Secret Blend (Bourbon Springs Book 1)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  The burning sensation of unfairness gnawed at the edges of his ego as he let himself into his townhouse. He closed the door behind him, stood in the foyer for a moment, then turned around and left.

  Back to the courthouse.

  Time to talk to her.

  “You want to do what?”

  “Put up new walls in here, to make the offices more equal in terms of space.”

  She stood next to her desk with a stack of orders she needed to sign so Sherry could take them downstairs to the clerk’s office and get them entered. Rachel clutched the papers to her chest like a shield against his intrusive presence and the inanity he brought with him.

  “The offices are more or less the same size,” she declared, and sat. “Putting up new walls would be messy, time-consuming and a waste of money.”

  “They are not the same size,” he declared.

  “Roughly, they have to be,” she said, signing orders without looking up at him. “The layout of the other space is just awkward, that’s all.” Rachel flicked some hair over her shoulder, hoping the gesture indicated she was tired of the discussion.

  He began to argue at her when Sherry appeared in front of her desk.

  “I think this is what you need, if you’re really serious about this dispute,” Sherry said, holding a tape measure in her right hand. She waved it around, then walked up to Brady and thrust it into his hands. “Do the math, kids,” she said, leaving the two judges alone once more.

  Rachel looked up at him. “Go ahead,” she said. “Be my guest if you need to nail down the relative sizes.”

  “I’ll need some help.”

  “You want me to help you in this little data gathering project so you can prove me wrong?”

  Brady licked his lips and looked out into Sherry’s reception area. “Somehow, I don’t think she’d help me if I asked.”

  “There’s one thing you got right today,” Rachel said, and stood.

  “It won’t be the only thing.”

  “We’ll see,” she said with a smile.

  He pulled the metal measure out of the housing and gave her one end of it as he walked backward toward the wall. Ten minutes and a lot of bitching and moaning later, they had their answer.

  “I was right,” he declared.

  “No, I was. I said they were roughly the same. My office is just a few more square feet larger than yours.”

  “Again, larger.”

  She was done with him for the day. “Whatever,” she said, and walked back into her office from the empty space that was destined to be his.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he said, following her.

  Rachel spun around, her long curtain of hair swinging wildly. “And that would be?”

  “I’ll flip you for this office.” Brady cast his eyes around her office to indicate the territory he wanted.

  “What is it about this space?” she asked, then paused. “Oh, I get it.”

  “Get what?” he demanded in that prosecutorial-in-charge voice.

  She bristled, realizing she would have to live with that snarky tone in their somewhat close quarters.

  “Why you want this particular office,” Rachel said, leaning back against her desk and steadying herself by gripping the edge with both hands.

  “Tell me. I’d love to know the answer,” he mocked.

  There was that damn smirk again. Time to wipe it off that face.

  Rachel leaned forward ever-so-slightly and grinned before answering. “Because I got on the bench first and it is absolutely killing you, Brady Craft. You want this office because you think it should’ve been yours from the get-go.”

  When she saw that her words had caused Brady to blanch, Rachel smiled broadly.

  “Not true,” Brady professed in a most unconvincing and stuttering fashion.

  He ran a hand through his thick hair; she knew that gesture all too well. Brady started to launch into an explanation, but Rachel held up a hand to quell his rising tide of indignation.

  “Look, just to show you I’m a sport, I’ll flip you for it,” she said.

  “You don’t have to do me any favors.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “I know that. But I suggest you accept one when it drops into your lap.”

  He said nothing and slipped his hand into his pocket and plucked out a quarter. Brady held it out to her.

  “Want to check it?” he asked.

  She looked amused. “Of course not. I trust you.” He nodded, tossed it, and told her to call it. “Heads,” Rachel said just before he slapped his right hand over the top of his left, sandwiching the coin between. He didn’t move to look and kept his eyes on her. Rachel’s eyes traveled from his face to his hands and back again. “Well? Aren’t you going to check?” she asked.

  “Do you want to do it?”

  She moved her arms and crossed them over her chest. “Go right ahead, please,” she said, and nodded toward him.

  Brady lifted his right hand and held it out to her for inspection. “Come on and look so there won’t be any argument.”

  With that little comment, Rachel figured she’d just lost her office.

  She walked over to him until they were less than a foot apart and glanced at the shiny silver circle on top of Brady’s hand. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so near him physically, even during those huddled conferences at the bench out of the jury’s hearing when they were still practicing. And what was that scent? Sandalwood?

  “Well?” she said, tilting her head as she examined the coin.

  Rachel looked up and saw him staring not at the coin, but her. Brady’s lips were parted and his gaze was unusually fierce.

  “You get to keep your happy home,” he said, slipping the coin back into his pocket.

  “Not exactly,” Rachel said.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because I’m going to have to share the rest of these chambers, and the bench, with you,” she said, gently poking Brady’s chest.

  Chapter 4

  The next day, Rachel phoned Hannah and asked to meet around the side of the courthouse for lunch.

  “The weather’s perfect,” Rachel explained. “Let’s eat outdoors.”

