by Gina Ardito
Chapter 6
Drew stared at the clock on his office wall and grimaced. He normally appreciated the large digital numbers glowing in eye-burning red, since they kept him on time when he had court dates and appointments to keep. Today, though, they refused to move fast enough. He still had another thirty-five minutes before he could close up the office and head to the brewery to meet Bo. Pathetic, he knew. She’d quickly become his drug of choice and he her willing addict. He glanced at the clock again and sighed. Well, there was no sense in two people suffering the ennui here now. He strode to his office door and leaned out. “Rosa,” he addressed his administrative assistant, a middle-aged woman he’d inherited from his late law partner. “Why don’t you go on home for the day?”
She looked up, her weathered face wreathed in happy expectancy. “You sure?”
“Do I have anyone scheduled in the next thirty minutes?”
“No.”
“Then, shoo! Go home to your husband and those grandkids. I can take care of any stragglers without you.”
Occasionally, in his line of work, something came up last minute: a sudden bond hearing, a potential client who slipped out of work early in the hopes Drew could squeeze him in at the end of the day, and once, he got called to the diner in Claude when a client needed immediate representation because he’d impersonated a Texas state trooper in the misguided hope he’d get his to-go order faster. Turned out, several local state troopers were in the diner for a retirement party at the time, and they knew the guy didn’t work with them.
Whoever said small-town lawyering was boring had never done it.
The buzzing of his phone’s intercom jerked him from his stupor.
Rosa’s voice erupted from the speaker. “Drew? Sheriff Wilson’s here to see you.”
Crap. He’d forgotten they were still supposed to talk about Wade’s latest escapade. He glanced down at the notes he’d taken on the Oliver case, a contentious divorce wherein both parties had cheated and now both believed each “deserved” the house and full custody of their kids due to the dastardly deeds committed by the other. No surprise their latest mediation attempt had disintegrated into a screaming match within minutes. Which was better for his blood pressure right now? The battling Olivers or another discussion regarding his brother’s penchant for lawlessness?
“Send him in,” he said on a surrendering sigh and shoved the Oliver paperwork to the side.
Cooper, today in full uniform, stepped into the room. This wasn’t going to be good. “Drew? How you doin’?”
Drew sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “You tell me. What did Wade do now?”
“Nothing yet,” Cooper replied, taking a seat across the desk from him. “But there are rumors flying around he’s been asking about a ‘senile’ landowner in the area and yesterday, he spent three hours with Lena digging into old tax records at Town Hall.”
Damn. Drew thought he’d dissuaded Wade out of that property fraud idea.
“Technically,” Cooper continued, “he hasn’t done anything illegal yet, but I thought you’d want to know about this.”
“Thanks, Cooper. I’ll talk to him.”
On a nod, Cooper got to his feet. “You know, Drew, there’s gonna come a time when you’ll have to stop covering for him. He’d probably learn his lesson a lot faster if you let him reap the consequences of his actions a few times.”
The sheriff had a valid point. “I hear you.”
“Yeah, but will you listen?”
Probably not. With their parents dead, Wade was the only family Drew had left. Yes, he was a screw-up of major proportions, but Drew’s screw-up years ago had screwed up his big brother’s future. A great way for him to repay the brother who’d protected him from school bullies when they were younger and taught him how to fish, how to ride a bike, how to drive. He couldn’t turn his back on Wade. He had to keep hoping, eventually, Wade would get his life together.
“Thanks again, Cooper.” He picked up the Oliver file, effectively ending the discussion. “I’ll talk to him.”
Shaking his head, Cooper turned and left the office. Alone, he stared at the latest report from the mediator, but the words refused to permeate his brain. Twenty minutes to go. The hell with it. He would close early tonight. After tossing the Oliver file and a few others into his briefcase, he activated his phone’s auto-message advising callers the office was currently closed. Once he’d locked up, he climbed into his Jeep, aimed for the brewery. Even the drive to reach Bo soothed his rising blood pressure and aching head.
