by Gina Ardito
Cooper took a step toward her, but Drew shot an arm out across his chest, blocking the sheriff’s forward momentum. “I got this, Sheriff,” he said, pushing in front of Cooper. “You should go find Mitch so you and he can chase down the lady’s car.” He ducked his head at Bo. “Miss McKenzie? Bo? I’m Drew Garwood and I’d be happy to drive you out to the brewery. No need to pay me. I’m actually headed in that direction anyway.”
She offered him a smile that could freeze the August sun. “That’s very sweet, Mr. Garwood, but I’d prefer the sheriff take me and my assistant to the brewery.” Her attention veered to Cooper. “Is that feasible? I mean, I realize you’re off-duty and I have no right to ask, but I need someone reliable and trustworthy. I don’t know anyone else in town yet. I hope it’s not too inconvenient for you. Do you mind?”
“No, ma’am. Not at all. I’d be happy to.”
Drew’s admiration kicked up a notch. She was cool and confident, smooth and slick. She thought she’d outmaneuvered him, but he had an ace up his sleeve she knew nothing about.
Any additional conversation anyone planned to engage in was interrupted when an out of breath Mitchell Underhill burst inside, glanced around frantically, and sagged in relief. “Oh, thank God. Cooper, this is Bo McKenzie. Did she tell you what happened?”
“She did.” Her tone brooked no debate, and Mitch flushed an unbecoming shade of umber. “Now that you’re here, we can get underway. The sheriff will drive us to the brewery and you can file the police report from there.”
“Mitch. Good to see you. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Cooper reached for her suitcase. Her expression changed from congenial to exasperated. And wait a minute. Did she roll her eyes? He couldn’t tell for sure, but it sure seemed like it. Her contradictions stacked up against her, but only captivated him all the more.
“Be careful,” she said, releasing her grasp on the handle. “It’s heavy.”
Apparently, she wasn’t fooling. Cooper, no small man to begin with, nearly fell over himself when the full possession of the case transferred to him. “What do you have in here? Rocks?”
“My brewer’s tools, a microlab, some schematics, and a few other necessities.”
Drew bit back another grin, this one directed at Cooper. From the way his old friend’s left shoulder slumped under the weight, he would’ve guessed she transported gold bricks in that bag. “Need some help?”
Cooper hefted the bag with two hands. “I got it.”
“You sure? You look like you’re struggling.”
Cooper quirked his brow. “What part of ‘I got it’ don’t you understand?”
Drew held up his hands in surrender and smiled. “Okay, okay. I thought I could help, that’s all.” As the trio headed out the door, he offered one last parting shot. “You be sure to give my best to Abby!”
“I will, but we’re not done talking about Wade, either.”
Drew frowned. He’d hoped reminding Cooper of the wife he had at home would put a hitch in the sheriff’s step, but he miscalculated. They’d only started discussing what mischief Drew’s older brother, Wade, had been up to this time when Bo McKenzie stumbled into the sheriff’s office. Her sudden arrival had bought him a temporary stay from having to confront the miscreant again.
For that short reprieve, she’d earned his gratitude. Her demeanor had awakened his curiosity. And her effect on areas of his body he long thought dead or frozen had piqued his interest. He couldn’t wait to see her again.
Soon, he said to the closed door. Sooner than she knew.
****
Inside the police cruiser, Bo pushed her passenger seat all the way back for more leg room, taking care to not crush Mitchell, who sat behind her, her vital bag of tricks on the bench seat beside him. A colony of butterflies had erupted in her belly, and she placed a palm over her abdomen to still them. Even so, her stomach continued to flip, as it had from the moment she noticed that man in the sheriff’s office. Drew Something-or-other. Somehow, he had managed to intimidate her in ways that left her insides all jumbled. Her skin had gone hotter than the Texas sun. Her breathing shallowed, and her mouth watered. She told herself it was nervousness about the upcoming meeting with the lawyers that had her nerves jumbled, but her logical brain chastised her for the attempted lie. She knew the brewery business inside and out. No lawyer anywhere could rattle her when it came to permits and labels and alcohol regulations.
