Distiller's Choice (Bourbon Springs Book 4)

by Bramseth, Jennifer

  “A legend? Now you’ve got me curious,” she said as Walker opened the door to Goose’s office.

  CiCi could tell that they were very far north on the distillery grounds. Hannah’s house, which was on an adjoining piece of land directly to the north, would occasionally come into view through a gap in the thickening trees, its large porticoed front growing larger as they drew closer. Finally Walker turned the vehicle toward the creek and into a broad, flat area ringed by cedars. He parked close to the bank, helped CiCi from her seat, and they walked toward the creek hand in hand.

  A few yards below them was the creek, rushing over a high, wide ledge of rock, creating a waterfall about half a yard high and twenty-five yards across. The flow was more abundant on the opposite bank, where it gushed over the falls in a frothy white cloud. Nearer where they stood, the water was more of a trickle or a drip and nearly still. In the pool below them, the water was quite clear, and she could glimpse the bottom of the creek.

  Walker put his arm around her waist and pointed to a spot on the far bank. “This could be hard to spot, but do you see that tree and large boulder?”

  Squinting in the twilight, CiCi spied what he indicated and nodded.

  “Right at the base of the tree and rock is a small spring feeding into the creek—see the rippling on the surface of the water over there?”

  CiCi drew her line of sight along the direction in which Walker pointed and looked toward the far bank. Sure enough, there was a small, consistent disturbance bubbling out into the creek.

  “This is quite the secret place,” CiCi said.

  “And historic. If the legend is true, this is the spot where Jacob met Lucy and proposed.”

  CiCi knew the story went that the founder and builder of the distillery, Jacob Davenport, ancestor of Bo, Hannah, and Goose, became enamored of a local belle, Lucy Dant, allegedly the most beautiful woman not just in town but the entire state. The night before a big summertime ball, Jacob met Lucy at a bridge over Old Crow Creek and proposed marriage, but the belle demurred and gave no answer at that time. Jacob begged her to give him an answer at the ball by wearing his favorite color—deep red. She gave no affirmative response that she would play his little game, but he was certain she would be at the ball. The night of the gala, Jacob was crushed to see Lucy was wearing a bright blue dress instead of his beloved deep red. But when she approached him, she was smiling and pointing to something on her shoulder: a garnet brooch she had borrowed from her mother. The proposal was accepted, they were married, and the distillery and the brand got its name.

  Or at least that was how the story went. Most people in town, like CiCi, knew the story but took it with a very large grain of salt. But since it was such a great tale, the fable was retold with pride on the tours at Old Garnet.

  “This is the place? Really?”

  “According to one account,” Walker said. “Lila dug out some of the distillery records recently at the Old House and started researching the legend. Some stories say the meeting took place on a bridge by a waterfall. But there are a few more falls along the creek, and Lila reports that there are at least two on her property.”

  “But Lila thinks this could be a likely spot?”

  “As likely as any other place—and who cares? Makes a great story, just like the legend itself.”

  CiCi feigned shock. “Are you questioning the truth behind the legend of Old Garnet?” She gasped and put a hand on her chest.

  “No comment,” he said, holding up his hands in an affected gesture of surrender.

  They went back to the four-wheeler and prepared to set up the picnic.

  “You really went overboard,” CiCi said as they sat on the blanket they had spread on the ground for their picnic site. She surveyed all the food Walker had brought as he opened the paper bags and the cooler. “And four kinds of pie? Really?”

  “I know you like it. And I have a surprise in here,” he said, digging around in the cooler.

  He pulled out two small flasks and held them up.

  “No need to guess what’s in there,” she said. “I hope you brought some water. I don’t think I want to drink Garnet straight tonight.”

  “You might change your mind when I tell you what’s in these little lovelies.” Smiling, Walker reached across the blanket and handed her one of the flasks.

  “Not Garnet?”

