right—” she laughed “—about the market for them, I mean. And that’s where our first few harvests will undoubtedly go. As the vines mature, we hope our grapes develop the kind of complexity that’ll allow us to bottle under our own label.”
“How much can you expect from only ten acres?”
“Between seventy-five and a hundred tons of grapes.”
His mouth dropped open. “Did you say tons? How many bottles would that equal?”
“About three thousand cases.”
“I’m impressed,” he said. “So how’d you get interested in grapes anyway?”
“Dad’s a master winemaker. I grew up in Oregon surrounded by vineyards and majored in viticulture in college.”
“Where?”
“University of Washington.”
“What are you doing here in Texas? Why not Oregon or Washington or California?”
“Mostly because I had to get Megan away from the cold, damp Northwest.” They walked down a row and Ethan tested the tension on the wire trellises. Tight as a bowstring.
“As for California,” she went on, “no way could I afford to buy or even lease land there. I considered working for someone else, but the cost of living on the West Coast is beyond my budget. The Home Free program here is a godsend.”
“Miranda Wright’s brainstorm.”
She glanced at him. “You don’t approve?”
“On the contrary. The program is brilliant, economically and socially. It’ll probably save Homestead.”
“Do I hear a but at the end of that sentence?”
“The alternative was Clint Gallagher buying up all the land and annexing it to his ranch—the Four Aces. That sure wouldn’t have increased the population or brought in more tax revenue.”
Kayla had the feeling Ethan wasn’t telling her everything. She’d heard there’d been a few opponents to the mayor’s plan to take possession of a failed ranch, subdivide it and sell off the parcels as a way of bolstering the declining local economy.
“How long does it take to establish a vineyard?” he asked, as they came to the end of the row and turned back.
“It’ll be three years before our first harvest. Five to seven years before we know with any certainty what kind of quantity and quality we can produce.”
“A pretty long-term capital investment then,” he noted. “And a pig in a poke.”
“Good investments, like wine and love,” she said with a smile, “take time.”
He smiled back, and she quickly averted her eyes.
“What’re you fixin’ to do in the meantime?” he asked.
“Since there aren’t any other vineyards around here, I’ll probably go for my teaching certificate this summer. I minored in biology in college, and there’s usually a demand for science teachers, either full-time or substitute.”
They stood at the top of the hill overlooking the barren vineyard. “What kind of irrigation will you use?”
“Drip. Grapevine roots go down rather than laterally, making it ideal as well as ecologically sound.”
He nodded, then turned and met her eyes. “If there’s anything I can do to help, labor, equipment, manpower…horsepower—” he gave her one of his playful grins “—just let me know. By the way, are we still on for Megan’s first lesson this afternoon?”
“Nothing will keep her away. If I don’t drive her there, she’ll walk. Yep, we’re still on.”
AFTER HER FIRST riding lesson that afternoon, Megan was convinced she and Birdsong were meant for each other. Ethan wasn’t sure it might not be true. The mare had always been patient and imperturbable, except when it came to water. She was the only hydrophobic horse he’d ever encountered. That aside, she was a dream ride with a long, smooth gait. Having been Angela’s horse, she was also attuned to the young and infirm, making her ideal for a novice like Megan.
For Megan’s second lesson on Wednesday, Ethan had her walk slowly around the arena for ten minutes to warm up. She may have ridden every week for a year, but she hadn’t learned much. He suspected it was the fault of the instructor, because the girl was enthusiastic and smart.
From the fence, he continued to repeat instructions on how she should hold the reins and keep her legs straight, heels down. Like most beginners she tended to correct one thing only to lose concentration on another, but she tried so earnestly, he thoroughly enjoyed teaching her.
“My friend, Heather, wishes she could come out and ride with me, too,” Megan said as Birdsong walked into a corner and stood there.
“Rein her to the left and nudge her with your feet, like I showed you. That’s right.”
“Who’s Heather?” Kayla asked. She was standing a few feet away on the other side of the fence. The day was exceptionally warm for mid-February, so instead of a jacket, she was wearing a man’s flannel shirt. In her snug jeans she was definitely eye-catching, but then she’d look good in anything. Or nothing.
Don’t even go there.
“A girl in my class.” Megan grew very serious. “Her mommy and daddy were killed in a car crash, so now she has to live with people she doesn’t know.”
“Heather Gibbs?” Ethan asked. When Megan nodded, he lowered his voice and explained to Kayla, “She and her parents were coming home from a two-week vacation in Corpus Christi last summer when a van tried to pass them. It blew out a tire and careened into their vehicle. They were pushed into on-coming traffic just as an 18-wheeler was approaching. Heather had been sleeping in the backseat and miraculously survived without a scratch.”
“But why is she living with strangers?” Kayla asked.
“As I recall neither parents had siblings, so there was no extended family to take her in.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize Heather had ended up in foster care though. Boy, that’s rough. Keep your heels down, Megan,” he called out.
After another half hour, he decided his student had ridden long enough. Megan wouldn’t admit it but she was getting tired.
“Can I walk her out to the pasture?” she asked after she’d dismounted and was lovingly petting the animal’s neck.
“Yep,” Ethan said. “Then you have to clean her stall before we bring her in again for supper.”
“That’s easy. I don’t mind, even if it is poop.”
He laughed softly and hoped she never lost that enthusiasm. After removing the saddle and replacing the bridle with a halter, they walked Birdsong to the pasture. Once let loose, the mare whinnied to her friends and charged toward them with a kick and a fart, making Megan cup her hands over her mouth and giggle.
“I wonder if Heather’s foster parents would let her come out here to ride after school?” he mused, as he and Kayla watched Megan run to the barn.
She shook her head. “I don’t imagine they can afford lessons, and I’m sure the state would consider horseback riding a nonreimbursable luxury.”
“I don’t mean formal lessons, just come out here with Megan and ride around for a while. It’s great therapy for troubled kids. I wouldn’t charge her.”
“That’s awfully generous.”
He shrugged dismissively. “I have an old gelding she can ride. Fiddlesticks isn’t going to run away with anyone.”
“Let me make a few phone calls tonight and see what I can set up.”
WHEN