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

by Gina Ardito

  Ian nodded. “Mitch said the same thing when I voiced my concerns to him this morning.”

  “He did?” She whirled to thank Mitch for his support and found him climbing the stairs to her office, no doubt to take care of the lunch she’d promised her staff. A wave of gratitude warmed her heart. “Hey, Mitch!” When he paused at the top of the stairs, she added, “You know I love you, right?”

  He slapped one hand to his chest and patted in a heartbeat rhythm. “Back atcha, dollface,” he said in a Bogart-style tone.

  She tossed back her head and laughed. Not only did she have the best beer, she had the best people around her.

  Tonight’s success was in the bag. At least, she thought so until, an hour after the first wave of customers arrived.

  While she explained the concept of trying a flight of beers to a couple confused by the variety of choices, a booming voice erupted over her head. “Where’s my girl?”

  She stiffened. Oh, no. It couldn’t be. Slowly, with great hesitation and a sense of dread, she lifted her gaze and came face-to-face with her father pushing his way through the crowd. All four big brothers swaggered right behind him, creating a brawny wave of machismo, headed straight for her.

  Crap. After last night’s all-nighter, she didn’t have the energy to deal with them and her grand opening. She loved her brothers—and her dad—but they tended to steamroll over her, minimizing her accomplishments, her fears, her doubts. No one outshouted, out-overwhelmed, or out-commanded attention like the Sheehan men.

  “Bo!” They all greeted her at once, the chorus louder than a sonic boom.

  She pasted a bright smile on her face and rounded her eyes in what she hoped passed for shocked delight. “Wow! Ohmigod, what are you doing here?”

  “We wanted to surprise you,” her father said, eating up the last bit of ground before reaching the bar. “Excuse me,” he said to a man seated across from Bo. “I’m gonna need to borrow your chair for a sec.”

  “Sure.” The naïve customer stood and shifted the chair toward her father.

  Oh, crap. “Dad, no!” Too late.

  Malcolm Sheehan, Sr. placed one foot on the seat and a hand on the back, then as the crowd gasped and laughed around him, he launched himself from the chair to the bar, from the bar to the sink, before thudding to the floor beside her. With a victorious grin, he pulled her into a bear hug. “There’s my Bo. God, I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, but please don’t do that again.”

  He pulled away to look down on her. She might be six-feet-two, but he topped her by a good four inches. “What? I traveled all day to get to my daughter on her big night, and this is the greeting she gives me?”

  “You know I’m happy you’re here, but, Dad, you can’t climb over the furniture.”

  From the corner of her eye, she caught a motion that had her veering to shout, “Mal, no! Don’t you dare!” just as her oldest brother placed a sneakered foot on the seat of the stool. “Give that chair back to my customer.”

  “What?” he said, his tone defensive. “Dad did it.”

  Without saying another word, Bo extricated herself from her father and grabbed a plastic cup, filling it to the brim with Dragon’s Blood. She brought the golden beverage to her mouth and drained the pint in one long, satisfying gulp.

  It was about to become a very long night.

  “Where’s the legal dweeb Quinn told us about?” Seamus shouted.

  Her jaw sagged. Good God, what exactly had Quinn said about Drew? “Working,” she replied, not wanting to go into detail about their breakup right now. The last thing her family needed to hear was that she’d misjudged another man. She’d wind up with all five of them living here to keep an eye on her, instead of just Quinn.

  “On your big night?” Patrick demanded. “That’s pretty selfish, isn’t it?”

  “He’s an attorney,” she retorted. “He has an important case in Austin next week and has to prepare for it. He was here for the cold opening, and he’ll try to stop in tonight, but his clients have to come first. I respect that. So should you.” The excuse she gave wasn’t a total lie. Drew had told her he had some kind of contentious case he was representing in the state’s capital. The problem was the date was actually next month. Rather than face her own shortcomings, she turned her disappointment on Quinn. “And you! Since when did you become a walking exposé on my life? You moonlighting as a gossip columnist now?”

