by Meg Benjamin
Carol glowered. “Everybody’s leaving.”
“People move on. It’s a business. And Bec hasn’t left, she’s just cutting back.” Ruth gestured toward the deli cases. “Get your apron on. You can run the counter.” Although, given Carol’s current bout of attitude, having her run the counter was probably not the best move. But nobody else was available.
Carol’s lower lip jutted out. “I want to make cheese.”
“Not today. Today I need you in here.” Ruth nodded at their single waitress, currently hopping between three tables. “Sue can’t handle the deli side and wait tables, too. Besides, you know the stock better than she does.”
A little flattery never hurt. In this case, the flattery happened to be true.
Carol grimaced. “I hate the counter.”
Ruth gritted her teeth. “Everybody has to pitch in, kid. Including me. Tough times need tough people.”
“I don’t like being tough.” But she headed toward the rack where her apron was hanging. With any luck, she wouldn’t insult anyone, and they’d make it through another day.
Ruth ran a hand over her hair, then reached for her cap. Time to head back to the cheese room. Until she could hire another assistant, she’d be working overtime to produce enough for their usual sales, now that she could no longer depend on Bec full time. So much for expanding their market.
The bell over the door jangled again, and she looked up out of habit. Liam Dempsey stood in the doorway, watching her with knowing eyes.
Ruth took a quick breath. She’d avoided him for a few days, and she’d thought he’d been avoiding her, too. She’d thought she’d gotten through the whole wild-night-with-Liam thing without having to have any conversations about it. Apparently, she’d been wrong.
Well, shit. How could this day get any worse?
…
Liam stood in the doorway, doing a quick survey of the Salty Goat. Ruth had turned the former dry goods building into a funky delicatessen that fronted her goat cheese operation. She was mostly running the place herself, making cheese and managing the small deli with its display cases. Most of the café tables were full, some with locals he recognized. The place did good business at lunchtime, although it was too small to handle many customers.
Ruth stood on the other side of the room in her white cheese-maker’s outfit. Her short, dark hair was pulled back, and her eyes were wary.
He’d deliberately stayed away from her for a few days. Their tryst in the brewery had been memorable—way too memorable. They both needed time to cool down a little. Surely a few days were enough of a cooling-off period.
It was all the cooling-off time he could spare. He wanted to get together with her again. The sooner, the better. After all, he didn’t have that much time left in Antero, and he’d like to spend at least some of it with Ruth. The evening in the brewery was among his top ten evenings in recent memory. Maybe even top three.
Hell, he might as well be honest. It was number one.
He grinned in Ruth’s direction, trying for non-threatening. He wasn’t sure why she looked wary, but he’d do his best to convince her he wasn’t the intimidating type.
Ruth’s expression went from wary to suspicious. Which seemed even less necessary. Offhand, he couldn’t think of any reason for suspicion. They were both adults. Neither of them had any attachments. And they’d had a good time. A damn good time, now that he thought about it.
Both of them.
Maybe he hadn’t exactly outlined the fact that he was leaving in a month, but it hadn’t come up. Or anyway, he hadn’t brought it up. Besides, they could have a good time in a month, couldn’t they?
He walked across the room, dodging a busy waitress. “Hi.”
Ruth arched an eyebrow. “Hi, yourself. Taking a break?”
“Yeah. It’s the lunch crowd. Not too much business at the tavern for the bartender.” Not too many tips, either. Locals took their burgers back to their offices. Tourists sat in the booths at the back and saved their tips for their server.
“What brings you here?” She didn’t look any less suspicious.
Maybe he should back off a bit. “I thought maybe we could grab some lunch. I was going to pick up a gyro at Selig’s.”
Ruth gave him a slightly dry smile. “I work during lunch—and I eat here. I usually don’t leave until dinnertime.”
“Dinner, then.” He tried upping the wattage on his smile. He didn’t normally encounter this much resistance when he tried to ask a woman out.
