Chapter 11
Eleven
Ryker
The Paradise family has spent the whole weekend focused on baby Theo.
Greyson and Trinity are exhausted but glowing, and I can’t blame them.
Theo is perfect. I’ve checked him over a dozen times.
That’s the perk of being a pediatrician in the family.
He’s strong, healthy, and stubborn already. He’s going to do great in this world.
Now, with a new week started and the new-baby haze fading—at least for me—I head to the vineyard after my morning in the clinic.
I’ve come looking for Tarryn. I want her opinion about coming out about Ginny.
But I’ve checked the tasting room, the office, and even the damned bottling line, but Tarryn’s nowhere to be found.
Figures. The one time I actually need to talk to her—really talk to her—she’s vanished.
I duck into the barrel hall. It’s cooler here, though the air is thick with humidity. Rows of barrels stretch out like a maze, the lights overhead casting long shadows that make everything feel more cavernous than it is.
My boots echo off the concrete as I cut through toward the vat room. If she’s not checking barrels, maybe she circled back to sample progress from the new steel tanks. Tarryn’s meticulous like that. Always chasing perfection. But as I reach the threshold, it’s not her voice I hear.
It’s Dad and Max.
I pause just inside the doorway, staying in the shadows for a beat. They’re hunched over one of the large fermentation tanks, wine thief in hand, glasses on the metal worktable beside them. Max’s posture is tight, irritated. He’s in a mood, arms waving like he’s swatting at flies only he can see.
“It’s not balanced,” Max says. “You can’t bottle it like this.”
Dad takes a slow sip, swirling his glass like he’s got all the time in the world. “It’s evolving. Give it time.”
“If Tarryn blended it, I trust her palate.” I smirk and stand against the doorframe, arms crossed. Same fight, different vintage.
Max looks over, his gaze narrowing. “Look who decided to show up.”
I lift a brow. “Didn’t realize I was expected.” I nod toward the glass in his hand. “That the new syrah?”
Dad motions me over. “Try it. See what you think.”
He pours me a taste, just enough to coat the glass. I swirl, sniff, take a sip.
It’s young. A little sharp on the finish. Not quite ready, but the bones are there. Good structure. Fruit’s forward. A little more time and it’ll open up beautifully.
“Tarryn’s work?” I ask.
Dad nods. “She adjusted the percentages two weeks ago.”
Max’s jaw tightens. “She’s not infallible.”
“No,” I agree, letting the wine roll across my tongue one more time before swallowing. “But she’s winning awards for her blends.”
Dad sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose like we’re giving him a migraine. “Enough. Jesus. We’re supposed to be making wine, not fighting with each other.”
I take another slow sip, just to annoy Max.
He scowls, but he doesn’t say anything else. Probably knows he’s outnumbered, or maybe he senses I’m not in the mood to trade jabs. My thoughts are already moving back to the reason I came. Tarryn’s not in here either. Which means I need to move on.
I set the glass down. “Have either of you seen Tarryn?”
Dad nods toward the back doors. “She took off toward the lake as we got here. Said she needed some air.”
Of course. The one direction I didn’t try. Classic Tarryn—the water always makes it right.
I give a nod. “All right. Thanks. I’ll go find her.”
Max scoffs. “What’s so important you need her now?”
I look back at him, but I don’t answer. It’s not his business.
And frankly, I wouldn’t trust him to hold my water bottle during a jog.
He’s been lingering around the vineyard more than usual lately, sniffing around reports and asking questions, like he’s suddenly interested in how things run.
It doesn’t sit right. He’s supposed to be on the way out.
Dad’s still watching me too. Not suspicious exactly, just curious. His brow pulls together, like he’s trying to read the subtext.
I head out before he can say anything else.
As I step outside, the sun disappears behind a bank of clouds, and the air is crisp with that early-spring chill. The cold works its way under my collar, and I pull my jacket tighter. I shove my hands in my pockets and head toward the lake.
Once I get closer, the wind comes off the water hard, tugging at the trees, slipping icy fingers down the back of my shirt.
I duck my head and keep going, passing the equipment shed with its old line of tractors and rusting sprayers we never quite get around to replacing.
There’s a faded orange Kubota that still runs but smells like oil and regret.
I step around it and follow the edge of the building, using it to block the wind.
But then I hear a voice.
I slow my steps and angle toward the side of the barn, keeping to the shadowed edge where a stack of old harvest crates blocks the view. The wind whistles through the metal siding, masking the sound of my boots as I edge closer.
It’s Zach.
He’s tucked just behind the corner of the shed, one hand braced against the weathered frame, the other clutching a phone to his ear. He’s talking fast, his voice low but urgent. “I’m telling you, it’s a liability issue,” he says. “If it gets out, the entire operation’s at risk.”
I freeze.
Operation? Liability? What is he up to?
He glances over his shoulder, paranoid, like he can feel eyes on him. I shrink back into the shadows, heart thudding against my ribs. He doesn’t see me.
“I’m not saying it was sabotage,” Zach argues, voice tight. “But it doesn’t look good.” A pause. “If someone saw it…” his voice dips. “Yeah, I know, but it wasn’t supposed to go this far.” Another pause. “No, I didn’t say anything. I’ve kept my mouth shut. But if they find out—”
Silence again. Then, almost reluctantly, he says, “Fine. I’ll handle it. But this is the last time.”
I pull in a breath and hold it as he ends the call and shoves the phone into his back pocket. He stands there a second, muttering under his breath and kicking the gravel. But he’s pale. Shaky. Whatever this is, it’s enough to rattle him, and Zach’s not easily rattled.
