by HELEN HARDT
“Why aren’t we at the winery?” she asks.
“We’ll go there next, but this is first and foremost a business. This part of it is important.”
“Says the guy who sleeps with his vines.”
“I do my share here as well.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“That’s exactly how you meant it.”
She doesn’t try to contradict me. If I had it my way, I’d live in the vineyards and do all my work from there. She knows this. Already, she knows me. Which is disconcerting. How did she get in so quickly?
She only knows part of me, anyway. No one truly knows the real me. Not even my father, though he gets me better than anyone else ever has.
We walk into the building and take the elevator to the third floor. I take her past the first corner office. “This is Uncle Ryan’s. Mine’s on the next corner.”
“Corner office, huh? Nice.”
Is she being facetious? I can’t quite tell. Of course I have a corner office. I’m an heir to this ranch, and I’m the assistant winemaker, soon to take over as master winemaker.
I open the door to my office and gesture for her to precede me. No degrees on the walls. I don’t have any.
“Where are your awards?” she asks. “I know you’ve won some.”
“There isn’t room for all of them.”
Truth. I’ve won a ton.
She meets my gaze and opens her mouth, but no words come out. She doesn’t quite know how to respond.
“I don’t do this for the glory,” I say. “I do it for the love of the work. For the art. For the sake of the wine.”
“L’art pour l’art,” she says softly.
“What?”
“Sorry. It’s French. It translates to ‘art for art’s sake.’”
“That’s a nice philosophy. I share it, but I also know art has another purpose. In my case, producing wine that consumers love.”
“For money, yes,” she says.
“Of course for money. And the more awards I get, the better my wines sell. But as I said, I don’t do it for the glory.”
“Because you already have all the money in the world.”
I hold back a chuckle. How easy it is for someone outside our family to judge our motives. I’ve seen it again and again. “We’re very charitable with our money. The more we have, the more we can give away.”
“Still, you pretty much live like kings here.”
“We do. I stopped apologizing for that a long time ago.”
“I’m not asking you to apologize for it.”
“Yeah, you kind of are. Not one of us is a spoiled brat. We work our asses off, and we were raised to be grateful for our good fortune, to be generous with it. Part of good fortune, though, is to be able to live comfortably.”
She chuckles. “Comfortably? Or luxuriously?”
I shake my head. “If you’re gunning for an apology, I already told you that you won’t get one.”
“I’m only gunning for reality. This is beyond comfortable, and you know it.”
For some reason, this hits a nerve. She doesn’t know about my past. I get that. But damn, she’s being rude about our fortune—a fortune we’re sharing with her.
I stare straight into her burning blue eyes. “Why exactly did you come here, Doctor?”
She rolls her eyes, clearly irritated. “I’ve told you, time and again, I’m not yet a—”
“Semantics. Just answer the question. Why did you come here?”
“You know exactly why I came here. To learn. To experience. And for the credit.”
“I could accept those reasons,” I say. “In fact, I think you actually believe them.”
“Uh…yeah. That’s because they’re true.”
“You may be a California girl, but you’re also studying oenology, which means you’ve heard of Steel Vineyards.”
“So?”
“And you happened to meet my sister at a lecture given by my uncle. Nice, the way things work out, huh?”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense, and we both know it. You’re getting all uptight about how we live. So what? We’ve earned it. And I think you wanted to come here to see it for yourself. To live it for yourself.”
Her cheeks redden. Anger is brewing. Anger and indignance and a thunderstorm of emotion. What colors is she seeing?
“You’re nothing like Diana said.”
“I doubt my sister told you any untruths about me. That’s not her style.”
Ashley balls her hands into fists. “You infuriate me.”
“You’re always free to leave.”
“Maybe I will.”
Please don’t.
I don’t say the words, of course. They stay inside me, along with all the other things I want but can never have.
“If you had lived the life I have—”
I clench my teeth. “You know nothing about my life.”
She laughs. A sarcastic, demeaning laugh. “I know what I see. Someone smiled on you long ago.”
Black rage. Like a furious rhinoceros being taunted by a gazelle. I don’t want to be angry with Ashley, but she doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about. Sure, someone smiled on me. Brought Donny and me here to Steel Ranch. My father and Uncle Ryan rescued us twenty-five years ago from that compound of horror where we spent…how many months? I never really knew.
I don’t know now. Don’t want to know.
So yeah, I’ll give her an inch. We got a prize at the end. A lot of those kids didn’t.
But for those months of hell, we were anything but lucky.
“Have you ever gone to bed hungry?” she asks boldly.
How I want to answer. How I want to rub her face in the truth about me, so she’ll give up this dumbass game of who had the worst childhood. At home with my mother—my natural mother—the answer is no. Donny and I never went hungry. We ate a lot of hamburger and macaroni and cheese, but our little bellies were always filled.
For those months in the compound, though?
