Bourbon Nights (The Barrel House Series Book 3)

by Shari J. Ryan

  Contents

  Want to be friends?

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  A Preview of Bourbon Fireball

  Chapter 1

  Other Books In The Barrel House Series:

  About the Author

  A Preview of Bourbon Love Notes

  FREE Bonus Book

  Also By Shari J. Ryan

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2020 by Shari J. Ryan

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  * * *

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  * * *

  Edited by: Cindy Dimpfl

  Cover Photographer: R+M Photography

  Cover Model: Aiden Stuart

  Want to be friends?

  Before you continue … we should really be friends.

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  Tell me what you think while you’re reading (if that’s your thing)!

  Dedication

  To the warriors who suffer silently, thank you for your sacrifice.

  Prologue

  Ten Years Ago

  I shouldn’t have acted on impulse.

  I could not walk away unscathed.

  Melody and I kind of grew up together, but it wasn’t like those stories you hear when two kids live next door to each other, play cops and robbers, or climb trees for years until they hit puberty. Then, bam, there was an unfamiliar kind of connection. Melody and I only saw each other a few times a year, despite living only one town away.

  Our dads had been friends since a young age and eventually intertwined their businesses. Melody’s dad, Harold, ran The Barrel House, a bourbon distillery, and my dad produces the barrels to store the bourbon. Therefore, the times our families spent together were at the distillery parties Harold liked to host.

  During the parties, Melody and I had always kept each other company, building forts with the wooden crates or partaking in wild games of flashlight hide-and-seek around the rows of barrels in the shop’s basement. No matter what we did, we ended up in a fit of laughter, rolling around on the ground until it was hard to breathe. Then, we’d fall asleep in a corner somewhere, waiting for the late-night party to end. Months would go by in between the times we’d see each other, but when the wait was over, it was as if no time passed at all. We picked up right where we left off.

  Then there was one party, the party that sucked. We were in seventh or eighth grade. I brought a bag full of Pop Rocks, Pixy Stix, and Sour Patch Kids for Melody and me to share. We decided those were the best foods to have during an adult party because we’d get a sugar rush that would keep us entertained through the duration of the night. I waited for Melody in the backroom by the stacked wooden crates. My brother, Brody, was busy looking for a spare bottle of bourbon to sneak into a corner so he could convince Journey to join him at a party of their own. Melody and I called Brody and Journey our annoying older bratlings since they both enjoyed looking for trouble. Quite a pair, even as kids.

  When Melody and Journey arrived, I held up the bag with a smile, but they walked past me as if I was one of the wooden crates and continued into the stairwell that led downstairs to the distillery. They left me standing there like an idiot holding a bag full of candy as if it should be the highlight of our evening. I questioned their behavior, wondered if something happened, and thought of every possible cause for the sudden silent treatment.

  Nothing made sense until I thought back on what I learned in health class. I recalled an argument about hormones—whether the girls’ hormones kicked in first or the boys who were paving the way. It turned out; the boys won that battle most of the time. Maybe the girls were just better at hiding their feelings. The dramatic change in her behavior was very confusing.

  Maybe Melody realized she simply didn’t like me, or possibly found a boyfriend. However, there was also the chance that the shy girl I always knew was suddenly feeling bashful toward me, the person who had been her friend for longer than I could remember.

  The night of the party crawled by at a snail’s pace. My boredom was out of control; downing pixie sticks alone, feeling like a loser. Melody had come upstairs to use the restroom just as I was walking out of the men’s room, and we bumped into each other. I was about to say something, but she turned red. Her eyes widened, and with a small awkward smile, she ran off.

  I knew the look. I was old enough. When a girl blushes and smiles like that, she may have more on her mind than friendship. I wanted to go with that conclusion.

  When I realized what was likely happening, I began referring to Melody as adorable. That’s when I felt the first flutter in my chest, one I hadn’t experienced before. It was pure excitement. However, the frustration was heavy while trying to understand why Melody wouldn’t speak to me. Still, I respected her feelings because I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

  At the time, I didn’t realize how long her discomfort would last, but the silence went on for years. Sometimes, Melody’s sister, Journey, would tease her right in front of me, confirming my assumption of how Melody felt, but I did what I could to ignore them, hoping to spare Melody the embarrassment. I figured when or if she was ready to talk again, she would.

  The timing for us was everything, and the minutes were running out.

  I was moving along through my senior year of high school. Everyone was discussing college and plans. I endured daily conversations about what school I would head to in the fall. I always had to change the subject and find reasons to walk away.