During the ride, he considered the difference between him and his brother. Hard to believe they were brought up in the same household. Luck had always come to Wade too easily in his youth, so when things went south, beginning with the knee injury back in his senior year, he had no idea how to deal with the downturn in his fortunes. Drew, on the other hand, knew early on he was no athlete and would have to work hard if he wanted anything he felt passionate about. He buckled down and hit the books, graduating in the top ten percent of his class with a substantial scholarship—not a free ride like Wade’s, but enough to put his education within reach. More hard work at Texas A&M launched him on to the University of Chicago and a full circle trip back to Silverton. He’d stumbled several times along the way, most specifically with Maura, but he’d never blamed anyone else or attempted to victimize another to get ahead. Their parents, upstanding citizens who taught him the values of hard work and fairness in life, would have never stood for his brother’s antics. Apparently, Wade missed a lesson on morality that Drew had taken twice.
By the time he pulled into the brewery’s parking lot, he’d resolved to forget about Wade’s latest idiotic scheme. His brother was over forty. He’d have to learn to sink or swim on his own.
Mitch met him at the door. “You’re here early.”
“Rough day,” he admitted as he stepped inside. “Where’s Bo?”
“Brewery floor. She’s teaching a couple of kids how to grain the mash tun.”
Drew had no idea what that meant, but he faked knowledge by nodding. And since Mitch screwed up his face in a grimace when he made the statement, Drew played along by adding a sharp inhale of breath.
“I’m actually glad you’re here,” Mitch confided in a low tone. “You gotta get Bo outta here. She’s working too hard. We’re all worried about her.”
“No problem. I’ll take her out to dinner. After the day I had, I could use the distraction, too.”
Mitch’s lips twisted. “Yeah, you better plan something else. Unless you’re gonna take her home to clean up first.”
“This isn’t New York, Mitch. I’m sure she’s dressed fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He crooked a finger. “You better come look at this before you make a decision.”
“O…kay.” He followed Mitch to the brewery floor where a loud, groaning noise pierced his ears. “Jeez. What the hell…?” His tongue stuttered in his mouth when he spotted Bo.
She stood on a raised platform near one of the massive stainless tanks with a smaller wheeled vat sandwiched between her position and the teenaged Patterson brothers, who hovered on the floor below. The noise came from the tank, where some kind of circulating machinery pushed steaming wet sludge out of the tank and into the vat. All three were filthy, with their hair plastered to their heads and streaks of dirt and sweat striping their faces.
There wasn’t a place in town where he could take her in that condition. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. He knew one place where no one would judge her appearance and find her lacking. “Hey you!” he called up to her.
She whirled to look down on him from her perch and wiped her sleeve over her face before grinning at him. “Hey yourself,” she shouted back. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking you to dinner. To this place I know that serves the best steaks in the state.”
Frowning, she descended the steel stairs while she plucked her damp, stained shirt away from her body. “I’ll
have to go home first. I stink. I need a shower.”
“You can shower there.” She shook her head, and he held up a hand. “Hear me out first.” He massaged her shoulder, while he crooned low in her ear. “I figure we can start with a hot shower at my place. You, me, and all those soothing, pulsating jets.” He moved his hands until his fingers danced through her blond tresses, rubbing into her scalp. “I’ll wash your hair. Scrub your back.”
She moaned low in her throat, and her body sagged against him.
“I’ll take you to bed. And lick the water droplets off your skin. And later…after I’ve rid you of all the tension you’re feeling, after you’ve slept beside me for several peaceful hours…”
“Mmm?” Her head lolled on her shoulders. She was so close to the edge, almost ready to surrender.
He leaned closer to whisper the words he knew would make all her arguments melt. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
****
She grabbed a towel from the utility room to spread on Drew’s passenger seat before climbing inside.
