“Stay there,” he snarls, jabbing a finger in his face.
Nathan pivots as one of the firefighters comes at him. I’d think he’d be one of the good guys, a conclusion Nathan must echo because he ducks under the firefighter’s swinging arms and gets right up in his personal space. Grabbing his shirt, Nathan shakes him until recognition dawns. Nathan shoves him toward the door and away from the fight.
Nathan leaps back over the bar, sprinting down its length. He retrieves a bat stored next to the ice machine. With his other hand he grabs a metal ice bucket and upends it.
The ice goes flying, spraying many of the people pressed into the bar, who cry out in dismay. Nathan leaps onto the bar and begins banging the bat against the bucket, the loud noise echoing across the bar. People shrink away from the sound, myself included, but Nathan only hits harder.
With a snarl of disgust, he bends down, dropping the bucket to snatch the hose hooked up next to the beer taps. Stretching it as far as it can go, he showers the room with a cold jet of carbonated water. He sprays mercilessly, not letting up until every last brawler is a sodden, sullen mess. A few men even slip and fall in the water, which only succeeds in transforming the whole spectacle into a pathetic slip-and-slide.
“Now that I have your attention,” he roars, “you have ten seconds to get out of my bar or so help me God, I will beat the ever-loving shit out of each and every one of you with this bat. And I know y’all know I played baseball from kindergarten through twelfth grade. I’ve got one hell of a swing.
“And the rest of you,” he yells, swinging the bat around like some sort of deranged symphony conductor, “you get the hell out of here as well. You’ve been absolutely no help whatsoever. The bar is closed for the night. Go home. I’m sure you’ve got more than enough to gossip about by now, anyway.”
“Well, well, well. And what do we have here?”
A man steps through the open door, clad in a sheriff’s uniform, his badge glinting. Two of his deputies step in behind him. He takes a brief glance around the bar before his eyes finally settle on Nathan. He snorts, shaking his head.
“It’s always something with you, isn’t it, Nate?”
Nathan points his bat at him like an avenging angel singling out his next victim. “My taxes don’t pay your salary for you to stand here and make little jokes, Teddy. Do your damn job and arrest these morons.”
“And here I thought it was my sacred duty to bring joy and laughter to the community,” Teddy says, stepping carefully over a fallen chair. He takes one look at the nearest fallen man and snorts. Teddy gives the guy a nudge with his boot. He groans, clutching his side.
Teddy sighs, then glances up to find the whole bar gaping at him. “If you’re not currently on the floor or bloody, then get out of here. Immediately.”
His deputies step aside to make room for the crowd of people rushing for the door. Within seconds, only the fighters, Nathan and Scotty, and the sheriff remain.
And me.
Teddy studies the casualties. Without looking up, he says, “Scotty, I take it you’re capable of disciplining your own men? We’ll just take these other ones down to the station and have a little chat. Looks like you’re having a rather bad day, son,” he adds, grabbing the kid who started the fire by the shirt collar.
“Which could have been entirely avoided if he hadn’t been dumb enough to start a fire at my family’s farm,” Nathan snaps.
I suck in a startled breath. That’s where the fire was? Nate’s farm? On the same day he found out about a death in the family? Sympathy stirs for him despite my desire to remain emotionally distant from anything involving Nathan King.
No wonder he fought so ferociously. The guy can’t catch a break.
My sympathy deepens. Despite my desire to stay impartial, to resist the attraction between us, the urge to comfort him whips through me. Understanding suddenly dawns.
Nathan King is clearly a man devoted to his family, loyal to a fault. He puts family first. Like any family member should.
There is zero loyalty in my family.
I wish I had someone as loyal to me as Nathan is to his brothers.
“Jude?”
I’m barely aware of Nathan’s surprise in finding me cowered in a corner, still too staggered by what I’ve just admitted to myself. I should not—cannot—be thinking such a thing about him.
“Jude?” he says again.
Shaking my head, I pull myself together. There’s time for a freak-out later. “You’re bleeding,” I say quietly.
Nathan swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and glances down. He blinks, then shrugs. “I’m fine,” he says, finally jumping down from the bar.
Thank God he’s finally back on the ground. He’d been ridiculously attractive up there, commanding the place like some curly-haired god. Powerful men are another regrettable weakness of mine, right up there next to funny men and men with dirty mouths in bed.
God help me. He’s got my own personal sexy trifecta, hasn’t he?
Nathan tosses the bat on the bar, then begins righting the tables and chairs that got strewn across the room. I step away from my place beside the bar. He can’t possibly clean all this up himself.
“And who might you be?” the sheriff asks, giving me a long look.
“Off limits,” Nathan snarls.
I roll my eyes, but cut him some slack. The man’s bar just got destroyed on the same day as someone he loves died and his childhood home nearly burned down. I’ll let this one slide.
“Hello, I’m Scotty King,” Scotty says, coming over and extending his hand to me. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“How’d you guess?” I say dryly.
“Oh, we’d remember a pretty gal like yourself,” says Teddy.
“Don’t you ‘gal’ me, sheriff.”
Teddy laughs, then extends his hand as well. “Teddy King. Pleasure.”
