Lightstruck: ( A Contemporary Romance Novel) (Brewing Passion Book 2)

by Liz Crowe

  “Please, don’t worry about me. Go to your wife and child.”

  He nodded and pushed his way into the room, grabbing Evelyn and clinging to her while the staff worked to revive Rose. Finally, the doctor moved away from the bed. The nurses began filing out of the room, ignoring her and Brock, who still stood next to her.

  As she watched, Austin let go of Evelyn and moved to the bed. “Give her to me,” he demanded. The staff glanced at each other until one of the many pediatricians in room nodded.

  “It can’t hurt her,” he admitted, making notes on a computer tablet. “And it might help.”

  One nurse picked Rose up, now wide-eyed and breathing normally, but on the verge of crying, Elle could tell. Another nurse had to manipulate the leads that monitored her vital signs, and the thin IV line connected to the needle in her scalp around but neither of them seemed to mind.

  “Here, Papa,” one of them said. “Hold your girl.”

  Austin sat in the rocking chair, leaving the rest of them, including Evelyn, to watch.

  “My girl,” Austin crooned to her, touching his nose to hers. Elle saw the baby shift in his arms, smile and yawn. Elle allowed herself to fully exhale for the first time in hours, then she grabbed an extra rocking chair and shoved it at one of the still-gowned nurses.

  “For the mother,” she said, furious that she had to point out such an obvious need. The nurse nodded and helped Evelyn into the seat next to Austin. She sat, her hand on Rose’s tiny chest, her head against Austin’s shoulder.

  A combination of exhaustion and hunger hit Elle right between the eyes. Her stomach growled and her eyes burned but she couldn’t take them off the scene of mother, father and child before her.

  “Is she…all right?”

  Elle blinked, confused by the deep, rumbly, German-accented voice to her left. She turned, wondering where Brock had gone at the same time she laid eyes on a man she thought she knew, while at the same time realizing who he was.

  “Ross flew back with me,” Austin said as he walked out of the isolation room. Elle wheeled around again, feeling woozy and surreal. He peeled off his gloves, then leaned on the receptacle, his shoulders hunched and his eyes closed. “Jesus wept,” he whispered, before standing back up and swiping at his eyes.

  The two men stared at each other. Elle felt an odd tension between them. Something she’d never encountered—that teetered between fury and support.

  “Pardon my rudeness,” Austin said in a flat voice. “Elle, this is Ross. Ross Hoffman. He’s an…old friend of mine…and Evelyn’s. Elle is our new assistant brewer—and the woman who probably saved our—saved Rose’s life.” He glared at Ross, confusing her further. Then he seemed to slump back in on himself. He turned and stared through the window at Evelyn and Rose.

  “I know who you are,” Elle said. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”

  Ross’ blue eyes gleamed for a moment, then he, too, seemed to collapse in on himself. He smelled of old beer, as well, but his jaw was covered in a pleasant, red-tinged, tidy beard and his eyes were less bloodshot. He sighed and ran his fingers through his near shoulder-length blond hair, holding out the other hand to shake hers. “Pleased to meet you. Thank you for…today.”

  Elle tilted her head, allowing herself a moment to study the tall, handsome man before her as he turned to stare through window alongside Austin. When Elle glanced into the isolation room, she caught Evelyn’s gaze as it skipped over her, landed on her husband, then on Ross.

  The expression on her face made Elle’s breath catch. She moved away from the window, hand to her throat, wanting to escape, but for some reason, wishing Ross Hoffman, famous—some would say infamous—artist of a brewer and playboy of the brewing world would put his arm around her as they stood there.

  Ridiculous, Elisa. You’re delusional from hunger.

  “Ma’am?” The nurse she’d found earlier materialized with an alarming piece of machinery.

  “Yes, of course. Excuse me, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

  Austin turned around slowly. Ross stayed put, both his hands flat on the window separating them from Evelyn and Rose.

  “We need to get Evelyn some relief.”

  He blinked in confusion at the sight of the device, then seemed to recognize its purpose. “Right, okay.” He grabbed a fresh set of gloves and entered the room, followed by the nurse with the breast pump.

