Cherished

by HELEN HARDT

  “Would you do the same for yours?”

  Dad’s face goes pale. His own father, Bradford Steel, passed away in a prison cell not too long after Donny and I came to Steel Acres.

  Neither Dad nor his siblings ever talked about him. The most we ever got out of anyone was that he’d made some bad decisions and had to pay the price. We knew his wife, our grandmother, was mentally ill and institutionalized for most of her adult life. The two of them died within forty-eight hours of each other, though in different places. The only information we’ve been able to find indicated Bradford Steel tampered with federal evidence.

  Donny and I are the only grandchildren old enough to even remember them, and we never met either of them.

  “My father is not the issue here,” Dad finally says.

  Donny and I are both stunned into silence.

  We’ve known it all along. Want to get our dad—or his brothers and sister—to go silent?

  Mention Bradford Steel.

  No other records exist of him. Nothing. Donny and I did our share of snooping when we were teenagers. The other kids, to my knowledge, never did. Our grandfather is a nonentity to them. Henry, Brad, Dee, and Ava were babies when it all happened, and the others weren’t born yet.

  Finally, I clear my throat. “Until he asks for our help, I see no reason to give it.”

  “I agree with Dale,” Donny says. “Though I guess I should meet the guy.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say.

  “It’s curiosity, mostly,” he admits. “I’ll drive home in a few days.”

  “Your call,” Dad says. “We just didn’t want to tell you this news in a phone call.”

  “To be truthful,” Donny says, “I’m not sure how I feel about it. I should be angry, I guess. But I’m not.”

  “I’m angry enough for both of us.” I clench my hands into fists without meaning to.

  “It’s in the past, bro,” Donny says.

  “A lot of things are in the past.” I grit my teeth.

  “Requisite words are ‘in the past,’” Dad says. “I don’t want this having a negative effect on you boys. Anger is okay. But let it pass.”

  “Exactly what do you know about it?” I ask. It’s a valid question.

  “More than you know,” Dad says. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  Chapter Five

  Ashley

  Jade sent Darla home early as it’s just the two of us for dinner.

  “I thought we could go into Snow Creek and try that new Italian place,” Jade says to me.

  “There’s a new Italian place?”

  She nods. “They opened up over the weekend. Have you been into town yet?”

  I shake my head. “When would I have the time?”

  She laughs. “Touché. Let’s go. We’ll take a walk before dinner, and I’ll show you around.”

  A half hour later, Jade parks her Mercedes on a side street. “Small-town parking is always a challenge. I never learned to parallel park until I moved here.”

  I laugh. “I can’t parallel park to save my soul.”

  “I once had to do it in Talon’s pickup. It was at least a hundred maneuvers. I swear!”

  We laugh together.

  I like Jade Steel. I like her a lot. Already, I know we have a lot in common. She came to Steel Acres when she was twenty-five, like me.

  And she fell for a Steel heir who seemed unattainable at the time.

  Things worked out for her.

  Will they work out for me as well?

  Who knows? Right now, the object of my affection is in Denver with his father and brother. I have no idea why, and I know better than to ask Jade. She clammed up when I asked why she called Talon a “broken man.”

  We walk off the side street onto the main thoroughfare. “This is Main Street. Colloquial, huh?”

  “Does every small town have a Main Street?” I ask, laughing.

  “Pretty much. There was a petition years back to change to the name to Steel Avenue, but Talon and the others wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not their thing. They’re not in any of this for the glory.”

  Interesting. Dale said the same thing about his winemaking. He does it for the joy of the art, not for the glory.

  He was raised well by his father, and also by this remarkable woman walking next to me.

  She stops at a brick building. From the outside, it looks like a saloon straight out of the nineteenth century, with a green-and-white awning and the name of the establishment painted on a wooden sign.

  “This is Murphy’s Bar. The owner is Sean Murphy. Apparently he’s a nephew of a friend of my father-in-law. His uncle, also named Sean Murphy, died here in Snow Creek when he was young, and his namesake came here to pay his respects and never left. Murphy’s is a Snow Creek institution. Sean retired a few years ago, and his son Brendan runs it now. He’s about Dale’s age. They went to school together.” She touches the handle. “Feel like a pre-dinner drink?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “Sounds good to me. We have no idea if the new restaurant even serves alcohol.” She opens the door.

  A bell jingles, and I follow her in.

  “Jade Steel!” A man behind the bar greets her. His voice is low but jubilant—a bright orange like the sun welcoming a new day. Very different from Dale’s.

  “Hello, Brendan.”

  “Who’s that with you?”

  “This is Ashley White. She’s interning with Ryan and Dale at the vineyards this fall. Ashley, Brendan Murphy.”

  Brendan Murphy is a tall and handsome ginger with vibrant blue eyes. His hair is long like Dale’s but not as full. Still, the flamboyant auburn makes quite a statement, along with his masculine jawline and aquiline nose. No mistaking him for anything but an Irishman.

  “Great to meet you, Ashley White,” Brendan says. “What can I get for you lovely ladies?”

  “Do you have my son’s Cab Franc?” Jade asks.