  “They asked; I answered,” Quinn replied with an unaffected shrug.

  “We’re gonna wanna meet this guy,” her father chimed in. “Make sure he’s nothing like that scheming, lying thief you married.”

  “Dad,” Bo said in a warning tone.

  “I’m just telling it like it is. That rat, Rob, fooled you—hell, he fooled all of us—”

  “Okay, thank you. Can we not rub my face in my stupidity tonight? Please?” She filled her cup again, but this time only sipped the brew, preferring to use it more as a prop than a crutch.

  “Wow,” Patrick remarked. “Someone’s feeling tense tonight. Whatsamatter, Bo? Afraid you can’t hack the big, bad beer business on your own?”

  “She’s not on her own, idiot,” Seamus said. “Uncle Ian’s with her, remember?”

  Before she could tell them she needed no one’s help, Mal added, “Where is Uncle Ian anyway?”

  “He’s taking care of my customers while I’m stuck dealing with you baboons. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work. What can I get you to drink?” She turned to her father, who hovered over her, a mixture of concern and pride stamped on his features. “Dad?”

  “Robber Baron, of course.” He twirled his hand in the air. “All around. We wanna see what kind of magic you created with our whiskey.”

  So, here it was. Her moment of truth. Feigning confidence, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and grabbed a stack of cups. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Five Robber Barons, coming up.”

  She pulled the drafts, passed them out, and waited, her breath held. What if they didn’t like it? The Sheehan men weren’t beer drinkers under normal circumstances. What were the odds they’d appreciate the subtlety of the whiskey undertones in her brew now? She tried to study all of them at once, looking for a wince or a grimace or pursed lips, a subtle headshake, something to convey their dislike as they took their first sips.

  Dad’s face broke into a wreath of delight. “Out-damn-standing,” he exclaimed and took another swig.

  Her brothers lavished the brew and her with praise, and she automatically swerved to Drew’s corner seat to share this triumph with him.

  And then…she remembered. But she put aside thoughts of what might have been to focus on the crowds, her family, and the joy of finally achieving her dream. If she had to forego romance for professional success, well, she wouldn’t be the first woman to make that choice. Just ask Coco Chanel, Jane Austen, Oprah—all stars in their fields, none of them beholden to a man for their achievements.

  If they could do it, she could do it, too. She stifled her disappointment and put her mind to reveling in the moment.

  Chapter 15

  After the grand opening’s success, Bo rode a wave of euphoria even her brothers couldn’t crush, though they all tried over the next several days.

  Patrick wanted her permission to “check out” the legal dweeb, which, knowing her brother, would include hiring a private investigator to dig up dirt on Drew from the time he was in the first grade. She flatly denied her permission.

  Seamus kept remarking about her diet with comments like, “Are you sure you’re eating enough? You aren’t even a featherweight right now.”

  Quinn was still underfoot in her house, and the others weren’t making any move to return to New York soon, either.

  Her lack of privacy at home and at work drove her crazy. She wanted the opportunity to mourn Drew’s loss without an audience. A thousand times a day and twice as often at night, her heart questioned if she had
n’t overreacted in giving him the brush-off while her brain insisted she’d made the right decision. All that thinking made her cranky and sleepless.

  On their sixth—their sixth!—day in town, Mal, Jr. cornered her at the brewery to ask about her financial situation—as if she’d tell him she was down to twenty-two dollars in her personal account.

  “It’s not dire,” she told him. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.”

  “Of course, I worry, Bo-Diddley-Squat,” he said as he sipped another pint of Robber Baron. “You’re my baby sister.”

  “I’m nobody’s baby anything,” she grumbled.

  “Not even Drewby-Doo’s?”

  “Drewby…?” The new nickname didn’t click right away. When it finally registered, she muttered, “You’re an asshole.”

