Spark (Steel Brothers Saga 19)

“We talked about this…”

“I know, I know. College is one thing. Grad school’s another. I get it. I’m trying, Mom.”

“I know you are, honey. You’ve waited this long to pursue your dream, and it was within grasp. Trust me, Dad and I are just as frustrated for you.”

“I don’t mean to be selfish.” I shake my head. “Truly, I don’t. It’s just…”

“It’s just that you’re twenty-six, and you’ve waited four and a half years already to go to law school. I know, sweetie.”

“And you and Dad have waited so long to have a viable winery, and now it was yanked away from you. I’m happy to help you. I really am.”

“You’re a good daughter, Caroline.”

Caroline. When Mom uses my given name, she’s feeling extra guilty. I don’t mean to make her feel that way.

“I try to be,” I say. “I’m not sure I’m always successful.”

Mom smiles. “You are. Shall I tell Jade you’ll be at the party, then?”

“Sure.”

Mom nods and closes the door, leaving me alone in my bedroom.

A party at least gives me something to look forward to. Right now, I’m stuck here. Nothing to look forward to. I can’t even go help in the winery because the building was destroyed. Insurance claims have been filed, but the rebuilding probably won’t begin for another month or so. Jesse and Rory are helping salvage what’s left on the vines. Rory even temporarily moved back from Snow Creek so she could be more involved. And the Steels are letting us use their facilities to make what wine we can.

We’re lucky, really. The fire didn’t harm any of us, only our property. Our home is unscathed, as is Jesse’s small house that he finished building last year on the eastern side of the ranch.

Yes, lucky.

Just not as lucky as the Steels.

Chapter Three

Donny

I arrive at the main house right at dinnertime. My parents’ cook and housekeeper, Darla, is in the kitchen stir-frying vegetables.

“Fajitas!”

Darla turns and smiles. “Your favorite. What else would I be making for your big homecoming?”

Darla’s been with my parents since my senior year in high school, so she remembers what a huge appetite I have. She introduced me to her famous fajitas, and I swear, no Mexican restaurant in Colorado does them better. Ironically, Darla’s Irish.

I inhale the fragrance of sizzling onions and peppers mingled with mouthwatering Steel beef.

“Dinner is almost ready. Your brother and Ashley are out on the deck with your parents.”

“Thanks, Darla.”

“Can I get you a drink?” she asks.

“Nope. I’ll fend for myself.”

“There’s a pitcher of margaritas outside that your mother made.”

“Sounds good.” A margarita with Darla’s fajitas is kind of a tradition.

Plus, I like sweet cocktails. There, I said it. Dale gives me three shades of shit about it because I’m not a wine snob like he is.

I open the French doors and walk onto the deck. Mom and Dad’s two chocolate labs, Ginger and Fred, run toward me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Dale’s rescue dog, Penny—an adorable heeler mix with black-and-white markings—adds her two cents.

“So the prodigal son returns!” Dad stands and gives me a hug.

“I was just home a week ago,” I remind him.

“But now you’re home to stay,” he says. “It’s great what you’re doing for your mother.”

“You’ll never know how much I appreciate it.” Mom stands and hugs me close, bussing my cheek.

“Anything for you, Mom.”

Ashley, Dale’s wife, hugs me then. “It’s great that you’re coming home. I’m finally used to all the hugging!”

“How’s your mom doing?” I ask.

“She’s okay. She’s moving here as soon as our house is finished. We’ve got a room for her. A mother-in-law room. But I imagine she’ll find a place in town once she gets situated with a salon.”

Dale grabs me in his manly bear hug. “Good to have you back, bro.”

I simply nod. Dale’s not thrilled with my career decision, but he’s definitely happy to have me here on the ranch. As much as I loved my life in Denver, I missed Dale terribly. After all we’ve been through, we like to be near each other.

“What time are we meeting Brendan?” I ask him quietly.

“Nine,” he says. “I’ve already told Ashley, but you’ll have to figure out an excuse with Mom and Dad.”

I nod, and we disengage.

“I swear,” I say, “I could smell those fajitas a mile out.”

As if on cue, Darla walks out the door carrying a sizzling platter. On the table are tortillas, pico de gallo, guacamole, cheese, and sour cream. All the fixings.

I pour myself a margarita. Dale and Ashley are drinking wine, of course, and Dad has his signature Peach Street bourbon. Only Mom and I are indulging in the cocktail.

I hold up my glass. “It’s great to be home.”

“It’s great to have you here,” Dad says, clinking his bourbon to my margarita glass.

Mom, Dale, and Ashley join in the toast, and then we dig in. I pile my plate high and take a seat between Mom and Dad, who are on the ends of the glass-topped patio table. Ashley and Dale sit across from me.