Blame it on Texas: Lightning in a Bottle (Kindle Worlds)

by Gina Ardito

  “Ah. I was wondering how you got here.”

  “Well, you won’t have to wonder about that much longer.” Her expression turned smug as she volunteered another glance in his direction. “I just bought a bike.”

  She hadn’t invited him to sit yet, so he stood to the side of her blanket, not quite looming over her but not aloof, either. “A bike? I suppose that’s good for recreation, but it isn’t practical for daily commuting. We don’t have that many bike lanes around here, like you’re used to in New—”

  “A motorcycle,” she clarified with an edge to her tone that hinted she questioned his intelligence, “not a street bike.”

  Oh. Amazing how he could be so attracted to a woman who could make him feel like an idiot with a look or a change in her voice. Maybe it was because she could also make him feel like he was whole whenever he was with her. Like right now. “When did you buy it?”

  “About twenty minutes ago. I still have to finalize the deal, but I left a fifty-dollar deposit with the owner’s brother.”

  “Yeah? Who's the owner?”

  She quirked a brow, and her anger radiated toward him in waves hotter than the April sun. “I’m capable of handling a simple business transaction, Drew. I don’t need your help.”

  He removed his suit jacket, draping it over the arm holding the cooler. “I’m well aware of your capabilities, Bo. I was just curious. Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Only if you promise not to speak. I want to enjoy this moment with the silence it deserves.”

  She sat smack-dab in the center of the blanket and made no move to slide over in either direction. Obviously, she planned to punish him for not getting back to her sooner by ruining his suit pants. Okay, fine. He had other pants—and better plans for the evening. Placing the soft cooler on the dirt, he sat beside her with only his left half on the blanket. He draped his folded suit jacket over his lap. Remaining silent and pretending to ignore her, he unzipped the cooler slowly to make as little noise as possible. When the lid was open, he pulled out a bottle of wine, two plastic glasses, and a corkscrew. He deftly uncorked and poured the wine, then handed her a glass, all without a word.

  Her hand brushed his around the stem as she took the plastic glass. “That’s nice. Thank you.”

  “Sssh!” He put a finger to his lips then pointed to the sun sinking past the horizon.

  “Okay, smartass,” she replied. “I was rude. I get it. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” He tipped his glass in her direction, clicking his plastic against hers. At the dull sound, he frowned. “Not quite the effect I wanted.”

  “It was still a nice gesture. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Ready for another?” When she nodded, he skooched closer until their bodies touched, and he slid his arm around her waist. She stiffened, but otherwise remained still.

  He let the silence envelop them both, giving her time to become comfortable with him again, to find some semblance of peace.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said after several minutes, leaning deeper into his embrace.

  The sun dipped lower, coloring the landscape of junipers and prairie grasses with an aura of gold, while above the fine line where earth met sky, purple and pink tinted the swirls of clouds.

  A memory of happier times floated through his mind. “When we were kids,” he told her, “my parents would take Wade and me here and my dad would challenge us to guess the exact time the last piece of sunlight would disappear behind the horizon.”

  “What did the winner get?”

  He shrugged. “Bragging rights, mostly.”

  Sitting up slightly, she glanced at the chunky watch she wore on her wrist. “Seven-thirty-five.”

  “Seven-thirty-eight,” he said with a grin.

  “I want more than bragging rights when I win.”

  “Okay. What would you like?”

  She seemed to consider her options as another minute ticked by and another sliver of light faded. “A request to be determined at a later date.”

  “Fair enough. And when I win, I want one hour of your undivided attention, to be determined at a later date.”

  “Deal!” She held out her hand, and he shook it.

  They settled down again to watch as the night sky ate more of the waning daylight, silent, until she broke the stillness again.

  “I don’t suppose you brought any food with you in that knapsack, did you? All I’ve had to eat since this morning are the cookies Connie plied me with. I’m guessing she’s the reason you’re here, nosy old woman.”

