Whiskey Smash (It's all in the Whiskey Book 7)

by Jen Talty

  “We both have a part to play here,” her uncle Kevin said with a stupid grin like he used to do when she’d been a young girl. He adjusted his sunglasses, pushing them on top of his head. He leaned against the fence, the sun hitting his wrinkled face, showing off his hard living.

  “So play yours somewhere else.”

  “I wanted to come make sure your training was going well, considering what happened the last time you got on a horse.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” She glanced over her shoulder, thankful that no one was in earshot. If anyone had known what she’d done a couple years ago, they wouldn’t be giving her this second chance. “Besides, you promised you’d stay away from my training.”

  “I didn’t realize how boring Buhl, fucking Idaho, would be and I decided to come down here and apply for a job.”

  “No. No. No.” Hayden shook her head. “You can’t work here. Anywhere but here.” Her uncle didn’t have many employable skills, other than being a shitty gambler, but he was a good ranch hand. Not always reliable, but when he did show up to work, he was good with the animals and he knew his way around a barn.

  “I need a job. We need the money. Unless you want me to go find a poker table or a racetrack. I’m sure I can find something to bet on.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not laughing,” he said. “I just finished an interview with JW and JD up at the administration building. They told me they needed to talk it over with Georgia Moon and JB, but they are in need of good ranch hands.”

  “I thought you were going to apply for—”

  “I’m a ranch hand. That’s all I’ve ever been. And I’m good at it. This is a higher paying job and I can cheer you on and support your training.” He had the nerve to reach out and bat her nose as if he were the best uncle ever.

  Hayden jerked her head back.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I thought we were past that years ago.”

  She blew out a puff of air. Her uncle had been remorseful ever since the incident. And he was right. It had been years and it never happened again. He’d tried to make it up to her, but abuse always changed things and she struggled to get past it.

  “Remember. We’re a team, you and me. Or at least we were at one point, and if we’re not anymore, well, that’s what we’re portraying to the world and we need to play the part.”

  “I’ll do what I have to, but you better not forget that if you fuck up, MacKenzie and her crew are coming for you. Not me.”

  2

  Sawyer Lawson had a love-hate relationship with the stage. As a small child, country music had saved his life.

  And that was not an exaggeration.

  Had he not found that he had a really good voice and the ability to learn an instrument by just listening and playing around with it, he might not have survived the brutality of his youth.

  Of course, he could have ended up spending his life in prison for what he’d done.

  And he did carry a pang of guilt.

  It didn’t matter that his case worker, a psychologist, a judge, and everyone else told him that he’d done what everyone else in his shoes would have, he’d still taken a life and it still hadn’t saved his mother from being murdered at the hands of the man who had sworn to protect them both.

  Music had given him a place a hide from the cruel hand life had dealt.

  Now it gave him a way to cope with the loss of his mother and the fact that his grandmother was a gangster and her sole goal in life was to turn him into one too.

  He belted out the last line of one of his original songs. The crowd at Boone’s Bar and Grill whistled, screamed, and applauded, as they always did.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow night at eight.” He set his guitar down on its stand and snagged his glass of water before making a beeline for the outdoor patio and some fresh, cool summer air because what he hated most about being on stage was the fact that people wanted to talk to him afterward, and that he couldn’t deal with.

  Actually, he didn’t mind that as much as it bothered him how many women tried to pick him up. At first, he liked the attention. What hot-blooded American male didn’t. Hell, he had his first sexual experience with an older woman after one of his gigs.

  And that lasted a good eight months or so.

  He’d learned a lot from that lady.

  Mostly the affair taught him that she’d viewed him as a sex toy, and a large portion of the young women he met when he was out singing at bars saw him in those terms as well.

  That only fed his ego for a brief second.

  “Great set.” Crew Irvin, the local detective, handed him a beer.

  “Thanks.” Sawyer had met Crew a few times and found him to be a decent guy, but Sawyer tended to keep his distance from cops, for obvious reasons.

  “Was that an original song?” Heather, Crew’s girlfriend, asked.

  Heather had to be the sweetest, kindest person Sawyer had met in town and her smile was hard not to return.

  “As a matter of fact, it was,” Sawyer admitted as he did his best to slink into the background. The last bar he sang at a year ago, he ran into a talent scout who told him if he wanted to make it, get some social media accounts, record his original songs, and be willing to work the room.

  All things he would never do.

  His life was about existing.

  Not about being seen or even about being heard. His songs weren’t about him. They were about the people in the audience and how they connected. Related. All he cared about was that at least one person in the audience felt something positive about what he sang. If that happened, then he’d done something positive with his life and that made up for the all the negative.

  But it didn’t bring his mother back.

  “It was amazing.” Heather rolled up her sleeves. “It gave me chills it was so powerful.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate the compliment.” Sawyer took two steps back toward the corner of the patio where it was less crowded. It was late and the bar was about to close, and he really wanted to head home.

