He shoved the phone back in his pocket, pulled the plug on the side of the barrel and inserted the sampling tube. He let it fill and then poured the wine into the glass. Swirled and inhaled the scent, getting notes of blackberry, tobacco and leather. Nice. He took a sip. Nope, not ready yet. Too cottony.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and his youngest sister came waddling down the stairs. Her giant golden retriever, Blue, followed, making a beeline for Jack’s leg.

“Hello, you horny bastard,” he said. The dog smiled up at him, happy dope that he was.

“Hey, Jack,” Faith said.

“Hey. Should you be down here in your delicate condition?”

“I have at least seven weeks to go. Also, Goggy brought in half a ton of grapes the day she went into labor with Dad, and Pru drove the grape harvester the day Ned was born, so I think I can handle the stairs.” She handed him a foil-wrapped package. “Lemon cake from Mrs. Johnson. I was told not to eat any. It’s so unfair, you being her favorite.”

“I can’t help being perfect,” he said in a pale imitation of his usual back-and-forth with his sisters. The cake was still warm. He’d eat some later, maybe. Then again, his appetite hadn’t been so good.

Faith sat at the old wooden table. “Can I smell the wine, at least?”

He handed her the glass, and she took a deep sniff of the wine. “Oh, nice. Leather and plum. This’ll be great in a few months, don’t you think?”

“I do.”

She settled back in her chair and rested her hands on her bulging stomach. “So how are you doing these days, buddy?”

“Good. Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Thanks.” He wasn’t about to burden her with tales of limp, lifeless teenagers. “I’m fine, Faithie.”

“Good. You know, we all love you, even if you’re a little prince.”

“Please. I’m head winemaker for our family dynasty. You, on the other hand, plant pretty flowers.” Faith was a landscape architect, and while he completely respected what she did, he wasn’t about to tell her. It would throw off his big-brother coolness.

“I’ll ignore that. So, Jack.”

“Yes, what’s-your-name?”

“You know Emmaline, right?”

“Sure.”

“She needs a date for her ex-fiancé’s wedding.”

“Okay.”

“It’s—wow, that was easy.” Her dog came over and sat next to her, putting his cinder-block-size head on her knee, and Faith scratched his ears. “It’s in California—that’s the thing. It’d be the whole weekend. Colleen’s going, too. She knew the bride in college.”

“No problem.” It was winter, things were slow and, man, it’d be fantastic to get out of town, somewhere warm where people didn’t want to ask what it was like to save those kids. “Who am I going with again?”

“Emmaline, dummy. The cop.”

“Right. Tell her yes.”

“Hooray! And here we thought you had no purpose in life.” Faith grinned. “Would you tell her, so this doesn’t feel so eighth grade?”

“But it is so eighth grade, Faithie. That’s what you love about it.”

“Just obey me, okay? I’m brewing you a nephew.” She stood up and rubbed her lower back. “You like her, right? I mean, you’ll be a good date and all that?”

“Sure. She’s the best right wing on the hockey team.”

“Women love to hear that kind of thing.”

“I’ll mention it, then.” He opened another barrel. “Anything else, whoever you are?”

“Yes. Will you be the baby’s godfather?”

He did a double take. “Sure. Thanks, Faith.” He went over and kissed her head. “I guess I figured it would be Jeremy. Or Tom.”

“Jeremy and Tom aren’t my beloved, much-worshiped older brothers.”

Jack smiled, and this time, it felt genuine. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you told Megan Delgado that I had roundworm.”

“Hey, I did you a favor,” she retorted.

“Did you? Because last time I looked, she was still incredibly gorgeous.”

“And speaking of gorgeous women—”

“Smooth.”

“I know. Speaking of gorgeous, I hear Hadley’s back in town.”

“Yep.”

“Is she looking to reconcile?” Faith asked.

“Yep.”

“You interested?”

“Nope.”

“Why now?” Faith asked. “Did she see the rescue coverage or something?”

“Yes.” He removed Blue from his leg. The dog looked a little blurry. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Jack, come on! I get enough one-word answers from Levi when he’s grumpy.”

“Uh, yeah. She saw something on the news and thought I might need her.”

“Do you?”

“Like I need roundworm.” His inner ear ached.

Faith smiled. “So you want Pru and Honor and me to go beat her up? We could bring Mrs. Johnson. She never liked her.”

“I’ll let you know.”

The water had been cold like he’d never felt before. Cold enough that his bones hurt.

“So this wedding comes at a great time, then,” Faith said.

Jack gave his head a little shake. “What wedding?”

“Jack! Jeesh! The wedding you just said you’d go to. Emmaline’s fiancé.”

“Right, right. I’ll stop by the station. Now get out of here and go plan your next garden. I have wine to check.” He paused. “Thanks for godfather. That means a lot, Faith. Tell Levi, okay?”

“I love you,” she said, giving him a hug.

“Love you, too.” She always smelled like vanilla cookies or something, his youngest sister, and Jack hugged her back, the blurry, floating feeling fading a little.

Faith pulled back. “Oh! The baby just kicked. He knows his uncle Jack is here.” She put his hand on her stomach, and Jack felt a strange, firm, wavelike motion.

His nephew. A little boy who’d dig in the dirt and play with trucks and learn to drive the harvester years before he could drive a car, and when he did drive a car, his uncle Jack would put the fear of God in him, and that kid would never, ever, ever drink and drive and crash—

He removed his hand and cleared his throat. “Got any names picked out yet?”

“No,” she sighed. “Levi says whatever I want is fine, which makes me insane.”

“Heartless bastard.”

“I know. It won’t be John...I’m saving that for you, so you can have John the Fifth. If you ever get married and produce the Holland grandchild. Not that Mrs. J. has been complaining about that or anything. Or Goggy. I was over at Rushing Creek today, and she said, ‘Oh, sure, it’s wonderful that you’re having a baby, Faith, but I want a Holland baby to carry on the family name.’”

“Let’s not forget my superior gene pool,” Jack said. He paused. “But if you want to name the little guy John, go ahead, Faith. Dad would love it.”

“Nope,” she said. “You’re John Noble Holland the Fourth. You get to have Number Five if you want. If you can trick some woman into marrying you, that is.” Then, realizing that perhaps his marital state was a sore subject with his ex-wife in town, she added, “Sorry.”