  She needed her family to go away—far, far away—before they learned the truth about Drew and his brother, before they could use her misstep as a means to yank the brewery out from under her. She strode from the tasting area, headed for the solitude of her office, but only got as far as the first step before her eldest brother grabbed her upper arm to whirl her around. “Hey! Come on. I’m kidding. What’s wrong with you? Where is Drewby anyway? Don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise already?”

  “There is no paradise.” Jeez, Drew was the last topic she wanted to discuss right now. “When are you guys going home?”

  “Probably not ‘til Dad’s convinced he’s leaving you in good hands.”

  She arched a brow. “Whose hands?”

  “Drew, for starters.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake! He doesn’t need to pass Dad’s random inspection. I don’t know what Quinn told you, but Drew is a friend and business associate. That’s all. He’s one of the local attorneys, and his firm handled the paperwork to get the brewery up and running while I was still recuperating and closing the last-minute details half a country away. He’s not responsible for taking care of me. No one is. No one has to be.” Mal started to argue, but she held up a quick hand. “Don’t! Don’t you dare bring up Rob, the hospital, or anything else that happened in New York. I’m not that same person anymore. I can take care of myself. What’s it gonna take for Dad to trust me again?”

  “He’s scared for you, Bo,” Mal replied in a somber tone. “We all are. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how you looked when they first let us see you at the hospital. And if I can’t get that image out of my head, imagine how it haunts Dad.”

  “I’m fine now. I’m eating, taking care of myself, and doing okay. How could I not be with Ian and Connie and Mitch to keep an eye on me? But, apparently, even they weren’t enough because Dad had to send Quinn last month, too.”

  “Dad sent Quinn when he heard Rob could be released from prison any day on a technicality. I mean, think about it. What if Rob decided to come after you here? Then what?”

  “Then nothing. Why the hell would Rob come after me? He’s an embezzler and a coward, not an obsessed axe murderer!”

  Mitch strolled by at that moment, on his way to the cold room. Drawn by her outburst, he stopped to give her a questioning look. She offered him a subtle nod in return. Everything’s fine…just family stuff. Once her friend was out of earshot, she continued her conversation with her brother, but at a much lower volume.

  “It’s not like he loved me. He loved the Sheehan name and the ability to rub shoulders with people he would eventually rip off to pay for his whore. Trust me. Rob wouldn’t dare come anywhere near me ever again. Not if he wants to continue using his Johnson to impress the ladies of the streets.” She made a snipping action with her fingers, then twisted her hands in frustration. “Please, Mal. Convince Dad to go back to New York and take all four of you with him. I can’t stand on my own two feet if everybody I know is lingering around me with their arms out, ready to catch me when I fall. I’m going to make my brewery a success. I’m going to make my life a success. On my terms. Without any more help than what Dad’s already done for me.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, an indication she’d made him stop to think. “Maybe,” he said after a long pause. “But you can’t do much of anything in this place if you don’t have a car to get around. This isn’t New York, with public transportation a whistle away.”

  She flitted her fingers in dismissal. “Didn’t I tell you? I don’t need a car. I put a deposit on a Yamaha R-1 a while back. Very sweet ride. As soon as I can, I’ll finalize the deal. Another few weeks should do it. I’m okay. Really.”

  Mal seemed to digest her speech in small bites, but at last, he nodded. “Tell you what. Let me buy your sweet ride and deposit a small cushion of money in your checking account for emergencies.”

  “No! Dammit, I don’t want your money. Why can’t you guys stop treating me like I’m a dolt? How much more of myself am I going to have to cede to the Sheehan men’s need to protect and defend their womenfolk before I’m allowed to make my own choices and live with the consequences?”

  “I guess when we’re sure you can live with them,” he remarked.

  She rolled her eyes so far up her pupils got airsick. “Really? We’re back to the hospital again?”

  “No. I’m not going to bust your chops anymore about that, but you do need to consider a compromise.”

  “What kind of compromise?”

  He held up his hands in a manner meant to soothe her. “Hear me out, okay? You know, when Rosalie left me—the last time? Dad moved into my condo and stayed for six months.”

  “He did not,” she scoffed.

