CiCi and Hannah locked eyes; CiCi knew exactly what was going on and gave a knowing smile of gratitude to Hannah, which was acknowledged with a faint smirk that said I got your back.
“Well, what’s going on here?” Hannah asked loudly upon arriving at the booth, drawing the students to her. “Mr. Cain was headed down here, and I thought we should all come see if you kids know your stuff.”
The students immediately started to barrage Hannah with information—some of it about her own distillery—while Lila moved around her and into the booth.
“Here you go,” Lila said, handing CiCi the paper bag and drink. “Sorry, but all I could find was turkey and cheese and no chips or anything.”
“Sounds like a feast to me.” CiCi set up her lunch on the small folding table to her left and began to eat.
Lila slipped out of the booth and rejoined her fiancé, who was standing behind his sister and listening to her banter with the students. Walker then moved into the booth and sat on the opposite side of the square folding table where CiCi was gobbling down her lunch.
CiCi noticed Kyle walking away and wondered what had drawn his attention. He waved to someone down the street and just out of view, but soon CiCi’s curiosity was satisfied when she saw Rachel and Brady approach the sheriff in the middle of Main Street.
“Hey, you can finally tell she’s showing,” Walker said, pointing in Rachel’s direction.
CiCi blinked and considered Rachel’s figure. Sure enough, under a somewhat tight pink T-shirt was a distinct baby bump. Rachel turned and CiCi was able to see the shirt bore the phrase PRODUCT OF JUDICIAL ACTIVISM, with an arrow pointing toward Rachel’s tummy.
“Indeed she is showing,” CiCi marveled and laughed at the joke on the shirt.
“Looks good too,” Walker said.
CiCi was impressed with Walker’s comments on Rachel’s physical state, which revealed well-developed powers of observation. But was there a hint of regret there because of what she’d revealed in the creek about her physical condition?
Rachel and Brady approached the booth, and CiCi rose to greet them, with Walker following her.
“You look great,” CiCi addressed Rachel. “Feeling good today?”
“Yeah,” Rachel said. She was holding a bottle of water in one hand and a small bag of baby carrots in the other. “Sickness is mostly gone, but I keep water and a snack around just in case,” she said, rustling the little bag of carrots. “Now I get to be his designated driver for the foreseeable future,” Rachel said, nudging her husband. “At least until I’m so huge that I can’t fit behind the steering wheel.”
CiCi needed to use the restroom but was reluctant to leave the booth with so many people around. It was just after lunch on Saturday of the festival, the busiest time of the entire event except for the Bluegrass music concert that night. But she couldn’t hold it and asked Lila if she could leave for a little while.
“Go on! Take your time,” Lila urged her. “You’ve earned it. I’ve got plenty of helpers here.”
CiCi thanked Lila, gave Walker a quick kiss on the cheek, and said she’d be back soon.
She was happy to escape if only for a few minutes. After the first and very necessary stop at a portable bathroom, CiCi was content to wander Main Street like any other festivalgoer. The smell of food—of grease, mainly—was pervasive. For one short time during the year, instead of the nearly omnipresent aroma of the mash over the town, Bourbon Springs was treated to all the smells associated with traditional fair fare: grease from all kinds of unhealthy things such as elephant ears, corn dogs, and a hamburger that had a glazed donut as a bun. The stench mingled with the more palatable woodsy scent of grilled burgers and hot dogs. After walking through the gauntlet of artery-clogging offerings, CiCi felt a tug of gratitude toward Lila for getting her something so sensible as a turkey sandwich. Maybe the line about nothing else being available was Lila’s way of saying that the other offerings just weren’t nearly as healthy.
Mixed in with the food vendors were the other sellers, varying from the junky to the artisanal. CiCi was attracted to a vendor with a display of handmade colorful silk scarves. She picked through the options, doting on a few that were aqua-colored, which wasn’t a hue that she had traditionally favored but didn’t dislike either. Maybe the encounter in the creek had forever changed her attitude toward water, she reflected—and then blushed. She’d never think of Old Crow Creek the same way again. What had been just another landscape feature on the western edge of the county had been transformed into an automatic association with one of the most wonderful nights of her life.