Jesus. “How many of you Kings are there?”
“Uh, a few,” Nathan mumbles. Teddy winks at me. Scotty just rolls his eyes and with a careless wave, heads out the door.
“Your mother must have been beyond fertile,” I mumble.
“Oh, she was, seeing as how I have five brothers,” Nathan says, “but these two are my cousins.”
My brows knit in confusion. He has five brothers? But then who’s the sixth? Nathan, Noah, Griffin, Jackson, and Axel. Why didn’t Nathan mention his other sibling at lunch?
“It’s a family trait,” Teddy says, bringing my attention back to the conversation. “Nate’s family had six kids, and my mom and dad had six as well. Our dads are brothers and they must have been lonely growing up, because they apparently decided to overpopulate the earth with King children. Twelve children. Hell. Good God, do I never want that many kids.”
“Yeah, right. At the rate you’re going, sleeping through half the county and alienating every woman you’ve ever touched, I’d be surprised if you ever procreate,” Nate says without looking up from righting a table.
Teddy shrugs. “You got me. Flings are fun. Who wants to get all trapped up in a relationship? Especially when it leads to a bunch of male rugrats running around—well, except for Libby.” He glances at me sheepishly. “She’s my youngest sibling.”
“And a right terror, at that,” says Nate dryly. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to know you practically forgot her existence just now. And how is sweet Aunt Bess?”
Teddy snorts. “Oh, she’s fine. More than fine, actually. She and dear old Dad are currently in Atlanta.”
Nathan pretends to shudder. “Don’t tell me they’re trying to get Tristan in line again. Uncle Isaac should know better by now.”
Teddy rolls his eyes. “Mom insists that if she just nags my brother long enough, she’ll somehow convince him to move back here. And you know Dad is incapable of ever telling her no. So they’re both in Atlanta now haranguing him.”
“I almost wish I could be there to witness it—but then I’d have to be near Tristan,�
�� laughs Nate.
“You and me both, man. Tristan is my one brother best experienced in small doses,” says Teddy.
But despite their joking, sadness lingers in Nate’s eyes. No wonder Alice was so important to his family; with six children of their own, it’s not like their aunt and uncle could have taken them in, themselves. And who is this Tristan? Why is he such an asshole?
No. No, Jude. You don’t need to know that. Get your head out of this family’s drama.
One of the deputies ducks back inside, then jerks his head toward the squad cars. Teddy nods and the deputy disappears. Teddy turns back to us.
He sends Nathan a sly look, then says to me, “The moment you get tired of this one, you be sure to give Teddy a call.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, and if hell freezes over, you’ll be the first man I call,” I say.
Teddy roars with laughter, his broad shoulders shaking as he heads for the door. “Touché, my dear. I like you. Nevertheless, I’ll await your call. Hell has a way of freezing over around these parts.”
Chapter Fourteen
Nathan
When Jude and I are finally alone, I sink into one of the unmolested chairs, staring at the wreckage. “And to think I’d believed my day couldn’t get worse this morning.”
Jude drops into the chair next to me. “That was absolutely insane.”
I glance sharply at her. “Weren’t you in the back room?”
She doesn’t reply, instead staring at the floor.
“Jude. Don’t tell me you were out here. Those dumbshits could have hurt you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, I know. You’re a strong woman. You can handle yourself,” I groan, prodding my swelling jaw. “But tell me this, has someone ever punched the shit out of your face? Because I’ll tell you right now, even I barely handled it. It fucking hurts.”
Jude sighs. “You want help cleaning this up?”
I blink at her. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”
“You deal with the furniture, and I’ll get the mop. It’s in the closet, right?”
“When were you in the closet? And why?”
She says slyly, “I might have been … snooping earlier when you were doing inventory.”
I leap out of my chair. “Snooping for what?”
“Your secret stash.”
“Of what?”
“I may have wanted another glass of Old Abe’s. For testing purposes, of course.”
Interesting. What makes her think I’d have a secret stash? Did Northwood put her up to looking? Why wouldn’t she just ask? I’d show her my inner supply room if she did. It’s not a state secret. Something like disappointment stirs in my gut at the idea she might have ulterior motives for asking.
No, that can’t be it. Jude’s already stated she won’t do anything shady. It’s been a shitty day all around; she probably really just wanted another glass.
“You looked too hard,” I say, stepping over to the bar. Leaning over to snag a bottle, I turn the label out, shaking it at her.
“You’re still keeping it behind the bar?” she says, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
“Well, of course I am. It’s alcohol. Where else would I keep it?”
“Nathan. It’s your own creation. You don’t have much. You’re about to start selling it. You should keep it somewhere someone can’t get to it.”
I laugh, my concern she might be keeping something from me forgotten in the face of her obvious outrage on my behalf. “Jude, it’s Ovid. This isn’t exactly the land of sophisticated criminals. Stupid ones, sure. But few people even know Old Abe’s exists. Who would seek it out?”
“Plenty of people know about it. You told me on the way back from lunch that you got a loan from the local bank. So they know. Noah certainly knows. The entire town just showed up to gossip about your brother’s fire. If I were you, I’d be a little less laissez-faire about the whole thing. This is your future.”