“I have dinner with Carol.” She nodded toward the counter.
For the first time, he noticed her daughter back behind the deli case. In fact, her daughter was giving him a definite stink-eye.
“Oh.” He wasn’t sure why he’d forgotten about Carol. Maybe because he wasn’t used to dating a woman who had a daughter to think about. “Could you get a sitter?”
“Carol just got back from Colorado Springs. I don’t want to leave her with anyone right now. Being a mother isn’t something you can take time off from. It’s pretty much a twenty-four-seven gig.” Ruth folded her arms across her chest.
He blew out a breath. Subtlety wasn’t cutting it. “Look, I want to see you again. Seriously. Name a time you’re free. I’ll be there. So help me.”
Ruth gave him a long look. “I don’t know when that will be. If ever. Right now my life is pretty screwed up. I don’t know when it will get unscrewed.”
Maybe he was kidding himself, but he thought he saw a flash of regret in her eyes as she said it.
“Whenever it is. For however long it is, I’d like to go out with you again.” He shrugged. “I’d even go for a mid-morning coffee if that would work.”
For a moment, her lips twitched, almost as if she were considering a smile. Then she sighed. “If I ever have a spare, nonworking moment, I’ll get back to you. I’ve got to go make some cheese.” She turned on her heel and headed through the door at the side that led into her cheese factory.
Struck out. Struck out all the way.
True. Sad, but true. But he wasn’t ready to give up. Ruth Colbert was one of the most intriguing women he’d met in a while; definitely worth the challenge.
He turned back toward the door, giving Carol a quick smile as he did. “School’s out, huh?”
“Yeah.” She pulled a cheese log out of the case. “And I wish I was someplace else.”
That makes two of us, kid. He pushed his way through the door, listening to the bell jangle as he closed it behind him.
…
Ruth grabbed the cheese cutter and went to work. Fortunately, this part of the process required a lot of muscle because she definitely wanted to punch something. Possibly Liam Dempsey.
What had she been thinking of, anyway? His dusky hazel eyes? His brown hair with those reddish glints? His nicely rounded biceps, supposedly earned by heaving barrels around at the brewery?
Whatever. She’d had a momentary lapse of sanity and had sex with Liam Dempsey. That didn’t mean it was going to happen again. She knew better than to get involved in a dead end relationship.
She’d thought about that evening quite a bit over the last couple of days. Certainly more than she should. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been with anybody for a long time.
Well, yes, if she were honest, that was exactly what it was like. Because she hadn’t been with anybody in a lot longer than she liked. She didn’t have time for romance. She didn’t even have time for illicit sex in the form of a quickie. She worked full days and then she went home and took care of Carol. And then she went to bed and slept until the next day when the whole cycle started all over again. She was a working mom who didn’t have time for foolishness.
You are a drone who is working her life away.
Ruth paused, closing her eyes as the curds and whey sloshed gently in the vat. There was more than a grain of truth in that thought, but it didn’t matter. She’d been doing it for twelve years, and she’d go on doing it until Carol took off for the wide wor
ld beyond Antero, Colorado.
And then what will you do?
Something like panic clutched her heart for a moment, but she fought it down. She’d raised Carol by herself after she and David had broken up. She’d run the Salty Goat on her own because nobody else would do it for her and she loved her work. Maybe she’d given up a lot to do all of that, but she wouldn’t have done things any differently. And who knew where Liam Dempsey was going to end up? He was the definition of “short time.” A fling.
She didn’t have time for flings.
Carol came first, then work.
She plunged the cheese knife in again, watching the solid blocks of curds divide as the knife slid through. She had too many responsibilities to consider anything else, particularly men. Between Carol and the deli, her life was totally blocked out.
No time, no time, no time. The words marched through her brain like a drumbeat.
For just a moment, she let herself remember Liam Dempsey’s hazel eyes in the dim light of the brewery floor, his smile as he held the glass of ale up to what passed for light, admiring the deep red color.