  My classmates assumed I was smart because I paid attention in class, handed in all the homework on time, and prepared for tests, but my grades were terrible. I was lucky to pass my classes, and my SAT scores were so bad they weren’t worth submitting to any college or university. I knew I wouldn’t be accepted anywhere other than a community college, and that was if I was lucky. I was more deflated than I had ever felt in my life, especially after enduring the daily breaking news reports about the acceptance packages my friends were receiving.

  The thought of my future was grim. My parents felt terrible, knowing how hard I had worked. They told me I could retake the SAT’s and keep trying, even if it took an extra year. Their words did not motivate me. Instead, I gave up, even though I wasn’t sure at the time what that meant, but it was the only way to describe my feelings.

  Somehow, the universe must have received my interna
l memo because, after a week of coming to terms with my status of going nowhere in life, the Marine Corps held a recruitment day in the cafeteria during lunch.

  I had nothing to lose, and maybe everything to gain.

  I was athletic, one of the best at any sports I took part in, and I assumed the Marines didn’t require certain scores from the SATs. My conversation with the recruiter was a hypnotizing discussion full of promises, hope, and plans for an attainable future. They sold me on the idea before I could mention a word about the military to my parents. I was already eighteen and had been for an entire month at that point and it was therefore my decision if I wanted to sign my life away to the U.S. government.

  I informed my parents after the paperwork was signed.

  I wouldn’t say it was the best conversation I had with them, but they appeared understanding.

  The days following my decision were full of fear, and a sense of regret. Was it a rash decision? Was the military meant to be my future? Would I go to war? I didn’t know why those thoughts hadn’t entered my mind before making a life-changing decision, but there was nothing I could change.

  I pushed the thoughts away, counting the months down until I would leave for boot camp, reassuring myself I made the right decision. It took me time to adjust, but I was moving past my uncertainty.

  Then, everything in my life came to a screeching halt.

  Melody approached me during the last bourbon party I would attend before leaving for boot camp.

  The timing was not only bad; it was unquestionably wrong.

  I should have seen what was to come the night I overheard Journey trying to convince Melody to taste a little bourbon. She wasn’t the underage drinking type, and I didn’t want to watch Journey persuade her to go against her morals, so I headed for the backroom to find some air and quiet. I had a few minutes to scroll through the emails on my phone, seeing nothing but spam as usual.

  The feeling of shock was overwhelming when Melody flew through the back door as if pushed by someone. I’m not sure if she was looking for me, or just needed some air too, but there we were … face-to-face like we hadn’t been in years.

  “Hi,” she uttered. It was the first word she had spoken to me in what felt like forever. I couldn’t remember what we had said to each other last. I just knew how much I needed to hear that word form on her lips.

  “It’s so stuffy out in the shop. There are so many people tonight, and I needed some fresh air,” I said, trying to keep the conversation casual, scared to chase Melody off ... again.

  She gazed at me as if she wanted me to say more, but it also seemed like she didn’t know where to start. “Yeah,” she replied.

  I didn’t realize I had still been clicking the button on the side of my phone because my focus was on Melody.

  “I—”

  She couldn’t seem to get out whatever was on the tip of her tongue, and I was sure she was about to return to the party, so I knew I had to say something. “You okay?” I asked.

  Melody’s eyes seemed fixed to the wall behind me, and she held her focus there for a long second as she dipped her hands into her back pocket. “Um—yeah—I know we haven’t spoken much over the past couple of years, but I—”

  I wondered if she knew how much I missed talking to her after she walked by me so many times. Maybe she thought I didn’t notice. “You what?”

  Melody’s cheeks brightened to a light shade of pink, and she closed her eyes for an elongated blink. Her lips pressed together before parting to speak. “I might have a teeny-tiny little crush on you, which is lame and stupid to say out loud, but I heard you’re leaving for boot camp soon, and I figured maybe I should say something.”

  I wasn’t expecting to hear the words that came out of her mouth. I didn’t even know she knew I was leaving for boot camp. I’m sure our parents spoke, but I never knew to what extent. If I told her I felt the same way, the truth would have only hurt her, being so close to leaving for boot camp. And if I didn’t respond, I would have been the biggest jerk in the world. I didn’t know what to say, but I wish I had thought of something better than, “That’s very sweet.”

  The hue of her cheeks burned into a deeper shade of red. I embarrassed her.