  He assumed he didn’t need to confirm her suspicions. Nor did she seem angry about it—more…accepting, he supposed. With a low laugh, he pulled the cooler closer, flipped the lid and withdrew the familiar aluminum foil dishes. “Fried chicken, potato salad, and pickles.”

  “God, I love you!” The minute the outburst hit the air, she pulled back and her cheery expression clouded over. “Crap. Awkward. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Pay no attention to me. I’m an idiot.”

  The words had flooded out of her, a deluge of rapid speech. “Bo, slow down. Relax. It’s okay. I know how you meant it.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. But, we do have to talk.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Not yet, though, okay? Let’s just enjoy this sunset for now.”

  She sounded so forlorn, without even knowing what he planned to say. For now, he strove to lighten the atmosphere. “I can’t say I blame you for revealing your love for me. It’s a wonder more women aren’t throwing themselves at my feet. After all, I’m a helluva package. Smart, considerate, fairly decent-looking. And I always remember to feed you.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re actually full-out decent-looking.”

  “Thank you. I could pay the same compliment to you.” He gave her a disgruntled look, and she snorted a laugh. “That’s better.” He dug into the cooler for the package with plastic utensils, seasonings, and a napkin. “Here.”

  She sat up fully, her plate on her lap. After removing the lid, she bent closer to take a deep inhale. “God, that smells divine.” She looked up and ran her fingers over the back of his hand. “I take back anytime I told you that you didn’t have to feed me. It’s obvious I’d starve to death if you didn’t bring me food on a regular basis.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. What’d you do before you met me?”

  Her expression darkened. “I made a lot of stupid mistakes.”

  He took her hand in his, squeezed. “We all do, Bo.”

  She squeezed back. “Thanks.”

  No other conversation seemed necessary. They ate in silence as dusk wrapped them in a blanket of contentment.

  The sun set at seven-forty, closer to Drew’s time than Bo’s.

  “No fair,” she grumbled. “You have home field advantage.”

  He looked up from where he bent to grab the blanket. “It was your idea to place a bet.”

  “Yeah, but I should’ve had a handicap or point spread or something.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, folding the blanket into squares. “You only have to give me a half-hour of your time. I’ll concede the second half.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “Fine. When do you want your half-hour?”

  “How about now?”

  She shook her head. “Can’t. Gotta get the car back to Quinn before he sends out a search party.”

  “I’ll follow you back to the brewery, you drop off Quinn’s car, and come with me to my place.”

  The sudden sultry smile lighting up her face had him shifting position to stand comfortably. “That sounds like we’re talking about more than thirty minutes.”

  “The clock starts when you get into my car with me.” He spread his hands wide at his sides, an open book. “I’m only looking to talk. The rest is up to you.”

  Another thoughtful pause ensued while she, no doubt, wondered if he really only wanted to talk. Truth was, he d
idn’t know for sure, either.

  At last, she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  While they finished packing up, he considered what he planned to say to her and how. The original speech he’d rehearsed on the way here wouldn’t do. He had a fifteen-minute car ride to figure out what would.

  ****

  Bo’s fingers tapped the steering wheel while she kept checking the rearview mirror to see if Drew still trailed behind her. He did. She didn’t know whether to feel anxious or relieved about that fact. When she pulled into the parking lot, she noted several more cars filled up the spaces. Delight sparkled inside her. Each night, business seemed to get a bit better than the night before, almost as if the soft opening had gone so well locals couldn’t wait until the grand opening to make her brewery a regular hangout. God, she hoped that was the case.

  She pulled into her reserved parking space and didn’t wait for Drew before going inside. She had to see this for herself, absorb the buzz, drink in the excitement to elevate her own mood, which currently hovered around dirt-level.

