And then they were at that awkward moment where something was bound to happen.
Walker took CiCi’s free hand—the first time he’d ever held her hand—and moved closer to her.
Here? Now? A kiss? Right here on her front porch on Main Street in front of God and everybody? These thoughts raced through CiCi’s mind as Walker came closer to her. But instead of backing away, she remained in place and slowly parted her lips.
“Hi there!”
CiCi snatched her hand away upon hearing the voice, and Walker took a step back from her. The mail carrier had interrupted their moment.
“Here ya go,” the carrier said. She handed CiCi a small clump of mail and was gone as quickly as she had come.
Within a few seconds, they were alone again on the porch, but the mood had irreversibly altered. CiCi’s eyes moved from Walker’s face down to the bundle of mail she held in one hand, and she immediately spied the return address of the piece of mail on top of the stack.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered.
CiCi dropped her purse and keys on the porch and thrust the remainder of her mail into Walker’s unready hands. She tore open the envelope, snatched the letter from inside, and quickly scanned it, fearing yet knowing what it announced.
“Great, just great,” she said through clenched teeth.
“What’s wrong?” Walker asked as he bent to retrieve a piece of mail that had been dropped when CiCi had foisted her mail upon him.
“State audit,” she groaned. “I’ve dodged this bullet for years. My time has finally come.”
“I take it this is an unwelcome development?”
“On the same level as the IRS picking through your tax returns,” she said, scooping up her keys and purse from the ground. “Except it’s the government auditing the government, if that makes any sense. State auditor does it all the time to various governmental groups and offices. Now it’s my turn.”
“You’ve never lived through one?”
She shook her head. “No. I remember my mom complaining about one a long time ago.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Oh, they discover money missing or misspent or any number of practices that they think are questionable or bad. It can be a complete nightmare, particularly for an elected official.”
CiCi thought back to a few local audits in the past several years. The local school system had been audited but had come through it relatively unscathed and with only a few suggestions for improvement. The most notorious local one, however, had been the audit of the previous sheriff, the late Fuzzy Davenport. The auditor’s report had raked old Fuzzy’s administration over the coals, finding all kinds of management problems and even missing money. The report had led to Kyle Sammons’s election as sheriff; in the aftermath of the scandal, Kyle had managed to oust Fuzzy from office, and Fuzzy had been a thirty-year incumbent who had expected an easy path to reelection.
“Sounds like you’re going to need an attorney.”
“Absolutely. And I have someone in mind,” she said as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope and put it in her purse.
Her hand free once again, Walker took it, and she immediately stiffened, thinking this was going to be the big first kiss.
It was.
And it wasn’t.
Walker brought CiCi’s small hand up to his lips and gently and slowly kissed the top of it while keeping his eyes on her face.
“No one’s done that in ages,” she said softly and with surprise.
“Too bad for them.” He kissed her hand again, gave her the mail, and smiled. “See you Saturday.”
CiCi stood on the porch and watched him as he pulled out of the driveway and left. Although she wanted to go back inside and work through what had just happened with Walker, she didn’t have the time for a hot little afternoon daydream. After dumping the mail on her kitchen counter, she picked up her phone and dialed Harriet Hensley’s cell number. CiCi had it in her phone because Harriet had been on the BourbonDaze committee the previous year.
“Harriet?” CiCi said when Harriet picked up on the first ring. “I need a lawyer.”
Chapter 3
He was kissing her again. Her hand. So soft.
No, wait. Not just her hand. Her lips. Her cheek, then her neck, down to her bare chest.
Damn, look at her breasts. Perfectly plump and smooth. He swept a hand across one and dipped his head to the other where his tongue traced the outline of her areola, taut and waiting to be fully claimed by his mouth.
He heard her cry out as his hand moved lower and brushed the soft curls between her legs. His mouth still on her nipple, he dared to slip a finger into her folds and found her wonderfully wet and ready. And he was so hard. He wanted to plunge inside her at that moment, take her hard and fast and not look back.
“Walker…,” she panted.
That was all the invitation he needed. She didn’t want to be stroked by his fingers any longer. She wanted his full length in her. She wanted him to claim her completely, and he was more than willing to fulfill her desires.
He knew it was now. He wanted her, and she wanted him.
He was so damned hard it hurt, and he wanted to burst inside her. Walker parted her legs as his mouth migrated from breast to lips then pulled back so he could see her face as he entered her.
CiCi’s eyelids fluttered as he slipped into her exquisite warmth. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he went slowly, fighting the primal urge to slam himself into her as far as he could go.
Her lips parted, and he claimed them. She moaned into his kisses, and he pulled away to see the look on her lovely round face as he sheathed himself deeper.
CiCi smiled and mouthed his name, but no sound came.
Then the face changed; the curly brown hair faded and reformed until it was long and red. The hands on his back became like claws as they pulled him closer. His sense of claustrophobia and panic multiplied as he fought to escape the grasp.
