are the vineyards his domain? Maybe
so, but the Steels invited me here for an internship, and that internship should include learning about the vineyards themselves.

  “You can see the vineyards whenever you want, Ashley,” Talon says. “Ryan or one of his assistants will take you anytime.”

  Great. Except that I want the man next to me—the man whose voice is still the red-black liquid of Syrah inside my mind—to show me. Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?

  I turn to Dale. I want you to show me. Tonight.

  The words don’t make it past my lips, though. I’m not shy, by any means, and I’d have no problem saying such a thing to any other man in the universe.

  But Dale… Something stops me.

  He’s different. Different in a way I haven’t yet determined.

  “Filets are done,” Talon announces.

  Darla brings a platter to me. “You first, Miss Ashley. You’re the guest.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you.” I choose a steak and place it on my plate. The juices run red.

  “Rare,” Talon says. “The only way to eat a Steel filet.”

  Normally I’m a medium girl, but I’ll try anything once. Good thing I’m not a vegetarian. I doubt I’d make it here for long.

  “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?

  Except my mother knows I don’t want to take Ashley to the vineyards.

  She knows the vineyards are mine.

  I don’t mean mine in an ownership sense, though they’ll be mine someday. But still they’re mine. They’re the place I go to when I need to find peace, tranquility. It’s why I slept there when I was younger.

  It’s why I sleep there still.

  During the warm weather, I spend more nights in the vineyards than I do in the guesthouse. Sometimes even in the cold weather. I have a zero-degree sleeping bag and a one-man tent that I use when it’s truly too cold to sleep under the stars. It’s not the same, but sometimes I just need to be with my vines, even if I can’t see them from the tent. I know they’re near, keeping watch over me as I do over them.

  We understand each other.

  Seems like he’d rather be with those damned grapes than he would with me.

  My mother’s words that I overheard long ago, spoken to my father.

  Let him be who he is, blue eyes.

  But I want to help him.

  You are helping him, just by being you. By being his mother. By loving him.

  I do love him, Talon. I just wish he’d love me back.

  He does.

  Not the way he loves you.

  I could never explain this to anyone, most of all my mother, but I do love her as much as I love my father. As much as I love my brother and sisters. As much as I love Aunt Mel and Uncle Ry and everyone else here on the ranch.

  It’s just different, is all.

  She and I don’t mesh. I’ve made my peace with that, though I don’t think she ever will.


  Ashley returns with a light jacket. More than she needs, in my opinion, but she’ll still be cold out on the slope. Nothing I can do, though. Not until she gets used to non-California weather.

  “Ready?” she says to me.

  I nod.

  “Aren’t you going to get a jacket?”

  “Don’t need one.”

  “But once it gets dark—”

  “I don’t need one,” I repeat, my tone harsher than I mean for it to be.

  She regards me, her blue gaze holding much the same look I saw in my mother’s eyes.

  Have I offended her? I simply don’t need a jacket. I’m used to Colorado evenings in the fall. Harvest is my favorite time.

  “Let’s go.” I walk toward the guesthouse.

  “Wait. What? Where are we going?”

  “To my house. My truck is there.”

  “Oh. Right. Dee told me you live in the guesthouse.”

  We walk in silence after that, the laughter of my family fading in the distance. Once we reach the house, I unlock the door and usher her inside.

  Penny greets us with happy yips.

  Ashley drops to her knees and smothers her with pets to the head. “She’s adorable! What’s her name?”

  Ashley.

  On her knees.

  Something inside me jerks.

  I know what it is, but I’ve spent my life tamping it down. This time, though, I’m not sure I can.

  This woman—this blond California girl who’s so not my type—is on her knees.

  And I let the image invade my mind.

  Ashley on her knees. In front of me. Unzipping my jeans. Handling my hard cock. Licking its tip, and then—

  Fuck. My groin tightens. Just what I don’t need at the moment.

  Ashley looks up and meets my gaze. “Are you going to answer me?”

  Uh…what was the question?

  “What’s her name?” Ashley asks again.

  “Oh. Penny. Her name’s Penny.”

  “She’s gorgeous. What is she?”

  “She’s a dog.”

  Ashley rolls her eyes. “Unbelievable.”

  “What? You don’t believe she’s a dog?”

  She giggles. “I can’t believe you actually have a sense of humor.”