“I told you,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. Trust me. It could take weeks to get the smell out of your leather interior.”
Once she was settled and buckled in, he turned to her. “Ready?” She nodded, and he pulled out of the parking lot. “So, what’s with the Patterson boys? You’re hiring minors now?”
“Penance for their joyride in Mitch’s car.” Before he could think she was some kind of monster, she added, “It was their parents’ idea. They’re my slaves for the next few weeks, and I’m supposed to make their lives miserable while they’re with me.”
He flashed her a quick grin before returning his attention to the road. “That sounds like something Chuck Patterson would say. He’s a good guy, and so’s his wife, Sheila. But I don’t see how you helping them do whatever it is you were doing today teaches those kids a lesson.”
“Mitch and I figured we’d start by having them grain the mash tun. It’s one of the dirtier jobs at the brewery. I was just showing them how to clean it for the first time. After today, they’re on their own.”
“What exactly is a mash tun?”
“It’s where we make the wort.”
“There are warts in beer?”
“No.” She made a disgusted face at his sophomoric attempt at humor. “We soak crushed grain in the mash tun in water, heat it up to extract the sugar and some of the proteins, then strain the grain from the liquid. That liquid is the wort that we use to make beer. But once the wort’s transferred to the Lauter tun, we have to clean all that spent grain out of the mash tun so we can start another batch.”
“What happens to the grain?”
“Ah, see, that’s why Texas is the perfect place for me to set up my brewery. That grain can be used to feed cattle and enrich soil for farms and gardens. Getting to that part, though, is messy, heavy, miserable work.”
“Well, I will say those boys looked duly miserable.”
Satisfaction rippled through her. “They should. It’s one of the suckiest jobs. Everybody hates doing it, which explains why the crew was relieved to hand it off for a few weeks.” She made a passing motion with her arms, and the aroma of her own ripeness reached her nostrils. Sheesh. Holding her breath, she rolled down her window.
“I have the a.c. on,” he reminded her and hit the button to roll up her window.
“That’s not going to do much for my stink factor.” She rolled the window down again.
He rolled it up. “Relax, Bo. I’ve smelled sweat before.”
She rolled it down. “Well, I’d rather you didn’t smell mine. Especially now.” It was hardly the way she wanted to start a nice dinner with him, with her stench surrounding them both like a noxious cloud. She waited for him to make another move, her finger poised on the power window button, almost daring him to try.
On a sigh, he flipped off the air conditioning and rolled down the other windows. Done, he cast another glance her way. “Okay?”
She beamed. He got her. So few did—even in her family. But this geeky lawyer who knew her a week or two understood her more than anyone she’d ever known. “Okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She tilted her head back and allowed the warm breeze to not only air her out, but to dry her face and hair, as well. Meanwhile, Drew turned up the volume on the radio, filling the car with some country music ballad. While she’d never been a fan of the genre, she had to admit the male singer’s voice soothed her. “Who is that?” She pointed at the radio.
“Singing? You’ve never heard Willie Nelson before?”
“Not by choice. I’m more of a rock and roll girl.”
“I can change the—”
“No.” Her fingers brushed over his on the radio button, and a static shock zapped her. She yanked her hand back. “I mean, I kinda like it.”
“Then I’ll leave it,” he said. “I aim to please.”
The words hung between them, heavy with promise, and she shivered—not from cold but anticipation. She and Drew were adults, and there was something palpable, some sexual pull between them that neither could deny.
She should have put up a stronger argument, but he knew all her weak spots and exactly how to maneuver them. Damn lawyer didn’t fight fair.
He delivered on every promise, too. The sensual jets of pounding water, paired with his supple fingers kneading her skin and scalp, unwound the tight coil of tension inside her. When her knees could no longer keep her standing in the shower, he took her to bed. There, he teased and enticed and sent her soaring with pleasure several times until she reached her final crescendo and fell into the best sleep she’d had in years.