CiCi pulled one of the aqua-colored scarves from the display, checked the price, and found it to be reasonable and within her clerk’s-salary budget. She took it to the proprietor of the booth, purchased it, and was on her way back to the history booth with her treasure wrapped in pink tissue paper and stuffed into a small white plastic bag with a flower motif on one side.
A bit of time away and wandering the festival had done wonders for her mood. She was happy and felt a little silly as she approached the history booth.
But then she saw Jana and Walker working the booth together, and Jana was laughing at something Walker had said and touched his arm.
Then he laughed at something she said.
CiCi stopped in the middle of the street. She couldn’t decide whether to go into full junior high screechy-and-upset mode or just storm away.
She didn’t get the chance to pick between her petty choices.
“CiCi?”
CiCi spun to see Harriet standing behind her, holding the hand of a very handsome dark-haired man.
“Oh, hi,” CiCi said, glancing over her shoulder at the booth. Jana had moved into the rear of the space, where she was talking with Lila, and Walker was looking at something a student had handed him.
“The festival is wonderful, just like it is every year,” Harriet said, nodding. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, but I have to admit that I’ll be happy when it’s all over.”
“Oh, let me introduce you,” Harriet said, gesturing to the man next to her. “CiCi Summers, this is Mark Childers.” CiCi shook the man’s hand as Harriet advised him that CiCi was the Craig Circuit Court Clerk. “Mark’s an attorney for Ingerston in Lexington,” Harriet said, mentioning one of the largest law firms in the state.
“Always a pleasure to meet a clerk,” he said with a smile.
The man was good-looking and smart enough to know he needed to be nice to clerks. CiCi saw how Harriet looked at him and knew her lawyer was quite smitten.
And when she saw the sparkle on Harriet’s left hand, CiCi knew how much.
“What’s that?” CiCi cried and pulled Harriet’s hand from her side. “Are you…?”
Mark put his arm around Harriet’s shoulders, and they both broke into huge smiles.
“It happened last night,” she said, blushing, and allowed CiCi to ogle her ring—a very large round solitaire diamond.
“That’s wonderful!” CiCi threw her arms around Harriet.
They talked dates (no wedding date yet, but probably next spring or summer) and where they’d live.
“Not sure about that,” Harriet said. “I’m here and Mark’s in Lexington. It’s quite a commute. Haven’t worked out what we’ll do next. It’s possible he could telecommute, according to his firm.”
“But I have a feeling we’ll end up in Lexington,” Mark said, draping his arm across Harriet’s shoulder.
Harriet’s smile faded almost imperceptibly. “We’ll see,” she said.
“Hey, everyone,” said Goose, who had snuck up on the trio without CiCi noticing him. He came up behind CiCi, who had her back turned to the history booth. She suspected he’d been at the booth and came over to say hello.
Awkward! Time for Goose’s hopes to be crushed when it came to Harriet Hensley.
After brief introductions during which CiCi witnessed Goose giving a polite yet chilly greeting to Mark, CiCi po
inted to Harriet’s left hand.
“Congratulations,” Goose told the couple and smiled.
But CiCi saw the muscles in his jaw clenching.
“Got a minute?” Harriet asked CiCi. “I need to mention something to you.” CiCi said she had the time, and the two women excused themselves from Goose and Mark, who had fallen into conversation about—what else—bourbon.
Since they were in the middle of the street in the middle of a festival, quiet places were in short supply. But CiCi had a brainstorm and had Harriet follow her behind the history booth. There was no foot traffic in the area and the spot was relatively quiet.
“I got a call late Thursday afternoon from someone in charge of the audit,” Harriet revealed.
“So what’s the bad news?”
“How do you know it’s bad?” Harriet asked.