  “Sounds great,” Hannah said, explaining she’d brought something from home to eat. “I’d love to get out today. Being around stuffy bankers gets old.”

  Rachel told Hannah she’d see her in a few minutes and then informed Sherry that she was going to get a takeout lunch at Over a Barrel, the popular deli across Main Street. Sherry waved off Rachel’s offer to pick up her lunch, saying that she had errands to run and would grab a bite while she was out.

  “I won’t be gone long,” Sherry added. “The contractors who will be doing the work in Brady’s—I mean Judge Craft’s—office are scheduled to be up here to look around shortly after lunch and I plan to be here when they arrive.”

  Rachel headed to the deli, not bothering to take a coat or jacket since the temperature was in the upper 60s. As she was leaving Over a Barrel with her lunch, she saw Brady walking in, and stopped him to tell him what Sherry had related to her about the workers.

  “Sounds good. I’m anxious to get into that space as soon as they’re done. So tired of working in the grand jury room. Say, could I come back to chambers and eat lunch with you? I’d like to be there when the workers arrive.”

  “Oh—um—well, I’m not going back to the office.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  Rachel sensed that she had offended him, but she didn’t want to invite him to lunch. At least not that day. Rachel knew she had to make nice with him, especially since Brady seemed to be—well, nicer to her lately, although she wasn’t sure he was even aware he’d cranked it up on the politeness scale. He’d been working out of the grand jury room the past week and was staying there until the new space for him was repaired. Rachel saw him often because he came to the office to give Sherry work, and during those little encounters he had been noticeably more pleasant
. This observation puzzled and angered her at the same time. Why was he being nicer? Just because they were both judges now? Or was it because he still wanted her office space?

  Then she caught the aroma of sandalwood again, or whatever it was. Spicy, woodsy, earthy. Definitely nice, definitely appealing. Something clicked in Rachel’s brain and told her that lunch with Brady was not such a bad idea.

  “I’m meeting Hannah for lunch today. But maybe tomorrow?” Rachel suggested.

  He brightened. “Sounds great. Your treat, right?”

  “I said no such thing. In fact, I was thinking quite the opposite,” Rachel told him as she left Over a Barrel with her lunch in its small white paper sack, stamped with the deli’s oval logo.

  She was across the street and sitting with Hannah at a table under glorious sunshine within minutes.

  “Being a judge suits you, girl,” Hannah declared. Her blonde hair shone so brightly it seemed to be soaking up the sun itself in the light of midday.

  With her mouth open to take a big bite of her ham sandwich, Rachel responded before she dove in. “Well, most women do look good in black. The robe is my new little black dress,” she said, winking at Hannah.

  “How’s it going with sharing your chambers?”

  “Already had our first argument about it.” Rachel told the story of the measuring incident.

  “How uptight can you get?” Hannah said as she sipped her drink. “Sounds like he needs a good—”

  “Hannah!”

  Hannah smiled devilishly. “I was going to say woman.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that?” Rachel asked, placing her sandwich on a napkin in her lap.

  “Is anyone going to run against him?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Haven’t heard any names.”

  The two friends ate, gossiped, and discussed the upcoming BourbonDaze festival in late May, an annual town event held on the streets of downtown Bourbon Springs. Hannah mentioned that Old Garnet was going to have a larger booth than last year as well as a second tent for paid bourbon tastings due to the legendary brand’s increasing popularity.

  The two chatty friends were thoroughly enjoying the warm weather when the bleating of Rachel’s cell phone broke the spell of fun and companionship. She ignored it and let it go to voicemail, but the call came again, so Rachel picked it up on the second ring, and noted the call came from her office.

  “Please get back to chambers,” Sherry said breathlessly.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Judge Craft’s up here with those workers.”

  “So?”

  “Just get up here,” Sherry said, and hung up.

  “Duty calls?” Hannah asked.

  “Not really, but I gotta go check on something,” Rachel said. She stood and disposed of the trash from her lunch in a nearby can, then hurried back into the courthouse and up to chambers.

  When she arrived, a very dour Sherry pointed toward her office, and Rachel warily trod toward the sound of men’s voices. Then she reached the point where she could see the other office space through the connecting door to her office.

  “What the hell have you people done in here?” she screeched upon entering the space that was supposed to be Brady’s future chambers.

  The workers, all wearing white hard hats, jeans, and blue vests over old t-shirts, stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Brady, at the other end of the room, merely frowned at what he seemed to think was a small annoyance. He had taken off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves to reveal taut and lightly tanned forearms.

  “Where’s the damn ceiling?” Rachel demanded, pointing and looking up.

  Above her, what had been the ceiling was pretty much gone. Most of the panels had been removed and wires dangled from above like cobwebs. She looked along the walls to see every electrical socket pulled out, and chunks of drywall and the attendant dust littered the floor.

  “They’ve got to re-wire this whole office,” Brady said.

  “Great,” she mumbled.

  Brady walked over to her as the workers continued poking around, removing parts of the walls, and generally making a big mess.

  “According to these guys, they re-wired your area and the space around Sherry’s desk just before you came on the bench,” Brady explained. “They didn’t bother with this other room.”