She woke to the smell of roasting meat, the familiar twang of Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Drew singing “Freebird” terribly off-key.
On the chair beside the bed, she found a pile of folded clothes topped by a yellow Post-It that said, “Wear Me.” Upon closer inspection, she discovered a pair of his clean boxer briefs, a white tank undershirt, a navy tee advertising a national soft drink company, and a pair of red cotton shorts with a drawstring waist.
Barefoot, she left the second floor and hurried to the kitchen in time to catch Drew’s air guitar finale. Amused by the ridiculous scene of this Texas lawyer bouncing his head in time to lead guitarist Allen Collins’s rapid riffs, she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. At last, he mimed kicking an amplifier and whirled to face her. He stopped.
“Oh,” he said with a sheepish grin. “You’re awake, and I see you found the clothes I left for you.”
“Uh-huh. ‘Wear me?’”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t help it. You had this Alice in Wonderland look to you before you nodded off, and I ran with it. If you like, I can put ‘Eat me’ and ‘Drink me’ tags on your food, too.”
“Not necessary.” She swiped a baby carrot off the counter and took a snappy bite. “So, where’s my stuff?”
“If you mean those filthy clothes you had on, they’re in the rinse cycle by now, I’m guessing. We’re a full-service establishment here. You look comfy. I don’t think my clothes ever had it so good. Feel better?”
“Much!”
“Good. Here.” He pushed a head of lettuce and some cucumbers in her direction. “You make the salad.” When she walked toward him, he shouted, “Stop!” He pointed with a steel meat mallet to the opposite end of the butcher block. “Stay on that side. I want at least a five-foot distance and a solid obstacle between us at all times until we eat.”
She quirked a brow. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly. Ruining an omelet is one thing, but these are porterhouse steaks. You are not going to distract me into committing a deadly sin.”
****
After dinner, she offered to help him clear the table and wash the dishes, but he waved her off. “Relax. I’ve got this.” He pointed to the cozy outdoor sitting area near the unlit fireplace. “Make yourself comfo
rtable over there. I want you fully rested for what’s coming next.”
“Next? What’s next? It’s way after five. I figured we were done now, and you’d be dropping me back off at the brewery.”
He shook his head while gathering the dirty dishes onto a sunny-colored, circular bamboo serving tray. “No more brewery today. Your presence is not required or wanted there for the next twenty-four hours.”
Where did he get such a ridiculous idea? “I have a ton of work to do before Saturday. It all has to be perfect. I can’t take off now.”
“Don’t get your back up. Your employees want you to have a night off so you can be relaxed, calm, and ready for the soft opening. Until then, you’re forbidden by them to get within fifty yards of Empire’s door. Or the loading dock, or your office. Until tomorrow, I’ve been tasked with ridding you of all your tension.” He nudged her with an elbow into her ribs. “How’m I doing so far?”
“Great,” she replied. “I’m totally relaxed. No more tension. So you can drop me off—”
He wagged his index finger. “Unh-unh-unh. You’ve had some rest, a good meal, and now you’ll get a chance to have some real fun.”
Suspicion tickled her spine. “How?”
“Well, first, I’ll take you home to change your clothes.” He scanned her from head-to-toe with deliberate interest and a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. “Not that you don’t look fabulous in my t-shirt and shorts. And God knows, the idea you’re wearing my briefs under that getup revs me in ways you can’t imagine.”
She arched a brow as a familiar heat crept into her veins. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Still, it’s not appropriate for where we’re headed.”
“Which is…?”
“I’m taking you to the Sugar Shack for drinks and dancing.”
No. Hell, no. “I don’t dance.”
“It isn’t ballroom dancing, Bo. No judges holding up score cards or anything. It’s a very casual atmosphere, a place for the locals to get together, toss back a few drinks, and unwind with music, dancing, and laughs. The Sugar Shack is the closest thing the valley has to a honky-tonk.”