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  Awakened

  Steel Brothers Saga: Book Sixteen

  HELEN HARDT

  This book is an original publication of Waterhouse Press.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

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  Copyright © 2020 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Design by Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Photographs: Shutterstock

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  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Continue reading the Steel Brothers Saga with Book Seventeen

  Message from Helen Hardt

  Also By Helen Hardt

  Acknowledgments

  About Helen Hardt

  In Memory of Celina Summers

  1966 to 2020

  Rest in Peace

  Prologue

  Dale

  I walk alone at night, the moonlight cascading off the grapes nearly ready for harvest.

  Harvest is my favorite time. The Syrah crop looks phenomenal this year. We won’t have to supplement by purchasing extra grapes from California.

  This year’s Syrah will be pure. One hundred percent Steel grapes grown on the western slope of Colorado.

  The mountains shine to the east, their snowcapped peaks silvery under the harvest moon.

  Such beauty.

  Such peace.

  Almost.

  I’ll never fully be at peace, but here, in the darkness and among the vineyards, I come close.

  I reach out and pull a grape off a cluster. It’s small, the size of a marble, and the deepest purple in color.

  There’s beauty in the life of a grape, beginning with bud break in early spring and ending after harvest in autumn, when the leaves fall to the ground. The vines are dormant during the winter months.

  Perhaps why I dislike winter. I’m not myself during the cold weather. I grow with the vines.

  The nearly black grape sits in my palm. These vineyards were planted over eighty years ago, and seventy-five years ago, Steel Acres released its first wines.

  This year marks our diamond anniversary, and the first year we’ll be producing an old-vine Syrah, among other varietals.

  Old vine.

  These vines have mesmerized me since I came to the ranch twenty-five years ago, a lost and broken boy of ten.

  Since then, I’ve spent time here, strolling among the vines, watching their metamorphosis each year. My uncle Ryan Steel, our master winemaker, took me under his wing when I was twelve. As I grew, he taught me. When neither of his daughters showed any interest in the business, he made me his protégé.

  When Uncle Ryan retires at the end of this season, I’ll be the master winemaker.

  Me.

  Dale Robertson Steel.

  Lost and broken and never master of anything.

  I pop the grape into my mouth. Its thick skin releases the tannins onto my tongue, drying it out. But then the sweet flesh—sweeter than any table grape—dances along my taste buds. Two seeds emerge from the pulp, and I spit them onto the ground.

  Wine grapes aren’t meant to be eaten, of course, but I’ve always had a taste for them and never fail to sample from each vineyard during harvest.

  This one—the Syrah—is my favorite.

  It produces a dark-red wine laced with flavors of blackberries, licorice, the most bitter chocolate, and black pepper.

  All darkness.

  And in its darkness, I find myself.

  Chapter One

  Ashley

  “You’ll be working with my uncle Ryan—you met him—and my oldest brother, Dale,” Diana says during our drive from California to Snow Creek, Colorado.

  “Right. The adopted one.”

  “Yeah. My parents adopted him and Donny when Mom was pregnant with me. That’s why they’re so much older than Bree and me.”

  “I hate to ask,” I say, “but why would your parents adopt two kids when they were already pregnant?”

  “The boys’ natural mother committed suicide, and they never knew their father. I’m not exactly sure how my parents got involved.”

  “You never asked?”

  She shakes her head. “It never mattered to me. They’re my big brothers in every way that counts. I love them.”

  I’ve seen photos of Diana with her brothers and younger sister, Brianna. Dee and Bree—cute, huh?—are dark-haired and dark-eyed, like their father, Talon Steel, while the brothers are blond and green-eyed.

  And definitely male model material.

  Donny, the younger, has dark-blond hair, but Dale, the older, is more honey blond.

  I’m looking very forward to meeting them both.

  “Ash…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t count on adding my brothers to the notches on your bedpost.”

  I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Ash…”

  “Okay,” I admit. “Maybe I would. Is it a sin to like sex?”

  “Of course not. I like it myself, though not as much as you seem to.”

  I’m not ashamed of my rich sex life. Diana knows this. “It’s an adventure. Each man is different.”