  “Holy shit,” Ross muttered, in German under his breath when he caught sight of it. “What are they doing to her?”

  “It’s a breast pump. Trottel,” she muttered back in German, feeling strangely comfortable tossing out the insult. She could sense him staring at her. But she wouldn’t meet his gaze. A wave of nausea swept through her as a too-familiar panic made her face and ears burn.

  “I must go,” she said in English, turning away from him and praying she could escape before she screamed, or cried, or did something equally bizarre like jump into his strong-looking arms.

  “Wait, Fraulein Nagel,” he said, making her stop, close her eyes, soothed by the sweet sound of her native tongue, albeit in a countrified Bavarian-style accent. But she unstuck her feet and stomped away, afraid of the force of her own bizarre reaction to Ross Hoffman. Not to mention the even more bizarre way he seemed to fit into Austin and Evelyn’s lives.

  Chapter Ten

  “Hey, um, Evelyn,” Ross stood outside her room clutching the bag that the strange woman had thrust into his hands before running off in the other direction as if he’d bite. He paused to contemplate her—the brewer chick Fitzgerald had just hired and who had thought quickly enough to save Rose’s life the day before.

  “What?” Evelyn’s voice jolted him back to reality.

  “I brought you some fresh clothes.”

  He stuck his hand inside the door, since he’d not been invited in and wasn’t sure he wanted to be anyway since he could hear the whirr and clunk of the medieval-looking machine that had been milking Evelyn like a Guernsey cow every three hours for the last twenty-four. She snatched it from him without a word.

  “How in the world did you know to pack this stuff? There’s a nursing bra in here and my comfiest pair of jeans.”

  Ross pressed his forehead against the door wishing he could kiss her, wishing he could hold the baby. Wishing he could leave and never come back.

  “I didn’t do it,” he admitted on the other side of the curtain as if reading her mind. “That chick, that, um woman, Elisa, I drove her to your house and she packed everything.”

  “Okay.” After a few muffled shuffling noises, she opened the door. She seemed rung out, pummeled by fear, worry, exhaustion. And she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She tugged her hair back and into a ponytail with the band she kept on her wrist as he watched, hands clenched at his sides. Finally, she fell into him, forcing him to put his arms around her. “Rose. She’s…still all right?” she said into his chest.

  “Yeah.” He disentangled from her, and ran a hand down his face then around his bearded jaw. “Austin won’t let go of her. They tried to give her a bottle but she wouldn’t take it. Her fever spiked again then came back down. I don’t know. Shit.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re…different somehow,” she said.

  “I guess. I lost some weight. I run a lot now.”

  “Come on. Let’s go see her.”

  He hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know. They won’t let me.”

  “They will,” she said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. He flinched. “Relax.”

  He sighed. “I can’t. This is…too much.”

  “This is parenthood. Or so I’m told. Let’s go.” She tugged at him and they headed down the hall back toward the isolation unit.

  Evelyn sighed and stretched her arms over her head. The action lifted her blouse, exposing a sliver of the soft flesh of her stomach above the waist of her jeans. Ross averted his gaze, focusing instead on his baby’s face.

  He had a flight out later that afternoon. Claimed that he ne
eded to leave, to get back to work, but kept putting off the trip to the airport. Surprisingly content to be here, in Austin and Evelyn’s house, holding the kid and watching them putter around doing married couple things. Rose made a funny bleating noise and bopped him on the nose with her tiny fist before turning her face toward his chest.

  “Give me the baby back,” Evelyn demanded as she unbuttoned her shirt. “Time for dinner.”

  Ross placed the cooing, gurgling infant in her arms. As soon as she sensed her food source near, she turned her head toward Evelyn’s breast, opening and closing her mouth. “Greedy little thing, isn’t she?” Ross sat on the edge of the bed, watching with wide eyes as Evelyn opened her nursing bra. She didn’t have to brush her nipple against Rose’s cheek anymore. The girl knew exactly what to do. She latched on hard, making Evelyn wince and motion for something on the bedside table.

  Ross couldn’t tear his eyes from his nursing child. Austin cleared his throat. Ross looked up. “Oh, uh, what?”

