by Karis Walsh
Table of Contents
Synopsis
What Reviewers Say About Karis Walsh’s Work
By the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Archaeologist Berit Katsaros travels the world in search of treasures from ancient times. A serious injury forces her to take a break from fieldwork and accept an interim teaching job at Whitman College. She finds nothing redeeming in her frustrating sabbatical…except her sexy landlord, Tace.
When Stacy “Tace” Lomond takes charge of her brother’s failing microbrewery, she discovers a passion and talent she never realized she possessed. After years of putting herself last and supporting others’ dreams, she’s ready to make a name for her artisanal beer among the academics and sophisticated wineries in Walla Walla, Washington. Berit might be a tempting distraction, but she’s only a temporary fixture in town and in Tace’s life.
Slow-crafted beer and time-worn artifacts. Both women recognize what’s important in their careers, but can they learn to appreciate the value of love?
What Reviewers Say About Karis Walsh’s Work
Blindsided
“A jaded television reporter and a guide dog trainer form an unlikely bond in Walsh’s delightful contemporary romance. Their slow-burn romance is a nuanced exploration of trust, desire, and negotiating boundaries, without a hint of schmaltz or pity. The sex scenes are sizzling hot, but it’s the slow burn that really allows Walsh to shine.”—Publishers Weekly
“Karis Walsh always comes up with charming Traditional Romances with interesting characters who have slightly unusual quirks.”—Curve Magazine
Sea Glass Inn
“Karis Walsh’s third book, excellently written and paced as always, takes us on a gentle but determined journey through two womens’ awakening. …The story is well paced, with just enough tension to keep you turning the pages but without an overdramatic melodrama.”—Lesbian Reading Room
Improvisation
“Walsh tells this story in achingly beautiful words, phrases and paragraphs, building a tension that is bittersweet. The main characters are skillfully drawn, as is Jan’s dad, the distinctly loveable and wise Glen Carroll. As the two women interact, there is always an undercurrent of sensuality buzzing around the edges of the pages, even while they exchange sometimes snappy, sometimes comic dialogue. Improvisation is a true romantic tale, Walsh’s fourth book, and she’s evolving into a master romantic storyteller. ”—Lambda Literary
Wingspan
“As with all Karis Walsh’s wonderful books the characters are the story. Multifaceted, layered and beautifully drawn, Ken and Bailey hold our attention from the start. …The pace is gentle, the writing is beautifully crafted and the story a wonderful exploration of how childhood events can shape our lives. The challenge is to outgrow the childhood fears and find the freedom to start living.”—Lesbian Reading Room
Love on Tap
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Love on Tap
© 2016 By Karis Walsh. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-565-7
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: February 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Harmony
Worth the Risk
Sea Glass Inn
Improvisation
Mounting Danger
Wingspan
Blindsided
Mounting Evidence
Love on Tap
CHAPTER ONE
Stacy Lomond stared out the store window while she mechanically folded a lime-green polo shirt. Someone had made a mess of the neat, rainbow-colored stacks she had made when she first came on shift, and she let her mind wander while she sorted the shirts by size and color. The old-fashioned storefronts of Walla Walla’s Main Street faded out of sight and were replaced by the memory of the forest path she had followed on her hike last week. She mentally retraced her steps from Hurricane Creek to Sawtooth Peak in Oregon’s Wallowa Mountains. Even in the busy months of summer, the wilderness area was quiet on weekdays, and Tace had felt the buoyancy of solitude as she scrambled up a talus chute to an alpine meadow ringed by larches and mountain hemlock. She’d had two glorious hours alone on the peak, looking over the Wallowas and the Seven Devils Mountains in Idaho and planning her next hiking conquest, until a trio of climbers had come into view and she’d started her descent before they noticed her. The night before she summited, she’d even managed to find a quiet spot for her tent not far from Falls Creek, and the baying of coyotes had lulled her to sleep.
Tace went into the fitting room and gathered an armload of clothes someone had left behind. She dropped them on a table next to her register and put the garments back in order—turning sleeves right-side out and smoothing wrinkles—while her surroundings dimmed again. She needed to buy another journal before her next hike since she’d filled the last pages of her old one with sketches of birds and plants she saw, notes on the ones she hadn’t been able to identify on the spot, and pressed leaves and pine needles. She had a whole shelf full of bulky notebooks from her treks outdoors. When she had first started her solo hikes, she hadn’t known the names of many of the birds and trees, but now she was familiar with most of the ones crossing her path, and the thrill of discovering some new-to-her species was less common but no less exciting.