We were constantly hungry. Constantly thirsty. Constantly huddling for warmth. Our captors used all methods of torture to break us. Starvation. Beatings. Rape. Humiliation. Fear.
But I don’t talk about that time.
Not to anyone, and especially not to Ashley White.
Did Ashley go to bed hungry? Despite my anger, a spark of sorrow slides through me. Why would she be asking otherwise? I can’t bear the thought of anyone doing to her what was done to Donny and me.
I want to kill whoever hurt her.
Still, my emotional response to her is not enough to level with her. Some things are better kept inside.
“No,” I lie through my teeth. “I’ve never gone to bed hungry.”
Chapter Nineteen
Ashley
I’m so not surprised.
Of course Dale never went hungry. He’s a Steel. Maybe he wasn’t always a Steel, but for the better part of his life he’s been one, and Steels don’t go hungry.
Is there a bit of truth in his assertion? Did I come here to experience the lap of luxury?
Maybe I did. Once I met Diana…
But it was simple fate that I ended up next to her at the lecture. I didn’t seek her out. And it was also simple fate that we got along well, and that she offered to introduce me to her uncle. I didn’t make that request. She offered.
Of course…I was the one who brought up the internship idea.
But neither Dee nor her uncle seemed put out by it. They were pleased I was interested, even though they never had an intern before.
Crap.
Is there truth in Dale’s words?
Damn.
But so what if there is? My life hasn’t been wine and roses. It’s been damned hard at times, and if I jump at the chance to live on a gorgeous ranch to learn about the wine business, who can blame me?
The answer? Dale Steel.
Dale blames me. Though Dian
a and Ryan weren’t at all put out by my idea, Dale most certainly is.
He didn’t ask to be saddled with an intern, and so far, all he’s done is insult me.
Well…he did kiss me too. But clearly he regrets that little faux pas.
How I wish he didn’t. How I wish he’d kiss me again. But that won’t happen. Not ever. He’s made that perfectly clear.
“I have gone to bed hungry,” I say, “and it’s not pretty.”
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”
You should be.
I don’t say it. I’m not a brat, even though I’m acting like one. Dale seems to bring out the brat in me, and I don’t like how I wear it.
It’s not Dale’s fault that I went to bed hungry as a child. I spent years envying the little rich kids in California. The sons and daughters of celebrities who had everything in the world lavished upon them while I wished only for a belly full of food and a warm bed.
I thought I’d gotten over all that. I’m an adult now and responsible for my own life. I refuse to regress to petty jealousy.
“I’m sorry too,” I say.
“For what?”
“For being…” A brat? The word is correct, but I can’t bring myself to say it. “Insulting. I’m sorry.”
“No one should go to bed hungry. Or cold.”
I nod. “You’re right. No one should. But people do. Every day.”
“It may interest you to know that the Steel Foundation funds many food pantries and homeless shelters.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. My cousins Henry and Brad head up the foundation. Maybe you’d like to meet them.”
“I’m no philanthropist.”
He chuckles. God, that voice.
“Certainly not. Oenology is pretty far from philanthropy. You look down your nose at how we live here on the ranch, yet your chosen field is to sell high-end wine to consumers in fancy restaurants. You’re a contradiction.”
Anger coils in my belly. “I’m not looking down on anyone. I just decided a long time ago that I won’t look up to someone just because he has more money than I do.” I clench my fists. “As for oenology, it’s what I’m interested in—you of all people should understand that—and I’ve earned my own way. I didn’t have rich parents to pay for my education.”
“Apparently you didn’t need them. You have more education than I do.” His eyes soften then, but only a little. “I’m truly sorry you ever had to go to bed hungry. I’m truly sorry for anything else you might have gone through that was unpleasant. You seem to be okay now, though. There comes a time when you have to put the ugly in the past. Set it aside. Compartmentalize. Stop envying those who had it easier than you did.”
I scoff, even though his words ring true. “Easy for you to say. Look where you grew up.”
“I’ve been lucky in many respects.” Then he glares at me, those green eyes darkening to the color of moss growing on the trunks of trees in a forest. No longer a bell choir, but now a chant of bass voices. “But there are things you don’t know about me, Ashley. Things no one will ever know.”
I stop myself from gulping audibly.
His words stir me. Is he hiding something? After all, he’s only been here on the ranch for the last twenty-five years. What happened during those first ten?
He says he never went hungry. Well, then, it can’t have been that bad.
Unless he’s not being truthful.
Even with my heightened senses, I can’t tell when someone’s lying. Sure, there are the classic tells—looking down, fidgeting, small facial twitches—but Dale doesn’t exhibit any of those. He’s seemingly made of steel. A tribute to his name.
Except for that kiss.
That one kiss that I’d give my right arm to experience again. As much as he irritates me, he turns me on like no man ever has.
And I’ve had a lot of men.
What is he hiding?