Walker bolted up awake in bed as the image of his ex-wife burned into his mind. He was hard as a rock and in pain, but not just the physical pain from his unrelieved arousal. He covered his face with his hands and took several deep breaths before throwing the covers off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He could at least get off in the shower to relieve himself—and he would be fantasizing about CiCi as he did it and not his ex, the woman who had crushed his soul.
“Mama, why are you crying?”
It was the only thing she could hear, the sound of her own voice. Her mother was sobbing, but there was no noise, only the image of the woman sitting in a chair, head in her hands, with her body shaking.
Her mother did not look up, did not respond. Was it because of Daddy?
Mama had started crying about the time he said he had to go.
“My little CiCi,” he’d said, patting her on the head before rushing out the door. She’d barely gotten a hug but figured he’d be back soon. She’d asked him to get her a coloring book at the grocery store, and he’d promised to bring one next time. But what had that meant?
CiCi went to the window and looked outside to see her father standing in the driveway, staring at the house, his hand on the car door. She waved, and even though she knew he was looking directly at her—he had to be—he did not wave back.
And then he disappeared. The landscape turned from a bright summer’s day to the golden hues of fall to the whiteness of a snowstorm to the jeweled tones of spring.
And CiCi stood by that window, waiting, wondering, hoping to see her father there again. She never did.
“CiCi, come away from the window,” her mother chided, and she jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice.
She turned, and her mother was there, tears shining on her face, looking the same as she did that day Daddy had gone to the store.
CiCi flew to her mother’s open arms and clung to her. Then the tears became her own, and she felt as though she were drowning, the two of them together, submerged
by grief.
The alarm blared and she found herself clutching her pillow like a life preserver. Her jaw hurt; she’d been grinding her teeth again during the night.
And the pillow was wet but not merely with tears.
She’d thrown up in her bed, sickened by the misery of memory, by the memory of grief.
“I’m flattered you thought of me first,” Harriet said that Monday morning as CiCi entered Harriet’s office.
It was seven thirty, and Harriet had agreed to meet before the clerk’s office opened at eight. It was an easy trip to Harriet’s firm; it was right across the street from CiCi’s house on Main Street.
“Oh, yes,” CiCi said absentmindedly. She was still rattled by her dream from that morning. “And thanks for the early appointment,” she added, finally snapping out of her thoughts as she took a seat in a large blue wingback chair in front of Harriet’s desk. Harriet moved to a corner where a small coffeepot was situated and offered CiCi a cup of freshly brewed java. “No, thanks,” CiCi said. “I’m already on edge as it is.”
Harriet turned from the coffee and didn’t take any for herself. And instead of sitting behind her desk, Harriet took the seat opposite CiCi, giving the anxious Craig Circuit Court Clerk her full attention. CiCi appreciated Harriet’s attempts to put her at ease and knew she was in good legal hands. Harriet crossed her long, lean legs and squared her body to face her new and very nervous client.
“So why are you so worried? That’s the first question I have for you.”
“It’s an audit!” CiCi exclaimed, causing her curly brown hair to bounce in silent protest.
“Tell me the truth: is there a reason you’re worried? Something wrong, missing?”
“You mean that I know about? No. It’s not like I’ve knowingly done anything wrong. I haven’t dipped into the petty cash for bourbon balls or the occasional bottle of Old Garnet. Nothing like that. My mother taught me how to be the clerk, and that was to do it by the book. I might look kind of silly and flighty to some people, but when it comes to my job, I am a total hard-ass.”
“That little thing about releasing the video of Judge Craft a while back being the exception?” Harriet asked with a knowing grin.
“Well, it was an unusual circumstance, wasn’t it?” CiCi said defensively. “And everything worked out. Brady won the election, got Rachel to marry him, and that guy pled guilty at once. And no one from Judicial Administration ever said a peep to me.”
“Fair enough. So you don’t think anything is wrong. But you’re still worried, aren’t you?”
“Hell, yes! I’m afraid someone dropped something on me to the state auditor. Some political opponent.”
“Have you heard rumors of someone running against you?”
“No,” CiCi admitted.
“You like your job?”
“I love my job. I love the people I work with. I have bad days like anyone else, but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”
“CiCi,” Harriet said, leaning closer, “if things are as you say they are in the Craig Circuit Court Clerk’s office, I don’t think you have too much to worry about. But I can’t guarantee a completely painless process.”
“I’ve heard so many lawyers say that I could scream.”
“But it’s true. We don’t know what could be uncovered or what the auditors will find that they might think is the worst thing but you think is nothing at all. But I think you’ll be okay. I’ll notify the auditor’s office that you’re now represented by counsel, keep you informed, and let you know when the investigators will be down. From my experience, that should be in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” CiCi cried. “That soon?”
“That means it will be over quicker. Don’t worry,” Harriet assured her. She leaned forward and gave CiCi a little pat on the knee.
“Easy for you to say,” CiCi said before she laughed weakly and took her leave of her new attorney.