She walked through the store on autopilot, hanging blouses and cardigans in their places while wishing she could replace the hum of the air conditioner with the sound of wind rasping through pine branches. As beautiful as the sights had been on her trip, the sounds had been even more noteworthy this time. She had started her hike to the summit just before dawn, with her tent and bottles of water stuffed in her backpack. Her arms were laden with field guides, her journal, and a mechanical pencil, and she’d been trying to balance her breakfast granola bar and a flashlight while she looked up the difference between blue and spruce grouse. A sudden grating, honking sound had erupted directly over her head, making her drop everything in surprise. She picked up her books and granola bar out of the dirt wh
ile what sounded like a dive-bombing pterodactyl alternated between a nasal cheeping sound and the gruff honk. It had been too dark to see the bird, and she couldn’t find anything large enough to be so loud in her field guide, so she hadn’t been able to identify it until she got home and did some research.
She shook out a pair of jeans and folded them in thirds. Hard to believe the prehistoric sounds she’d heard were the peents and booms of a common nighthawk. Once the sun had come up, she’d seen the slender birds flying overhead, with distinctive white stripes on their tapered wings, but she hadn’t connected them with the echoing calls that had seemed to come from only inches above her head.
A piercing metallic chime broke Tace out of her daydreams. A young woman was standing by the register, tapping her fingers next to the service bell. Tace hurried over before she rang it again.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. She didn’t get an answer and didn’t really expect one since the girl pulled out her phone once Tace started ringing up her purchase. A student from Whitman College, most likely, given her age and the store’s proximity to campus. One of the least desirable aspects of Tace’s undesirable job.
“Did you find everything you needed?” Tace asked mechanically. She had just cleaned out the girl’s dressing room. Most of the store’s inventory had been tried on in her attempt to find what she needed.
“Uh-huh.”
“Would you like to save fifteen percent by opening an account with us today?” Tace scanned the last item and asked the requisite question even though she wanted to retreat into her wilderness fantasy—so temptingly willing to whisk her thoughts away from reality.
“Hm-mm.” Tace’s customer mumbled a negative with a brief shake of her head, not bothering to glance up from her phone.
A fluttering movement in the petite section caught Tace’s attention, and she looked up and saw her friend Allie waving her arms in greeting. Tace managed to control her grin enough to make it seem like merely a friendly and professional smile. She and Allie had grown up together in Walla Walla, townies floating through a constantly changing—yet never really changing—sea of Whitties. Tace was older now, and no one called a thirty-one-year-old woman names or threw things at her from passing cars. Allie had gone on to get her associate’s degree in nutrition from Walla Walla Community College, and she worked in Whitman’s cafeteria. They’d each risen above the types of harassment they’d experienced as kids, but the memories didn’t fade completely.
Tace gave the total of the purchase and put the clothing in a large bag while the girl swiped her debit card and entered her PIN. “Thank you for shopping at Drake’s, and have a nice day,” she said with a bright, practiced smile.
“Thanks,” the girl said with a bare glance in Tace’s direction. She left the store with her bag in one hand and phone in the other while Allie took her place in front of the register.
“How can I serve you, ma’am?” Tace asked with exaggerated subservience in her voice. “Can I open an account for you? Cater to your every whim? Give you a pint of my blood?”
Allie laughed. “You’re awful,” she said with a shake of her head. “You stand here looking so professional while you help people. If they only knew what was going on in your mind.”
“I’d be fired for sure,” Tace said with a grin, relishing the thought. “No severance package, just leave my name tag on the counter and get out.”
Allie pushed a strand of pale red hair behind her ear. “The rude and entitled ones are the exception, not the rule, you know. Most of these college kids are really great. I love working with them.”
Tace sighed. She had felt a momentary elation at even a joke about being fired, but she couldn’t give up this job. She depended on the money she got from waiting on uncaring customers for her home and for her family’s future. The inevitable path her career—such as it was—would take made her stomach tighten like a spasm. Move into a lower management position. Possibly, once her obligations and mortgage were under control, transfer to another store in a different, bigger city. She loved her home, though, and doubted even that small step forward would be taken before she retired at age…what, eighty-five?
“I’m not thinking of applying to Whitman, so spare me the recruiting speech,” she said. Her gloomy thoughts were reflected in her tone, and she gave Allie’s upper arm a quick squeeze. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“I understand. But maybe if you engaged with them a little more, you’d find they’re friendlier than when you act so detached.”
