“If you don’t say yes, I’ll tell my mother and Hannah you plan to be alone,” he threatened.
“So you’ll unleash them on me, will you?”
“Absolutely,” he said, and grinned.
“This is part of the changing-my-mind effort, isn’t it?”
“Sure it is, but mostly I just can’t stand the thought of you being alone,” Bo said, and stared straight at her until she averted her eyes. “C’mon, Lila,” he coaxed. “It’s not like you’ll be left alone with me. My mother and sister will be there, and so will Kyle. It won’t be like—like—”
She brought her gaze back to his and smirked. “Like the tasting room?”
“Right. As much as I’d like to get you alone again there.”
Bo saw her struggling with her conflicting thoughts and desires and hoped that she would not want to be alone on the holiday.
“Will Kyle be there, too?” she asked.
“Of course. This will be his first Thanksgiving in the family, and I think his dad will be there as well. So you’ll have your own family there, plus the benefit of safety in numbers.”
“Safety from you?”
“If that’s what you need,” Bo said. “But I’m really quite harmless.”
From the way Lila’s eyes dropped to her lap, he knew she didn’t share his opinion.
Chapter 8
Lila hoped that Bo would forget about inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner, but that didn’t happen. Emma and Hannah called her separately and urged her attendance, both equally giddy at the notion of having another guest at the Davenport holiday table. Emma was particularly insistent and persuasive, and Lila relented.
“I’d be happy to bring something,” Lila offered.
“Oh, no, dear,” Emma said. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Bo told me that your pumpkin pie is quite good.”
“People do tell me they enjoy it.”
“He said plenty of bourbon was involved in its making.”
“Come to dinner and you can taste just what he meant,” she said. It was an invitation, challenge, and tease all rolled into one.
On Thanksgiving morning, Lila realized that she had neglected to ask what the attire would be for the holiday meal. Not wanting to bother Emma or Hannah or otherwise engage Bo, Lila bundled up in a pair of black wool pants, a white turtleneck and a pink wool cardigan sweater. The day was bright and sunny, and belied the reality of a bitingly cold day.
Lila had never been to Emma’s home, and had to get directions from Hannah on how to get there. It turned out to be ridiculously easy. A narrow paved road marked PRIVATE and clearly not intended for heavy traffic began at the edge of the visitors’ center parking lot. The road wound through a wooded portion of the southern part of the distillery property, and through gaps in the trees Lila caught very brief glimpses of her own land in the distance.
Within a few minutes, a small brick ranch home emerged at the end of the road. It had a dated look and the shrubbery, while trimmed, still appeared overgrown and foreboding, like a barrier against uninvited visitors. As she pulled into the driveway, Lila spotted everyone else’s cars and realized with chagrin that she was the last to arrive, although she was not technically late. Emma probably expected others to arrive early and help with the meal, and Lila felt embarrassed that she’d not been thoughtful enough to do the same. She parked behind Kyle’s sheriff cruiser and slowly exited her vehicle, feeling like a trespasser; her presence there was unnecessary and she’d brought nothing except herself and an empty tummy.
“Hello!” greeted Emma before Lila could even reach the first step. “So glad you’re here!”
After giving Lila a big hug, Emma escorted her inside and immediately took her coat as they stood in the foyer. To the right was a large living room and beyond that the formal dining room, set for the day’s special meal. After stowing her coat in the hall closet, Emma led Lila down a short hall to a large family room at the back of the house. There she found Kyle and his father, sitting on a couch and arguing about the football game they were watching. To her far right was the kitchen, where she could see both Hannah and Bo bustling around—and heard them arguing about the best way to roast a turkey. Kyle and his father rose when Lila entered the room and they all greeted each other with hugs.
“Is there anything I can do?” Lila asked, and took several steps toward the kitchen.
“Oh, no, dear,” Emma said. “You’re our guest. Make yourself at home.”
The house was filled with the scents of the season: roasting turkey, the homey smell of bread baking, and something savory she couldn’t quite recognize except to know that it was food and would taste wonderful. It had been years since she’d been at this kind of celebration, and Lila got a little wistful as she recalled the last Thanksgiving she’d shared with her parents and husband.
After no more than ten minutes of watching football with Kyle and his father, Emma called all to the meal. Emma took her place at the head of the table, with her back to a window. On her right was Hannah, on her left was Bo. Next to Hannah was Kyle, then Kyle’s father. That meant Lila ended up sitting to Bo’s left. He looked happy and relaxed and about as dressed up as she had ever seen him: severely-pressed khakis and a navy v-neck sweater over a plaid long-sleeved shirt. Lila needn’t have worried about her attire; not counting Bo and herself, everyone was wearing jeans and a casual top. When she realized this, she wondered whether Bo had dressed up for her—and questioned whether she’d done the same for him.
It was the traditional Thanksgiving spread, and to Lila it was perfect. It had been quite a long time since she’d had a decent home-cooked meal; living alone meant lots of sandwiches and frozen dinners. She rarely cooked a big meal for herself, and secretly hoped that Emma would send her away with ample leftovers, especially roast turkey.
The pie was served after the dishes from the main meal were cleared, and Lila’s eyes watered when she tasted it. Emma Davenport had not skimped on the bourbon when creating her confection. Why should she? The woman had access to as much Old Garnet as she wanted. All these Davenports could probably bathe in the stuff if they took the notion.
“Too strong for you?” Bo said, apparently noticing Lila’s watery eyes.
“Just not quite what I was expecting. But it’s wonderful,” she hastily added, looking at Emma, who was enjoying her own piece of pie.
