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

by Gina Ardito

  “You’re pressing charges this time, right?” He hesitated. “Drew,” she snapped, “you have to! You can’t keep letting him get away with this stuff.”

  Guilt twisted his gut. “I can’t.”

  She rested her chin in her hand. “He’s never going to stop unless you stop covering for him. This time, he’s not just taking advantage of you and your good name. He’s intent on ruining someone else, as well. What if Mr. Carpenter really had turned out to be as dotty as your brother assumed? Would you have let him get away with ripping off the old man then?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Really?” She quirked a brow. “What would you have done? Given him back his property? Could you? Or would a case like that have to wend its way through the courts, leaving him homeless and paying money he doesn’t have for legal bills while justice takes its sweet time giving him back what was rightfully his and shouldn’t have been stolen in the first place?”

  “Thankfully, it didn’t come down to that this time. I’ll warn Wade he’s playing with fire, and he’ll back off, I’m sure.”

  “In other words, you’ll let him keep lighting matches, no matter how many times he burns you, until he sets someone else’s house ablaze. At that point, the damage is already done, the innocent victim will still lose his possessions, but you’ll realize Wade’s a danger to society so we should all sleep better at night, knowing that. Isn’t that aiding and abetting? You really want to lose your law license because your brother is a lazy no-gooder who can’t accept his own failures and correct them?”

  He winced. She made perfect sense, and he knew it. Under normal circumstances, he’d be the one advising a client about not taking personal responsibility for someone else’s criminal actions. Family loyalty had its limits. Still…

  “It’s not all his fault. He blew out his knee because of me.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. I’ve listened to you shoulder that burden for too long. Wade got drunk while he was supposed to be babysitting you. That’s not your fault.”

  “I’m the one who climbed out on the roof.”

  “You are not responsible for what happened that day, and you certainly aren’t responsible to pay penance for the rest of your life because your brother screwed up his!”

  “Last time. I promise.”

  “Uh-huh.” She rose from the chair. “Drew, nothing’s ever going to change until you change it.”

  “I know. Last time.” When she gave him another expression of uncertainty, he waved a hand. “Go on. Get outta here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Are you going to confront him about those letters?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Do you need backup?”

  He laughed. “Go home, Rosa. I’ve got this.”

  “I don’t think you do, but okay. Goodnight. Be careful.”

  Chapter 13

  After picking up the second letter from Mr. Carpenter, Drew drove to the other side of the canyon. In the driveway, he spotted Wade’s pickup and a familiar rust-pitted white sedan with a primer-painted driver’s door. His brother had company.

  Undaunted, he parked, grabbed the two letters, and got out of the car. He stalked past dozens of crushed beer cans, scattered machine parts, and other trash that littered the weedy dirt yard. The front door was wide open, and boisterous laughter erupted from the living room area.

  Drew stepped inside, cautious and wary, spotting two burly, bearded men sipping beer on the couch while Wade reached for a slice of pizza from the delivery box on the industrial-sized wooden electrical spool that served as a coffee table.

  “Drew!” His brother greeted him after taking a bite. “You’re just in time. Come on in. Grab a slice and a beer.”

  “No, thanks. I ate already. Wade, can I talk to you for a minute…alone?”

  Another chomp of the pizza, which resulted in a stream of orange oil dribbling down his chin and onto his white t-shirt, and Wade stomped his size thirteen sneaker-clad feet onto the edge of his table. “Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of my friends. We got no secrets, do we?”

  An off-key chorus of nos met his question.

  “Okay, fine. Here it is.” He pulled out the letters and held them up for all three to see. “I got a call about your handiwork here from Mr. Carpenter. Turns out he’s more ‘all there’ than you gave him credit for. He checked it out, knew your letter was a scam and called me, ready to file a complaint with the state board.”

  Wade continued to look bored. “I’m guessing you talked him out of it.”

