Page 43 of Lighting Up Christmas

“But I suspect that understanding the wine would give wine lovers some insight into you.”

Something that might have been impatience or resistance crossed his face.

“And that’s a good thing. People who love wine also love the story of it—the site, what makes it special. How the wine is made. How the weather that year impacted the vintage.”

“For not being a wine drinker, you know a lot about wine.”

“I grew up in the valley. Wine was always part of the culture. And my friends love wine, which means I’ve been to a lot of celebrations and concerts, even a Shakespeare in the vineyard each year. A lot of social events take place at some of the biggest vineyards. Hey,” she popped up, “are you planning to do something special with your event space? You could host wine releases, weddings, concerts, corporate parties.”

“In my barn?”

“I’m not sure if it’s a barn without animals,” she teased, unable to imagine him with anything fuzzy, messy, or needy. She had yet to see a dog on the property.

“I have thought about miniature sheep.” That shocked her. “They would keep the undergrowth down in the spring and summer, which is critical to water management. Sheep can be trained to not eat the grapes with a bit of pepper spray on the prunings.”

“Sheep would be a draw for tourists, too, coming up from the Bay Area or down from Portland or Seattle,” Riley added.

“I am not here full-time to take care of the sheep. There are a lot of predators, especially in the higher elevations.”

“You’d need a dog, a border collie, Australian shepard or a Great Pyrenees. There are always ads for farm dogs at the feed store.”

“I don’t live here full-time. A dog needs a human. I still have a company with projects in the Bay Area.”

“You could have a caretaker.”

“I come here to be alone. To think. To breathe. To have quiet.”

“Fire Ridge is your sanctuary.”

He huffed out a breath like she’d poked him and stood at the same time. “Let’s take a walk. I think better when I walk.”

He looked down at her footwear. Riley stuck her long legs out and twirled her Redhawk work-booted feet. “Don’t leave home without them,” she grinned.

Zhang dragged his jacket from the back of his chair and strode out—her invitation to follow Riley surmised.

He was a little rough around the edges, but that didn’t bother her. She’d met a wide variety of people in her years in the valley, from locals who had rarely traveled outside the area to rich, high-tech entrepreneurs who wanted a retreat and everyone in between. Riley shrugged into her coat and tucked her phone in her pocket, the voice memo app cued because she was going to get him to talk.

“We walking to the different blocks?” she called out.

She already knew how many acres he owned—580—how much he had planted—fifteen—and how much was plantable—250 or more.

It boggled her mind to think of that much wine. He’d need his own crew designated to his vineyard, a vineyard manager, a cellar manager, a tasting room manager, a sales manager. And if he really wanted a retreat where he could have quiet and think, amanager to coordinate all of that while Zhang sat somewhere on the property alone in his home.

Did he even have a house on the property?

She had a hard time envisioning him in the hundred-year-old simple farmhouse Leah and her mother had grown up in. Zhang seemed more like he’d rock a sleek, austere glass and steel aesthetic with monochromatic white interiors. Maybe a shout-out to his rural site with a reclaimed beam somewhere.

She blinked away the vision and strode after him, easily catching up. Growing up, being tall had embarrassed her a little, but once she’d started working in her teens, her height had given her an advantage. Harder for men to dismiss her when she could look them in the eye and even harder when they had to look up at her.

“Are you prepared for what you’ve gotten yourself into?” she asked. Riley had always heard the joke, “How do you make a small fortune in the wine business? Start off with a big one.” Zhang oozed money—Riley had heard stories about young high-tech geniuses making a killing when they sold their start-ups—but if Zhang didn’t get control of his vineyard, it was going to control him.

He continued to walk up the hill away from the winery and the tasting room. Riley kept pace. There were a few inches of snow on the ground, and a huge storm was predicted Sunday. Riley loved storms. They were wild and free. And often provided an unexpected boon in business, although it was rude to root for someone else’s misfortune.

She pulled the gloves out of her pocket. Zhang stopped at the top of the hill and looked out. He wasn’t even breathing hard, but then, neither was she.

Thank you, Sophia.

Although they usually didn’t run in December—too cold and too busy.

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