“I’ve been around attorneys most of my professional life. If it had been good news, you wouldn’t have bothered to talk to me privately in the middle of BourbonDaze.”
“Got me,” Harriet admitted. “This person called me as a courtesy—I’ve dealt with her before—to let me know she thought it was likely that your office was going to be subjected to monitoring for a year.”
“A year? What does this mean?”
“It means they think your accounting practices need to be tightened up,” Harriet said. “And this person knew the problems almost all related to the time before you were clerk,” she added quickly before CiCi could protest.
“So someone comes down to our office from Frankfort every month and snoops through our stuff for the next twelve months?”
“You got it.”
“This news could get me booted out of office, you know,” CiCi complained.
“I still haven’t heard of anyone running against you, have you?”
“Not yet. But when the voters of Craig County learn about the monitoring, that might change.”
“I’ll work on a press release for you,” she said. “We’ll welcome the report and point out that all the problems were from years ago, before you took office.”
CiCi was unconvinced of the effectiveness of Harriet’s proposed strategy and sighed, feeling crampy and queasy from the exertions of the day, the heat, and now this news.
Harriet gripped CiCi’s upper arm in a gesture of support. “CiCi, I’ve seen a lot worse,” she assured her. “You’ll be okay.”
Chapter 21
CiCi was extremely irritable during the afternoon, and little wonder. She was tired and still hungry, she’d seen her boyfriend’s ex-wife being too damned happy when she was around him, and her attorney had given her bad news. Then her friends slowly disappeared throughout the day. Rachel and Brady went home in the middle of the afternoon, and Bo, Lila, Hannah, and Kyle all left together shortly before dinner, their proclaimed destination The Windmill to escape the summer heat.
After another on-the-go meal (this time a piece of pizza), all CiCi wanted to do was go home and fall into bed—and sleep. As much fun as getting frisky with Walker could be, she didn’t have the energy for much more than a kiss and a cuddle. Walker somehow managed to cajole her into staying for the Bluegrass concert, and they sat together in two camp chairs Walker had brought, holding hands and enjoying the music of Mack Blanton, who received a warm welcome home. Yet by nine that evening, even though the music and crowd were loud, CiCi was nodding off in her chair, her head bobbing on her neck as the sounds and images of Bourbon Springs were washed away by overwhelming exhaustion. She was roused by Walker, who gathered the chairs and walked CiCi’s sleepy bones up Main Street to her house, where he had parked his car in the driveway.
After escorting her inside and making it as far as the kitchen, Walker begged off, citing CiCi’s obvious fatigue. But she invited him to stay for a quick drink and snack even though the only things she had to offer were lemon cookies and water from her fridge dispenser.
He was persuaded to remain, and during their tiny repast at her kitchen table, they talked about Walker’s new house—a mere five-minute walk away. He told her the closing was set for the end of the upcoming week, which meant he was probably going to spend the long Memorial Day holiday weekend moving and cleaning. He also informed her that his mother and sister were going to come to town to help with his move. The news made her nervous; she’d not met any of his family, although she was anxious to do so.
“I’ll help, of course,” she volunteered. “Nothing else going on and nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Unless it’s the creek?” he asked, and took a bite of a cookie.
“Provided you’re there.”
After they finished the snack, Walker announced he should leave, but CiCi urged him to stay.
“You’re tired, sweetie,” he said, kissing her on the nose. “I should go.”
“Sweetie? You really just called me that?”
He ran his fingers through the dark curls around her face, damp from perspiration. “You don’t like it?”
“I love it,” she said in a raspy voice, and kissed him on the cheek. “And don’t leave, please. Just sit with me for a bit before you go.”
“How can I resist such a plea?”
They moved from the kitchen into her family room at the back of the house which overlooked the backyard. The view was enchanting, with the shimmying dances of a thousand fireflies hovering over the lawn, the little lights rising in wavy, glowing trails from the ground. After the noise and frenetic activity of a street fair and concert, the silent, natural light show was an ideal way to end a day.