That man, on the other hand, had awakened this…vague restlessness, a reminder she was a woman, not just a brewery owner, a boss, a daughter, a sister, and of course, an ex-wife. The memory of her divorce heated her anger all over again, and she relaxed. Anger was an emotion she’d grown accustomed to.
As the sheriff turned onto the highway, the air conditioning finally blew cool enough to refresh her cheeks, and she settled in for the ride while watching the landscape whiz by. She never knew there were so many shades of brown in Mother Nature’s palette, and she tried to name them all by recalling the colors in her crayons from childhood: goldenrod, tan, sienna, sand, sepia, desert, tumbleweed, reddish brown, rust, copper, dark brown, light brown, medium brown, and on and on. There weren’t enough to go around. “I appreciate you taking the time to drive us, Sheriff.”
“Think nothing of it, Bo,” the sheriff replied. “I’m happy I could be of assistance.”
So was she. In her time of need, she would’ve accepted help from anyone—except that Drew character. From the second she stumbled into the sheriff’s office, he’d stared at her as if she were a three-headed dog, with equal parts fascination, mistrust, and disbelief. She should have been used to it by now, but something in the intensity of Drew Whatever’s scrutiny unnerved her more than usual. Stop! she told herself. Stop thinking about him. He’s no one.
If only she could. His angular face with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass captured her attention—so different from Rob’s soft baby face. He exuded confidence, a quality sadly lacking in Bo’s world these days. Even now, she squirmed at the memory of his honey-colored gaze, behind black-rimmed glasses, assessing her from head to toe. She shivered. The last thing she wanted was anyone looking too closely. Still, he’d looked her in the eye, a refreshing change from the men who tended to stare her straight in the boobs. Drew, at least, seemed to consider her on equal footing, if not from the same species. She shifted in her seat and sighed, impatient with her ruminations about a man who meant nothing. Pushing thoughts of him out of her head, she focused on the scenery and counted the different browns some more.
When Sheriff Wilson pulled up in front of the industrial complex area, Bo got her first look at what the last of her money had bought her. The white banner draped over the chain link fence proclaimed it as the future site of Empire Brewery.
Once he drove inside and parked, she stepped out onto the paved lot, her ankles grateful for the smooth path with no pebbles or potholes beneath her boots. She studied her logo with a critical eye and smiled in satisfaction. The Statue of Liberty stood proudly behind the golden letters stacked in two levels, her torch thrust up to create the letter “I” in Empire and her extended arm as the mast of the second “E” in Brewery. Perfect—even if some people didn’t think so.
Her brother, Seamus, had voiced his opinion loud and clear when she’d first revealed the name and logo. “The Statue of Liberty? In Texas? Why not just call it ‘Yankee Beer’ and punch them in the face with a big apple? It’d be more subtle.”
The name had little to do with her New York roots, but all to do with her need to launch herself away from the rest of the Sheehan clan. Hence, her use of her mother’s maiden name, McKenzie. On this brewery’s foundation, she would build her empire, apart from her father and brothers, apart from their well-known surname in their business, apart from her ex-husband and the notoriety attached to his surname.
“Well?” Mitch asked, coming up beside her and jerking her back to the present. “What do you think?”
She studied the brewery’s exterior with its wood
en clapboard shingles and dozens of paned windows, two stories high. An old mill wheel turned slowly, churning up a continual stream of water from a gulley set into the façade and lending the building rustic authenticity. The pitched roof met its point directly above the front entrance, where her logo appeared again, this time on a hand-carved and painted wooden sign. Bo nodded her approval. “So far, so good. Let’s see the inside.”
Beaming, Mitch gestured her forward. “I think you’re gonna be really pleased.”
