Copper Creek: A Sawyer's Ferry Novel

by Cate Ashwood

  “I don’t think there’s gonna be a party supply place nearby, so unless you mean Coleman ten-person popups, that probably ain’t happening.” As much as I grumbled about this, I was looking forward to organizing their day. The only thing I loved more than a good party was being in charge. Most of the time, anyway. “You know, we could probably find you an actual hitchin’ post around here. Maybe in a nice barn?”

  “No barns,” Gage grunted.

  “He was joking,” Holden said.

  I cocked a half-smile and batted my lashes. “Was I?” I tried to come up with an alternate option, but nothing was springing to mind. In the very least, I’d need to do some digging.

  “You’ll work it out. You’re the best man for the job.”

  “I guess I should head to town today and start my recon.”

  Gage dumped the remaining coffee from his cup into the sink and rinsed the mug. “Leave here in ten?”

  “Minutes?” I stared at him, still in PJ pants, his hair ruffled from sleep.

  “You need more than that?”

  Holden was trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “If the house was on fire and the choice was to be ready in ten minutes or be consumed by the flames, Frankie would burn to a crisp. He’s incapable of leaving the house without his full-hour beauty regimen.”

  I huffed. “I can squeeze it down to forty-five minutes if I skip the exfoliation and hurry through the contouring.”

  “You have fifteen, and then I’m leaving without you.”

  “I coulda been ready by now, but your pain-in-the-ass fiancé distracted me with blueberry pancakes.”

  Gage rolled his eyes. “Twenty minutes. And then you’re hitchhiking.”

  “Where do you want me to drop you?” Gage asked, slowing to a stop at the main intersection.

  “The airport?” The joke was met with stony silence. “Anywhere’s fine. The whole town fits into a five-block radius. If you have to work, just park at the hospital. I’ll find my way.”

  Sawyer’s Ferry seemed even smaller in the light of day. It had its own kind of quaint charm, like I’d been dropped in the center of Southampton for the first time… but only a single intersection. Storefronts gleamed in the sunlight, the streets clean enough to eat off of. The whole place had that just-stepped-out-of-Mayberry look, and I could see the appeal for some people. But imagining the same neat row of shops, snow piled up to the windowsills and icicles hanging from the awnings, ruined the whole effect.

  As adorable as the downtown area was, it was isolated from the rest of the world. There was no culture, no nightlife, and I seriously doubted overnight shipping existed in this place.

  Holden moving here made even less sense now that I had seen the place in person. I didn’t know what he saw in the town—although what he saw in Gage was pretty fucking obvious. Still, I knew Gage had offered to move to New York, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t fucking jumped at that.

  “There a Starbucks nearby?”

  “The closest Starbucks is a ferry ride and several hours’ drive. I’m going to go with no.”

  “This place gets worse and worse,” I muttered under my breath. I was pretty sure Gage heard me, but he didn’t respond. He just kept driving until he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and came to a stop in a spot with a sign marked Physician Parking Only.

  “Gimme a call when you’re done and I’ll meet you wherever you end up.”

  “Thanks. See you in a few.” I tossed him a little wave as I slammed the door and walked in the opposite direction of the hospital. My map had major markers on it but nothing that looked all that promising.

  I spent the next couple of hours popping in and out of shops and business, perusing what they had and asking around about wedding venues and supplies. I wrote down a few leads in an app on my phone and headed toward the water, where I spotted the large warehouse with huge metal containers outside. The sign said Copper Creek Brewing. If my memory wasn’t failing me, that was the beer we’d had the first night at the pub. The owner of the brewery had been there.

  The hot, hot rugged mountain man owner.

  I searched my mind for his name as I walked toward the building. It seemed a little counterintuitive to be contracting the alcohol before I had a venue, but so far I didn’t have a lot to go on. And at least I knew this was something Gage enjoyed. The fact that the guy who ran it was sex on legs was just an added perk.

  As my hand closed around the handle, the door swung open and I almost ran into a guy walking out.

  “Oh. Excuse me,” I said, straightening. He was gorgeous—blue-eyed and brawny, just how I liked my men. What was it about this place that seemed to breed these guys? Maybe Sawyer’s Ferry wasn’t such a shithole after all.

  “Sorry about that. Something I can do for you?”

  I bit back the urge to tell him exactly what he could help me with. “I’m looking for… Barrett,” I said, his name springing into my brain at the last second.

  “Go on in. He’s in the office up the stairs. Can’t miss it.”

  I thanked him as he walked out, holding the door for me as he did. The scent of beer hit me hard as I entered the huge space. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie if that movie took place in the gold rush era. It was a strange mixture of industrial and natural, and I kind of liked it.

  As I located the stairwell, Barrett was coming down.

  “Can I help you?” I stared up at him as he approached, his boots falling hard on the stairs with each step he took. “Oh, it’s you.”

  I put my hand on my hip, cocking it slightly as I waited for him to reach the bottom. “You know, most men are usually a lot happier to hear I’m looking for them.” I stifled a smile as I watched him try to decide how to react.