Walker hated meetings, as most reasonable people did. Thankfully, meetings at Old Garnet were few and far between. But that Monday morning he had a staff meeting with Hannah, Bo, and Goose, the relatively new director of security and groundskeeping. He was also another Davenport—a second cousin to both Hannah and Bo. Walker would be the only nonfamily member at this little get-together.
He wasn’t sure what the agenda was, but he didn’t care. The topics discussed rarely involved him, but as the master distiller, he felt obliged to attend. Bo and Hannah met with personnel and accounting people separately; they were actually on another part of the distillery grounds, on the second floor at the Old House. Walker was grateful that at least he didn’t have to sit through meetings where the mundane things of finance and who got fired were going to be discussed.
The meeting was in the usual spot, the small conference room next to the tasting room and off the main lobby of the visitors’ center. Walker hadn’t eaten any breakfast in anticipation of grabbing something at the meeting, and when he entered the small room, he was happy to see he would not be lacking for choice of goodies that morning. Against the far left wall was a table set with a tray full of muffins, bagels, and donuts (and he spotted the famous maple bourbon bacon donuts from Over a Barrel). There was also a full pitcher of orange juice and a large black carafe which he suspected to be filled with fresh coffee. He was the second to arrive; Goose was already present. He was sitting at the table, reading the Lexington newspaper and eating a bagel with coffee.
“Morning,” Goose said with a nod to Walker over his coffee. “Have a good weekend?”
“Yep,” Walker said, smiling.
“Your good weekend have anything to do with the Craig Circuit Court Clerk?” Goose asked, his eyes on the newspaper.
“Maybe.” Walker kept his back to Goose as he poured some coffee for himself.
“You two are always at The Windmill.”
Goose Davenport was a dark-haired, stocky, and ruddy-faced man. A former cop, he had a brusque quality to him, but Walker liked him because he was hardworking, dependable, and brave. During the rickhouse fire last winter, Goose was the man on-site who had raised the alarm and probably saved other rickhouses from catching fire and exploding by calling for help so quickly. Walker admired and respected him even if he didn’t like the teasing.
“Apparently everyone knows that.”
“Take a woman to The Windmill every weekend for… how long now? A month?”
“Just a few weeks. And I don’t take her. She pays her way.”
“You drive her there,” Goose corrected.
“Damn, you know everything, don’t you?”
“Not everything,” Goose grinned and folded his newspaper, placing it on the table. “Unless you tell.”
“Nothing to tell,” Walker replied and took a seat with his coffee and a bagel. “And why all the talk about me? What were you up to this weekend?”
“Fixing the fence out at my mom’s place. That was the extent of excitement in my life.”
Walker eyed him with disbelief, but Goose said nothing, leaving Walker to believe the story. Goose seemed like the kind of guy who would brag if he had some sexual escapade to talk about. Hannah had let it slip that Goose had a wild-child past.
Hannah and Bo arrived a little late to the meeting. For Hannah, this wasn’t anything unusual. She was usually a few minutes tardy to anything, since she was more laid-back than her brother. But for Bo to be late was unusual. Well, Walker had to admit, it wasn’t as unusual as it used to be. Bo had become almost as relaxed as his sister since he’d fallen in love and gotten engaged to Lila McNee. Where Bo had been grumpy, sharp, and a little narrow-minded, he was just plain happy now, and not much seemed to bother him. Walker was pleased to see how that whole situation had worked itself out—best for the business and best for the two people involved. It was nice to see happy endings, especially when you hadn’t had one of your own.
“Okay, let’s get this done,” Hannah said as she settled into a chair around the small round table and put
her back to the windows overlooking the creek. “I hate meetings.”
Bo nodded and looked from his sister to the other meeting attendees. “We wanted to talk with you about a decision we’re in the process of making about how to deal with Mom’s passing. We thought we’d be able to handle the personnel loss by hiring a few more tour guides and part-time people to work in the gift shop, but with the increase in tourism these first few weeks of the season, it’s become painfully clear that we’re going to have to create a new position.”
“What will you call it?” Walker asked and took a bite of his bagel.
“Not sure, but we’re leaning toward something like heritage manager,” Hannah said.
“Like it,” Walker said.
“Sounds classy,” agreed Goose.
“What about Lila?” Walker suggested. “Wouldn’t she be perfect for it?”
Bo shook his head. “We’ve already tried to talk her into it, and she emphatically said no. She wants to keep teaching, although she said she’d help in any way when it came to interviewing people or reviewing résumés.”
“I put the word out among my industry contacts this past week that we’re looking for someone. We’ve already gotten a few résumés in,” Hannah said, passing them to Bo.
“Already have five and we haven’t even advertised,” Bo said, looking pleased.
“Or have a job description,” Goose pointed out.
“True. We need to get the specifics nailed down,” Hannah acknowledged.
“Do these people really have any potential?” Walker asked, pointing to the papers Bo held.
“Yes,” Hannah said. “One or two of them, definitely.”
Bo passed the résumés first to Goose, who briefly glanced at them. “Not like I’d know anyone here.” He handed the pages to Walker.
“I should hope not since you’re an ex-cop,” Walker laughed, flipping through the sheets.
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