A Taste of You (Bourbon Brothers)

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “I—that—” She was at a loss.

  “Yeah,” he finally said and cleared his throat. Running a hand through that sun-drenched hair, he continued, “Anyway, if you agree that this is the barn for you, and as long as it doesn’t rain, and if I can reach Mason, we’ll get it done and delivered by Monday.”

  “Okay.” That was a lot of “ifs.” Not her favorite modifier. She was a little off-center, though, so she didn’t really register how many stars were going to have to align for things to work out.

  It was like the kiss hadn’t happened. It had happened, hadn’t it? Yes. Because she could still taste him on her lips. But that’s not what she was supposed to be paying attention to. Oh yeah. The barn. “It’s supposed to start raining tomorrow night and keep going through the beginning of next week.”

  He shrugged. “Weather reports are like horoscopes. We’ll play it by ear.”

  She had no response for that. She hadn’t played anything by ear since she tried to teach herself piano. And that had resulted in her mother selling the piano.

  “Why did you leave Napier’s Bend for Knoxville?”

  Nick had hoped the kiss might distract her from needing to know everything about everything right this minute. He thought maybe she’d be quiet and wonder what the hell had happened, because he sure needed some time to ruminate on the wicked electricity that had shot up between them.

  It had diverted her from worrying about the weather and timing for the project for a few minutes, which was good, because he found her anxiety contagious, and he’d worked long and hard to avoid letting the future—or the past—rule his life. But now they had an hour in his truck and she was on a roll.

  “Did you move down there for work?”

  Not even close. “Sort of.”

  She was waiting for more, but he didn’t want her to know what a fuckup he’d been. He was working for her, and she didn’t need to worry that he was going to flake out on her—she got enough of that from his father.

  “My mom moved down there after she and my dad split up, and it made sense for me to go with her and make sure she was okay.”

  “And now you’re back here, at least for a while.”

  “Yep.”

  “Have you talked to your dad? How is he?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “So you talked to him last night, then? When you went to that meeting after work?”

  “No.” Jesus. She was relentless.

  “Mmm. I guess you’ll find your friend soon so you can make sure he can help with the barn demo tomorrow, huh?”

  He laughed. “You’re determined to keep this project on track no matter what, aren’t you?”

  “No. Well, yes, but I was changing the subject, since talking about your dad seems to be off-limits.” The atmosphere had suddenly chilled, and he was tempted to check the air conditioning to make sure it wasn’t turned up too high.

  “Do you want to talk about your dad?”

  “What do you want to know?” He felt her shift toward him, but didn’t look at her.

  He suddenly needed all of his attention to keep the truck on the road. “I don’t need to know anything. I’m just being a smart-ass.”

  “My dad was brilliant, funny, kind, and an alcoholic. The last few years, the alcoholic part took over the other things and he lied, cheated, and stole to try to keep his problems underground, but it didn’t work. He died while driving—drunk—with his mistress.” Before he could take a breath, she continued. “My mother managed to spend their entire marriage in denial and still won’t acknowledge some of the things he did. This tasting center was one of his big dreams.”

  “Is that the short version of your Adult Children of Alcoholics lead?” He was feeling uncharacteristically prickly. What was it about this woman that had him committing to things he didn’t want to promise, and getting defensive about things that he’d sworn weren’t going to bother him—like his deadbeat drunk of a sperm donor.

  It was probably the weird circumstances. Being back in Kentucky and finding he’d made such an expensive mistake, using up a barn’s worth of lumber that wasn’t his. Feeling addicted to the kiss of a girl, even when she didn’t taste like bourbon.

  “Pretty much.” She laughed. “Sorry.”

  And maybe he was feeling weird because this woman sitting next to him—this woman who was everything he didn’t need—was worming her way into his every waking moment. Eve and her cut-to-the-chase-about-everything attitude.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, too. All these years, and Raleigh still eats my lunch now and then.”