  “We wanted to ask you a question.” Crew took a long swig of his drink. “We’re getting married in a very small ceremony in my backyard in two weeks, and we were hoping you’d be willing to sing at it. Whatever you charge, we’re willing to pay.”

  Singing at a wedding meant he wouldn’t be the center of attention, yet it was an intimate venue and that made him uncomfortable, but looking at this couple, especially the way Crew stared deeply into Heather’s eyes and smiled, how could Sawyer say no?

  He might not believe in love for himself. He might think that love didn’t exist in his world.

  But it might for someone else.

  “Sure. I’d be honored. But I need to clear it with Boone.” Sawyer hadn’t ever performed for a wedding. Who was he to belittle love?

  “I’m sure it won’t be a problem since we’re renting his restaurant for the reception,” Heather said.

  “Oh.” Sawyer nodded. “That’s the private party that’s giving me the night off.” He smiled. “Looks like you have yourself a singer.”

  “You’ll have to tell us your rates,” Crew said.

  “For weddings, it’s on the house.” Sawyer raised his hand when Crew opened his mouth in protest. “Really. I refuse to take money for something so joyous.” Sawyer glanced over his shoulder. He needed to get out of the bar. There was nothing worse than feeling like an animal trapped in a cage, and that’s exactly what happened after every set. He tried like hell to put a smile on his face and mingle, but it never went over well.

  He wasn’t a people person.

  “We need to pay you something,” Heather said.

  “Your happiness is payment enough.” Sawyer chugged down the beverage he’d been given and glanced around. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. But I really need to get out of here.”

  “We understand,” Crew said, stepping aside. “Boone and Paget told us how private you are and we bot
h can relate to that.”

  Heather nodded, holding out a business card. “I’ll be in touch with all the details. Thank you so much.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Sawyer inched closer toward the back gate by the parking lot. “I hope you don’t mind if I sneak out.”

  “Not at all,” Crew said. “Would you like if I created a diversion?”

  Sawyer laughed. “Now if I was famous, that would be classic.” He gripped the latch on the back door. “But I think I’ll be just fine.” He stepped out into the Idaho night. He glanced up into the star-speckled night as he strolled down the street toward his home. Another thing he had a love-hate relationship with was small towns.

  He loved living walking distance from where he got to sing every night.

  However, he hated working where he lived.

  Everyone in Buhl, Idaho, knew everyone else’s business. Thank God he didn’t have business for anyone to give two shits about. That died the second he murdered the man who killed his mother.

  The same man who he called father.

  He strolled the five blocks to his rented duplex. A sweet Cape Cod near the local cemetery on the outskirts of town. Just recently, the lower apartment received new tenants. A woman who he’d learned was trying to make a comeback as a rodeo queen and her uncle.

  So far, Sawyer had his reservations about the duo. Then again, Sawyer didn’t trust too many people and he kept his distance from most, so his reservations about his new neighbors were justifiable.

  However, when he stepped up on the shared front porch and found a young lady sitting on the swing by herself with a glass of wine, he wasn’t sure what to think, much less say or do.

  “Hey there,” he said, deciding he couldn’t be rude, though he might consider using the back entrance from now on. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be social. Okay. He didn’t. It was just that this part of singing was fake, and he preferred to let the music speak for itself.

  However, having a conversation with his neighbor wasn’t the same. It was a normalcy he needed to let into his life.

  She raised her glass. “Hi.”

  “We haven’t really had a chance to meet. I’m Sawyer Lawson. I rent the upstairs apartment.”

  “The name is Hayden Fox, and my uncle Kevin and I rent the lower level.”

  Sawyer had wished he could have afforded the four-bedroom apartment that made up the rest of the house, but instead he occupied the one-bedroom loft of the Cape Cod style home that might as well be a studio but who was he to complain. He had a roof over his head and every night he got to sing and thus far, for the last eighteen months, he hadn’t had to move because of his past.

  However, his past always had a way of catching up to him and he was already considering moving on. He’d even gotten a couple of gigs a few towns away, just to check things out.

  They weren’t Boone’s and Sawyer hadn’t the inclination to pack up just yet.

  “Your uncle?” Sawyer leaned against the railing and folded his arms. He remembered the morning he’d been woken from a sound sleep when Hayden and her uncle had moved in. “I’m glad you clarified that.”

  She rocked back and forth, sipping her wine, staring off into the night. She’d pulled her long blond hair into a high ponytail and she wore a pair of faded jeans, cowboy boots, and a red-and-white shirt tucked neatly into her slacks. She had a slender figure. Or at least he assumed she did, but it was hard to tell because her clothes were a tad baggy.

  And he was surprised she wore a long-sleeved shirt when it was close to seventy-five degrees out.

  He found himself slowly checking out the way she carried herself, looking for other signs.

  Shit.

  Just because a woman wore long sleeves in the middle of summer didn’t mean anything.

  “The older couple next door might mistake your uncle for a dirty old man who likes young girls.” Sawyer laughed. “And if they thought it, I’m sure that rumor is spreading like wildfire through this small town.”

  She cocked her head. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “Should I?”