  “I know, but it’s still just sex. What is sex without love?”

  She doesn’t get it, and I don’t expect her to. I get more from sex than the average woman because of my synesthesia. I’ve tried to explain it to her and countless others, but how can I when their sounds don’t have colors and their emotions don’t have flavors? How do I explain the gorgeous gold of a Mozart opera or the neon pink of rock and roll? Non-synesthetes don’t get it.

  So yeah, I have a lot of sex. I like one-nighters. It’s part of who I am. But I�
�m always careful. A disease or unwanted pregnancy would put a definite kink in my plans to become a master sommelier.

  I met Diana a month ago at UCLA, where she just finished her master’s in architecture. I’m an oenology doctoral candidate. Weird that we crossed paths at a wine lecture and hit it off, but we did. Diana was there because her uncle Ryan Steel was speaking. We ended up sitting next to each other, and after the lecture, she introduced us.

  So here I am, on my way to Colorado for an internship at Steel Vineyards. For the next three months, I’ll experience every part of the winemaking process, from harvest to ageing and bottling.

  I can’t wait.

  Winemaking isn’t my chosen path. Wine tasting and selling is, but, as Diana pointed out, an internship at her family’s winery will give me valuable insight and perspectives on terroir and everything else about the process.

  It will make me better at what I choose to do.

  Plus, I’ll get to meet her handsome brothers and work hands-on beside one of them.

  Dale Steel.

  Even more handsome than his younger brother, although he’s never smiling in any of the photos Diana showed me.

  Donny, on the other hand, is always smiling.

  “You said Donny’s a womanizer,” I say.

  “True. And he is. But he’s not for you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ash, he’s my brother, okay? And you’re my friend. It just seems…weird.”

  “Uh…I think you once told me that your mom was best friends with your aunt when she met your dad.”

  “That’s…different.”

  “How so?”

  “My dad wasn’t a womanizer.”

  “So? Your brother sleeps around. So do I.”

  “You’re going to be here for three months,” she says. “Do you really want to sit around the table at our huge-ass family dinners after sleeping with my brother? He’s never serious. I doubt he’ll ever settle down.”

  “Sounds perfect for me.” I smile.

  “He lives in Denver.”

  “Oh…right.” She told me that. Donny’s a lawyer with a Denver firm.

  “You probably won’t even meet him until Thanksgiving, but we’ll still have our huge-ass family dinners without him.”

  “When you say huge-ass family dinners…”

  “I mean huge-ass family dinners. My aunts and uncles all live on the ranch, and most of my cousins still live nearby.”

  “Just how many cousins do you have?”

  “There’s the four of us, and then Bradley and Brock—they belong to Uncle Joe and Aunt Mel. Ava and Gina are Uncle Ryan and Aunt Ruby’s daughters. Then Henry, David, Angela, and Sage from Aunt Marj and Uncle Bryce.”

  “And you seriously have family dinners? Do you rent a giant round table from King Arthur or something?”

  “My parents live in the main house on the ranch,” she says. “The formal dining room is massive and accommodates all of us, plus significant others, if any of us bring them.”

  “Unreal.”

  Anyone studying wine has heard of the Steel Vineyards. Wines made in Colorado made a splash some decades ago, largely because of the Steels. Their original winemaker, a Brit named Ennis Ainsley, had taught Ryan Steel, who brought his own creative flair to winemaking. He’s a genius, and I’m going to learn everything I can from him. This is my only chance, as Diana says he’s retiring after this season.

  “Have they ever had an intern before?”

  “You’re the first,” Diana says. “Look around. We’re in Steel country now.”

  I gaze out the car window. Vast greenery—the green that makes a trumpeting sound, like the fanfare of a glorious symphony—in every direction, and in the east, the majestic Rockies—the purple of the trombones and baritones—looking over all of it.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I say.

  “This is where you’ll spend the next three months, Ash. Enjoy.”

  “Do you ever stop and look?” I ask. “Just gape in awe and wonder that you actually live here?”

  “I guess. But it’s so normal to me.”

  You have no idea how lucky you are.