  “Oh, it’s Garnet all right. Very, very special Garnet. I chose this from some of the best barrels in the middle of the best rickhouse.”

  She blinked and paused, digesting his words. “You pulled this from the center cut?”

  “You do know your bourbon, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’m looking forward to learning more from the master distiller himself,” she said, glancing at the flask. “This is special, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “What you’re holding in your hands right now is what we’re going to call Garnet Center Cut or Distiller’s Choice. We haven’t decided on a brand name yet.”

  “I like Distiller’s Choice better,” she pronounced. “Most people aren’t going to understand what a term like ‘center cut’ means. But they’ll understand that Distiller’s Choice means something special.”

  He grinned. “Indeed it does.”

  Flattered, she blushed and examined the flask, which was engraved with the Old Garnet logo on one side—and her name on the other.

  When she saw it was a gift, CiCi was stunned. “This is for me?”

  “Well, I was out in the rickhouse getting some of the bourbon to test it, and I happened to get a little extra, that’s all. I don’t really think Bo, Hannah, or Lila would mind. And I thought you’d like your own special place to keep something that special.”

  CiCi was speechless. The gift was unique, thoughtful, perfect. Nothing she had ever asked for but now would treasure forever.

  Forever…

  Oh, God. I’m in love with him.

  She almost dropped the flask.

  “You okay?” he asked and reached for her hand over the blanket.

  “Yes, yes,” she assured him and squeezed his hand. “I’m just… this is a really nice gift, Walker.” She leaned to kiss him on the cheek.

  “I did bring some water along if you really must mix it.” Walker dropped her hand and pulled two bottles of water out of the cooler.

  “But we don’t have any…”

  And as she said the words, Walker pulled two highball glasses from the cooler.

  “I’ve got plenty of ice if you want it on the rocks,” he said, handing her one of the glasses. “But you really should sip it straight, at least at first.”

  She took the proffered glass and examined the logo, which she had expected would be related to Old Garnet. Instead, the glass bore a retro-style logo and admonished KEEP CALM AND DRINK BOURBON.

  “Where did you get these glasses?” CiCi asked through her laughter. Walker was continuing to put out the food and placed a wrapped sandwich and bag of chips on the blanket in front of CiCi.

  “Had a meeting in Louisville a few weeks ago and found them in a shop downtown,” he said. “I told Hannah about them, and she thinks they would be a great addition to the gift shop here.”

  They unwrapped their sandwiches, began to eat, and fell into conversation about BourbonDaze. Walker, in his role as master distiller of Old Garnet, was expected to make a few appearances at events and conduct some tastings but promised that on Saturday he’d be around the booth.

  “So our date next Saturday will have to happen at BourbonDaze,” he declared after swallowing a bite of his sandwich. “An all-day date sounds nice.”

  “I’m not so sure,” CiCi said. She had been sitting on her side but then kicked off her sandals and crossed her legs. “I think an all-night date sounds better.”

  “Plenty of time for both, I hope.”

  They ate and chatted more about the festival, and CiCi talked about the audit. The process was causing her more stress than she cared to admit; she’d been having inter
mittent cramping, headaches, and was more tired than usual. Perhaps sensing her anxiety, he steered the conversation away from her work.

  “Maybe we could go somewhere together over Memorial Day weekend,” he suggested. “Just an overnight somewhere close.”

  “That sounds nice,” CiCi said. “But I might have to wait and see what’s going on with the audit.”

  After taking their time eating the sandwiches, they eagerly opened the containers of pie. CiCi quickly claimed the bourbon pecan, and Walker took the peach, which was one of his favorites.

  “As much as I love this, I really should learn how to make it,” she said, taking a bite.

  “That’s the fun part about being a master distiller,” he said. “I know how to make what I love.”

  “You’re like a chef, aren’t you?” CiCi licked the prongs of her plastic fork.

  He nodded. “Chef, chemist, factory worker. I wear a lot of different hats.”