  Brendan lets out a guffaw. “I’ve watched you Steels come in here for years and order wine you can drink for free at home. It does a heart good.”

  “We believe in supporting local businesses.”

  “So do we. That’s why we serve your wine.”

  “I thought you served our wine because it’s the best.”

  Brendan winks. “It is, at that. How about you, love?”

  “I can’t think of anything better than Dale’s Cab Franc,” I say. “I did a tasting yesterday where it was featured, and it was very well received.”

  “They’ve got you doing tastings, huh?” Brendan grabs two cocktail napkins and sets them on the bar in front of us. “You must have gotten on someone’s good side. Ryan and Dale don’t let just anyone handle those.”

  “They don’t?” Then I berate myself. I’m not even slightly surprised. I don’t know Ryan well, but Dale? He didn’t want me anywhere near his baby.

  “Ashley’s more than qualified,” Jade offers. “She’s working on her PhD in oenology at UCLA.”

  Brendan’s eyes brighten. “A wine doctor? Impressive.”

  The words “wine doctor” from Brendan’s mouth don’t sound nearly as judgmental as they do coming from Dale. Brendan truly is impressed.

  I smile. “It’s what I love.”

  “Hmm.” He pulls a bottle of the Steel Cab Frank from his shelf, uncorks it with ease, and pours us each a glass. “I have a nice Bordeaux I’ve been saving for a special occasion. You might be just the person to appreciate it with me. We don’t get a lot of wine connoisseurs here in Snow Creek.”

  “You have Dale and Ryan,” I say.

  He nods, winking. “For sure. But neither of them is really my type.”

  “Oh.” I stop myself from jerking backward. He’s coming on to me. Asking me out. Sort of. I glance at Jade. She knows how I feel about her son. Does this bother her?

  “It’s a Château Latour,” he says.

  “Wow.” I try not to look overly s
urprised. The guy runs a bar. Of course he comes in contact with seven-hundred-dollar bottles of wine. “We tasted some premier crus in tasting class, but I’ve never been able to afford a bottle.”

  “Then you should join me. Later this evening, maybe?”

  “Actually,” Jade says, “Ashley and I were going to have dinner over at the new Italian place.”

  “Lorenzo’s,” Brendan says. “Try the veal piccata. It’s wonderful.”

  “So you’ve been there already?”

  “Last week, on opening night. Chicken cacciatore is the specialty of the house, though, so maybe you should order that. I’m just not a huge chicken fan.”

  Somehow I wasn’t surprised. Brendan—much like the Steel men—looks like he was raised on red meat and potatoes. Bangers and mash, in his case.

  “I’ll try it,” Jade says. “I love chicken. It’s nice to have a break from beef now and then.”

  “Do they have any seafood on the menu?”

  “I believe there’s a linguine with clam sauce,” Brendan says. “Probably not what you’re looking for though, California girl.”

  I laugh in spite of myself. “I haven’t been here yet a week, and I’m missing my sushi and fresh catch of the day.”

  “There are some great seafood restaurants in Denver,” Brendan says. “And one in Grand Junction that’s pretty good too. It’s not too far from here.”

  A restaurant in Grand Junction… I was just at a restaurant in Grand Junction last evening…

  And then…I had the most amazing few hours of my life.

  Which won’t ever be repeated, it seems.

  “Talon and I can take you into the city anytime you’re craving seafood,” Jade says. “I’m afraid fish isn’t really on Darla’s repertoire. She’s a wonderful cook, though. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind learning to cook seafood for you.”

  “Oh, no. You don’t need to go to that kind of trouble. Every meal I’ve had since I got here has been delicious.”

  My wine is nearly gone already. Dale’s Cab Franc glides down my throat so easily.

  Jade finishes hers. “Please put these on our tab, Brendan. Are you ready, Ashley?”

  I polish off the small amount left in my glass. “Yes.”

  “Now wait,” Brendan says. “I can’t let you go until you agree to share my bottle of Latour.”

  Both Brendan and Jade stare at me.

  And I don’t have a clue what to say.

  Chapter Six

  Dale

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand of my father.

  “It means I get it.”

  “How can you possibly?” I pace across Donny’s living room. “I just went through this shit with Ashley, Dad. She tried to lecture me about my privilege. Apparently she went to bed hungry once when she was a kid.”

  Or many times. I don’t know. I didn’t ask.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dad says.

  “I am too, but that’s not my point. My point is she doesn’t know what Donny and I went through before we came to Steel Acres. But you… You’ve always lived there. How the hell do you know anything about keeping the past in the past?”

  My father waits a moment before answering, but his nostrils are flaring. He’s trying to maintain control. He’s good at it. He rarely raised his voice to us when we were kids. Almost as if—

  “I don’t owe you any explanation, Dale,” he says. “I’m still your father, and I’ve been around a lot longer than you have.”

  “Yeah, Jesus, Dale.” Donny shoves his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.

  No big surprise. Donny always takes Dad’s side. Donny also likes to pretend those horrible months never happened. Sometimes I wish I were more like him.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” I demand. “Why the hell did you take us into your home all those years ago?”

