“Taylor is admittedly amazing.”
Kelsey made a gagging noise that was entirely for Josh’s benefit. While she would never say it in so many words, she was happy that he was happy. Josh undoubtedly knew it, but to admit it would be to give credence to all the times he’d called her a secret marshmallow. Which she was, but life had taught her the importance of hiding her gooey center under titanium skin.
Predictably, Josh ignored her attempt to goad him. Instead, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a pin with the letters SHS on it. “Since we’re on the topic of outsiders, I almost forgot. Someone left a pile of these along with some flyers at work. It seemed like something you’d appreciate, so I grabbed one for you.”
Kelsey examined the pin more closely. Around the circumference were the words Save Helen and a website address. “Never heard of it.”
“According to the flyer, the Save Helen Society is a group of concerned citizens who oppose the rapid increase in development and are trying to preserve the town culture and aesthetic.” Josh shook his head. “I don’t entirely disagree, but there are days when I’d sell my soul for a Target.”
Kelsey let out a sharp laugh. “I do appreciate it. My father won’t, but at the moment, that’s an incentive to wear this thing. I’ll look them up.”
“I figured. Now try not to hold your father against Ian.”
“Ugh. Fine. For you, and only because you gave me a free pin.”
Sticking the pin on her jacket so she didn’t lose it, Kelsey let her far more optimistic cousin try to convince her that Ian wasn’t a jerk. By the time she pulled her SUV up to the brewery at the far end of town, she almost believed it could be possible. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside. There wasn’t even a sign yet, but the parking lot had recently been repaved, and the trash bin that had been sitting out for months was gone.
Kelsey parked and got the dogs out. She’d give Ian one more chance with them, and besides, she hated leaving them confined to the car, particularly when she didn’t know how long she’d be.
Ian was supposed to be expecting her, but since the brewery wasn’t open to the public yet, Kelsey assumed the polite thing to do was knock rather than barge in. A minute later she heard footsteps on the other side of the door, then it swung open. She’d seen Ian once, so she had just long enough to recognize that the tall guy in the doorway was him.
Then he slammed the door in her face.
2
IAN RESTED HIS head against the doorframe, his pulse racing. He’d just slammed a door on Wallace Porter’s daughter. That is, he was 90 percent certain the woman on the other side of the door was Wallace’s daughter. He hadn’t gotten a good enough look at her to notice a family resemblance, but no other women were supposed to be stopping by today.
No, he’d barely glanced at the woman, because his attention had immediately been drawn to the three dogs around her legs. Big dogs. Not huge dogs, but dogs that looked like they were of a size that could jump on you and tear out your throat.
Logic informed Ian that those dogs were unlikely to do any such thing, but his brain paid little heed to logic in the face of three large dogs. They had a wolfish look to them too. That probably meant they were huskies or part huskies, but it really didn’t make a difference. He simply did not like large dogs of any breed.
Actually, Ian did not like any dogs, and to be fair, it was the dogs that had started it. He’d been three when one had jumped on him, and that was all he remembered—a large furry object zooming in for the kill and knocking him to the ground to feast. That the dog had probably not been trying to kill him in reality made no difference to the irrational part of his brain, which from that day forward considered all dogs to be furry killing machines. Even those little fluffy ones with the loud barks that everyone else thought were so cute.
Ian refused to be intimidated by those ankle biters, but the dogs this woman had were definitely potential throat biters. And they were not entering his brewery.
Shit. Shit. This was embarrassing on a personal level, not to mention problematic on a business one if that was in fact Wallace Porter’s daughter on his stoop. He’d never have asked for writing help, but Wallace had assured him that his daughter did stuff like this all the time and wasn’t busy, and Ian could really use the assistance.
The woman with the dogs banged once on the door, hard enough for it to vibrate and make Ian raise his head. “Um, hello?”
He thought he heard her add “What the hell?” under her breath, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He’d acted like a first-class schmuck.
An excuse—that’s what he needed. Ian’s pulse had started lowering, but it rose again in desperation as he swept his gaze over the brewery’s under-construction tasting room. He’d been installing shelves behind where the bar would eventually be, and a variety of tools—a drill, screws, a level, and more—were scattered about the area. If experience had taught him anything, it was that dogs could not contain their need to chase things. They smelled fear and charged it down. He would try to keep his distance, and they would home in on him like four-legged heat-seeking missiles. That meant a messy floor was a dangerous floor. Excuse found.
Ian cleared his throat. “Sorry. Are you Kelsey Porter?” That was the name of Wallace’s daughter, right? He didn’t need to do anything else embarrassing, like get it wrong.
“Yeah.”
“Right, sorry again.” Bracing himself, Ian cracked the door an inch. By keeping his focus on Kelsey’s face, he could avoid seeing the dogs. It wasn’t ideal—his nerves were quite aware of their presence—but it helped.
So did focusing on her face, because wow—Kelsey was cute. Her blond hair was pulled back, making it impossible to miss her big blue eyes and the couple of freckles that dotted her nose. She had the sort of face that sang of sunshine and innocence, but whispered that its owner was capable of much dirtier things in the bedroom.
