Del pushed in the back door, dirty and tired, with Tiny at her heels. She’d been working in the vineyard, installing the final section of drip irrigators by herself. It had taken all day and she still wasn’t finished. Ken had been suffering from shortness of breath that week and Del had told him to go home. Yet another reason to stand against the mine – black lung disease could be fatal.
It was almost summer and she still hadn’t secured a firm buyer for her grapes. The wineries that she’d approached were being cagey, waiting to see how good the local harvest would be before committing to the purchase. The long-range weather forecast was a favourable one for vintners. If it proved accurate and there was a glut of grapes, she might not be able to sell them at all. It was a depressing though