  Her hand was on his arm. “I didn’t mean to push. I’ve always coped by overcompensating. I forget that my mom’s not the only person in the world who doesn’t like to deal with stuff.”

  Wait. What? He wasn’t afraid of anything. He was not fucking repressed. He just liked to wait and let problems work themselves out.

  “So about this friend of yours. You said you know where to find him, right?”

  He was still ruminating about whether or not he was avoiding things and nearly missed her question. To prove to her—or rather to himself—that he wasn’t afraid of dealing with difficult situations, he put on his turn signal and said, “How’s about we stop by the Beer and Barrel on the way back to Blue Mountain? It’s Friday afternoon. They ought to be rolling in for happy hour any minute now.”

  Chapter Six

  The Beer and Barrel was about as classy inside as its bare cinder block exterior and half-lit neon sign suggested. Crammed between a television repair shop and a knife shop, the bar was one of the only businesses on Napier’s Bend’s main street that appeared to be open at four forty-five on a Friday afternoon. A few listing tables were shoved against one wall, and a bar ran the length of the other half of the narrow space. Cigarette smoke hung low in the air, and Eve’s eyes began to water before the door swung shut behind them.

  “God, I forgot how much this place stinks,” Nick muttered, waving a hand in front of his face.

  He was right. It wasn’t just the smoke, there was a sourness to the place. Like bleach-laden mop water that had been left in the bucket too long.

  “You okay?” Nick looked down at her with concern. “I can come back later, if you—”

  “I’m fine!” She smiled. “You used to hang out here?” Stupid question. He probably hung out somewhere just like this in Tennessee.

  “Used to,” he confirmed, though he seemed tense and out of place now. His shoulders weren’t quite up to his ears, but it wouldn’t take much. A muscle ticked next to his eye as he glanced around at the few patrons who sat with drinks watching a baseball game on the television at the end of the bar. Apparently not recognizing anyone, he hesitated, then motioned toward a bar stool and the bartender who leaned against the bar. “You want something to drink?”

  “I guess I’ll have a bottle of Bud Light,” she told the middle-aged man holding the greasy-looking towel. She’d really rather have a diet soda, but wasn’t about to put her lips anywhere near one of the murky glasses that waited forlornly upside down on a plastic mesh mat nearby. God only knew where they got the water for the ice.

  “What’ll you have?” the bartender asked Nick as he plopped the opened beer in front of Eve. She took it, but didn’t drink.

  He hesitated. “I’m good for now, thanks,” he finally said.

  The bartender stared at Nick for a few seconds. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Ain’t you Raleigh Baker’s boy? Used to raise hell with that Talbert kid, didn’t you?”

  Nick nodded slowly. “Yeah. I haven’t been around for a few years.”

  “Haven’t had to replace the bar mirror in about as long.” The bartender laughed, but Nick didn’t.

  “Does Mason still come in here?”

  The bartender looked at the clock on the wall behind him. “If that boy ain’t here by five fifteen, it ain’t Friday night.”

  Eve couldn’t tell if Nick was relieved or disappointed. Uncomfortable, for s
ure.

  “You okay for a minute?” he asked her. “I need to—” He tilted his head at the handwritten Restrooms sign at the back of the room.

  She assured him that she was fine and wondered about his life as she watched him walk away. It was tough to picture the carefree, sunny guy who grinned so easily spending time in a dump like this.

  “Hey, darlin’.” A skinny twenty-something man in an oversize white T-shirt and crotch-down-around-his-knees jeans slid onto the stool to Eve’s left.

  She nodded at him. Please don’t let him talk to me, please—

  “You new around here?”

  “I—not really, no. I just don’t come here much.” That seemed neutral.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Eve.” Shouldn’t Nick be about done peeing by now? She turned and looked longingly at the dark hallway he’d disappeared into. Not that she was afraid, exactly, but this guy had neck tattoos, for crying out loud. Neck tattoos that looked hand-inked. She tried not to stare at the naked woman restrained by vicious barbed wire over his collarbone.

  “I’m Shane,” he said, holding out a filthy paw for her to shake.