  For once, CiCi didn’t finish her pie. She snatched her flask from the blanket. “And I want to taste your wares. Let’s get into this bourbon.”

  Chapter 19

  Walker poured from his flask into one of the glasses and handed it to CiCi. “I trust you know how to taste.”

  “Yes, but I’ve never had bourbon-tasting lessons from a master distiller.”

  “Just tell me how many flavors you can detect,” he said as he poured for himself.

  “Is this some kind of quiz or secret initiation rite to see if I’m bourbon savvy enough to be the girlfriend of a master distiller?”

  He laughed. “No, but humor me. I love talking bourbon with someone who knows the language.”

  Appeased, CiCi swirled the liquid in the glass, held it under her nose, and inhaled through her nose and mouth. She caught the spicy scent of the oak as well as the sweeter aromas associated with Old Garnet. “Which rickhouse?”

  “Old one, the one nearest the distillery.”

  “Supposedly Bo’s favorite, according to Hannah.”

  “It does produce some of the finest bourbon I’ve ever had the privilege of tasting. There’s something special about that old limestone building.” He glanced at her glass. “Smell it, taste it,” he urged.

  CiCi brought the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a generous sip. The bourbon pooled in her mouth and coated her tongue before she moved the liquid to the back of her throat and swallowed. “Caramel, vanilla, an oaky, smoky taste,” she said in rapid succession, opening her eyes but not looking at her companion. “Spicy though. It was wonderful, Walker. Thank you for this.”

  He raised his glass to her. “My pleasure.”

  “Now it’s your turn. Taste.” She nodded to his glass.

  Walker moved the glass to his mouth and nose, but did not close his eyes, which were focused on the liquid within. He gently swirled the bourbon, held it up, and studied it.

  “I don’t know anything about the legs, other than it’s a thing that real bourbon lovers think is important.”

  “Legs is just another term for how it moves in the glass, but I’ll teach you about it sometime, maybe in the tasting room at the visitors’ center.”

  “I’d rather have private lessons,” she said.

  “That can be arranged,” Walker promised as he moved his glass aside to glance at her.

  Walker took the bourbon and drank. As the bourbon hit the back of his throat, he closed his eyes, smiled, and sighed. “All the flavors you mentioned, plus chocolate.”

  CiCi finished the remainder of her bourbon and handed him her empty glass. When she adjusted her sitting position on the blanket, her leg brushed the flask at her side, and she picked it up and held it in both hands. “This is one of the most thoughtful presents I’ve ever received, Walker. I don’t know if I can ever drink this bourbon knowing how damned good it is.”

  “But I gave it to you so you can enjoy it. I can always get you more, and I’m sure Bo, Hannah, and Lila wouldn’t mind.”

  “You’re quite confident I can get this refilled anytime I want,” she said, the flask still in her hands.

  “As long as I’m around, that’s a promise. And I plan on sticking around.”

  “I know,” she said. “You’ve told me how much you love Old Garnet and—”

  “I wasn’t only talking about the job, CiCi. I plan to be around a long time to keep filling that flask for you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “How can you say that? We’ve only been going out a handful of weeks.”

  “Well, how can you be so sad at the prospect of never getting that thing refilled?” he challenged her and pointed to the flask as he moved closer to her on the blanket. “Live a little. Enjoy yourself. Stop being afraid to risk a little regret. I know I like where we are and where I hope we’re going. But tonight let’s just enjoy it, okay?”

  He picked up her flask, unscrewed the top, and reached for both of their glasses. Walker generously poured for them both.

  “Drink up,” he said and threw back most of the bourbon he’d just dispensed.

  She reached for the flask, grabbed it, and assessed the volume. “That was about a third of it,” she grumbled. “And since when do you drink bourbon like that? Show some respect for your craft.”

  “If you don’t drink, if you don’t enjoy it, you can’t get it refilled,” he said, ignoring her comment on how he’d shot back the liquor.