That smile had gotten to her. The smile of someone who was taking honest pride in what he’d accomplished. A smile she’d had herself a time or two, when a new cheese was a success or when someone recognized what she’d done. She’d thought they had something in common, a feeling if nothing else. And when he’d made his move, she’d gone with it.
But now that she’d had a chance to think about what had happened, she could see more than a few problems in starting something with Liam.
He was Bec’s brother. Bec was one of her closest friends, along with being her assistant. She didn’t know exactly how Bec would feel about them being together, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. And Liam was five years younger than she was. It wasn’t a huge difference, but it was enough to make her a little uneasy.
Oh, yeah. When you’re ninety, he’ll be a spry and chipper eighty-five.
She hated it when her inner Ruth turned sarcastic. She tossed the cheese knife into the sink with a little more force than necessary.
Liam was risky. That was a fact. When Antero Brewing had lost its financial backing a year or so ago, he’d walked out and left Bec to run the brewery by herself. Only Bec’s stubborn refusal to give up had kept Antero from going into the dumpster. Now they were back in business on a limited basis, and Liam was helping out again. But he hadn’t been there when Bec needed him.
And chances were he was getting ready to take off again.
She paused, tossing a handful of curds into one of the colanders she kept stacked on the side of the tank. If she was going to indict Liam for his various failings, she had to be fair about it. Liam had turned out to be a stand-up guy during the brewery’s most recent crisis.
When the brewery had lost its best asset—a barrel of imperial stout—Liam had refused to let Bec give up. He’d pushed her into starting again and been there when she needed him most. He’d helped her do a run of wheat beer that she’d been able to sell to her boyfriend’s gastropub in Denver. It hadn’t brought in a huge amount, but they’d made enough to subsidize the next run of red ale and an IPA.
According to Bec, they were considering hiring more help. Last year at this time they’d been closed down, so the turnaround had been outstanding.
Ruth grabbed a cheese mold and began packing the drained curds. She could accuse Liam of a lot of things, but she couldn’t accuse him of hurting Bec. Not anymore. And she couldn’t accuse him of not working hard, not when he was holding down two jobs as a bartender and a brewing assistant.
So what’s the problem?
She paused for a moment. What was the problem, anyway? Clearly Liam Dempsey was ready for a rematch. Why wasn’t she?
Too busy. Single mother. Too old. And Liam wasn’t reliable. She ran through her litany of excuses, each one less convincing than the one before.
What is the problem, Ruth?
She jammed one last handful of curds into the mold, gritting her teeth. She didn’t exactly know what the problem was, but there had to be one. Because she couldn’t possibly want to have sex with Liam Dempsey again.
Except she pretty much did. None of the excuses she’d come up with kept her from wanting to go another round with Liam Dempsey.
It would make me change the way I’m living. It would upend my life. It would make me do things I’m not used to.
But maybe her life needed to be upended. Maybe she needed to stop worrying about changing her routine. Besides, it would just be sex. She could look at it that way. Just recreation, relaxation, kicking back. Nothing serious. No involvement. No new stresses to add to the chaos. No relationship to gum up her life.
The door to the cheese room swung open behind her with a whoosh. She turned to see Carol leaning in the doorway.
“Barbara Jean says she’s done for the day. She said to tell you she doesn’t know whether she’ll be in tomorrow. Depends on how she feels. She said she’s not feeling too good right now.” Carol stepped back again, letting the door swing closed.
Ruth closed her eyes. Okay, Karma, okay. I get the message. No afternoons off. No easing of crises.
No sex with Liam.
It had been an unrealistic idea anyway. She had way too much on her plate to take on anything else, even if that something else had great hazel eyes and the hint of a dimple when he grinned. Best not to rock the boat. Best to just keep things the way they are.
She set the last cheese mold on the shelf, then pulled off her apron as she headed for the door.
Time to soothe Barbara Jean again. At least until she could find somebody else.