  He slapped the letters on the table near Wade’s feet, his palm sitting dead square in their center. “I specifically told you why this idea was bad, how it would affect me, and you stole my letterhead, forged my name, and ultimately risked my reputation and my career for your get-rich-quick scheme anyway! You didn’t give a damn what would happen to me, as long as you thought you could make a quick buck.”

  “Now, that’s not true. You’re my brother. Of course I care.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you care or not. I’m only here to tell you to leave Mr. Carpenter alone and don’t ever use my letterhead for any of your schemes again.”

  “Okay, okay.” Wade waved a hand. “Truce. Have a slice and sit down for a while.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got someplace else I have to be.”

  “You can at least have a beer before you go,” Rusty said, passing over a plastic-ringed grouping with four cans remaining. “Help yourself.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I guess you get enough free beer from that freakishly tall blonde you’re seeing, huh?” Wade added.

  Drew stiffened. “How do you know about Bo?”

  “We saw you two together yesterday. Russ and Brock and me went to check the place out. Took the tour and everything.”

  A shiver of apprehension ran down his spine. “You took the tour yesterday?”

  “Yup.” Wade chose another slice of pizza from the box, held it out to Drew. “You sure you don’t want one?” When Drew shook his head, he bit into the slice with gusto. “I didn’t think it was anything special,” he said while chomping. “In fact, I’m betting they’ll be out of here in six months. Maybe even less.”

  One of Wade’s cronies snorted, and Drew whirled to glare at both of them until Wade’s continued comments recaptured his attention.

  “I don’t see why anyone would wanna plunk down that much money for a measly plastic cup when you can get a six-pack at the local store for half that.”

  Jee-zus. Wade had sabotaged Bo’s equipment. He took a moment to swallow his shock and remind himself, even if he knew it, he couldn’t prove it. When he spoke again, his tone was low but edged in anger. “You know, I was going to let this Carpenter thing slide with a warning to you. But I happened to be with Bo when your latest malfeasance was discovered.”

  Wade took a long swig from his beer. When he’d drained it, he crushed the can in his hand, and tossed it across the room. It landed on the floor somewhere behind them with a clatter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if something happened down at that fancy beer joint that makes the Bride of Frankenstein change her mind and head back home where she belongs, well, I don’t see how that would be such a bad thing. Do you fellas?”

  Rusty and Brock replied with a drawn-out, “Noooooo.”

  “No, sir. None of those businesses belong down there. That property used to be part of the Garwood ranch, ‘til our great-granddad lost it to the feds. I want it back and I intend to get it.”

  “Those businesses have every right to be there, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. The family ranch hasn’t existed in ninety years.”

  “That’s the problem with you, Drew,” Wade replied. “You have no appreciation for family history. The men in our family used to be real men—cowboys. Now, look at us. I say, we take back our property and regain our manhood.”

  Drew pointed a finger, encompassing them all one at a time, ending w
ith Wade. “Stay away from the brewery. Stay away from all the buildings over there.”

  “It’s a free country,” Rusty retorted. “We can go where we want. You’re not the boss of us.”

  Drew bit back a comment about how Rusty’s argument skills hadn’t developed past his elementary school days. “If I find proof you’re harassing Bo or any of the other business owners down in that area, I’ll not only convince them to press charges, I’ll represent every one of them—for free.”

  “Yeah, of course you will,” Wade scoffed. “Know why I’m not surprised? ‘Cuz you got no sense of family loyalty, no respect for tradition and legacy.”

  “What I respect is the law, and I’ll defend it against anyone—even at the expense of family loyalty. Find yourself a good lawyer because I’m done protecting you.”

  “That’s a real shame,” Brock interjected. “A man who’d turn his back on his own flesh and blood ain’t much of a man at all, in my book.”

  “Funny,” Drew remarked icily, “I didn’t realize you knew how to read.”

  He left the house, assuming they’d spend the remainder of the night cursing him. As long as they left Bo alone, those three could say whatever they wanted about him. For his next trick, he went home, changed into an old pair of jeans and a work shirt, and returned to the brewery.