  “No. Not necessarily.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I’ve been away from the rodeo for a couple of years, but most people around here know who I am and why I left.”

  “Sorry. I barely know how to ride a horse and even though I’ve lived here for a year and everyone knows my name, I don’t think I know anyone but Boone and Crew and maybe a couple of the Whiskey brothers, but I always get them confused.”

  She looked him up and down with a smirk. “You dress like a country boy. You sing like a country boy. But you can’t ride a horse? That’s shameful.”

  He shrugged. “I was born and raised a city slicker. What can I say.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man she called uncle strolling down the street.

  She stopped swinging.

  “You should be in bed, young lady,” her uncle said, waving his fingers. “And you certainly shouldn’t be drinking while training.”

  “It’s just one glass to unwind and last time I checked, I was a grown-up.” Hayden leaned forward and groaned as she stood.

  Sawyer reached out and curled his fingers around her forearm. “Are you okay?”

  She shrugged free. “I’m fine.” She handed the wineglass to her uncle, then placed both hands on her back and stretched. “Sawyer, this is my uncle Kevin.”

  “You’re the singer at Boone’s place,” Kevin said.

  Sawyer winced as he watched Hayden twist her body and contort her face. He’d seen that look before on his mother’s face, though never in public. She always did her best to hide the pain and to cover up the shame whenever they were around other people. Whatever was going on with Hayden, it was out in the open and Sawyer should mind his own fucking business.

  Something else that often got him in trouble and forced him to have to move on.

  “I am.”

  “You’re pretty good,” Kevin said.

  “Thanks.”

  Kevin opened the door to the downstairs apartment. “Too bad we won’t be able to appreciate your music too often, but between my early morning work schedule and my niece’s training and traveling, we’ll be really busy, but it was nice meeting you.” He took Hayden by the arm and guided her through the door. “I’m sure you’re a stand-up guy, but my niece is trying to get her career back on track. I’d appreciate it if you kept your distance.” Kevin turned on his heel and tugged the door closed, clicking the lock.

  Then the deadbolt.

  The hair on the back of Sawyer’s neck stood straight up.

  He ran a hand across his short, thick hair.

  Something didn’t add up.

  He pulled out his cell, tapped on the internet icon app, and typed in Hayden’s name.

  A few articles, images, and YouTube videos came up.

  He scanned the headlines.

  Hayden Fox may be only sixteen, but she’s going to give Cheyenne Hawkins a run for her money.

  Hayden Fox is favored to make a clean sweep at the Twin City Rodeo.

  Tragedy nearly takes Hayden Fox’s life.

  Hayden Fox may never walk again.

  Hayden Fox was seen leaving the Whiskey Ranch last month, making everyone wonder if she’s going to make a comeback.

  Sawyer tapped the YouTube video of the accident that nearly crippled Hayden. It took eight seconds before he had to turn away. “Jesus,” he muttered. He blinked, watching the rest of the video, which was only nine minutes, documenting her recovery.

  No wonder she wore clothes covering herself up if all this was true about her injuries.

  The light in the front room flicked off.

  At least she had someone who stood by her and helped to take care of her, even if he seemed a little rough around the edges.

  3

  Hayden stepped from the icy bathtub and wrapped her bruised body in a white terry cloth towel. She stood in front of the mirror and patted herself down. Tears stung the
corners of her eyes as she examined both old wounds and fresh new ones.

  Scars zigzagged over her skin. Some from surgeries and some from an angry animal stomping on her repeatedly.

  When she’d let go of the rein two years ago, she hadn’t thought about the consequences. All she wanted was for the pain of her life to end. Her mother had died when she’d been only three, her father a few years later. She couldn’t even remember what their voices sounded like anymore.

  Her uncle Kevin had no intention of raising her at first, but eventually he caved, and she fell in love with all things related to the ranch while she followed her him around the ranches he worked on. He’s the one who got her started in bronco riding and all things rodeo.

  “Hayden. Dinner’s on the table. Come on,” her uncle called from the kitchen. Kevin had always been a bit on the moody side and even as a ten-year-old little girl, she’d learned to assess his frame of mind before having discussions with him about anything.

  But the older she got and the more training that was required, the meaner Kevin became, in part because of the money she was costing him, but more so because of all of his gambling debts, but she hadn’t known about those until she was much older.

  “Coming.” Carefully, she slipped into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She padded down the hallway and found her uncle setting the table on the back deck.

  She had to give the man credit. For the last two years, Kevin hadn’t done anything but get up at the crack of dawn, go to work, do his job to the best of his ability—when he had employment—and come home and take care of Hayden’s needs.

  He hadn’t done that since Hayden had lost her father and Kevin had been forced into the role of guardian at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Not that she defended Kevin’s behavior.

  But Kevin had his own set of problems.

  His own brother had turned his back the second Kevin had told the world he was gay. Hayden’s father had gone as far as to tell Hayden she was never to speak to or about her uncle Kevin ever again. That being attracted to members of the same sex was not only against God and a sin, but it was disgusting and a disgrace.