I take a step back, then another, moving carefully around the crates until I’m out of sight. Only then do I let myself breathe.
My pulse is pounding, adrenaline rushing through me with nowhere to go. I came here looking for my sister. Now, I feel like I’ve stumbled into something I have to decipher. I don’t know who Zach was talking to. I don’t know what operation he meant, or what he’s worried about being discovered.
But I know this wasn’t harmless venting.
If we’re talking contamination, misreporting, liability…this isn’t just a family problem. It’s a business-ending kind of problem. A legal one. And if Max is involved? That takes it to another level.
I keep walking toward the lake, but my pace has slowed. My mind’s not on finding Tarryn anymore. Not fully. It’s back behind that barn, stuck on Zach’s voice.
Whatever it is, he’s hiding it. And that alone is a problem. But it’s more than that. He’s scared. And if Zach’s scared, this isn’t some clerical error or harvest misstep. This is something worse.
I round the bend in the path that snakes toward the lake. The wind kicks harder here, sweeping up the slope. The lake glints like polished steel beneath the clouded sky, waves choppy against the dock.
I spot Tarryn standing at the lake’s edge, her figure still and small against the vastness of the water. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, chin tucked down against the wind. She doesn’t move when I approach.
“You look like you’re trying to get pneumonia,” I say, stopping a few feet back.
She glances over her shoulder. “Did you see Dad?”
“Yeah. And Max.” I step up beside her, breath misting in the air. “Still arguing about the syrah like it’s the end of the world.”
“Sometimes, Max’s criticism is too much.”
“I’m sorry. I tasted it, and it was young, but I think it’ll be excellent.”
She nods, and we stand in silence, the wind swirling around us.
I came out here to talk to her. I still want to. But now, I don’t know where to start.
Do I tell her about Ginny, or do I tell her what I just heard behind the barn, that Zach’s covering something up and it might already be too late? She’s already out here by herself. Maybe she doesn’t need to be burdened with either right now.
She tips her head toward me, probably reading something in my posture. “Are you okay?”
I shrug. “Define okay.”
“That bad?”
I let out a long breath and stare out at the restless waves. “I came to see you today to talk to you about…Ginny.”
Tarryn lifts a brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” I rake a hand through my hair. “We’ve been…sort of seeing each other.”
Her other brow joins the first. “Zach was right. And here I thought you were just learning the fine art of subtle longing.”
I huff a laugh. “It’s complicated.”
Tarryn crosses her arms. “Dating a Dempsey? Complicated? Color me shocked.”
I smirk despite myself. “It’s more than complicated, actually. It’s risky—to her, to me, to the whole family.”
She narrows her eyes, not out of judgment, more like calculation. “So why are you telling me and not Dad, who can protect you from Max? Because we all know that’s who the problem is.”
I shift my weight, staring down at the dock’s worn planks.
“Because I needed to tell someone who wouldn’t immediately call me a dumbass or run to Dad so I can hear a lecture about optics and fallout.
” I look over. “And because I think I really like her. She’s sharp, honest, impossible to pin down, and she doesn’t care that I’m a Paradise.
Or at least she doesn’t want to.” I rake my hands through my hair.
“This is dangerous for her as well, but she sees past the name, the legacy. She sees me. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that. ”
Tarryn’s quiet for a moment. The breeze lifts a strand of her hair, and she tucks it behind her ear. “Then hold on tight. Because if she’s the one, she’s worth fighting for, especially when it gets messy.”
I nod slowly. That’s helpful. I’m glad to hear her say that, to have at least one of my siblings on my side. So that should feel more clear. And I think it would have, before Zach.
I chew the inside of my cheek, pulse kicking up again. “There’s something else. I overheard Zach on the phone on my way out here. Behind the barn. He was hiding, whispering. Said something about liability and how it’s not supposed to be like this. He agreed to take care of something one more time.”
Tarryn’s brows pinch together. “You think it’s related to the issues in block nine?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I shake my head. “It didn’t sound small. He said, ‘It doesn’t look good’.”
Tarryn turns toward me, her stance stiff. “What doesn’t look good?”
“I don’t know. It seems like he’s doing something for someone.”
Her gaze drifts back to the lake, but I can tell she’s running calculations behind her eyes. “You think it’s Max?” she asks. “I also wouldn’t be surprised if Zach was involved in that mess with the Tremblays that Sadie got mixed up in last summer.”
“I guess betting money he doesn’t have would be up Zach’s alley.” I shrug. “I don’t know who’d scare him into silence, though.”
“Zach doesn’t scare easy,” she agrees. “He’s a lot of things, but not panicky. If he’s scared—” She breaks off and exhales sharply. “This could get ugly for the vineyard. His last name is Paradise, and whatever he does affects all of us.”
“Already feels ugly,” I say. “And I don’t know what to do with it.”
Tarryn nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. “No one else hears about it until we know more, okay?”
“Agreed.”
She hesitates, then adds, “And Ryker?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“If you’re serious about Ginny, be careful. And not just because of the family crap. Sadie told me she moved home after a nasty breakup. If she’s not ready, there might be no path forward for you.”
“I know.” I nod. “Believe me, I know.”
Tarryn rests her shoulder against mine, her face sharp with worry. “We need to keep our eyes open,” she says quietly, like the wind might carry her voice too far.
“Okay.”
I came out here looking for clarity. A sense of direction. Instead, I’m walking away with more questions than I started with.
But at least now I’m not holding them alone.