Chapter Three
Liam tried his best not to think about Ruth. After all, he was supposed to be concentrating on the IPA Bec was getting ready to put together. She was obsessing over the varieties of ingredients she wanted to use. He was trying to pay attention, but it was a losing battle. Bec was the brewmaster who made all the important decisions. He was just her assistant.
And he couldn’t get Ruth out of his head.
The brewery floor was dark in the evening except for a few indicator lights. A wheat beer was working in the fermenting tun, as well as more red ale in the aging tank.
Bec flipped open her notebook on the table, running her finger down the page where she’d been scribbling notes for her IPA recipe. “I’m thinking maybe some northwest hops, but they have that sort of grapefruity taste. Which I like, but the real hopheads might not go for it. I could add some European hops for bittering, but then you lose a lot of that fruity flavor.”
He wasn’t sure why Ruth was turning him away. He was sort of a ladies’ man—he liked women, always had. And he’d never had any trouble catching their interest in the past. True, he’d never had a serious relationship. He’d had too many things going on in his life for one thing. And he’d never met anyone he wanted to be serious about.
Have you now?
Had he? That wasn’t a question he wanted to answer. Or maybe he didn’t like the answer. Getting seriously involved with anybody wasn’t in the cards anyway. He had Park City on the horizon.
And from what he could tell, Ruth didn’t seem to be interested, although he couldn’t figure out why. They’d been good together. Shouldn’t she at least want to explore a few possibilities?
He glanced up. Bec was staring at him expectantly. Apparently, she’d asked him a question. Hops. You’re talking about hops.
“I don’t have any preference on fruity hops. I’m not big on bittering, but the IPA lovers seem to get into it. Why don’t you make a test batch with each? Then you can decide which one you like better.” He picked up some spare glassware, lining it up on the shelves behind her. With any luck, she hadn’t asked him about anything else.
Bec watched him for a moment, then shrugged. “I could do that. I’d let Wyatt have a taste, too. If either of them is any good, he might want to buy it, assuming he’s still buying for Quaff at that point. Or w
e could sell some of it around here. I had a call from a tavern over in Barrington yesterday. They heard about the red ale—they want an exclusive, though, and I’m not sure about that.”
Thus far, Bec had resisted giving anybody except Wyatt exclusive rights to Antero Brewing’s beers. But then, nobody had been asking for them. She sold the brewery’s output to Wyatt’s gastropub. He seemed able to absorb just about anything she produced.
Antero needed to branch out, though, to expand its reach to a broader set of customers. Wyatt would be pulling out of Quaff in the near future. The more taverns they could get into, the farther the word would spread that Antero Brewing was back in business.
Of course, current production was so limited that Bec could only handle a few customers anyway, no matter how many sales she’d like to make. Liam returned to studying her notes, trying to drag his unruly thoughts back to the IPA.
“Were you in here a couple of days ago when I was in Denver? I found two glasses in the sink that I’m pretty sure I didn’t leave.”
Busted. Liam froze for a moment, trying to figure out what excuse to give. Or if any excuse would work. He plastered on his charming smile, although, judging from Bec’s expression, it wasn’t charming her all that much. “Yeah, I was here. I brought Ruth over to taste the red ale after I got off work.”
“Ruth?” Bec’s eyebrows elevated. “My Ruth?”
“If by ‘your Ruth’ you mean Ruth Colbert, then yeah.” Liam gave up on charming. He wasn’t feeling it. “She was at the tavern that night.”
Bec didn’t seem to be feeling the charm much, either. She narrowed her eyes. “Since when are you dating Ruth?”
“We’re not dating.” Unfortunately. “I told her about the red ale and she was interested in tasting it.”
“So all you did was drink the ale?”
He considered lying but didn’t try it. Bec was a champ at seeing through him—she’d had almost thirty years of practice. “Not exactly.”
Bec scowled. “Dammit, Liam, Ruth’s my friend. Don’t screw around with her.”