They collapsed onto CiCi’s large overstuffed couch. She put her head on his shoulder and within seconds was nodding off and sliding off his arm.
“Put your head in my lap.” Walker gently shifted her until CiCi’s head rested there.
“Don’t get your hopes up—or anything else.” She pulled a pillow onto his lap to cushion her head and hopefully keep his desire at bay. She knew if she weren’t dog tired, they’d already be in bed upstairs and close to finishing their first round of lovemaking for the evening.
But she was that tired, and only a minute after her head had hit that pillow, CiCi was asleep, her last thread of consciousness making her aware of Walker’s gentle touch on her cheek.
Walker looked down at CiCi’s sleeping form and felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and amazement.
He had a great job.
He was moving into a new house.
He was in love.
And the last thing was the most important item on his list, the thing for which he was most grateful.
He wanted to take CiCi home to his family and sister and shout while pointing at her She’s The One, but he couldn’t. Not yet. While he knew his mother and sister would be happy for him, he also knew his father wouldn’t accept his new relationship. That man still harbored false hope Walker would get back together with Jana. Because it just didn’t work out wasn’t good enough an excuse for his dad. There had to be a reason.
His father had sensed something bad had happened and had expected Walker to tell the story, but Walker wasn’t about to reveal something so private. He knew his father loved him, but it was a love burdened with the heavy expectations of happiness and perfection for one’s own child. And such a burdened love was a strain.
Not so with CiCi.
She demanded nothing of him except his honesty. And he was grateful. Someday he would have to tell CiCi the truth about the true cause of the death of his marriage, but he wasn’t ready to do that yet.
She stirred as he touched her cheek again, and Walker regretted he would have to wake her to say good-night.
But before he disturbed her somnolence so he could leave, he said one thing.
“I love you, Catherine,” he whispered as his forefinger swept across her cheek.
CiCi did not awaken but sighed and snuggled into the pillow on his lap, the shadow of a smile on her lips.
Late the following morning, CiCi and Walker found themselves eating bluebe
rry pancakes with bourbon-maple syrup at The Windmill. Before he’d left an exhausted CiCi on Saturday night, they’d made arrangements to meet for breakfast at the diner, with CiCi’s added caveat that they make it a late breakfast date. When Walker told her he was going to see his family that Sunday afternoon, CiCi said she planned to spend the day resting and catching up on laundry.
As for Walker, he would have preferred to pass the time with CiCi than going to visit the Cain clan. He hadn’t told them about CiCi yet, nor had he revealed he was once more working with Jana. Delivering news of a new girlfriend would have been tricky enough, but now he had the added complication of trying to casually drop into conversation the fact that he would be seeing his ex-wife on a regular, professional basis.
He left for Louisville directly from the diner, giving CiCi an extra-long kiss in the parking lot of The Windmill, earning them a few stares from diners going in and out of the restaurant.
“Call me and let me know how tired you feel this evening,” he said as they stood next to her Mini.
She grinned. “I’d better plan on taking a very long nap today.”
Walker’s drive was lovely. Under a suspended ocean of infinite blue sky, the entire landscape glowed like a massive, living emerald. The mental comparison reminded him that his sister’s birthday was in a few days (emerald was May’s birthstone, and Nina often wore an emerald ring), and Walker stopped along his route to pick up a bouquet of flowers for her as well as his mother.
Within ninety minutes of leaving Bourbon Springs, Walker was exiting the highway for Carlton, the small town where his parents lived outside metro Louisville. Actually, they weren’t so much in a town as a general, unincorporated area since the Cains lived in a ranch home on two acres, the back of which was bounded by a very large farm to the west. The views were expansive and captivating. Walker had fond memories of petting horses that grazed in the nearby fields that would often come to the black plank fence to accept a proffered carrot or apple.
Distiller's Choice (Bourbon Springs Book 4) Page 19