  Inside the brewery’s main entrance, a Bob Seger song played from the speakers at a decent volume, low enough to allow for conversation among groups but loud enough to be heard for those who liked to sing along with their favorite tunes. A pair of young men shot pool while, on the other side of the gaming area, two couples laughed as they played the beanbag toss game. All around her were smiling people, many holding plastic pints of beer.

  “Bo!” a woman’s voice called out from near the bar. “Over here!”

  She followed the shout and spotted Abby among the crowd of customers, perched on a stool, waving her over. Bo held up two fingers to signal she needed a couple of minutes and waited for Drew to join her. When he did, she said, “I’m gonna find Quinn and then I need to stop by and see Abby at the bar. Get a drink, if you like. Tell Ian it’s on me.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll wait over here,” he said, pointing to one of the couches against the wall. “I’d rather remain clear-headed for what’s to come.”

  Heat flared in her cheeks at his innuendo, but she nodded and fled toward her office upstairs, rather than address it. As she expected, she found Quinn behind her desk. What she didn’t anticipate was seeing his feet propped on her blotter while he spoke on the phone.

  “…seems okay. I mean, she’s still got that haunted look in her eyes, but after what she’s been through, I don’t think she’s sleeping well and—” He stopped in mid-description, and his jaw dropped. A quick blink, and he attempted to recover with, “Pregnancy will do that, I’m told.”

  “Nice try,” she said as she slammed his car keys near the phone. “Now hang up and get your feet off my desk.”

  “I’ll call you back later,” Quinn said into the receiver and quickly settled the phone back in its cradle before sitting up straight, feet flat on the floor. “Hey. How was your day?”

  “Don’t try to distract me. Who were you talking to? Dad?”

  He had the grace to drop his gaze to the carpet. “Mal.”

  “With instructions to report back to Dad?”

  His shame didn’t last long enough, in her opinion. He leveled a steady stare at her. “We’re all worried about you, Bo.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re as brittle as pretzel sticks.” He scanned her from head to toe. “And about as heavy. When was the last time you ate?”

  She bit back a smug smile. Thank God for Drew. “About an hour ago,” she replied airily. “Fried chicken and potato salad.”

  “You still look like a good wind could blow you over,” he grumbled.

  “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “Uh-huh. We’ll see about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m sticking around. Dad’s decided you need family around you for a while longer, so he’s asked me to stay here to keep an eye on you and help you out.”

  Of course. Dad always trusted Quinn’s judgment. He was the sensible Sheehan, the accountant who saw everything in black and white, never taken in by a pretty face or a shiny object. And because her father had loaned her the money for this project, she couldn’t boot his number-crunching proxy out of her business. If she dared, the all-omnipotent Malcolm Sheehan, Sr. would come storming into town like a force of nature, wreaking havoc in his path. “Dad’s a real cutie pie, isn’t he?” she said, twisting her lips with distaste.

  He shrugged. “He always comes out on top. You know that. Even with his kids.”

  “Especially with his kids,” she amended.

  “Especially when he’s worried about one of his kids,” Quinn clarified.

  She couldn’t argue, not because Quinn was right—which he was—but because her contention was with her father, not her brothers. Still, she didn’t have to admit defeat with grace. “Okay, fine. I guess I have no choice. But keep your feet off my desk and stop using my office for your spy games. There’s an empty space next door. You can set yourself up there.”

  “That’s a storage closet.”

  “Had I known I’d be getting a silent partner, I would’ve opted to give you more room when the architect drew up the plans.”

  “Bo,” he said, his tone soft, tinged with compassion, “he’s afraid. You’ve always been the toughest out of all of us—hell, you’ve had to be. But he keeps remembering how you looked in that hospital bed—”

  “I’m fine now!”

  “He wants to be sure. And he wants you to have a family member here to bolster you up, if things go wrong.”

  On a sigh of surrender, she nodded. "Okay, Quinn. I get it. But I still want you out of my house ASAP if you're here semi-permanently. I need a refuge that's all my own."