  “Hand her the water. Nursing makes her instantly thirsty.”

  “Oh yeah, sorry.” He handed over the water bottle and she drained half of it in one gulp.

  “Thanks,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “So,” Austin said in a firm tone. “We need to get you to the airport, I guess.”

  “Yes, we do,” Ross admitted. Evelyn stared at him as he got up from the side of the bed. He opened his mouth to say something crazy like “okay, let’s make this work because I miss all of you, especially that baby, and I want to hold her, and I want to make love to Evelyn and I don’t care if I am a third wheel.”

  But Austin cleared his throat, making Ross turn and meet his friend’s eyes. The harsh reality rushed back in, reminding him that he didn’t want this. He wanted Evelyn to himself but he’d been the one to push her back to Austin. This was how it was meant to be.

  “Time to go,” he said, his voice rough as he pushed past his friend and headed downstairs.

  Their ride to the airport was made in the same tense silence as their ride to the hospital a few days prior. Ross tapped his fingers on his knees, nerves snapping with stress. When Austin’s Bluetooth phone rang through the interior of the SUV, he jumped and cursed. “It’s just Evelyn,” Austin said. “Hang on a sec.”

  “Yeah, honey, what’s up?”

  “Oh hell, Austin, is he dropped off yet?”

  “No, I’m still here. But don’t worry. We’re only about five minutes from the airport,” Ross cut in.

  “Don’t be an ass, Hoffman. There’s an emergency. At the brewery.”

  Ross sensed Austin stiffen. He leaned forward and spoke first. “What’s wrong, Evelyn? Do I need to stay?”

  Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say…

  “No, I’ll manage it,” Austin insisted. “Fill me in.”

  “It’s Bryan. He fell off a ladder. Hit his damn head. Knocked himself out. Elle got him into an ambulance. She’s on the other line.”

  “Elle…” Ross said, staring out of the windshield and recalling his two weird encounters with her.

  “Yes, so…I guess you should check in on him, on your way back.”

  “Okay, but…”

  “Elle says she’s got a handle on the week’s schedule. But we may need to bring back some of those temps we hired last fall, to help manage storage and bottling.”

  “Fine,” Austin said, pulling up the departures gate and putting the car in park. “Hang on a second, honey. Ross is getting out of the car.”

  “Oh, okay. Bye,” she said, sounding about as far away as he felt right then.

  He got out, grabbed his backpack from the seat behind him and slammed the door without saying a word to either of them.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You know,” Brock said the next Monday as he leaned on one of the giant fermentation vessels next to the computer where she was working, “you are really something else.”

  “Oh?” She kept entering the data, trying to block the intense glare of his gaze from her mind. Brock Fitzgerald was not a bad-looking man—quite the opposite of that. He and Austin were a matched pair of tall, dark and handsome. But he was making her nervous with his attentions. She had spent over ten years not dating anyone, not getting close to anyone, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Even though you’re a real pro at ignoring me.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, Brock. I’m just not interested…in dating. It’s not you, all right?”

  His eyes seemed to gleam with understanding. “Oh, I see. I’m not your type.”

  “No, actually, you would have been, once upon a time.” She closed the four files from the day’s brews and picked them up, clutching them close, like armor. “But I’m sorry. I just don’t…date anymore.”

  “But…”

  She held up a hand. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I really like working here.”

  He frowned, which made him resemble his brother even more. She sometimes forgot they were twins. Brock was lighthearted, always quick with a joke, or a compliment, easy-going in a way that his brother was not.

  Not that Austin wasn’t nice. He was. And he was devoted to his wife and daughter with the same fierce energy he gave to his company. But it was obvious which of the two was the more serious.

  “Until Bryan can return, I’m doing two jobs. And I’m exhausted. If you’ll please excuse me.” She grabbed the computer tablet and took an obvious step away from him.

  He grinned and held up both hands. “All right, all right, message received. Sorry. But I’m around, if you need a friend.”

