Chapter 2
Two
Ryker
Six months later
Sunday night dinners at my parents’ house are my favorite family ritual.
Every week, without fail, me, my three brothers, my little sister, and their significant others gather around the table for a meal, usually prepared by Mom.
Sometimes, there’s a little business or a little drama, but it’s a good chance to catch up.
Sometimes, our uncle and cousin join us as well, but tonight, there’s no Max or Zach.
That makes the dynamic even more casual.
Tarryn barely lets Dad finish his steak before she leans forward, wine glass in hand, and drops a bomb.
“The pinot vines in block nine, right along the Dempsey border, aren’t thriving.
The canes should be thick and rich, even while they’re brown, but there, they’re thin, patchy in color, and shriveled like they gave up before winter even set in.
It’s the only block pulling from the shared well.
Could be stress…but it doesn’t feel right. ”
Tarryn doesn’t even try to sugarcoat it.
She never does. That’s her thing, cutting straight through the crap.
That’s what makes her the right person to take over Paradise Hill Family Estate Winery when Dad finally retires.
The land has been in our family for eight generations, and it’s been a vineyard for three.
Our oldest brother, Kingston, raises an eyebrow, already calculating ten steps ahead like he always does. “Do you think the Dempseys are sabotaging us?”
“No,” Tarryn says slowly. “I think they’re doing something that’s affecting our side. Whether it’s intentional or not, I don’t know yet.”
These vines are new, and we’ve had some minor issues already.
That area used to be a plot of peach trees.
They were a remnant of the fruit our family enjoyed long before we started the vineyard.
We kept them to lure pests away from the vines and bring a splash of color to the vineyard each spring.
For a while, they thrived, their blossoms drawing visitors and their fruit selling alongside our wine.
But after losing most of our pinot vines to smoke two years ago and last year having a disastrous late frost, we needed to replant.
Tarryn and Elise realized the slope of the plot was perfect for young vines, and that promised a more profitable harvest.
“Elise and I tested everything. It’s not the drip system, and it’s not mildew,” Tarryn continues, answering all our questions, some before we’ve even had a chance to ask.
“Not phylloxera either. It’s something else.
The symptoms don’t match anything common.
And it’s only happening near the Dempsey line. ”
The table is quiet. No one moves. No one dares name what we’re probably all thinking. It wouldn’t be the first time the Dempsey family has tried something with us. Every generation has its drama. Ours has been land and water issues.
I could reach out to Ginny to get her take on it. But I can’t bring her into this. I’d like to think just talking to her wouldn’t make the problem bigger, but it very easily could.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I say, though my gut is already churning. “We need proof before we start another war.”
Everyone nods and seems to think on that a moment.
Then our brother, Greyson, stands to head out, effectively ending the discussion. He’s on call at the hospital, and Trinity, his wife, is nearing her due date, so his mind is clearly all over the place.
Once we’ve said goodbye to them, my other siblings and I linger around the table.
“I’m just checking,” I say, looking between Beckett and Kingston. “You guys going to this baby shower thing next weekend for Trinity and Greyson?”
Beckett makes a face like he bit into a lemon. “Do we have to?”
“It’s a shower hosted by our mother,” Tarryn says, arms crossed like she’s ready to fight all of us at once. “You’re going. There will be tons of people. Their friends. Brunch food. Games.”
Beckett lets out a low grunt. “Yeah, I’m not exactly interested in sniffing melted chocolate in diapers.”
“Too bad,” Tarryn fires back. “You’re going. All of you.”
Kingston lifts a brow and shrugs. “I’ll bring a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards. We’ll hang out in the back.”
I grin. “Now, that’s a baby shower I can get behind.”
The following morning, I take my coffee from my office and walk across the courtyard to the hospital.
The pediatric practice Mom and I run is closed today, but I still have rounds in the pediatric wing.
A little girl with a broken wrist is waiting for me, and I’ve got three consults before lunch.
Then it’s back to family business this afternoon.
We’re having the annual report on how Paradise Hill did last year, and Tarryn will be analyzing our situation and making suggestions for the future.
I know she’s nervous, but Tarryn’s killing it at the vineyard. She’s got the kind of leadership that makes people sit up and listen.
