Bourbon summer, p.28
Bourbon Summer, page 28
“You know how Dad was about violence.”
“Nothing wrong with bluffing.”
I cocked a brow. “You weren’t bluffing.”
He only grinned. “My point is that you can tell them how you’ll be treated. You know why Wendi took up with Scooter?” Teller’s ex was selfish, so it likely hadn’t taken much, but I shook my head. “Because I told her that I was helping Dad with working cattle and couldn’t go on a wine tour in Napa Valley.”
“Sounds like a vacation you’d hate.”
“Every part of it, and I told her that. She still planned it. She got upset and told me I was a daddy’s boy who couldn’t think for himself.”
I flinched. Those words had been thrown in my face too.
“I told her that she wasn’t allowed to disrespect my family or me like that. So she cheated on me. Did you ever tell Bobby to stop?”
“What the hell do you think?”
“Did you do it in a way that would make him listen?”
“I’m not like you and Tate.”
He chuffed. “Again, no shit.” He sighed and pulled up the chair across from the desk. “Did you ever think that’s why Bobby and girls like Katrina targeted you?”
I gnawed on my bottom lip. “You think I made it easy for them? That they were justified?”
“I think you were afraid they were right. And I think you’d rather take it than risk ever behaving like them. You’re not me and Tate. So lean into it. What about you drew Ruby to you?” He gestured to himself. “I can tell you that she was never interested in me. I wasn’t into her either—FYI. Nor was she giving Tate googly eyes. Not one guy walked through here and got her undivided attention. But you did.”
I tucked that info away. It likely wasn’t real, but a small win was better than none. “I don’t have it now. Little hard to win her back when she doesn’t want me around, much less to touch her.”
“Romance isn’t all about touching. Nor is it fancy restaurants and impressing people you don’t care about. Figure out what that is for you two and romance her.”
“She doesn’t want me.”
“Is that what she said?”
“She can’t trust me again.”
“Sounds a whole lot like she’s scared. You are too. Start there.” He pushed out of his chair and swaggered out of my office like he’d just laid down the solution for world peace.
What the hell did I know about romance? Any time I had tried, it had blown up in my face.
Start with we’re scared? Teller didn’t know a goddamn thing—
Is that what she said?
No, she hadn’t said she didn’t want me anymore. She hadn’t had to.
But what if . . . What if she could trust me again?
Just to humor Teller, what would earning that trust look like?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ruby
“Okay, how about this?” I aimed and clicked on the newest cocktail creation Wynter and Autumn had come up with for the fall menu in the tasting room. She was leaning on the counter behind it, half turned, with her long, pale hair down her back.
“I can’t believe I’m modeling instead of Junie,” she muttered.
Autumn stood behind me. “This is going to look so good,” she said as I tabbed through different settings and took snapshots.
I adjusted the settings back to normal. “Your turn, Autumn.”
She fluttered her hand over her hair. “Are you sure about this? I’m not a model.”
“I can rattle off the stats of how much more engagement we get when I have Junie in the images, and thanks to Teller, I can tell you how much more there is when it’s Copper Summit royalty.”
“Royalty,” she scoffed. “I don’t even work the bar anymore.”
She might’ve been born a Kerrigan, married a James, but to Copper Summit customers, she was a Bailey. “I can blur you like I’m doing with Wynter.”
Any edits with Teller made the fans go feral. I’d had so much fun responding to comments. They were still pouring in. If I had posted Tenor, with his soulful eyes behind his glasses? A cowboy nerd? We’d sell out.
Now I was grateful he hadn’t wanted them shared. Otherwise, I’d be posting Drink in the cowboy all you want. He’ll be gone before you know it.
Except he had tried coming back.
The space behind my sternum throbbed. Had I done the right thing, or had I condemned myself to a lifetime of pining for one man?
How could I trust him again? I’d been his gateway date. Either he’d shut himself back into bachelorhood for another ten years, or he’d come into the bar with his new fiancée and invite me to the wedding.
Before I could start spitting and snarling, I pasted on a bright smile. “I’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, but I promise the images will be lovely. Wynter created the apple-muffin old-fashioned, and people will love seeing her with it. I think you should pose by yours.”
She didn’t look convinced. “I’m wearing a hoodie.”
“Perfect for a drink you named ‘campfire delight.’ ” The less photoshopped, the better. “You can approve any image I use.”
“Have Gideon do it,” Wynter suggested. “He’ll say yes to them all.”
Autumn scowled at her but then relaxed. “All right.”
I got to work, using both my phone and camera to get photos. Teller walked in to ask Wynter about the spring campaigns she was working on and he got rooked into modeling too.
I was smiling and laughing when the first customers for the night showed up. Wynter and Autumn cleaned up the mess left behind from their mixology session while I took the new arrivals’ orders.
Today had been nice. After the last Friday I’d worked when Tenor had stopped in, I hadn’t been sure if I should keep picking up shifts, or if I should drop to just Wednesday evenings. Then other family members wouldn’t have to work late to lock up.
How miserable was I?