  ****

  Bo was crouched below the row of fermenters when she could’ve sworn she heard Mitch talking to Drew. She wriggled up from the floor where, sure enough, she found the two men staring down at her. “I thought I told you to go home,” she said with a frown.

  “You did.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Because it occurred to me you aren’t my boss, my mother, or my president, which means you can’t tell me what to do. I came back to help out, but if you guys can handle this on your own…”

  “Let him stay,” an exhausted Mitch chimed in, and the other employees added their own agreements to the idea.

  Now, how could she compete with that? “Fine,” she said when they looked at her expectantly. “You can stay.”

  “Still don’t remember giving you that much power over me.”

  The amusement in his tone cheered her. “Yeah, well, while you’re working here, even as a volunteer, I’m your boss, your mother, and your president.”

  “Okay,” he said in a mock mumble, “but the fringe benefits better be worth the abuse I’m about to take.”

  Snorts and groans erupted from the dozen or so men clustered on the floor, listening to their exchange. Heat flared in Bo’s cheeks, and she cocked her brow, lips twisted to one side in a not-so-subtle signal to him she wouldn’t tolerate losing her dignity in front of her employees. Ducking her head, she dove back into her work. “Mitch, put him on barley and hops detail.” Physical work would wear him out—and place him as far away from her as possible. Until she got a full vat of brew going again, she didn’t need him throwing sparks in her direction.

  Over the last dozen hours, she’d lost herself in the work of getting the thermostats reset, of ditching old wort and beginning a new batch, and talking to all the employees to learn if anyone saw anything suspicious. Of course, no one did. Sometime after midnight, she sent everyone except Mitch, Quinn, and Ian home then strode behind the bar, and waited for the men to join her on the opposite side.

  Loud screeches of chair legs on unpolished wood shattered the silence.

  Wincing as the sharp noise pierced her aching brain, she grabbed a spiral notebook from one of the shelves underneath the bar. She laid the notebook on the shiny surface, pried the ballpoint pen out of its twisted wire cage on the side, and flipped to a clean page while gnawing on the pen cap. "Okay, let's brainstorm. Mitch, you’re positive this wasn’t an accident?”

  “One hundred percent. Jake confirmed this was done deliberately. But, Bo, I swear to you, none of our staff would’ve done it. I’d stake my reputation on that.”

  She nodded. In her many conversations today, she’d come to the same conclusion. Her workers were just as shocked and angry over the damage as she was. “So what do we do? Suspend tours?”

  “No way,” Mitch replied. “The people love the tours. They go into it thinking they’ve got some special secret peek behind the curtain and then, when they get a look at the sheer size of the equipment, they’re stunned at what goes into that simple pint they’re sipping from.”

  “And then they come off the brewery floor and head straight to the bar,” Ian added. “It’s like they realize all the hard work that went into the brew and want to taste it with a new appreciation. We can’t stop doing those tours. They’re our best promotion so far.”

  “I know,” she said on a defeated sigh.

  “But you can’t risk having this kind of sabotage become a regular occurrence, either,” Quinn added.

  “I don’t think you’ll see anything like this happen again,” Drew said, and she whirled in his direction. She’d actually forgotten he was here. Currently, he traced invisible squiggles in the bar top with his index finger, a dead giveaway he struggled not to add more to the conversation.

  Her suspicion antenna rose to attention. “You have something you want to share with the class, Drew?”

  “Not really.”

  She leaned closer to his bent head. “Do you know who tampered with our equipment?”

  “Not really,” he repeated, but his artistry skills went into hyper-drive, and her antenna sent SOS messages in Morse code to her brain. “Just theories and conjecture.”

  “Then, what do you conject happened?”

  “Is that even a word?” Ian remarked.

  “It is tonight,” she snapped. “Come on, Drew. Spill it.”

  He sighed. “I think my brother and a couple of his pals might have had something to do with it, but I’ve got no proof.”