  “Yeah, he did.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Then, how come I didn’t know about it?”

  “You were in Berlin at the time. He drove me crazy with a capital K, dragging me out to do things with him, assigning me these complicated projects to handle, filling up every hour of every day until I was ready to snap.”

  “So, what happened? How’d you get him to leave you alone?”

  “I met Patty.”

  Huh? Patty? The woman he dated for two years who left him for his best friend when he refused to commit? What’d she have to do with anything? Bo shook her head, hoping to shake something loose, to no avail. “I don’t get it,” she admitted with a frown.

  He smiled. “Dad’s biggest fear for me was that, with Rosalie gone, I’d be lonely. In his mind, that loneliness would lead to depression, which would lead to…” He shrugged. “God knows where he thought it would lead. Suicide, maybe. I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure. The point is, once I started dating Patty, he knew I was going to be okay, I wasn’t lonely, and he left.”

  No way. It couldn’t be that simple. “Okay, hot shot, maybe that worked for you, but he knows I’m not lonely. I’m surrounded by people—even when I don’t want to be, and the business keeps me hopping day in and day out. So why is he still here? Why are you all still here?”

  “Because he doesn’t fear you’ll be lonely. If anything, you’re too independent.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Not in Dad’s mind. With you, I think he needs to be sure you’re taking care of yourself, not just the business. That you have a well-rounded life out here with friends who don’t have to tell you when to eat, when to take a break, who don’t have to drive you around because you don’t have your own transportation, yadda, yadda, yadda. That you’re taking care of you without being prompted.”

  She had to admit, he made a lot of sense.

  “Take the money,” he said. “You don’t have to spend the money I put in your account. Leave it there in case you need it for an emergency. Let me buy the bike. Sign up for a yoga class and stock your kitchen. When Dad sees you’re going to be okay on your own, he can leave. We can all leave.”

  “Even Quinn?”

  Mal grimaced. “Best I can promise is to get Quinn out of your house. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.”

  She considered his words and after swallowing a huge gulp of pride, she capitulated.
“Okay, then. Let’s do it. The sooner you guys go home, the sooner I can get back in the groove.” She turned to head up the stairs to her office, effectively ending the conversation whether he liked it or not, and to make sure he understood they were done, she delivered one final riposte. “By the way, Mal-Content. You’re still an asshole.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I’m a well-meaning asshole.”

  She bit back a laugh. Her idiot brother always had to have the last word. Not this time. “That has yet to be determined,” she replied and slipped inside her office before he could say anything more.

  ****

  Drew sat at the bar inside the Sugar Shack, idly flipping his extra house key through his fingers while he waited for Tiny to sign the pile of paperwork in front of him. At noon on a Wednesday, the place was empty except for the two of them and Rosa, who was there to act as Notary Public.

  Tiny looked up from the stack of pages and cocked his head. “You know I’m only doing this for her, right?”

  “That makes two of us,” he muttered and checked the time on his cell phone. He needed this signed and filed before close of business today so he could show it to Wade—the ultimate delivery of a fait accompli—then get to Austin tonight to prepare for tomorrow’s showdown with the Olivers. Time was racing away from him. “I hate to push you, Tiny, but I’m on a tight schedule here.”

  Eyes twinkling under the dim lighting, Tiny turned to Rosa. “What do you think, darlin’? What’s up with your boss?”

  She cast an amused glance at Drew. “I think he’s in love, Tiny. Probably for the first time in his life.”

  “He’s a little old for this to be his first time, don’t you think?” Tiny remarked.

  Drew bit his tongue but his steely gaze communicated he was not amused with the byplay at his expense.

  “He’s a late bloomer,” Rosa said. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “Once or twice,” Tiny replied. “She’s too good for him, if you ask me.”

  “Nobody asked you,” Drew said through gritted teeth.

  “I haven’t met her so I’ll have to take your word for it—though, I’ll admit, my first reaction was he’s too good for her,” Rosa informed him. “But I think he’s hoping to win her back with this gesture.”