Lauren held tight. Her fingers ached in their joints, but her grip was steady. It needed to be, the ladder had claimed at least one near casualty since she bought the vineyard. That was one too many. She tested her weight on the rung beneath then descended the 20-foot tall ladder carefully, one foot at a time.

Hector gave orders. The usual diatribe of a mad Spaniard lit fires under the workers heels. It was the only time Lauren was reminded of Monty while she worked. Sometimes Hector’s voice sounded painfully similar. Her stomach dropped and churned with an acrid burn over the memory. Hector’s commanding voice sounded off like a bullhorn above the hum of the machines. Lauren reached the final rung and stepped down from the ladder. What had him so worked up? When she turned she saw the hard work of the others. There was one man in particular she checked for. Mr. Dylan McGuire, was heaving, and sweating through the chores of lifting and carrying. Interesting. Lauren observed. He had shed his top shirt. Now he wore a white tee. Sweat stains circled his armpits and collar, in manly way. His hair was nearly slick to his head. It was fifty degrees inside the containment center. The temperature control was set by her to aid in the preservation of their harvest. Dylan looked as if he labored in the Sahara.

He wiped at his brow, staggered a bit, then went to the next crate, lifting, carrying, stacking. That was his routine. Over and over he proceeded with his head bowed, and muscles flexing. Why would he bother? Was he seriously going to labor just to prove a point? For the life of her she couldn’t figure out the angle. The man was now a billionaire or close to it. This was borderline insane.

“Hombre’s a hard worker.” Hector said, with a note of approval.

“How long has he been at it?” Lauren asked. She eased off one work glove then the other, tucking the pair in the back pocket of her pants. After the last stack was in place Dylan joined the others. He had found his rhythm. Fell right in line, and began separating the white grapes from the reds as they tumbled along the conveyer. His movements were stiff. His chest rose and fell in rapid succession. Something about him was off.

“He’s been at it for, eh, over three hours now. Maria was worried, you know? She thinks he’s a character, but he seems to be giving it an effort. An honest one.” Hector looked behind him to the doors. “The rains haven’t stopped. I will take some men and go to the fields.”

“Huh? Okay, radio me if I need to join you.”

“Si..” Hector said. The old man in overalls, shuffled away. She watched him go, her heart softening. Maria was less forgiving, as was she, but Hector gave every man his fair chance. She trusted him, and for Lauren that took work. She could count on one hand the short list of people she did. Lauren checked her watch. The first shift for the men should end. Lunch was fastly approaching. Other than the cup of coffee she provided Dylan she hadn’t fed him anything, and he hadn’t asked. Now was as good a time as any to call it. When she looked back to call out to him, again she saw him waver. He then stopped. Gripped the edge of the bin near the conveyer he appeared to be winded. Lauren frowned. He was pale as a ghost in a flash, in the distance his skin looked ashen. Something was definitely off about him.

“Dylan?”