  “Guess it depends on what you want.”

  I let my gaze wander up and down his body as he stood in front of me, and I could think of at least one thing I definitely wanted him for. He was taller and broader than the other guy, his brown hair a little wavy with a touch of red that made his green eyes seem even more striking. His beard was cropped close, just a little more than a five-o’clock shadow. He could have modeled for some kind of outdoorsy magazine, but his expression lacked all humor.

  What a buzzkill.

  “I need to make arrangements for you to provide the beer for a wedding in August.”

  “Oh.” He seemed genuinely surprised to hear that was why I was there. “Who’s getting married?”

  “Holden and Gage.”

  “Right.”

  “They’ve decided throwing together a wedding in two months is a perfectly reasonable request, and so here I am.” I punctuated the statement with a little wave of my arm.

  “Yeah. Okay. Uh, come with me.”

  I followed him up the stairs, admiring the view along the way. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but the guy had a tight fucking ass, even through the somewhat loose fabric of his jeans.

  At the top of the stairs, he pushed open the door to what I could only assume was an office. I made that assumption based on the fact that there was a desk in there, but it looked more like the Staten Island landfill.

  “Was there some sort of natural disaster? An earthquake or a tornado that only affected this small area of the building?”

  “What?” He looked at me, confused.

  I gestured to the clerical mayhem that was his office.

  “Oh. No. My admin girl left six months ago, and I haven’t been able to find anyone to replace her yet. Everything kind of fell apart after she quit.”

  “Visibly.”

  He grunted and sat down at the desk, pulling open a drawer and rifling through the contents. “I could have sworn we had contracts printed up for shit like this.” He looked up at me. “Don’t suppose we could just go on a verbal agreement?”

  “Not how I usually operate, but I guess things are done a little differently around here.”

  He visibly bristled. “I’
ll find it.”

  I stood there for a good twelve minutes while he ransacked his desk, my anxiety arching higher and higher as the paper stacked higher and higher in disheveled piles. When one of them toppled over onto the floor, scattering to every corner of the room, I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “You need to get someone in here. Like, today.”

  He looked up at me, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “You’re saying that like I don’t know what a fucking shitshow this place is. Everyone in town knows I’m looking for someone to help out.”

  “I could help.”

  “What?” The annoyance transformed into something that looked a little like surprise and disbelief rolled into one.

  “I said I could help you. I’m an admin assistant—well, an executive assistant, but I’ve stooped low enough to come here, might as well stoop some more.”

  “And so humble.”

  “Why should I be humble about something I’m good at? I’m here for two months. I could get this place whipped into shape in half that time.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “Because I’ve been here less than a week and I’m already bored.”

  “And filing is going to combat the boredom?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You want the help or not? Because you’re not sounding all that enthused about my offer.”

  Barrett

  When I’d written the business plan for Copper Creek, and every day since, my father’s voice echoed in my head. Nothing’s better than being your own boss.

  That was great, but he failed to mention the whole pile of headaches that go along with it. The work is hard, the hours are long, and a lot of the time I’m stuck doing crap I never envisioned myself doing when the fantasy of owning a brewery had been born.

  Like all the goddamn admin work.

  I’d hired the position out as quickly as I could. I knew my own limitations. And Lily’s presence at Copper Creek had been a blessing. But she was gone, and I couldn’t see the aged wood of my desk anymore beneath the stacks of paperwork.

  Hell, I could barely see my computer screen behind the shit piled so high.

  I realized Frankie was staring at me, waiting for a response.

  “I can’t pay you much. Probably not what you’re used to working in fancy offices in New York.”

  He took a step forward and leaned down, planting both hands on the desk and lowering his voice. “I’m sure we can come up with some sort of arrangement.”

  My mouth hung open slightly for a second, and I scrambled to come up with a response. That had not been what I’d expected to come out of his mouth.

  What came out of mine was “I’m not gonna fuck you.”

  I’d meant to say it with determination, but the words came out sounding slightly strangled, like it had taken everything in me to choke them out. His eyes flashed with something dark, and I knew he thought I was full of shit.

  “Didn’t say you were.”

  It was what he hadn’t said that was dangerous, and I needed to make sure he understood me. “I’m not sure what you think is going to happen here, but you can alter your expectations.”

  He straightened and plopped himself down on the only bare spot on the desk, leaning against the sturdy wood. “No expectations. I meant you could give Holden and Gage a good deal on the beer for their wedding.”

  “Oh.”

  “If I make you uncomfortable, though… I know my sparkling personality and flawless fashion sense aren’t always seen as assets, especially in places like this.”

  “No, I’m not saying that. I got no problem at all with you being into guys. I just don’t wanna be one of them.”

  His grin was predatory. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  No matter what, I trusted my gut.

  Even when it came to monumental, life-altering decisions, like letting my wife walk out and move halfway across the continent without me, I’d gone with my instincts.

  So now, I had no goddamn clue why I had agreed to give Frankie the job when everything in me was screaming that it was a bad fucking idea.

  A really bad fucking idea.