My job was important to me, but if I had to move on to keep from going home and sobbing myself to sleep, then I would. I hadn’t searched for any new positions yet though. My first step would be to give up the tasting room shifts.
I hadn’t done that yet either. Without this extra side hustle, Wednesday and Friday nights would become just like any other night of the week. I’d crawl into bed, scroll for an hour, then prop up my book to read.
Mom’s house was up for sale and she had her travel van ready to purchase when it sold. Soon I wouldn’t even have my once-a-week plain pasta dinner with her.
Wild woman, right here. Who wouldn’t want me?
The list had grown by one, and that one made it hard for me to breathe. Tears pricked behind my eyes. I turned my back to everything to take a quick inventory. My height worked for me. I could see how glassy my eyes were getting in the mirror behind the bottles. I blinked rapidly to banish the moisture.
Autumn stopped at my side. “We’re taking off.” She inspected my face. “Is there anything you need?”
Calling on that energy from earlier, I flashed another fake smile. “Nope. It’s looking like a busy night.” Tourists were pouring through town in the last weeks before school started.
“Sounds good.” She turned to go, then spun back, her red hair flying. “Oh. There’s a book under the cabinet for you.”
A book? Why? More customers walked in and Autumn scurried out.
I worked for a couple of hours. The book had to wait. Just as I dropped a candied cherry into a bourbon lemonade, Cara walked in. She glanced round the room, a slight expression of distaste on her face.
No Brock.
What was she doing here alone?
She came to the counter and slid onto the stool at the corner of the bar. The one Tenor and I had—
Nope. Passing that stool a million times a shift had desensitized me to the memory of the passion we’d shared. Of how he’d declared he couldn’t stay away from me.
Maybe I wasn’t as immune as I thought.
“Hey, Cara. What can I get you?”
She gave me a demure smile. “You know what I like.”
I held in my sigh and started on a mojito.
She propped her elbow on the countertop and rested her chin on her hand. “So? When are we going out, Rubes?”
I bit back the third—fourth?—fifth?—fake smile I’d flashed for the night. The last thing I felt like doing was humoring her. If I put her off, I’d be no better than my exes, stringing Cara along because I wasn’t bold enough to face my feelings. I was too afraid of being hurtful like my dad. I could justify my response a million ways, but I was tired. My emotions were raw and my nerve endings exposed, left to the elements.
I pushed the glass in front of her. “Don’t call me Rubes, please.”
Her lips puckered as she dabbed the thin pink straw up and down. “It’s just a nickname.”
“I don’t like it.” I’d allow my dad to call me that, but only because he had never teased me about it. She had. “And I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You don’t think what is?”
“A forced friendship between us. You’ve been mean to me, Cara. I thought we were friends, but then you acted like I should be ashamed of my mom, where we lived, and myself.”
Her jaw dropped open. “What are you talking about? I’ve always been nice to you.”
“No, you haven’t, and if you don’t see how hurtful you’re being, it’s not my job to show you. My job is to serve you drinks.”
“You mean this watered-down thing?”
I gave her a plain stare. She was proving my point.
She lifted her chin. “Why did you even come to my wedding? I could’ve used that spot for another guest.”
I was done with Cara’s bullshit. “You seemed to want me there, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“And you’re not now? We were friends.” Her eyes flashed. “You were my best friend.”
How could she talk like I had betrayed her? “Until you decided I wasn’t.” My volume was rising. I’d have to watch that. “You insulted my mom, my clothing, my athletic ability. You used me to make yourself feel better when I would’ve been that friend who built you up.” Just like I would’ve been the girlfriend to show Tenor what he deserved. I was tired of being thrown away before I got the chance. “I don’t want to give you the chance to take your unhappiness out on me again.”
She drew back and real pain flashed through her eyes. Trouble in paradise? A little sympathy welled, but I couldn’t waste more energy on her. I’d had enough of that in my life.
Only genuine relationships from here on out.
“I’m not unhappy.” She swallowed hard, then slid off the stool. “See you around, I guess,” she said and marched out of the bar.
While that hadn’t been easy, it was done. One more person cut out of my life.
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, always ready to spring forward lately. Didn’t that sound pathetic?
I made it through the rest of my shift on autopilot. I glanced in the parking lot a million times, but Tenor’s pickup never appeared. He was respecting my wishes.
Damn him.
If he hadn’t, my resolve might have evaporated at the mere sight of him. The anger from the tennis fallout had faded. I was left with the hurt, and for some stupid reason, my heart thought he was the only one who could help me.
All the customers finally emptied out. Only Teller’s pickup was in the lot. He often worked in his office or at the computer bank in the distillation room until he walked me out.
I sent off the nightly report, my heart wrenching like always when Tenor’s name flashed up on the email. I opened the cupboard to stuff the tablet inside. A Sense and Sensibility book was in its place.
That’s right. Autumn had said there was a book for me.
I eyed it. The Sense and Sensibility cover was a dust jacket. I narrowed my eyes and pulled the book out. As I peeled back the front flap, my lips parted and a soft gasp escaped.
A shirtless man holding a blaster was on the original cover, with some sort of spaceship as a backdrop.