  She studied him for a few seconds. He was almost painfully attractive and he knew it. He flirted relentlessly with every woman in the building, old and young, married or single. But he was always the first to jump in and help with any task no matter how challenging or menial. And he had become the unofficial organizer of company parties—going away, retirement, engagement, bachelor parties for one of the bar staff. He was a giver and shared that trait with his Austin.

  She smiled, hoping to soften the disappointing news she’d given him. “I will keep that in mind, Brock. Thank you.” She ducked between fermenters, her face hot and her mind ablaze with something she had not been able to shake for a couple of months.

  The memory of Ross Hoffman—his face, his bright blue eyes, his deep voice when he’d spoken to her auf Deutsch, his strangely comforting presence—permeated her world both awake and asleep. It was, in a word, maddening. He was, by all accounts, the epitome of a prima donna master brewer—cocky, arrogant—exactly the type of man she should avoid at all costs.

  She had her usual end-of-day report to give Evelyn but had managed to stay a solid forty-five minutes ahead of schedule since coming in early so she decided to take a quick shower and change first.

  One of her favorite things about Fitzgerald Brewing was the attention paid to detail on every level. Their dedication to hiring and retaining the best employees was part of that. Evelyn had told her about the seventy-thousand-dollar renovation of the locker and shower rooms she’d insisted upon, and the giant fight she and Austin had experienced over it. But she’d held her ground and so the women’s locker room was more like a haven—with soft seating, a television, huge locker spaces, private showers worthy of the nicest spa, the works.

  Elle had spent many an hour there, napping on the couches between her long shifts during Bryan’s convalescence, having her lunch in blessed, private silence or, as she planned to do now, taking a long hot shower. Intent on this goal, she barely noticed the clump of men hovering around outside the men’s locker room. She brushed past them, mumbling apologies. When someone dug their fingertips into her biceps and held her in place, she cursed, and on reflex, stamped down on his foot with her steel-toed boot.

  “Ow. Fucking cunt.”

  She yanked out of his grasp and rubbed her upper arm, her pulse racing at the sight of them—all temporary employees, hired to help keep up produ
ction post-head-brewer accident. She’d mostly ignored them, other than to give out the day’s assignments as they straggled in to their shifts. But she’d been hard-pressed to ignore one of them, their ringleader, Tim Harris.

  He’d been at her from the moment he set foot in the brewery, about two weeks ago. His flirtatiousness was of the aggressive sort—fake lighthearted nonsense about her hair, her tatts, her piercings, that had morphed into the sort of threatening throw-away comments to his minions that might have made other women shake in fear. What this Tim didn’t realize was that she knew him for what he was—a spineless bully. She’d faced much, much worse than him. He didn’t intimidate her in the slightest, even if he irritated her to no end.

  But until now, his pseudo-aggressiveness had only involved words she could ignore. He’d never actually touched her. She stared into his small, dark eyes for as a long as her psyche would allow her to before letting her gaze flick away. As was typical, he’d surrounded himself with his buddies, which she knew gave him a modicum of imagined power over her.

  As if to prove this, he moved quickly, standing toe-to-toe, and towering over her. Something most men did, considering, and even at five foot maybe eight inches, he could do a reasonable impression of a tough guy.

  “So, little darlin’,” he said, daring to put his fingertip to her face before she flinched away from him only to back into a wall formed by his asshole friends. “Thought you might want to know that things are going to change around here, real soon. You might reconsider all your nasty insults and rejections.”

  “Get out of my way, arschgeige,” she spat out. When hands gripped both her biceps from behind, Elle sensed the hallway, usually so brightly lit, day and night, dim around the edges. Fear nestled in her chest. It was late in the afternoon. Shift change had occurred and everyone was well occupied, or they’d left for the day. She was alone.

  She set her jaw and squirmed but the hands merely tightened around her upper arms. Tim grinned. She smelled his disgusting breath and his foul body odor all at once. “All this ink,” the man said, in his somewhat squeaky voice. His finger traced the horror tattoo around her neck. She shivered and had to bite back the urge to throw up. “All this jewelry.” He touched her ears, her nose, then yanked open her mouth and leered at the metal ball in her tongue. “I’ve always wanted a pretty little spinner,” he said, confusing her for a moment until she did the translation in her head.