  I had no way of knowing what was going to happen, but I had a pretty solid feeling that the next eleven weeks of my life were going to be some of the most infuriating I’d lived through.

  I tried to convince myself it would be worth it. I’d been floundering since Lily left, and it was clear that I wasn’t equipped to get caught up on my own.

  “When can you start?” I asked, already regretting this decision.

  He grinned. “I don’t have any solid plans for the rest of the day. Buy me lunch and I could get a jump start on this.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was nearing noon. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I hit the speed dial for Pacey’s. “Hey, Pace, it’s Barrett. Can I grab… say… six pizzas for delivery?” Pacey made the best—and only—pizzas in town, and my mouth was already watering thinking about it. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. “Actually, better make it seven. And throw in a couple of orders of breadsticks too.”

  “One with goat cheese for me,” Frankie said. “And thin crust.”

  I covered the phone. “Unless mozzarella comes from goats, you’re shit outta luck.”

  “Figures.” He looked unimpressed. “Pedestrian pizza it is, then.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Just surprise me with whatever you’ve got,” I told Pacey. He gave me an expected delivery time and then hung up.

  “You want a tour while we wait for lunch? You should meet everyone too.”

  “Do they all look like the guy I ran into coming in? Because if so, I think I’m going to be very happy here.”

  “They do not.”

  “Too bad,” he pouted. “But I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

  He sprung up from where he was still perched on my desk, his curls bouncing into his eyes as he did. He gently ran his fingers through, tucking them back into place.

  Despite the fact that Mason didn’t swing that way, the image of him fucking Frankie infiltrated my brain, making my skin prickle and my stomach tense. What was it about that thought that was so fucking off-putting? I hated the image, and I pushed it from my head as fast as I could.

  Frankie was still rambling in the background, snippets of his babbling filtering through. Something about a communal shower that I ignored as the realization that I might not be the only one with a problem set in.

  I’d seen how people looked at Frankie. Sawyer’s Ferry was a small town, and while the people who lived there were generally good people, they weren’t exposed to a lot of uhhh… worldly shit.

  When Gage and Holden had gotten engaged, people had been mostly supportive, but there’d been a few who had been pretty goddamn vocal with how they felt about it. Gage and Holden had taken it in stride, and I got the feeling Frankie was small but tough.

  Still, as I watched him walk out of my office, his hips swishing with each fall of his heeled boots on the concrete floors, I couldn’t help but recognize that there was something very different about his brand of sexuality than Holden’s.

  One look at him, and there was zero doubt where his preferences lay.

  It wasn’t an issue for me, or at least I was trying to convince myself it wasn’t, but it might be for some of the guys who worked for me. The thought made me feel uncomfortably anxious. If Frankie was nervous, though, he didn’t show it. In fact, my initial estimation was that I’d never met anyone who gave less of a shit about what other people thought than Frankie.

  I shoved my worries out of my head and got started with the tour.

  “Upstairs you have my office and a bathroom with a shower.”

  Frankie poked his head in through the door. “Very… functional.”

  “Yep.” I continued down the hall. “And down here you have the lab.”

  He peered in there as well.

  “Do you even fit in there?” Frankie asked, laughter tinting hi
s voice and making it more melodic than normal.

  “I can squeeze in when I need to.”

  The small room wasn’t much bigger than a closet, but I didn’t need a lot of space. There was rigorous testing that went into each batch of beer we brewed, but we were a relatively small brewery.

  “Works well with tight spaces.” He lifted one eyebrow and quirked a smile. “Very good to know.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” I turned toward the stairs. “That’s it for the mezzanine. The rest is downstairs.”

  He followed me to the bottom floor, and I showed him around the barrel storage room first. Strangely, it was one of my favorite places. There was nothing but stacks of wooden barrels, but there was something about that room—the earthy smell of fermenting beer, or the soft light made softer by the warm wood.

  Frankie ran his fingertips along the rim of one of the barrels, and he looked lost in thought. “I like this room.”

  “When I first started this business, I used to have a chair in the corner in here. I’d come down and sit for hours, figuring out new flavor combinations and recipes to try.”

  “You don’t do that anymore?”

  I shrugged. “There’s less variation now. I usually release one or two new beers every year—seasonal recipes mostly—but our usual menu stays the same.”

  “Nothing wrong with challenging preconceived notions every once in a while…”

  “It’s easier and less risky financially to stick to what people expect.”

  “And so much less exciting.” He ran his fingertips over my shoulder the same way he had the barrel just a moment before. “Get experimental. Have a little fun.”

  My skin tingled beneath my clothes, and it felt like the temperature in the room had been notched up a few degrees. It was intensely obvious he wasn’t just talking about beer.

  His hand was still on me. He made a disappointed sound as I shrugged it off, but I ignored him, and taking a half step to the side, I clicked the lights off and walked out. I didn’t know him well enough yet to figure out if he was like this all the time, or just around me, and the little remarks and small touches were enough to throw me off. I wasn’t used to dealing with being hit on, at least not at work and not by a guy.