morning Griffin stood on the hilltop that overlooked the estate vineyard, emotion pinching his chest as he breathed in the musky scent of earth. The rows of vines spread across the property, neat and orderly like soldiers in a procession.
As a kid he’d spent hours running through the fields, measuring the progress of the seasons by the height of the vines and the colors of the grapes. The vineyard below him was called Inception, the first Dave Stone planted when he’d converted the farm, which had been marginally successful at best, to a vineyard.
Griffin had loved everything about the land until it became clear that his father didn’t think him worthy to be involved in the family business. It had never made sense to Griffin. He was the older son, and he felt a connection to the vines in his heart, unlike Trevor, who’d been more interested in the flashy side of wine making only—the marketing and brand positioning.
But his dad had ever only found fault with the innovations and ideas Griffin suggested. Even the way Griffin hand harvested the grapes was never right. Eventually he’d stopped trying, at least when his father was around. He’d watch the workers during the harvest, pretending he was too interested in his own life to care about the vineyard.
It had always been a lie.
“Jana told me she’d convinced you to return,” a voice said from behind him. “I wasn’t sure I believed her.”
Griffin turned as Marcus Sanchez, Harvest Vineyards’ current CEO, walked up from the direction of the main office.
He held out a hand and Marcus shook it with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “It’s good to have you back.”
“Only temporarily,” Griffin clarified.
Marcus inclined his head. He was nearing fifty but still had the build of a younger man, with broad shoulders and a thick crop of dark hair. “You’ve been away from home too long, Grif. You belong on this land.”
Griffin swallowed and kicked at a patch of dirt. Strange how much those words meant to him after all this time. Marcus had worked at Harvest for almost fifteen years, so he’d had a front-row seat to Griffin’s teenage battles with Dave Stone.
Although he worked for Dave, Marcus had always been kind to Griffin, unlike many of the employees who seemed to feel like part of their loyalty to Dave included shunning Griffin. “Mom says she’d be lost without you around here. Thanks for taking care of her.”
Marcus flashed a grin. “Your mother can take care of herself, and we both know it.”
“I’m surprised she was able to lure you away from the grapes.” He inclined his head toward Marcus’s pressed jeans and dress shirt. “You clean up nice.”
“Jana is a difficult woman to refuse.” Marcus adjusted his collar with tentative fingers as if he was still unused to having his shirts starched. He’d come to work as a picker and quickly risen through the ranks until being promoted to vineyard manager a decade earlier.
“Tell me about it.” Along with most everyone associated with Harvest, Griffin had expected Trevor to be made CEO after their father’s death. Instead, Jana convinced Marcus to move from the fields into the corner office.
“Have you visited the winery yet?” Marcus asked.
Griffin shook his head. “I walked the fields but haven’t made it inside yet. The expansion looks great.”
“We took cuttings from the original vines to plant the newest vineyard. Your mother named it Promise.” Marcus nodded. “The entire operation is certified sustainable now, and we’ve started bottling with eco-friendly glass and managed to eliminate some of the high-risk chemicals that were originally used for fertilization and in the pesticides.”
“How’s that going?” Griffin felt himself clench his hands into fists.
“It’s making Harvest more responsible and adding to the efficiency of the operation. Just like you told your dad years ago.”
Griffin blew out a breath. “I’m sure the technology has come a long way since then.”
“It was still your idea,” Marcus said softly. “And a good one.”
“Thanks.” The tension coiling through Griffin eased slightly. The argument about protecting the long-term health of the land had been one of the last he’d had with his father before their final, irrevocable falling-out.
Griffin had been a senior in high school and planning to go to college to study viticulture. Back then he’d still believed if he could prove to his father that he could offer value to the business that Dave Stone would find a place for him. But his dad had brushed aside the suggestions, asserting that it was too soon to worry about the future when they were still trying to establish the brand.
“There’s more to be done,” Marcus suggested quietly.
“You mean besides rebuilding the tasting room?” Griffin massaged a hand against the back of his neck. “Mom told me about her plans for a restaurant and guest cottages on the property.”
Marcus shook his head. “I’m talking about additional sustainability measures. Making Harvest Vineyards not just a steward of the land but a true innovator in the industry. You could help.”
“Not me. I’m here for the construction project and nothing more.”
“You know this land and you have a sense of the business.”
“Maybe I did back in the day, but not anymore. I work with my hands.”
“That’s what wine making is.” Marcus held out his weathered hands, turning them over to expose the calluses on his palms.
Griffin chuckled. “You haven’t gone soft yet.”
“I spend time in the fields whenever I can.” Marcus lifted a heavy brow. “I could do more if I had someone to take over the business end.”
“You have Trevor.”
“I’m not talking about designing labels and schmoozing distributors.”
“You can’t deny it’s part of the industry.”
“Your brother is immensely talented, but he doesn’t see the big picture of the legacy of what your dad started here. He never did, Grif.”
“But Dad wanted him, not me.” Griffin pressed his lips together, hating the bitterness in his tone. He was a grown man. You’d think he’d be over not being his daddy’s favorite by now. But it was more than that.
Marcus bent forward, plucked a blade of grass from the hillside and twirled it between his fingers. “You’re a lot like your father.”
“You don’t have to say that.” Griffin shook his head. “Hell, I don’t want to be anything like him...except...”
He didn’t need to finish the thought. Marcus knew. In a moment of weakness when Griffin was seventeen, after a blowout with his dad, he’d escaped to the fields and found Marcus carefully pruning a row of vines. He’d admitted out loud his biggest fear in life—that Dave Stone was not his biological father.
Neither