  “Great planning,” Rachel sniped as she nodded and moved to a corner to the left side of the door.

  “There’s more,” Brady sighed. “They found termite damage. They have to inspect and they might have to do major repairs.”

  “How long will this take?”

  “Around a month.”

  “A month!” Rachel yelled, gaping at the workers as they went about their business.

  “Under the circumstances, I think we should share your office temporarily.”

  “What’s wrong with staying in the grand jury room?” she demanded. Rachel was in his face by this point.

  “Too small,” he sneered at her. “It’s not a judge’s office. And it’s the grand jury room for a reason. That’s where they’re supposed to meet!”

  “You can stay there for a month!” Rachel yelled back.

  Then something from above flashed and cracked and fell right above her head.

  Instinctively, Rachel screamed and put her arms over her head as a collection of old ceiling panels and what she really, really hoped wasn’t a bunch of termites collapsed upon her. Brady immediately covered her with his body, pulling her into the corner and wrapping his arms around her as debris continued to rain down upon them both, producing billowing clouds of thick, choking dust.

  Rachel couldn’t see. She could barely breathe, she was coughing, and she didn’t know what was going on.

  Except she knew Brady was holding her.

  “Rachel, talk to me,” she heard him coaxing after the worst was over. She didn’t want to open her eyes, breathe, or move.

  Most of all, she didn’t want Brady to let go.

  Then she felt hands—his soft hands—gently brushing away dust from her suit, then her hair.

  “I think you need to sit,” he said, his hands firmly gripping her upper arms.

  Rachel slowly opened her eyes as Brady led her into her office.

  “What the hell happened? What was that noise?” Sherry demanded upon hastening into Rachel’s office as Brady eased Rachel into a wingback chair.

  “Part of the ceiling fell and Rachel caught the worst of it,” Brady said as he knelt in front of Rachel. “Could you please get her some water?”

  Sherry nodded, gave Rachel a concerned look and said, “Back in a bit. I’ll get some paper towels and try to find a vacuum cleaner. That’ll get the dust off that nice navy blue pantsuit lickety-split. You need anything?” she asked Brady, but he said he’d go to the bathroom to clean himself up in a bit.

  Rachel was stunned, out of breath, and disoriented. She leaned forward, put her elbows on the tops of her thighs, and hid her face in her hands, the dust still stinging her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Brady asked.

  “Well, the ceiling did just fall on my head,” she said without looking up, and she heard him chuckle. “Now I can say I really know what it feels like when the roof comes crashing down.” With eyes still closed, Rachel sat up, took a deep breath, and tentatively put one hand up to her hair, which she quickly withdrew. “Can you please tell me whether you see any bugs in my hair?”

  “Uh…”

  “Please, Brady?” Rachel asked. “You just told me there was termite damage. I just can’t put my hand back up and—ugh!” Rachel gave an involuntary shudder.

  She heard Brady rise and stand next to her. “I don’t see anything except dust,” he said.

  “Well, keep looking.”

  “How?”

  “Just move my hair around.”

  “Why don’t you shake your head?” he suggested.

  She shuddered again. “Look, if you’re freaked out by bu
gs like I am, I understand—”

  “I’m not freaked out by bugs, as you put it,” Brady snapped.

  Rachel wished Sherry would return soon because she knew this was a request her secretary would easily grant. But Sherry wasn’t around and Rachel was unnerved by the prospect of little critters in her hair.

  “In my top left-hand desk drawer is a small brush,” Rachel said. She was still sitting, eyes still shut tightly against the world, a little hunched over. “Please get it.”

  “You want me to brush your hair?” Brady asked, the disbelief thick in his tone.

  “Yes,” Rachel cried, now frantic. “Please. It won’t take long.”

  “I’ll give you the brush,” Brady said, and Rachel heard him go to her desk to retrieve it. “You can brush it out.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to do it…” she said, and held out her hand for the brush.

  Rachel never felt the brush drop into her waiting palm. Instead, the next thing she knew, Brady was slowly, gently moving the brush through her tresses. If she hadn’t been so unnerved by the circumstances, the sensation of having Brady brushing her hair would’ve been quite pleasant. Brady stopped and she could feel his hands on the top of her head once more. He moved his fingers quickly, and she discerned he was flicking away bits of dust and dirt.

  “Here, hold this,” he said, dropping the brush into her lap. He gathered her hair into his hands at the nape of her neck, lightly shook, and then lifted it high above her neck. She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but could envision him looking at her hair as he moved it around in his hands. He reclaimed the brush from her lap and swished it through her hair several more times.

  “I’m back,” Rachel heard Sherry say.

  Surprised at her secretary’s quick return, Rachel opened her eyes and turned to see Sherry with a vacuum cleaner, a bottle of water, and a roll of paper towels under her arm.

  “Thanks,” Sherry said to Brady. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Yeah, right—um—she was worried about—bugs,” Brady said, moving away from Rachel and placing the brush on the desk behind him.

  Sherry handed the bottle of water to Rachel and urged her to drink while Brady edged toward the door.