  Before she had to make up her mind, he retracted it, looking up over her shoulder.

  Nick. She didn’t even have to see him to know it was him.

  “Well, hey there,” Shane said to Nick, rising and stepping back. He smiled, showing a gap where his right front incisor should have been. “Wasn’t movin’ in on your territory, just being friendly.”

  Nick didn’t speak, just sat down next to Eve while Shane slunk back to his buddies at the table on the other side of the room.

  “You okay?”

  “Yep. No problem. Just getting to know people.” She laughed awkwardly.

  He didn’t smile back, but glared at the group across the room. “Hmmph. You don’t have to get to know anybody you don’t want to.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  He glanced up at the clock. “If Mason’s not here soon, I’ll take you home and find him later.”

  “It’s really okay.”

  “You don’t need to be in a place like this.”

  No one did, as far as Eve was concerned, but she didn’t say so.

  “Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked. She suddenly needed to freshen up. She was confused. The laid-back jokester she was coming to know and like had been replaced by this tall, tense stranger. One who apparently had the ability to morph into a scary badass. Not that having the scary badass on your side was a bad thing when creepy guys approached a girl in a bar, but still…

  The bathroom was as unimpressive as the rest of the place. One stall in a tiny bathroom with a dripping faucet under a cracked mirror. Fortunately, there was toilet paper in the stall and soap in the dispenser. No paper towels, but that was why God made denim. Eve rubbed her wet hands on her thighs and pushed open the door to the bar with her shoulder.

  She re-entered the main bar just in time to hear a woman’s voice. “Nick Baker, you sexy thing. You came back for me!”

  A tall blonde, with curves that would have made Barbie’s plastic surgeon jealous, teetered on platform sandals which made her at least six-three, and put her breasts right level with Nick’s face.

  He smiled politely at the woman’s greeting, but the tension that had simmered below his surface began to bubble up. He scratched his neck and shifted on his seat as he spoke to the woman. No, he wasn’t glad to see her, she could tell. This was good, since Eve wasn’t glad that whoever the hell she was had shown up, either.

  It might be time to put on a little drama. She wasn’t the jealous type—really, she wasn’t. She had no reason to be, no claim on Nick. One little kiss didn’t mean they were a couple, for heaven’s sake. That’s not what this was about. Nick was uncomfortable, and she was going to rescue him, like he’d just rescued her from unwelcome attention.

  “Well, hey, Misty.” Nick’d had a lot of fears about coming back into the Beer and Barrel. Being faced with a room full of liquor was first and foremost. Having to see people who remembered his dark past was another. So far, he’d managed to deal with those. Running into Misty Banks—or, rather, having her run into him—hadn’t even been on his radar.

  She slid onto the barstool.

  “Someone’s sitting there,” he told her.

  “Oh, poo.” She waved his warning away. “Hey, Rusty, can I get a shot of Jager and one of Eight Ball for my date?”

  “No, Misty, nothing for me.” Jesus.

  A cool, smooth hand slid around Nick’s neck, just as a sweet voice purred into his ear. “Replacing me already?” His senses went into high alert—in a good way. Eve draped herself over his side and looked up at him. A slight smirk and raised eyebrow met his gaze, and a wave of warmth flooded through him. He hadn’t been rescued in—ever. And never like this.

  “Well. Hi, there,” Misty cooed. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing? I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Misty Banks. Nick and I are old friends.” She held out a hand tipped with nails so long, squared off, and reinforced that they could have been used as screwdrivers for three-inch self-drilling wood screws.

  Eve held out her free hand, smaller and more businesslike than Misty’s. “Hello. I’m Eve.” She didn’t specify their relationship, but ran her fingertips along the side of Nick’s neck—a move Misty didn’t miss.

  “I’m sure Nick’s told you about me.” Misty batted clumpy eyelashes at him.

  “Nope. Not so much as a peep, sorry,” Eve said.

  Damn. She was good at this.

  Nick put an arm around Eve’s waist—a good place for it, he thought.

