daughters of celebrities who had everything in the world lavished upon them while I wished only for a belly full of food and a warm bed.
I thought I’d gotten over all that. I’m an adult now and responsible for my own life. I refuse to regress to petty jealousy.
“I’m sorry too,” I say.
“For what?”
“For being…” A brat? The word is correct, but I can’t bring myself to say it. “Insulting. I’m sorry.”
“No one should go to bed hungry. Or cold.”
I nod. “You’re right. No one should. But people do. Every day.”
“It may interest you to know that the Steel Foundation funds many food pantries and homeless shelters.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. My cousins Henry and Brad head up the foundation. Maybe you’d like to meet them.”
“I’m no philanthropist.”
He chuckles. God, that voice.
“Certainly not. Oenology is pretty far from philanthropy. You look down your nose at how we live here on the ranch, yet your chosen field is to sell high-end wine to consumers in fancy restaurants. You’re a contradiction.”
Anger coils in my belly. “I’m not looking down on anyone. I just decided a long time ago that I won’t look up to someone just because he has more money than I do.” I clench my fists. “As for oenology, it’s what I’m interested in—you of all people should understand that—and I’ve earned my own way. I didn’t have rich parents to pay for my education.”
“Apparently you didn’t need them. You have more education than I do.” His eyes soften then, but only a little. “I’m truly sorry you ever had to go to bed hungry. I’m truly sorry for anything else you might have gone through that was unpleasant. You seem to be okay now, though. There comes a time when you have to put the ugly in the past. Set it aside. Compartmentalize. Stop envying those who had it easier than you did.”
I scoff, even though his words ring true. “Easy for you to say. Look where you grew up.”
“I’ve been lucky in many respects.” Then he glares at me, those green eyes darkening to the color of moss growing on the trunks of trees in a forest. No longer a bell choir, but now a chant of bass voices. “But there are things you don’t know about me, Ashley. Things no one will ever know.”
I stop myself from gulping audibly.
His words stir me. Is he hiding something? After all, he’s only been here on the ranch for the last twenty-five years. What happened during those first ten?
He says he never went hungry. Well, then, it can’t have been that bad.
Unless he’s not being truthful.
Even with my heightened senses, I can’t tell when someone’s lying. Sure, there are the classic tells—looking down, fidgeting, small facial twitches—but Dale doesn’t exhibit any of those. He’s seemingly made of steel. A tribute to his name.
Except for that kiss.
That one kiss that I’d give my right arm to experience again. As much as he irritates me, he turns me on like no man ever has.
And I’ve had a lot of men.
What is he hiding?
Whatever it is, Diana most likely doesn’t know, or she would have warned me. Or would she have? She loves her brother and would no doubt protect him at all costs.
“We all have our secrets,” I finally say, trying—but failing—to sound nonchalant.
“I suppose so.”
I smile. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
His face turns to stone, and his cheeks redden. Uh-oh. I feel like I’ve awakened a barbarian. He’s not speaking, but the color—the deep-red color of his voice—still swirls around me, tries to drown me.
“Do not ever say that to me.”
“I was just joking.”
“Joking or not, never say those words to me again.”
I’m shivering. Seriously shivering inside this office, which is perfectly comfortable. Shivering like I used to on those chilly nights when my mother’s warmth and our two threadbare blankets weren’t enough.
I’m cold.
Dale is making me cold from the chill exuding from him.
“I’m…sorry,” I say.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he says. “No one gets inside me. No one. Is that clear?”
This time I gulp, and yes, it’s audible. “Perfectly.”
Chapter Twenty
Dale
Ashley seems small as she stands five feet away from me, rubbing her hands on her upper arms as if to ease a chill.
She’s average height—which is short among us Steels—but she’s hardly little. Yet my mind transforms her into a little girl—a little girl going to bed hungry.
I don’t know her story, don’t want to know. Is it worse than mine? Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not. What Donny