I slammed the fake cover back in place, creasing it when I did.
Just then, the lobby door opened. My hopes jumped sky high, but Teller walked in.
“Oh. Hi.” I hugged the book to my chest.
He cocked a brow. “Hey. Ready to lock up?”
I nodded, holding the book with one hand and grabbing my purse with the other. “Yes.”
“How’d the night go?”
I tried not to think of your brother and cut ties with an old frenemy. “Good. It was busy, but mellow.”
“Good to hear.” He punched in the code and headed toward his pickup. I was parked on the opposite side of the lot. “Have a good night, Ruby.”
“Yeah. You too.” I started for my vehicle, but pivoted to Teller. “Hey, um. Don’t wait for me. I have some messages to catch up on before I hit the road.”
“Sure thing. Drive safe.”
I scurried to my car and dove behind the wheel.
What the hell was this book about?
I knew who was behind it. But why had he left me a space marine romance novel?
I tossed the dust jacket onto the passenger seat with my purse and turned on the interior light.
I hadn’t read this book yet. The side had brightly colored yellow tabs on certain pages. Had he annotated the book? I opened the inside cover. Bold handwriting was in the top left corner. We’re proof these scenes are realistic.
My pulse hammered against my veins. If he’d highlighted sex scenes, I would climb out of my skin. I already dreamed of his touch at night, I didn’t need to do it while lucid. Crying myself to sleep after masturbating to the memory of him wasn’t on my breakup bingo card.
I found the first green highlighted passage. “You’re too important to give up on and I’m going to keep trying to earn your trust.”
I skimmed the material around the hero’s dialogue. The heroine told him to fuck off. He worked for the enemy and she declared she would not be swayed by his good looks.
So not completely realistic. But the highlighted line hit home. I heard him reading the words in my head.
I swallowed and found the next tab.
“Everything that’s happened between us has meant something. You don’t know what you mean to me, and that’s my fault. I should’ve done better. I can do better.”
I blew out a hard breath and went to the next tab.
“What’s between us is bigger than our past.”
I blinked back tears. Was it, though? Or was he using his superpower of being sweet and intuitive to create a blank slate? And would we fill in that slate exactly the same way until we had the same falling out?
I sniffled. Another line caught my eye. He hadn’t highlighted this one. It was part of the heroine’s introspection.
He doesn’t realize words mean little to someone like me. The prettiest compliments can wield the harshest insults. Words can cut where a blade can’t. They can cauterize old wounds but leave the ugliest of scars. His words weren’t going to sway me. It had always been about action.
I snapped the book shut. Tenor’s attempt to connect with me was touching. If he had done it in person, I might’ve swooned. In the dark parking lot of Copper Summit after I’d finally stood up to Cara? His words meant little. They weren’t even his words.
Tenor
The rack house was quiet. I could’ve been done a half hour ago, but I was taking my time. Being alone with nothing but rows of stacked, aging barrels was a form of solitude I needed.
I breathed in the smell of old wood and must with a nice undertone of bourbon: the angel’s share of bourbon that had evaporated out.
I had been on edge since last weekend, but I’d heard nothing from Ruby. Last night, I had debated stopping in before I went to Billings for my game night, but I had passed. I had served the ball and she hadn’t returned it.
I had another book highlighted and ready to go. I’d put another Jane Austen cover on it. Emma. The real book was a space romance. A fake facade on a fictional story to tell her my real feelings.
Nice fucking metaphor.
The exit door opened. Boots crunched against the concrete floor. I didn’t bother to turn around, though the intrusion in my thoughts was welcome. If I stood here much longer, I’d sweat through my shirt. Natural fluctuations in temperature played through the ground and walls to help age the barrels. The heat in the summer would make the alcohol expand into the wood and absorb the characteristics of the oak. Then the cold winters would cause the spirits to contract, extracting all the flavor. That needed to happen for at least four years before whiskey was considered a bottled-in-bond bourbon. Just one of many specifications. Only I didn’t have to stand out here for an entire cycle.
Teller rounded the corner, his eyes lighting up when he spotted me. “Those the ones?”
I had the tablet that would verify which oak barrels would become our special batch. Instead of doing a single-barrel line for the holidays, this year we were blending three barrels. “Yes.”
After the barrels were taken by forklift to the main distillery, Teller and I would use the whiskey thief to extract amounts to blend. Then we’d work on a taste profile to give to Wynter. Sometimes, she joined us. Summer too. Tate sat out more and more every year as he got busier with his kids and the ranch.
“I’ll get them hauled in.” Teller propped his hands on his hips. “I forgot to tell you that Ruby left that book in the same spot for you.”
I frowned. She was giving it back? What’d that mean? “Thanks.”
“What’s that all about? You two start some sort of book club?”
“Something like that.”
“So you’re talking?”
“I don’t know.” I started for the door. “I’ll meet you inside.”
Trotting across the parking lot, I managed not to sprint. The book was the only form of communication between us. I ducked into the lobby, waved at the college kid who was leading the tour until his semester started in Wyoming at the end of the month, and barged into the quiet tasting room.
