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Picking up his own bowl and wineglass, he, too, headed to the kitchen. Tyler was rinsing the pots he’d used and was stacking them in the dishwasher, the metal clanking loudly against the other items already in there.

Tyler was right, he hadn’t questioned Tate stepping in while their father was recovering from his stroke. Tate could counter that he’d spent the last four years working with his father and had been taught all the things necessary to make the farm run like a well-oiled machine—but it wasn’t a good idea to bring that up. It would only make Tyler angrier, and he didn’t want to do that. He was tired of fighting with his brother.

“Tyler, you’re right, you deserve the same amount of trust you’ve given me.” He walked to Tyler, whose back was straight, and his fingers gripped the pot as if it would shatter if he released his hold on it. “I’ll do everything I can to help make sure plenty of eyes get to your booth at the festival. I want your wine to be a success. I do. As I said earlier, I know nothing about wine, I prefer a beer. But your wine tastes really good, and I’ll happily drink more glasses of it.”

Tyler remained impassive for a few heartbeats. He was always a little hard to read. Then his grip on the pot relaxed and he smiled. “Appreciate it. And glad you liked the wine. Just hope everyone else will. How is the planning going, by the way? Looked like you and Kelly are getting along well.”

Tate’s mood lifted and his lips stretched into a smile. He couldn’t wait until their weekend together. He would need to check out hotels tomorrow.

“Oh yeah, by the look on your face, things are going really well,” Tyler teased him and Tate picked up the dishcloth and tossed it at him. Tyler caught it one-handed. “Nice try, bro, but I saw that move coming a mile away.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. But in answer to your question, the organizing is going well and you’ll be pleased to know, tonight Kelly added some bunches of grapes into her floral designs that are going to be placed around the farm and the town square. That’s gonna get interest in the wines. I’ll have to see who else is coming out here.”

“You mean you haven’t gone over all the vendors with Kelly? You know the festival isn’t that far away.”

“I’m well aware of the timing, but I’ve been concentrating on the harvest. We’ve organized the layout and placement of the booths. She’s been working on the floral arrangements etcetera, because that’s the job she’s always had. When it comes to the actual setup of the booths, I’m going to be in charge of that.”

Before he could say anything more, his phone rang and his heart leaped into his throat. It was well after nine p.m.—most people didn’t call this late unless it was bad news.

“Shit,” he muttered as he picked up the phone and saw the rehab center’s number flash on the screen. His stomach dropped to his feet and he hesitated a moment before accepting the call. “Tate Prentice.”

“Good evening, Mr. Prentice, I’m sorry to be calling you so late. This is Darla from Sweet Ridge Rehabilitation Center.”

“Is Dad okay?” Darla was the night manager of the center, and he hadn’t had a lot to do with her, but he had met her.

“Yes, your dad’s fine. In fact, I’m calling with some good news. Dr. Matlock was late to visit the center today, he had an emergency he couldn’t get away from. Anyway he spoke to your dad, reviewed his file and the case notes by the physical therapists, and has determined that your dad can be discharged from the facility on Friday. He’ll have to come back to continue his therapy plan, but he doesn’t need to be a full-time resident anymore.”

Tate’s mind whirled at the information just downloaded on him. Dad was coming home. “Wow, okay. I wasn’t expecting this news. So Friday he can come home.” He needed to confirm the information, make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“Yes, Friday. Umm, will this be a problem?”

“A problem? No, not at all. I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect this news.”

Darla chuckled down the line. “I do enjoy making these calls when I get the chance. I ask this of all our patients’ families; do you have a room prepared for your father on a lower floor?”

Something tapped him on the shoulder, and he swiveled to see Tyler, concern etched into his features.Dad’s coming home?Tyler mouthed and Tate put his thumb up. Tyler nodded and stepped back.

Tate focused back on the conversation and Darla’s question. “Yes, Dad’s room was on the ground floor anyway. We’ve added large bars to the shower as well as by the toilet, to help him when he uses the bathroom.”

“That’s good. What your dad also needs is peace and quiet to adjust to living away from the facility. I know you own a busy farm, but if you can do everything possible to keep stress and the daily hustle and bustle away from him, that will help his recovery as well.”

Shit, having hundreds of people traipsing around the farm for the Founders’ Day festival was the exact opposite of what Darla recommended. Not that he could do anything about it right now. The festival was only a couple of weeks away, too late to back out of hosting it now.

“I understand and I’ll do everything possible to keep things relaxed and calm for Dad.” Keeping Dad away from the action was going to be a challenge, because Tate knew the second his father stepped foot on the property he’d want to go through the orchards to see how they were doing and how the harvest was going. No way would he let that happen.

“Good to hear. Well, I’m sure Friday can’t come soon enough for you or your father.”

“Definitely. Thanks for calling, Darla.”

“My pleasure. Have a good rest of the evening.”

Tate disconnected the call and blew out a breath—Dad was coming home. For a while, he hadn’t thought that was going to happen.

“Dad’s really coming home?” Tyler asked as he pressed start on the dishwasher.

“Yeah.” Tate ran a hand through his hair. This all felt so surreal. “On Friday.”

“That’s great.” A mix of emotions rushed across his face—surprise, happiness and then, finally, wariness.