Inside the hospital, as I walk past the mural in the hallway—the one Ginny told me looks like a kindergartener went wild with finger paints—I catch myself smirking.
I haven’t heard Ginny’s voice in months, other than inside my head. I’ve seen her in town a few times, but we haven’t so much as waved at each other. Still, I don’t know how to get her out of my system.
Half a year, and I can’t shake her. The leaves turned, we did the crush for last year’s harvest, the holidays have come and gone, and now, snow’s frosting the edge of the world.
But the impression Ginny left behind after one night together?
Still there. Still bleeding. Like something in me never quite scabbed over.
That was a wild, whiskey-slick, heat-of-summer mistake. I’ve told myself this so many times. But that lie doesn’t hold up, not when I’m alone in the dark, not when I smell something sweet and floral that reminds me of her hair, not when I catch myself looking for her every time I walk into Mikey’s.
Ginny Dempsey.
I should’ve known better. Hell, I did know better.
She’s a Dempsey, which makes her off-limits in every way that matters.
But I didn’t walk away. I didn’t stop when I should’ve.
And now, I’m stuck with this itch under my skin that hasn’t stopped since the second she walked out of my house and didn’t look back.
She’s bold. Sharp-tongued. Trouble.
And I want her like she’s the only cure for something broken in me.
I reach the pediatric wing with a few minutes before my first patient. I scroll through lab results that aren’t urgent but give me something to do besides think about Ginny.
I’ve been with plenty of women. Casual, uncomplicated, drama-free—exactly the way I like it.
But Ginny wasn’t like any of them. She got under my skin fast, left claw marks on the inside of my chest, and then vanished like none of it ever mattered.
No texts. No calls. Not even a “thanks for the orgasms.”
I move quickly through my appointments, checking charts, adjusting treatment plans, and offering reassuring words to patients.
The steady rhythm of the work keeps me focused, but once the last case is signed off, my mind shifts to the afternoon ahead and the family meeting that’s bound to include some fireworks.
Normally I’d beg off, claim a packed clinic schedule or a flu outbreak, but this year, I don’t have that luxury. Dad wants all of us there. And since Tarryn’s basically running the damn place now, there’s no way I’m letting her go in without backup. Especially with Zach and Max in the room.
Uncle Max, my dad’s brother, always seems like he’s about two steps away from a hostile takeover.
Zach’s his son, and that guy’s a snake in work boots.
The kind that smiles while he plants poison.
Neither of them wants Tarryn in charge, but she’s earned it ten times over.
She’s the one holding everything together, and she’s still barely getting the credit.
There have been so many positive outcomes in the last year, but if given the chance, I know all those two will want to talk about is whatever problem Tarryn has identified in block nine.
I send her a quick text.
Me: You’ve got this. Don’t let those assholes get in your head.
Me: Show them why you’re the boss.
She doesn’t reply right away, but that’s fine. She’s probably pacing the barn, going over her notes for the tenth time. I know her. She’ll go in composed, firm, no-nonsense. But under it all, she’ll be bracing for impact.
After a quick trip back to my office across the way, I leave the hospital behind, the city giving way to open road as I drive my Armada to the vineyard.
Crossing the bridge, the water below glints cold and hard in the winter light, the air sharper on this side of the bay.
By the time I turn down the winding drive toward the vineyard, the noise of the hospital has faded, replaced by the quiet pull of home.
The vineyard is quiet this time of year. Frost clings to the bare vines like cobwebs, the lake in the distance still and silver under the low winter sun. It’s peaceful.
For about five seconds.
I spot Max’s truck. And Zach’s beat-up sedan, parked too close to the manager’s spot, like he’s already staking a claim.
Great. Let the games begin.
I head for the house, and Mom’s kitchen smells like something sweet as I enter, probably something she made. I round the corner just as Beckett reaches across the counter to steal a kiss with his fiancée, Sadie.
“Afternoon, lovers,” I say, loud enough to make them jump.
Sadie laughs and swats at Beckett. “You’re early.”
“I was hoping to score some lunch, but it looks like you’ve already cleaned up, and I wasn’t invited.” I glance at the empty plates stacked neatly by the sink and the wiped-down counter. “Rude.”
“We were doing some wedding planning with your parents,” Sadie says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks are still pink.