The sheriff opened the cruiser’s back door to retrieve her bag, but she stopped him. “Thanks, Sheriff, but I’ll take it from here.” Before he could argue, she dove into the seat, grabbed the leather case, and took off at her normal long-legged stride toward the front doors, leaving her companions in the dust—literally. With only a hundred feet left after this six-month, seventeen-hundred-mile journey, she couldn’t wait any longer to see the almost-finished project.
She pulled open the front door to a symphony of noise and a blast of blessed full-blown air conditioning. Circular saws screeched, hammers pounded, work boots thumped, and men shouted. For Bo, the chaos was as beautiful as the view. This was why she’d left Mitch in charge until she could cut all the loose ends in New York. Mitch might not have been the brightest bulb on the strip when it came to common sense, but in the brewery business, he was pure, unadulterated genius.
With all five senses taking in every detail, she wandered through the front room toward the hewn oak bar where a series of gleaming taps sat, waiting to be filled with her secret flavors. The walls around the tasting room displayed various royal coats of arms and renditions of historical weapons spanning from swords of the Middle Ages to guns from the Wild West. She’d chosen Empire as the name of her brewery, not as in the Empire State, but as in the conquerors of old. She wanted a chance to create something new, something that would stand the test of time, something she could be proud of.
In the open space in the front of the house, construction occurred at a manic pace. They would eventually lure visitors there with assorted games: pinball, foosball, video arcades, a pool table or two, even chess and checkerboards. In the far corner, the framework stood in place for their privacy room, meant for parties, intimate gatherings, or special events. The wood floor was sanded and buffed, without any kind of shine or polish that might eventually be eaten away by spilled beer. Speakers hung near the ceiling, ready to blast out a mixture of classic rock hits. She found the dartboard already in place, and a built-in bookshelf near the privacy room held board games, novels, decks of playing cards, and poker chips.
“Make them come for the beer, but stay for the atmosphere” was her motto. Entertainments meant to distract would accomplish that.
Mitchell appeared behind her, with the sheriff at his side.
The sheriff whistled, craning his neck to take in the details. “Impressive.”
“I agree.” She nodded her approval at her foreman and assistant. “It’s definitely coming along better than I expected. Top notch, Mitch. Well done.”
“Thanks, Bo.” He jerked his head at the sheriff. “I didn’t think you’d mind if we gave the law a tour.”
The sheriff smirked. “In that case, you could’ve let Drew bring you out here. He’s the law, too. One of our local attorneys.”
Drew…Garwood. He’d said his name was Garwood. And she’d seen that name before—on all the licensing and permit applications for the brewery. Bo’s good mood deflated. Well, crap. “Don’t tell me; let me guess. He’s the town’s business attorney?”
Sheriff Wilson bounced his head from shoulder to shoulder. “Well, sure, I guess so. But he does criminal cases, wills, whatever we need here, basically. A little bit of everything.” He stopped the head motion, and she could almost see the moment the light bulb went on in his brain. “That’s right. He would’ve drawn up all the papers for this place, too.”
And…
Oh, goody.
He’d be one of the lawyers she was meeting here in…
She glanced at her watch.
…ten minutes.
Chapter 2
Back in his own office on the second floor, Drew pulled out the McKenzie file and gathered the forms he needed her to sign. Curiosity about her continued to plague him. What would make a woman from New York come all the way to Silverton, Texas to open a brewery? Alone? Was she running from something? If so, what?
Her licenses had come through without a hitch—something that wouldn’t have happened if she had any kind of criminal record.
“Hey, Drew. You busy?” His brother, Wade, rippled his knuckles across the door while loitering in the hall with his head leaning over the threshold. “Rosa said you gotta meet a client in a few minutes, but I promise this won’t take long.”
His pending conversation with Cooper loomed in his conscience. The last thing Drew needed was Wade to be here now. Still, the second-to-last thing he needed was a shouting match with his brother. “Yeah, come on in.” He gestured to the pair of empty, red leather tufted chairs on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.” When Wade complied, he added, “What’s going on?”
“I…umm…I need a favor.”
Drew stifled a sigh. Of course, he did. What else was new? He leaned back, dropping the sheaf of pages into his briefcase. “What kind of favor?”