  She quirked a brow. “Your brother? And rather than sharing your suspicions with me, you chose to say nothing. You watched me while I grilled and interrogated my loyal employees, fully aware they were innocent. Were you hoping I might blame someone else? Get your brother off the hook? Or did you think you could cover up any evidence he might have left behind? Is that why you came back here to help?”

  “Whoa!” Mitch shot his hands up between them. “Come on, Bo. That’s not fair.”

  Drew’s glare shot icicles at her, but she was hot enough to melt the North Pole. “Get out, Drew. Get out of my brewery. Now.”

  “Bo, don’t. You’re overreacting,” Mitch said.

  She turned on him with ferocity. “I’m not overreacting, I’m not delusional, I’m not hormonal, and I’m not stupid! Why do men always have these dismissive adjectives to throw out whenever a woman voices her opinion? Rob used to do that to me, too, minimalize my reaction to his wrongdoing. I’m not listening to that crap anymore. I’m angry, with damn good reason. If I were a man, none of you would tell me I was overreacting right now.” She swept a hand to encompass Mitch, Quinn, and Ian before turning back to Drew with undisguised venom shooting from her eyes. “I want a photo of your brother—and his friends, along with their names. We’ll post them in all the authorized personnel areas. I can’t keep any of these cretins from coming in, but I can make sure they’re closely monitored whenever they step foot inside my doors.”

  “Take it easy,” Ian said in a soothing tone. “We’re all exhausted at this point. Why don’t we call it a night, get some sleep, and regroup here in a few hours?”

  “Yeah, let’s talk about this later,” Quinn insisted as he rose from his seat. “Come on. For now, I’ll take you home.”

  She intended to launch an argument, but she reconsidered as she scanned the outraged expressions surrounding the bar. They were all dead-tired, frustrated, and fueled on heavy spurts of adrenaline. None of them would listen to her now, no matter how much sense she made. Besides, what she had to say to Drew should be said in private—and not in the heat of the moment. Taking several deep breaths, she dug up a new topic of conversation. “That r
eminds me. Ian, who around here can repair a clutch on a Yamaha R1?”

  He scratched his head. “Not sure. Drew, you know a reliable motorcycle mechanic?”

  Drew frowned. “Ordinarily, I’d recommend Ace Auto Works, but…” He took up invisible fingerpainting on her bar top again.

  “…Wade works there,” Ian finished for him.

  Bo’s Spidey-sense woke up. “He’s a mechanic?” That would explain how he knew what to do to damage the coils.

  “No,” Drew replied, dashing her suspicions.

  “But his friends are,” Ian added, which reactivated them.

  “Terrific.”

  ****

  Late in the afternoon, Drew tapped on the glass at the front door, and a wan Mitch opened up for him.

  “What are you doing back here?” Mitch asked, blinking rapidly.

  “Figured you guys still needed help. Where’s Bo?”

  Mitch jerked his head toward the stairs. “Upstairs with the sheriff. Filing an incident report.”

  Shit. Had she mentioned his suspicions about Wade in her report? He cast a surreptitious glance up toward her office.

  “You look like you could use some sleep,” Mitch noted.

  “You don’t look much better,” Drew replied.

  “Yeah, but this is my job. I have to be here. You don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Mitch gave a curt nod, somehow understanding Drew’s loyalty to Bo, even through his fatigue. Odd, considering Drew himself sometimes had trouble figuring out how she’d managed to burrow into his heart so quickly.

  “Hey, Drew,” Quinn called as he lumbered by with a bag of barley balanced on each shoulder. “You here for another workout? What are you, a glutton for punishment?”

  Drew’s vivid imagination could feel all that weight as if he carried those sacks instead of Quinn, and his muscles inwardly groaned. “You bet,” he said with forced enthusiasm.

  Quinn guffawed. “Relax. You lucked out. The heavy stuff’s mostly done already.”

  “What do you mean? I thought we only got half the work finished last night.”