  I don’t say this out loud, of course. I haven’t known Diana long, but I do know she grew up extremely privileged. Not that she’s overly elitist or anything, but I think she takes this beauty for granted. To me—a girl who spent many years of her childhood in the tent cities of San Francisco—it’s absolute splendor.

  We make some small talk, and an hour later, she turns into a long stony driveway.

  “Home sweet home,” she says.

  As we approach, a sprawling ranch house comes into view. All red brick, with a front deck that wraps around to the side.

  “This is nothing,” she says, as if reading my mind. “Wait until you see the back.”

  I’m speechless. At least the colors aren’t overly vibrant. I’d have to filter out the sounds, otherwise.

  “You live here.”

  “Guilty. And so do you for the next three months.”

  “I’d ask if you’re sure you have room, but this house is massive.”

  “We have plenty of room. Donny doesn’t live here anymore, though his room is still his for when he comes home. Dale lives in the guesthouse, which is about a half mile away. You can see it from the back. Bree and I have our own rooms, of course, but that still leaves several guest rooms. One of them has your name on it.”

  “I really ought to pay you rent. Or something.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re glad to have you. It’s no trouble. My mom loves having more people around to dote on.”

  “But…food and all.”

  Diana laughs. “We have more beef and fresh fruit than we could ever eat ourselves. It’s harvest season, Ash.”

  Right. Harvest. Why I’m here. To take part in the grape harvest and winemaking. Plus, the Steels have an apple and peach orchard as well as a beef ranch and winery.

  “You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted a western slope peach,” she continues.

  I smile. What color will the flavor of a western slope peach be? Most non-synesthetes would guess peach-colored, but that’s not how it works. Everyone’s synesthesia is different.

  Diana pulls into a spot on the driveway and stops the car. “Ready?”

  I draw in a breath. This is where I’ll spend the next three months. Guess it’s time.

  “Ready.”

  Chapter Two

  Dale

  I turn off the shower water and towel myself off.

  Tonight I’m supposed to have dinner with my mother and father at the main house. Diana’s bringing her friend home—Ashley White, who met Uncle Ryan at a lecture over the summer session at UCLA and ended up with an internship at the Steel winery.

  We’ve never had an intern before, and frankly we don’t need one. We have an excellent staff already. She’ll only be in the way.

  I’m supposed to train her. I’ve never trained anyone. Usually someone below me takes care of that, but Uncle Ry says since I’m taking over, this is my last chance to train anyone.

  Why I need to train her is beyond me. Why not have one of the assistant winemakers do it, like we always do?

  I’m not great with people. Especially female people.

  My brother, Donny, doesn’t have that problem. With him, the problem is staying with one female person for longer than a week.

  Funny.

  We deal with our past in completely different ways.

  Or maybe we don’t deal with it at all.

  I try not to think about it.

  Twenty-five years have passed since we were abducted. Stolen from our home and from our mother.

  Our mother who we never saw again.

  Jade is my mother in all ways that matter. I love her dearly, and I know with all my heart that she loves us just as much as she loves our sisters, who came from her body. But she and Donny are closer than she and I will ever be.

  It’s just my way.

  I�
��m not really close to anyone. Except for my father. He seems to get me. And Donny and Diana, sort of.

  I’m a loner. I’ve learned to be satisfied with my own company. That, and the company of the vines. That’s where I’m most at home.

  Most at peace.

  Even though true peace will never be an option for me, I do find solace in other living things. Just not other living humans.

  Even so, I miss my brother. He lives in Denver now, though he visits for all holidays and sometimes comes home for no reason at all. He moved out of the main house for good about five years ago when he took a job as an attorney with a major Denver firm. Donny wasn’t interested in the ranch. He’s close to our adoptive mother, who’s also an attorney. She’s been the city attorney for Snow Creek for decades, only taking time off when Diana, and then Brianna, came within four years of each other.

  Dee and Bree. Mom and Dad didn’t choose the names to rhyme. It just happened that way. Diana is named after Mom’s grandmother, and Brianna is named after our grandfather, Brian Roberts. They’d already chosen the name Brian for a boy, but Bree didn’t cooperate.

  Anyway, Donny chose to follow in Mom’s footsteps with college and law school.