“I need you to write a letter for me.”
His suspicion antenna tingled, and he ran a hand down his nape. “What kind of letter?”
“You know, on your letterhead.”
This time, he didn’t attempt to hold back his exasperation. He slammed the briefcase closed with force. “Wade, we’ve gone over this before. If I don’t represent you, I can’t send a letter from my legal office on your behalf.”
“I’m hiring you for this.”
“For what?”
Wade leaned forward with his palms flattened on the desk. “Okay, so you know my friend, Rusty?”
Too well. “Yeah. What about him?”
“Well, he did some research on that idea we had to flip houses.”
“Uh-huh.” Wade and Rusty were always plotting some get-rich-quick scheme that required no effort and promised high rewards. Most of their ideas, though, were impossible, illegal, or both, and Drew would routinely have to be the one to set them straight.
“He found a good one. Lots of land. Old man lives there by himself and he’s not all there, if you get what I’m saying.” To ensure Drew got what he said, Wade twirled his index finger near his temple.
“Uh-huh,” Drew repeated, remaining noncommittal. Pushing him to get to the point would only get Wade’s back up. Eventually, he’d spew some ridiculous request, Drew would say no, and Wade would storm out until he seized upon another angle or new scheme. Then the cycle would continue all over again.
“So, we were thinking. If you were to write a letter that looked official, but had some small error in it…” Grinning, Wade rolled his hands as if to suggest Drew should know exactly where this conversation was headed.
“I’m not following you.”
“Well, like, let’s say you write this letter that says he owes a lot of money in back property taxes, and if he doesn’t pay, his land’s gonna be seized. Then Russ and I swoop in with a little over the amount he supposedly owes. He’s bound to take the deal, thinking at least he won’t be tossed out of his home, penniless. You see?”
“Uh-huh. And you, Rusty, and I would all be guilty of committing fraud,” he argued.
Wade shifted in the chair and wagged his index finger back and forth. “Unh-unh. See, when you send the letter, you transpose the numbers on his address or misspell his name, so if we get caught, you can say it was sent in error. It was supposed to go to a totally different property, right? It’s an unfortunate mistake. Of course, it’s too late for the old guy, but it’s perfectly legal.”
“No, it’s not. And I won’t be a party to something like that.”
“Aw, come on!” Wade shoved back from the desk. �
��What’s the big deal? All I’m asking for is a letter.”
“No, what you’re asking for is an illegal method of defrauding an old man out of his rightfully owned property. Depending on what you and Rusty have in mind for him after you rip him off, you could also be charged with title fraud, equity stripping, identity theft, property-flipping fraud or God knows what else. I don’t need to be your attorney of record to tell you you’re looking at lots of jail time. Drag me into this mess, and I could be disbarred.” Drew cocked his head. “Why would you get involved in something like this, Wade? You know it’s not right.”
“You know what’s not right? That I’m stuck here in Silverton, delivering car parts to dealerships all day. Nodding and grinning like an idiot at guys who never had a millionth of the talent I did, but now I gotta bend and scrape to them like they’re somebody special. I was gonna get outta this shit-kicking town, remember? I was gonna be famous.”
Drew muffled the quick retort that sprang to his lips. He’d heard this sad song too many times before. “So you’re not famous. That’s not a crime. Few people are. Sometimes, life doesn’t work out the way we plan. That doesn’t give you the right to steal from someone else’s life. You have to figure out another plan. And not a plan that relies on you bilking the helpless to get what you want.”
Wade glared at him, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “You always put me down.”
“I’m not putting you down, Wade. I’m trying to bolster you up. You’re a smart guy. You’ve still got time to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life and do it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve already figured out what to do. Even if you blew out your knee, you’d still be able to…do lawyer stuff. I can’t play football.”
“You haven’t been able to play football in twenty-five years. For God’s sake, use your brain. Come up with a new game plan.”
“I’m trying. But you won’t help me.”
“Not if it’s illegal, I won’t.”