  A hiccup shuttered through Melody’s body, interrupting our awkward conversation. For what I thought was embarrassment a moment earlier was nothing compared to the current look. She cupped her hands over her mouth, staring at me with a look of horror. “Sorry, I had a little—” she muttered through her hands.

  I smiled to ease her discomfort. “Did you sneak a little bourbon?”

  She smiled in return, and it was as if our long-lost friendship was back where it should have been. Maybe it was one-sided, but to me, it felt like no time had passed.

  “A little; a couple of sips,” she said.

  I held my hand up, pinching my fingers in front of my eye to question the amount she consumed. “I thought you were the well behaved one of Mr. Quinn’s daughters?” I asked with a chuckle.

  “I am!” Melody squealed. She responded as if I questioned her integrity, but also found the statement humorous.

  “Well,” I said, immediately wishing I hadn’t begun such an open-ended statement with nothing to follow. I was surely about to lose control over what would come out of my mouth. “I can’t say I haven’t noticed your beauty these last couple of years. It’s weird after growing up around each other, then seeing you in a new way.” I should have stopped after saying I noticed her.

  “It’s the red hair,” she said, making it sound as if someone needed an excuse to notice her. Her hair is not what makes her stand out. She doesn’t need any kind of unique feature to be the center of attention. “It got redder as I got older, and now, I stand out like a sore thumb.”

  Panic set in when I wondered what she thought I meant. “That’s not what I meant,” I tried to correct myself.

  “Oh,” she said, breathless while sweeping her hair away from her shoulders.

  I stepped toward Melody, needing her to understand that I was not taking her confession as a simple compliment. There were countless times I wished she spoke to me before that night. “It’s true, though, I’m leaving for boot camp soon.” Why did I sign those papers without a second thought? I should have just retaken the SATs and, waited a few weeks to think things through. I had so many reasons for joining and very few for trying harder to get into a college. Yet, at that moment, I had more reasons to stay in Vermont and work harder to attend college than to become someone I wasn’t cut out to be. I was acting on those regretful thoughts as I reached for Melody’s chin, sweeping my fingers toward her neck, encouraging her to gaze up at me. “If I wasn’t leaving—”

  It was the dumbest thing I could have said or done to her and myself.

  Before I could consider my next actions, I lunged forward until our noses touched, and I closed my eyes. The knot in my throat made me pause. My heart and mind battled with each other, and there wasn’t a winning side.

  Screw it, I thought as I touched my lips to hers—the lips I needed to feel. My mind went blank as I pressed my hand against Melody’s burning cheek, and I curled my fingers behind her ear. My body was screaming demands. I needed to hold her closer, but I had already gone further than I should have. I was still leaving and shouldn’t have started a new chapter I knew I couldn’t finish.

  Despite the bit of rationale running through my mind, I couldn’t part my lips from hers. It was an unbreakable magnetic force. It was something I didn’t know I needed but somehow could not resist. A drug. An instant addiction. My stomach ached, and my heart raced. I was so damn stupid.

  Another one of Melody’s hiccups interrupted our kiss. Her face filled with a look of humiliation once again, but among her embarrassment and frazzled gaze, she stared longingly as if trying to analyze the thoughts behind my eyes.

  “Don’t gulp the bourbon next time,” I told her, resting my hand on her shoulder, grinning for her comfort. I didn’t know how to move on
from there. I’d kiss her again if it wouldn’t cause more pain down the road, but it would, for me, at least. I licked my lips, tasting the cherry-flavored lip-gloss she was wearing. “Thank you for a memorable night, Melody.”

  Her eyes were full of despair. She knew it was over, just as I did. But how could something be over before it started? Rather than waiting for her to speak the first hello, I should have approached her long before that night.

  It was my fault.

  There couldn’t be an us.

  Not then.

  1

  If someone told me a year ago, I would be in the state of South Carolina dressed in a suit today, I would have laughed. I would have laughed so hard I might have peed myself because I was sure there was nothing in the world that could make me come back to the Carolinas. Nothing, unless Pops asks me to do him a favor and close a vendor sale. I’m not a sales guy, but Pops doesn’t ask me for many favors, and he and Mom do a lot for me, so I couldn’t say no.

  The hallway leading away from the meeting room is concrete, underground, and cold for this part of the country. I’ve seen my fair share of bourbon distilleries throughout my life, but a lot of them offer tours to enthusiasts. I’m almost positive this building doesn’t open up to the public. Their equipment is on the older side, and there’s more or less no sign of life here. Literally. I don’t have a signal on my phone. I only have one bar, but it’s enough to know I have an incoming call from Pops.