Tace tilted her head and glared at Allie. She’d spent eight hours cleaning up after strangers. She wasn’t in the mood to feel charitable toward them. “She was having a more meaningful connection with the apps on her phone than with me. Was I supposed to slap the thing out of her hand and ask about her childhood?”
Allie held up her hands in laughing surrender. “Maybe I should take you out for a drink instead of lecturing you on the joys of talking to college students.”
Tace had to join in her laughter. Allie’s impish smile—made more so by the freckles splashed across her cheeks and nose—showed she was undeterred by Tace’s crankiness. A drink was exactly what Tace needed. And maybe a stranger to share her bed for the night? Always a good way to dispel the haze of monotony from her job.
“That’s a much better idea,” she said. “I just need to clock out and I’m ready to go.”
“I’ll wait for you outside. It’s a gorgeous day.”
Tace hurried to the back room and signed out before changing out of her stiff white shirt and black polyester pants. The natural feel of soft khakis and a faded green cotton T-shirt against her skin erased the sensed residue from the artificial fabrics she had worn all day. She shoved her work clothes into her backpack, glad to get them out of sight. Was Allie right about her being emotionally detached from the people she saw at work? Tace shook her head. Of course Allie was correct, but that didn’t mean Tace needed to change. She was polite and tidy and she spoke to her customers as much as necessary. Even if she became suddenly more effusive or cheery, nothing would change. She’d still be treated like an extension of the register. No one talked to an ATM or the credit card machine. Why talk to the robot putting clothes in a bag and handing out credit applications?
Tace left the store at a brisk walk. Whatever. At least work was behind her for the day. She’d made some money, she had great benefits, and once her shift was over, her job was out of her head. She didn’t envy the people who were married to their careers and couldn’t leave their cares at the office. Maybe she’d like to feel that sort of passion for her work, but it didn’t seem likely to happen here unless she had a partial lobotomy.
Allie was in the shade of the store, leaning against a wrought-iron lamppost—another of the annoyingly charming fixtures on Main Street. Tace inhaled deeply when she stepped outside and felt the heat slam into her like a solid force. After six, and it was at least ninety. Summer was Tace’s favorite time of year, when the air was warm and most of the students had deserted the town. A few stayed, of course, and with the next semester only a few weeks away, others were beginning to invade her hometown. She’d milk the most pleasure she could out of the waning days of the season.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “The Blue?”
“Of course. Let’s walk.”
The tavern—named after the nearby Blue Mountains and probably just as old—was over a mile away, but Tace welcomed the movement. Although she’d been on her feet all day, the freedom of being outside with no shirts to fold and no mandatory phrases to say was sweet. She listened while Allie talked about her own work in the cafeteria. During the month leading up to the students’ return, she and the other dieticians researched and tested new recipes. Tace had a freezer full of dishes in disposable tins. She never had to cook during the month of August.
“What did you think about the food I brought last week?” Allie asked while they waited to cross Isaacs Avenue.
Tace s
tarted walking across the street during a lull in traffic, before the walk signal came on. Allie jogged to catch up to her.
“I liked the casserole with broccoli and rice, and the Salisbury steak with grilled onions. The meatloaf thing made out of lentils was gross.”
“Yeah, that didn’t pass the taste test. We have more and more vegetarian students every year, and I want to give them options besides cheese. Maybe we could make a veggie version of Cajun red beans and rice…”
She started listing ingredients, and Tace joined in. She wasn’t the best cook, but she got interested when the conversation turned to blends of spices and herbs. She’d even considered joining Allie at the community college to study culinary arts—one of the many subjects in which she had a passing interest—but the thought had never been a serious one. Tace had been lucky to find the time to graduate from high school. Anything beyond that had never been a possibility for her.
Talk about college food stopped when they entered the dimly lit bar. Dark wood paneling and stained-glass windows gave the room a gloomy, nighttime feel even when the sun was shining like today. Tace felt the familiar cling of her shoes to the sticky cement floor, its peeling red paint covered with a layer of spilled beer. Without needing to speak, each went her separate way once they got inside. Allie went over to stake out a tall round table near the dartboards, and Tace got a couple of Bud Lights and a handful of darts from the bartender. The familiarity of their routine was comforting, and Tace tapped her bottle against Allie’s in a silent toast before taking a long swallow.
Nothing spectacular, but the beer was ice cold and helped wash away the rest of Tace’s day at the store. She set down the bottle and picked up her three darts to take the first turn. The barrels were dented from years of use, but she managed to land two of them in the double ring.
“Very impressive.” A woman’s voice made Tace pause while she was writing her score on the chalkboard. “Are you always so accurate?”