I stare at her. This is your future. What a succinct way of putting it. And staring at Jude as she stares right back, brow raised in question, her arms folded across her chest, the only thing I can think is that she’s my future.
Wait, no. That’s insane. I barely know this woman, and what I do know of her isn’t particularly flattering. Well, apart from her goddess-like sex skills, that is.
A relationship is off-limits for us. She lives on the other side of the country, for fuck’s sake. I’m just still messed up from the bar fight. The blood loss from my busted lip has impeded brain function.
What I need to do is clean this place, then head upstairs to my apartment and try to get sleep that’s not plagued by dreams of Jude. Turn the page on this shitshow of a day once and for all.
“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” I say vaguely, tucking the bottle back under the bar and then heading for the closet to retrieve the cleaning supplies. Jude’s stare drills between my shoulder blades, but I ignore it. I’m fast approaching the point at which I go on autopilot.
“Here, let me.”
Jude stands next to me, motioning for the mop. I pass it to her and return to the bar, intent on putting the place to rights. Unfortunately, the broken furniture is unsalvageable; two tables have cracked tops and three chairs are down a leg.
Sighing in disgust, I begin hauling the lot of it to the dumpster behind the bar. Useless fucks. They couldn’t stop with burning down my family’s farm, could they? Nooo, they had to ruin my establishment, too. How many hours ago was it that my only worry was whether I’d get the distribution deal? Ten?
Now, I have a fucked-up bar, a dead surrogate grammy, an extended work meeting with a woman who may or may not loathe me, and no partnership in sight. Even worse, the fate of Axel’s farm now hangs in the balance. My bourbon label, too.
The peaches I use for my bourbon come directly from our farm. I usually use the overripe, mushy ones that aren’t good for direct sale. But their overripeness means that their sugar content is higher, which is perfect for fermenting a higher ABV value for Old Abe’s. It’s also what creates the unique flavor.
The plan had been to majorly scale up my operation once I got the distribution from NBI. I got the loan from Ovid First National contingent upon the fact that I got the distribution.
But in order to scale, I need a steady supply of peaches. Axel told me I could just have whatever’s left over, which is typically a small but sizable percentage of the farm’s yield. More than I need. Because of the fire, there might not be enough now.
If I can’t get that supply of peaches from Axel, I’ll have to buy them from another farm, which means I’ll incur an unforeseen cost right out of the gate. My startup won’t be able to eat those expenses without significantly reducing my available cash on hand.
And if Northwood gets wind of this, he’ll either refuse the partnership outright or somehow use it to his advantage. How can I keep that info from him when Jude’s witnessed everything?
I don’t even know how to go about fixing this. Axel will eat me alive if I grill him on how many peaches I can have when he’ll probably need all he can get to remain profitable this year.
We’re all fucked.
My mood sours as I throw the remaining broken furniture in the dumpster and then begin rearranging what’s left. Jude has already mopped the melted ice from the floor and is sweeping up the broken glasses that shattered during the fight.
“Let me get that,” I say, reaching for the broom.
“I’ve got it.”
“I’m sure you do, but I don’t care. I’m doing it.”
“Nathan—”
“I don’t want you getting hurt, okay? There’s fucking glass everywhere, and your legs are bare. You could easily get sliced open. If you don’t mind, there’s enough blood on the floor already. Just … go home. Or to a hotel. Wherever it is you’re going to stay this month. I should be the one to clean this up.”
She stares at me, still not surrendering the broom. “You can have someone he
lp you, Nate.”
I run a hand through my hair, refusing to look at her. I just want to be alone. I just want this day to end. And that won’t happen until she leaves.
“Look. I appreciate it, but I want to be alone right now, okay? I just … don’t want to be around anyone.”
“Well, that has to be a first.”
I smile, but it’s cold and brittle. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”
“I understand. But before I go, there’s something I need to do.”
I sigh. “Can it wait? I’ll clean up the papers in the back room later.”
“No, it can’t wait.”
“For fuck’s—what is it?”
She points at me. “Your face needs to be cleaned up.”
I blink. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Seriously, I appreciate—”
“Nathan King. I’m going to clean that irritatingly attractive face of yours whether you like it or not. I know as soon as you go upstairs you’re going to collapse in bed. This place is disgusting and literally covered in blood. It’ll surely get infected. So yes, I’m going to do it.”
Aw, she’s worried about me? I grin slowly at her. “Why, Miss Shaw, are you concerned for my welfare? Little ol’ Nathan? How about we just skip to the collapsing in bed part? I’m exhausted, but maybe you could give me a little pick-me-up. I can think of one part of me that might manage a rise out of the situation.”
Jude snorts. “Oh, good. You haven’t lost your mind. For a minute there, I was worried your seriousness had become a permanent condition. Glad to see you’re back to being ridiculous.”
“Oh, you needn’t ever worry about that, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head in exasperation, but fuck me if she doesn’t seem a little relieved. “Where is your first aid kit?”
I turn to the bar, reaching across and under it so I can retrieve my unused first aid kit. Jude takes it from me and then points toward a barstool. “Sit.”
“You’re pretty bossy, you know that?”
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