Page 11 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
"Starving." I slide onto a stool at the island. "Did you bake that?"
A short laugh escapes him. "No. Margie from town brings it up once a week."
"Margie?"
"Owns the bakery in Angel's Peak." He arranges bread and various toppings on a wooden board. "Her husband had a heart attack up here last year. I was one of many who helped stabilize him until the helicopter came."
"You saved his life?"
"Technically, Cole saved his life. He’s the town doc." Dominic shrugs, uncomfortable with the implied heroism. "Right place, right time. Now she makes sure I never go hungry."
I find myself smiling at this glimpse behind his gruff exterior. "So the reclusive winemaker has a fan club."
"One determined baker doesn't make a fan club." He slides the board between us. "Eat. Then I'll show you the vineyard since that's what you came for."
After breakfast, Dominic outfits me with proper snow gear—all several sizes too large but better than my city clothes. Outside, the cold takes my breath away despite the sunshine.The world is blindingly white, silent except for the occasional drop of melting snow from the pine trees.
Merlot bounds ahead, disappearing into drifts and emerging with a snow-covered snout. His joy is contagious, and I laugh as he rolls around like a puppy.
"How long have you had him?" I ask as we trudge through knee-deep snow.
"Three years. Found him abandoned near the property line. No collar, half-starved." Dominic's expression darkens. "Someone dumped him up here to die."
"That's horrible." The casual cruelty makes my stomach turn.
"People can be." His tone suggests he's not just talking about dog abandonment.
We reach the edge of the vineyard, and Dominic's demeanor transforms. He speaks with quiet authority about his vines—how he's adapting traditional techniques for this challenging climate, the specific clones he's chosen, the innovative trellis system that allows the vines to survive winter at this elevation.
"Everyone said it couldn't be done," he explains, brushing snow from a dormant vine with gentle fingers. "Grapes at this elevation, with these temperature swings? Impossible."
"But you proved them wrong."
"The first two years were a disaster." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Complete crop failure."
"What made you keep trying?" I ask, genuinely curious.
His gaze travels across the vineyard, something vulnerable flickering in his expression. "After Napa, I needed... something that was mine. Something I built from nothing."
I want to ask about Napa—about the rumors regarding his family's historic vineyard and the fire that destroyed it—but his closed expression warns me away from the topic.
"The isolationdoesn't bother you?" I ask instead.
"It's intentional." He meets my eyes, and for a moment, I see past his walls to something raw and wounded. "Sometimes starting over requires burning everything to the ground."
Before I can respond, a mechanical rumble breaks the mountain silence. Dominic tenses, turning toward the sound as a snowmobile crests the ridge, heading toward us.
"Paul," he mutters, not sounding pleased.
The snowmobile stops nearby, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in professional-grade winter gear dismounts. He pushes back his goggles, revealing a handsome face with laugh lines around friendly blue eyes.
"Thought you might need checking on." He approaches with an easy gait. "Cell towers are down, and the pass is completely snowed in." His gaze shifts to me with obvious interest. "Hello there."
"Paul, this is Elena Santiago," Dominic introduces me with obvious reluctance. "She's a wine director from San Francisco. Got caught in the storm yesterday."
"Lucky storm." Paul grins, extending a gloved hand. "Paul Ramsey. Maintenance manager at The Haven resort. Former Olympic snowboarder, current mountain rescue volunteer, and the guy who keeps this grumpy winemaker connected to civilization."
I shake his hand, returning his smile. "Nice to meet you. I appreciate the rescue check."