  “We’ve been through this.”

  “I know. I know. Because you could give us what we needed. What the fuck does that mean, Dad?”

  Dad pauses again, getting control of his nostrils. “Your aunt Mel gave you the help you needed. And I had the resources to get you the best child psychologist in Denver, as well. Wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

  Interesting question, and my anger subsides for a moment while I actually consider it.

  Yes.

  Of course, yes.

  I’d help any child who needed my help. Like Dad said, I have the resources. But further, I’d also understand, having been through it myself.

  I nod. “Absolutely. I will always help anyone in need.”

  “Then you have your answer,” Dad says.

  I don’t, but that’s his way of saying the conversation is over.

  A look passes between Donny and me. A look that says we know Dad is hiding something. A look that says we’ll probably never know the truth because we’ve searched before to no avail.

  “So will you help your birth father?” Dad finally says, his dark gaze meeting mine.

  “Why should I?”

  “You just said, and I quote, ‘I will always help anyone in need.’”

  I scoff. “I meant children. You know exactly what I meant.”

  “I know exactly what you said.”

  “We were talking about kids. About Donny and me and why you helped us.”

  “So if your father were a child, you’d help him?”

  “Hell, Dad, if my father wasn’t a child and he needed help through no fault of his own, I’d help him. But he abandoned us.”

  Dad nods. “It’s your choice. I’m willing to help him if the two of you are willing. But I won’t if you tell me not to.”

  “Wait a minute, Dale,” Donny says.

  “What?” My tone is harsher than I mean it to be.

  “He is our father.”

  I point to Dad. “That’s our father.”

  “For God’s sake, you know what I mean. But for him, you and I wouldn’t be here. And frankly, we both have pretty damned good lives, all things considered.”

  “All things considered?”

  “Yeah, Dale, all things.”

  I soften my gaze. For a moment, Donny is seven years old again, and that need to protect him coils tight in my belly.

  I protected him then.

  And I protect him now.

  But there are things he still doesn’t know.

  My little brother cries in my arms.

  I push my own pain and horror into the back of my mind and focus on his.

  Only Donny is important. He’s mine to protect.

  I haven’t done a very good job so far.

  I vow to do better.

  Donny sobs against my shoulder, his nose running and wetting the dirty T-shirt I wear.

  We don’t wear pants. The T-shirts are long enough that they cover our privates when we get up to use the makeshift toilet in the corner of the room.

  I’m used to the smell now.

  It no longer nauseates me.

  I force myself to be used to most of it.

  But I’ll never get used to listening to my brother sob. I’ll never get used to his cries for help. I’ll never get used to the image of masked men brutalizing his small body.

  From now on, I vow, they won’t touch him.

  I’ll do anything to make sure I take the brunt of what they have to give.

  I tamp down my emotions and sniff back a tear.

  I’m done crying.

  No more.

  I’m done.

  Chapter Seven

  Ashley

  “Sure,” I finally say. “I’d love to taste the wine with you.”

  “Wonderful. How about dinner tomorrow? My place?” He points to the ceiling.

  “You live here?” I ask.

  “Right above the bar. My father lived there until he married, and then he rented it out. I’ve been hanging my hat up there for the last ten years, since I moved out of my parents’ house.”

  “All right. I work until six.”
r />   “Seven, then?”

  “Sure. No, wait. Let’s say seven thirty. It’s a half-hour drive, and I’ll need to clean up. I worked in the vineyards today.”

  “You don’t look like it.”

  “I had a shower, goofball.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He winks.

  “Who’ll be manning the bar?”

  “I do have employees, you know.”

  “Right.” Dumb question. Several waitresses and another bartender are here.

  I turn to Jade. What must she be thinking? She knows how I feel about Dale. “Time for dinner?” I say.

  “Yes. Thanks, Brendan. See you soon.”

  “Absolutely. Tell Talon I said hi.”

  “I will.”

  I follow Jade out of the bar and back onto Main Street. Should I say something? I bite my lower lip. I’m at a loss for words, which is unlike me.

  Finally, I open my mouth, when—

  “It’s okay, Ashley,” Jade says.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Of course I do. We both know how you feel about Dale. But there’s no reason why you can’t share a bottle of wine with another young man.”

  “It doesn’t feel quite right.”

  “Would you be interested in Brendan if not for Dale?”

  “Well…yeah. I think. I mean, he’s handsome and funny. And he runs a bar, which means he knows a few things about wine, so we have that in common. But…”

  She laughs.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Again, you remind me of myself all those years ago.”

  “It’s like only Dale exists to me,” I say. “It doesn’t make any sense. Brendan is clearly a great guy, and any other time I’d be flattered by his attention.”

  She shakes her head. “Oh, Ashley, I know exactly what you mean.”

  Lorenzo’s is an adorable little Italian place. We walk in, and I’m suddenly transported to 1950s Little Italy in New York. Or at least what I assume 1950s Little Italy would be. Dean Martin croons through the sound system, and the tables are covered with red-checkered cloth.