Whatever it is, Diana most likely doesn’t know, or she would have warned me. Or would she have? She loves her brother and would no doubt protect him at all costs.
“We all have our secrets,” I finally say, trying—but failing—to sound nonchalant.
“I suppose so.”
I smile. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
His face turns to stone, and his cheeks redden. Uh-oh. I feel like I’ve awakened a barbarian. He’s not speaking, but the color—the deep-red color of his voice—still swirls around me, tries to drown me.
“Do not ever say that to me.”
“I was just joking.”
“Joking or not, never say those words to me again.”
I’m shivering. Seriously shivering inside this office, which is perfectly comfortable. Shivering like I used to on those chilly nights when my mother’s warmth and our two threadbare blankets weren’t enough.
I’m cold.
Dale is making me cold from the chill exuding from him.
“I’m…sorry,” I say.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he says. “No one gets inside me. No one. Is that clear?”
This time I gulp, and yes, it’s audible. “Perfectly.”
Chapter Twenty
Dale
Ashley seems small as she stands five feet away from me, rubbing her hands on her upper arms as if to ease a chill.
She’s average height—which is short among us Steels—but she’s hardly little. Yet my mind transforms her into a little girl—a little girl going to bed hungry.
I don’t know her story, don’t want to know. Is it worse than mine? Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not. What Donny and I went through is about as far on the scale of horror as I care to imagine.
Even so, the thought of little Ashley White going to bed hungry even once cuts through me like a sharp blade.
“Cold?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
I clear my throat. “Good.” I walk out of my office, and she follows me to a cubical a couple of desks away. “This is your space. You can get settled in on Monday. We use the standard software, but our IT guy can help you if you need it. When you’re up to speed, I’ll show you how to track sales, weather reports, all the things we need to do to ensure optimal production.”
She nods.
I walk again, showing her the lunchroom, the copy room, the library, and the restrooms. “These are the places you have access to here in the building. No smoking, obviously.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“That includes marijuana.”
“I think I already told you I don’t do drugs, and even if I did, I would never do it on the job.”
I nod. I know she won’t smoke pot anywhere near the office. I have no idea why I even said that. I have no idea why I say half the things I do to Ashley White.
Have you ever gone to bed hungry?
Her words echo in my mind.
The question seems so innocuous compared to what she could have asked.
Have you ever been taken from your home against your will?
Have you even been held captive in a dark room?
Have you ever been violated in the most personal way?
Have you ever been beaten to within an inch of your life?
Have you ever been forced to listen to your baby brother’s screams as a masked man rapes him?
“Help me, Dale! Please help me!”
She doesn’t know. She’ll never know, and that’s not her fault. All it means is that the worst thing that ever happened to her is that she went to bed hungry. Perhaps many times.
I feel for her, feel for anyone who has suffered. And indeed I’m happy she doesn’t know the horror that I know.
What I’d give to have hunger be the only thing I went through.
She doesn’t know what she doesn’t know. Again, that’s not her fault. She certainly won’t be hearing it from me.
I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.
Right. When hell freezes over.
Oddly, she’s still rub
bing at her upper arms. It’s perfectly warm in the office. Perhaps she’s not cold, exactly, at least not in a physical sense.
Fuck it. I’ve got more to worry about than Ashley White. More to worry about than the urge to kiss her again, to take her in my arms and swear to her that she’ll never go hungry again on my watch. That I’ll protect her from all the evil in the world.
Hell. I can’t even protect myself from that.
A misery dwells inside me—the secrets compartmentalized in my head so I don’t think about them. But they’re there. Always there, bringing the nightmares.
The best therapy in the country hasn’t forced the nightmares away.
But I live my life. I do my work. I have a wonderful family who loves me and whom I love. My life is good, and I never forget that.
Never.
A few nightmares don’t control me. There was a time when they did, but that time is long gone.
My work brings me contentment. The vines bring me contentment.
My father, brother, sisters. Even my mother, though we’ve never been as close as she is to the others. All of them bring me contentment.
I can’t ask for anything more.
“We’ll drive over to the winery now,” I say to Ashley.
She nods, still rubbing her arms. For someone who seems to enjoy talking, she’s been pretty quiet for the last several minutes.
“Wait,” she finally says.
“What?”
“I’m not sure…”
“What?” I repeat impatiently.
“I shouldn’t stay here. It’s obvious you don’t want me here, and now that Diana’s leaving tomorrow… I think it’s best if I pack my bags and head back to California.”
“Aren’t you getting credit for this internship?”
“Yeah, but I’ll just register for some classes to make it up. I can still register late.”
“Ashley…” I have no idea what to say. I’ve been a jerk. I know it, but I can’t seem to help myself.
She lifts her brows, as if asking me to continue.
“My uncle made a deal with you, and he’s still the boss here, at least until this season is over.”
“Yeah,” she says. “But this is clearly not going to work out.”