  “What brings you back to Napier’s Bend, baby?” Misty asked. He didn’t feel the slightest shiver at the way she said “baby.” Once upon a time, he’d have given his left testicle to hear that muttered in his ear. Of course, back then, his early-twenties-self produced enough testosterone that he’d never have missed the nut. The fact that she hadn’t crossed his mind since he got to town made him feel stronger than he had since he’d turned into this parking lot forty minutes ago. Even with the uncomfortable memories she stirred up flashing through his mind like the day after a blackout drunk, he felt okay.

  The bartender put two shot glasses down on the bar by Misty, and she mercifully didn’t slide one of them to him. Oh. Maybe her order of “one for my date” really was for a date.

  “So you’re here because…” she reminded him, turning to glance over her shoulder.

  “I’m here because my dad was in an accident,” he told his ex. “I came back to look after the place while he’s recovering.” Right after he said it, he realized he was thinking of Raleigh as his dad for the first time in years. There were a lot of firsts going on here today.

  Not the least of which was having Eve McGrath hugged up against him like she was his, and apparently ready to go dragon-lady on Misty at the first opportunity.

  “I know it was hard for you to let me go,” Misty told Nick. “But I’m glad to see you have. It just wasn’t going to work out between us, you know.” She included Eve in her post-mortem of their relationship. When she waved those scary fingernails around again, he noticed a tiny diamond engagement ring and gold band on her left hand. “Nick was just so—”

  “Well God damn and hallelujah!” A voice shouted from the door. “Look who it is!”

  “Sonofabitch!” Saved by Mason. Nick’s worries about reuniting with his old friend were washed away in the relief he felt at having Misty interrupted—no doubt from sharing a drunk Nick story.

  “Take care, Misty,” he said, standing and putting a hand on Eve’s lower back, which felt like the right place for it. “I’ve got someone I want Eve to meet.”

  “I’m going to pay for my beer,” Eve said, but he didn’t get a chance to tell her he’d take care of it, because he was enveloped in a bear hug and lifted off of his feet.

  “You fucker!” The smaller guy pounded Nick on the back. “What the fuck are you doi
ng here? Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Mason…” The warning voice came from behind Nick.

  “Sorry, baby.” He dug into his pocket and came up with a handful of change. “Put this in the swear jar.” He reached around Nick to hand the money to—Misty. She, in turn, handed Mason the second shot, which he tossed back like water on a hot day.

  “So, uh…”

  “Yeah…” Mason ran a hand through his hair. “Me and Misty, we hooked up a while back—it was after you was gone, though, I swear.”

  “It’s good,” Nick said, holding out a hand to ward off any apologies. “I’ll be damned.” Mason and Misty.

  He looked from one to the other. His ex-girlfriend, drunken hook-up partner, whatever you wanted to call her, and his best friend.

  She slid her arm around Mason’s shoulders—she was about four inches taller than her husband—and beamed. “We’ve got two little ones now.”

  “You don’t say?”

  Mason pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through while Nick looked around for Eve. Where had she gotten to? She was standing back a couple of feet, her fine ass perched on the edge of a barstool, looking at her phone. The sanctuary of all awkward social situations—pretend you’ve got texts to check. She slid the cell back into her purse and pulled out that planner.

  “Hey, Eve, come on over here.”

  At the sound of his voice, she looked up and smiled like he was the best thing she’d seen in her entire life. He felt about a million feet tall.

  “Damn, Nicky,” Mason whispered. “She’s fine. You’re doing well for yourself.”

  Once again, Nick realized he’d probably done a bad thing by bringing Eve into this bar. “She’s not—I mean—”

  Misty raised an eyebrow. “Sure looked like it to me.”

  Eve made it to them and held out a hand to Mason. “Hi. You must be the famous Mason Talbert. I’m Eve McGrath.”

  “Eve McGrath? I know who you are. Damn, Nicky,” Mason repeated. “You don’t mess around when it comes to moving on up, do you?”