That sort of perky cheerleader pretty had never been Ian’s thing, but something about Kelsey told him he’d make an exception in her case. Possibly it was her lips, which made it clear that the perky cheerleader look was a lie. They were twisted in obvious annoyance with him.
Unfortunately, that was understandable, and the reminder kicked Ian out of his temporarily lustful state of mind. “You’re welcome to come in, but you shouldn’t bring the dogs. It’s a construction zone in here.”
Those big blue eyes narrowed at him, but they never quite met the threshold for being called icy. “Seriously?”
“Sorry.” He was a broken record with this apologizing, but if he got rid of the dogs, it would be worth it.
Kelsey sighed in a far more dramatic fashion than Ian felt the situation deserved. “Fine. I’ll take them back to the car.”
Ian watched her turn away long enough to make sure she really was heading toward the unfamiliar SUV—and okay, also long enough to appreciate the way her ass looked in those jeans—then he ducked back inside. Time to make good on his not-quite lie.
Quickly, he scattered a few screws around the floor and took a broom to the pile of sawdust he’d so meticulously swept up a couple of hours ago. For good measure, he also carried the circular saw from the back room into the main room and set it on top of the sawhorses sitting in the corner. In a few seconds, he’d uncleaned the room and made it hazardous to energetic animals.
Two steps forward, one step backward. That seemed typical for how getting the brewery off the ground was going. He and Micah had run into more roadblocks than any reasonable person could have expected. Sure, there were the normal It takes how long to ship that to Alaska? kinds of delays. But there were also delays that Ian could ascribe no other reasoning to than malice.
He’d just finished wiping his dusty hands off on his jeans when he heard Kelsey’s footsteps on the stairs. Crisis averted. Barely.
“You can come on in.”
�
�Thanks.” For someone who looked so sweet, she could pack an impressive amount of bitter into one syllable. Kelsey reminded Ian of that coffee stout he’d once made that was too cloying on the initial taste and a bit like drinking diesel fuel in the aftertaste. Not every recipe that was good in theory worked in practice. Not on the first try, anyway.
On the note of second tries, Ian held out his hand and introduced himself. Kelsey’s skin was pleasantly cool, and he had to fight the urge to clasp her hand more tightly. If he had to guess, she was nearly a foot shorter than him, and that difference in size made her hand fit perfectly in his. He rather liked the thought of that too much, so he pushed it as far into the back of his mind as he could. It wasn’t too difficult when Kelsey continued to scowl at him.
“Sorry about slamming the door on you,” Ian said, trying once more to smooth away her expression. “I was worried the dogs might dart inside and hurt their paws.”
If anything, Kelsey’s scowl deepened. “My dogs are very well behaved. They don’t dart. If I told them to stay, they would.”
Okay then. Given the way she glared, Ian was doubly glad he’d made her keep the dogs outside. She’d probably have told them to go for his jugular.
He’d make one more attempt, since he didn’t like getting off on the wrong foot with someone. “Good to know for the future. Can I get you a drink?”
“I’d rather you get to the point. I don’t like leaving my dogs in the car for too long.”
Fine. That seemed fair, and besides, he could take a hint.
Ian started to ask another—to the point—question, and that’s when he saw the pin attached to Kelsey’s jacket. Before her dogs and before her face (or ass), that’s what he should have noticed. That pin likely explained so much about her attitude. Although the Save Helen Society had been a thorn in his side for months, it was only recently that Ian had discovered the group had a name as well as a mission.
Ironically, he didn’t even disagree with their mission. Like dogs, the Save Helen Society was fine in theory, but in practice it was a massive pain in his backside. Part of what Ian loved about this town were its size and unique charms, and he didn’t want it overrun with chain stores and restaurants or bland housing developments either. But while that might be the SHS’s ostensible goal, it seemed like they’d taken their ire beyond it and were aiming it at any and all outsiders—him and the brewery included.
For no reason, Ian had had perfectly put together permits denied or simply held up at city hall until contractors became unavailable. Zoning issues that should have been completely straightforward had been questioned, forcing him and Micah to petition for them. And they’d been outright told by people on the town council that Helen was no place for a brewery.
The first time a permit had been “misplaced,” Ian had assumed it was a mistake. The fourth time, he assumed it was one person with an anti-alcohol agenda. It was only after meeting the mayor’s mother herself that Ian learned she’d been spearheading a group—the SHS—to protest any and all new development.
Well, screw that. Everything he and Micah had done was entirely legal, and no matter what a small band of xenophobic townspeople thought, most of Helen was clearly excited about the brewery. And Ian was excited to open it.
He was also determined to make it a success, and far past the point of believing he could make this process go more easily by being nice to the zealots. Even if the zealot in front of him was supposed to be helping him and happened to look damn good in a pair of tight jeans. Kelsey Porter had made her feelings abundantly clear in one pouty-lipped scowl.
Ian motioned to the pin. “You a member?”
Kelsey seemed confused for a second as her eyes dropped to her chest. “Oh, that. I’m not much of a joiner, but I appreciate the sentiment. This town is getting too big, too many new people moving in. No offense.”