  CiCi knew he’d made his point and that it would be a crime to waste the precious bourbon he’d just given her. She sipped as he watched.

  But her eyes kept drifting to the banks of the creek. Wanting a change of scene and stiff from sitting on the ground for so long, CiCi started to get to her feet and pushed off against the ground. Seeing she was struggling, Walker managed to get upright first and pulled her to her feet. Keeping his hand in hers, CiCi finished her bourbon, placed the empty glass on the blanket behind her, and walked toward the creek.

  “You don’t believe the proposal story, do you?” she asked him as they reached the edge of the bank and stood looking down at the water.

  “You’re asking me whether I believe it’s true? I don’t know,” Walker admitted. “But it’s a damned fine story. People need stories. They crave them. They have to know what happened and why.”

  CiCi laughed. “And that’s what drives most people crazy where I work.” She slipped her arm around his waist and put her head on his shoulder. He reeked of bourbon, but she knew he wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy. Unlike herself. She was feeling every bit of the warm buzz and giddiness the bourbon could offer, and she knew herself in that moment to be truly intoxicated by the spirits she’d consumed as well as by her company. She had fallen for Walker Cain, and she was enjoying the physical and emotional sensations of being in his presence and at special place on the Old Garnet grounds.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The story doesn’t move fast enough for them, or it moves too fast. There’s no in between. People wait for their day in court, or it comes too quickly. All of it is just part of a larger story, but people involved in the legal system can’t see that. It’s very frustrating. And not just for plaintiffs and defendants. Everyone gets frustrated when they can’t see the ending or don’t like it. Judges, clerks, prosecutors, defense counsel all included.”

  “We usually know the ending around here,” Walker said. “Although it takes around nine years to get there.”

  “But it’s a predictable result. That must be satisfying.”

  “Predictability can be overrated.” He looked around where they stood, found a large stone, and threw it in the water. “Deeper than I thought.”

  CiCi slipped her hand into Walker’s pants pocket and splayed her fingers against his hip and upper thigh, wishing the thin fabric underneath would disappear.

  “It’s hot out here,” she mumbled. “Let’s go somewhere cooler.”

  “Excellent idea,” he agreed. He broke from her and pulled off his shirt.

  CiCi stared amusedly at him. “Not
that I mind the view,” she said, admiring his broad, bare chest, “but I had something else in mind rather than stripping to cool off. Like going to my house.”

  Walker put his arms around her waist and slipped his hands underneath her waistband until he cupped her ass with both hands. She responded by putting her hands flat on his chest and rubbing her palms up from his stomach, across his nipples, and over his shoulders.

  “We have a place to cool off,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the creek.

  “There?” CiCi cried, releasing him. “But how do you know it’s clean?”

  “That’s one of the sources of water we use to make the bourbon,” he said. “It’s going over that little waterfall, so it’s nice and aerated at this point along the creek. And that little spring I pointed out on the far bank adds even cleaner water to the mix. I threw that rock in to test the depth. I think the water should come up to chest height.”

  “I don’t know, Walker.” She looked around nervously. “It’s not like we’re on our own private property here.”

  “CiCi, there’s nobody here but us. I seriously doubt Hannah and Kyle will come hiking along here from their house, and we’re far away from the distillery.”

  Walker moved his hands to the front of her capri pants and undid the button. She put her hand on his to stop him.

  “No way I’m getting in there without seeing you go first,” she said. “I’m a country girl, but I’ve never gone skinny dipping in a creek or a farm pond.”

  “Time we broadened your level of experience.” He started stripping off his clothes.

  “You’re really getting in?”

  He nodded as he dropped his trousers and threw them, belt and all, over to the picnic blanket along with his shirt. He quickly removed his socks and was left wearing nothing but his boxers with his erection peeking through the front flap.

  “Care to help me?”

  She stepped back from him and grinned. “I wanna watch.”