  Gaining his agreement, she strode from her office, her mood darkened by swirling memories. After Rob’s arrest, she’d foolishly attempted to throw herself into her work as brewmistress at The Old Goat Brewery in New York. She stayed behind the scenes, relishing the grunt work she’d technically outgrown in her position. She reveled in the noise, the physical labor, and the lack of visibility. As the days passed, the spotlight from the public and the media intensified, and she turned off her phones, avoided her apartment, and slept in the brewery’s backroom. With only her need for numbness and anonymity driving her, she’d forgotten her body had other requirements, mainly food, water, and rest. The Old Goat’s owner hounded her that she was working herself to exhaustion, but she hadn’t listened—until the morning the crew found her collapsed on the brewery floor. A week in the hospital, gallons of IV fluids, and a few meals later, she was released—but not before her father lost his mind when he saw how pale and underweight she was. He’d been terrified of losing her ever since and only agreed to bankroll her new brewery if she agreed to move to Texas with the understanding Ian and Connie would keep an eye on her. Now, even they weren’t enough.

  Shaking off the disappointment, she descended the stairs and headed for the bar where she greeted Abby with a hug and a smile. “Hi there! It’s so good to see you again.” She jerked her head toward the stairs and her office. “Sorry about that. Business.”

  “No problem. I wanted you to meet my sisters.” She indicated the women sitting beside her, beginning with the taller one with dark hair and bright blue eyes. “This is Shiloh…” Then the smaller redhead. “…and Bonnie.”

  Aside from the blue eyes, these three women couldn’t be more different in looks. Bonnie resembled a flower child of the sixties—all peace and love and patchouli oil—whereas Shiloh had a sterner look to her, as if she’d seen her share of troubles in life and didn’t suffer fools.

  “Ladies. Welcome to Empire Brewery.”

  They both said hello, and Abby took up the conversation again. “We thought we could kidnap you for an evening out, but Ian said you went to view the sunset. Can’t say I blame you, but I wish we would’ve known. We would’ve gone with you. It’s always better when you can share it with someone.”

  “I did.” />
  “You did? Who’d you bring with you?”

  She clamped her lips shut, not ready to bring Drew to the forefront until after they’d had their private conversation. What if he planned to tell her he wanted nothing more do to with her? He wouldn’t be the first. Instead, she said, “Listen, I actually wanted to call you to join me, but I realized I didn’t have your number.”

  “Oh, well, that’s easily fixed.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out her cell, handing it over. “Here. Put your number in mine, and I’ll put mine in yours.” As they swapped phones and numbers, she added, “Maybe after church on Sunday, you could come over for supper.”

  “We take turns cooking,” Bonnie added. “This week is Abby’s turn.”

  “I make the best Frito chili pie,” Abby said.

  “Oh…umm…gee. I…umm…don’t know.”

  “She’s kidding,” Shiloh interjected. “Abby’s actually a great cook.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Bo replied. “Sundays are fairly busy here. In fact, it’s probably my busiest day. And since next week is the official grand opening, this Sunday will be busier than usual.”

  “Wait.” Bonnie grasped her sister’s arm. “You mean this place isn’t open yet? Are we on some special guest list or something?”

  “Well, the brewery is open, but it isn’t,” Bo explained. “We’re in our ‘soft opening’ period. This is where we quietly open up to the public for a few weeks before the official grand opening to make sure everything’s running smoothly. Work out the kinks and stuff.”

  “Like a dress rehearsal for a play,” Bonnie suggested.

  “More like the preview of a Broadway show. You get the real thing, but know to expect it won’t be perfect. We see what happens, how people react to different aspects, and tweak what needs fixing. The hope is, when we officially open, everything goes smoothly.”

  “Next Sunday then,” Bonnie suggested. “We could spend the day doing girl things. I would imagine running a brewery, like ranching, doesn’t leave you much time for more feminine interests. And every once in a while, we all want to wear pink or get our nails done or need a haircut.”