Oy. Her tone clearly intended offense. How was he supposed to trust her to do a write-up of the brewery? What had Wallace been thinking?
God, he wished Micah were here to deal with this crap. All Ian wanted to do was brew and sell some beer. Micah was the people person, the sales guy. He could fake a smile and sincerity like no one’s business, whereas Ian usually had no trouble getting along with people, so he didn’t need to try. Everything about Kelsey, however, was putting him on edge. Blame it on her dogs, maybe. That had made him twitchy to begin with. Toss in that her sweet face was having an unwelcome impact on his lower body while at the same time he wanted to kick her pert ass out the door for interfering with the one goal he had in life, and yeah. He was on edge.
Since he didn’t feel like lying and pretending no offense had been taken, Ian didn’t bother to fake a smile. Small talk was over, if it had ever begun. He had to get Kelsey out of here so he could get back to work. Neither she nor the SHS was going to get in his way.
“So what do I need to do for you? Besides get out of town, that is?”
Kelsey raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t suggest it.”
“Your pin did the talking.”
“You sound defensive.”
“When one side goes on the offensive, being defensive is smart.”
Kelsey’s face lit up in an expression that Ian might have considered cute under other circumstances. “You know, usually I have to open my mouth before people call me offensive. What a good little pin this is.” She stroked it. “I’ve leveled up if I can hurt someone’s feelings without saying a word.”
Ian grabbed one of the screws sitting on his makeshift plywood table and spun it around to keep his hands busy. It was either that or start futzing with the drill, and that seemed kind of violent. “I don’t recall suggesting my feelings were hurt. I promise you, they’re not. The brewery is opening for business, even if the tasting room isn’t completed and the website is unfinished. I feel very good about that, actually, and we’re not going anywhere.”
That froze Kelsey’s cruel smile in place. “I’m sure. So about the website?”
“Never mind. I’ll handle it.” Writing something as short as a five-paragraph About section would cost him hours of stress, but he’d do it. Too bad Micah hated writing even more than he did.
“I can do it.” Kelsey crossed her arms. “I told my father I would. I just need you to give me information and to tell me what exactly you want it to say.”
He wondered if he could actually trust her, but Ian supposed nothing would be posted without him reading it, so it wasn’t much of a risk. “My family’s brewery has a short History-slash-About section on their site. I want to include something like that on ours.”
“Your family down in Florida?”
Wallace must have told her where he was from. “Yeah. My aunt and uncle started it. I worked for them.”
“Explain to me why anyone who lived in Florida would want to move here?”
It was a fair question and certainly not the first time he’d heard it, though maybe the first time he’d heard it asked so disdainfully. But the answer was complicated, and there was no way he was about to share it with Kelsey.
Before he could decide what sort of nonanswer to give her, she kept going. “Tell me it’s not because you have some obsession with a book or something.”
He could have choked on the bland answer he’d been settling on. The dogs, the SHS pin, and now this. It was like she knew exactly what pressure points to poke to cause him pain.
Yes, he did love The Call of the Wild, or at least the illustrated children’s version of it his mother used to read to him before she died. Was it ironic because of his dog issues? Sure. But Ian associated the story with warmth and love and everything exciting. It had been instrumental in him begging his grandparents to take him to Alaska when he was younger, and that trip had cemented his love of the untamed, snowy north.
Knowing Kelsey would scoff at him for it increased Ian’s frustration with her a thousandfold.
The screw’s sharp edges dug into his fingers, but hopefully the pain kept those thoughts off his face. “I’d visited Helen before, and when my family discussed opening another brewery, someplace as far from Florida as possible sounded perfect.”
There was some truth to that, more than Kelsey deserved, but he’d have to explain for the website regardless, so this didn’t feel like he was giving up any secrets. The fact that his aunt and uncle had been skeptical of letting him open the brewery in Helen wasn’t something that would be going in any PR materials. They’d been thinking of another location in Florida or, at the very farthest, Boston, which was at least on the East Coast. Ian was certain their reasoning had been that it would be easier for them to help out that way if needed. His brewery and their brewery had different names, and he was fully in charge of this brewery’s recipes and production, but financially, the two businesses were linked. If he screwed up and couldn’t pay off the loans, he’d cost his aunt and uncle a lot of money and possibly hurt their brand’s reputation.
“I grew up in Massachusetts,” Ian added. “I’m familiar with the concept of cold, so don’t worry about finding me frozen like a Popsicle one day.”
Kelsey’s lips twitched in a manner Ian couldn’t decipher. “I wasn’t worried.”
“I’m shocked.” He glared at her, daring her to throw another punch.
She glared back.
The staring contest that followed probably only lasted a second, but it felt to Ian like an eternity as he debated whether it was worth being the one to break it so he could get back to work. It should have been an easy call. Who got into staring contests as an adult? But Kelsey was absolutely infuriating, and that she looked hot while being so was doubly infuriating.
Ian had no clue what malicious thoughts were running through her faux-perky head, but Kelsey broke out of the moment at the same time he did, and they talked over each other.
“Is there anything—”
Paws and Prejudice Page 2