“If you think this is strong, you should taste her bourbon balls or her jam cake,” Hannah interjected, although she did not appear to be partaking of the pie. “They put this to shame in terms of tastiness.”
“I’d like to try them sometime,” Lila said, wondering whether tastiness was just another word for proof.
“I’d be happy to give you the recipes, dear,” Emma said, and forked a piece of pie and ate it.
Lila felt strange, and couldn’t pinpoint the reason for feeling out of sorts. But as she finished her pie and watched as Kyle refilled coffee cups all around, she finally understood that she was confused not by her circumstances but her unfamiliar reaction to them. Because she was deeply happy and content in that moment. She had not felt that way in so long she had forgotten what it was like.
How long could she go on trying to hide from something this wonderful?
It was the risk of loss—terrible, gut-churning loss—that had driven her away from seeking out these familiar comforts of hearth and home. The past was always with her, stabbing at her soul with constant reminders of the enormity of her losses, and she had been unable to get away from it, no matter how hard she tried. She had made the decision it was better to be alone and suffer in that loneliness rather than seek solace in the company or arms of others, only to have that happiness cruelly stripped away.
Now those assumptions and plans were slowly being stripped away by Emma, Hannah, and Bo. Especially Bo.
After the table was cleared, Kyle and his father retreated to watch more football, and Hannah declared that she was going to take a nap in her old bedroo
m.
“Care to go for a walk?” Bo asked within earshot of Emma.
“I think I should really get going,” Lila begged off.
“I’m going with or without you. Ate too much and I want to get out of here and move.”
“Go on, Lila,” Emma encouraged as she loaded the dishwasher and closed the door. “He’s mostly harmless, you know.”
There was that word again: harmless. The same word he’d applied to himself, now used by his own mother.
Lila knew that it would now be rude not to go on the walk with Bo, since her hostess was encouraging her to do so. And no matter what her relationship with Bo was, Emma was someone Lila admired and she wanted to maintain her respect and friendship. So out she went to walk with Bo.
She hadn’t worn walking shoes that day, but knew that her black patent leather clogs would provide good support on almost any surface. They were big, clunky, and heavy, but Lila loved them. Since she was on her feet so much as a teacher, she needed good supportive shoes and the clogs were it for her. As a result, Lila had several pairs in various colors. Today she had worn her most conservative and dressy pair, although they could withstand a walk out in the cold and on hardened earth.
“Do you want to walk down by the creek or on the road?” Bo asked as they were putting on their coats and heading out the front door.
“I think I’d rather walk on the road,” she said, and slipped her blue knit hat onto her head.
Lila realized she really needed to get a coat with a hood on it rather than fussing with a hat all the time. And her hair might not get so frizzy, too. But why was she worrying about that all of a sudden? She had her answer when she saw Bo looking at her as she put on lip balm and then turn away quickly.
Stupid!
Why should I worry what I look like when I’m around him?
The weather had not changed in the few hours they had been inside, except that the sun was lower in the late November sky. It was still sunny and bitingly cold, yet comfortable enough for a brisk walk. They set off together side-by-side on the narrow road in the direction of the visitors’ center.
“I live along this road, too,” Bo said out of the blue.
“I knew you lived on the grounds, but I didn’t know you had a house out here,” Lila said. “The way Hannah talks sometimes, I thought that you actually lived in a room up in the distillery building.”
“I do have a small home of my own, not a room,” Bo said, irritation in his voice. “I freely admit to being a little obsessed with the distillery, but I sure wouldn’t want to live in the same building.”
“But don’t you, in a sense?” she asked, winded from the pace of their walk. “Your home and work are both right here,” Lila pointed out.
“That’s true,” Bo allowed, “but I don’t go to sleep and wake up in the distillery. Although I wake up and go to sleep thinking about it.”
They walked further and the road gradually ascended. Lila breathed harder, and the sharp cold air stung her lungs and face as she became winded trying to match Bo’s pace. His legs were much longer than hers, and he could cover more ground than she could in the same amount of time.
“If you’d like a peek at my house, it’s right up here,” Bo said, and pointed to his left and up a small rise.”
Lila remembered seeing a small dirt track off the narrow paved road that led to Emma’s home. Sure enough, when they arrived at that point, Bo stepped onto the dirt road and told Lila to watch her step since the way wasn’t paved and was riddled with ruts. Lila could see the house almost immediately after taking a few steps along the path. Even from a distance of many yards, she could tell it was very plain and simple.
“I know it’s not much,” Bo said, intuiting her thoughts, “but it’s all I need for now.”
Now. By saying that word, Bo signaled that someday he thought the house would no longer be suitable for his purposes. She had an idea what he meant and what he hoped.
“It’s a small pre-fab, a manufactured home,” Bo said, forestalling her question whether it was simply a mobile home. “Mom hates it, thinks I should’ve built a real house. She’s constantly griping that I should have a nice home and can more than afford one. But I don’t need a fancy place. No one can see me back here in this little wood and I don’t want anything else.”
Bo’s comment about money was the first time she’d heard him mention what she had long known: the Davenports were wealthy. The family, with perhaps the exception of Hannah and her large house, didn’t advertise this fact, which probably had a lot to do with how well-liked the Davenports were in Craig County. Everyone knew they had money, but they didn’t rub it in your face. Lila had worried about the aspect of Bo’s deep pockets when it came to financing the litigation against her, but as she considered his modest home, she knew that Bo didn’t use money as a weapon.
There were a few foundational plantings around the house, just enough to shake of the image of a mobile home or construction trailer, and give the place a sense of permanence. To the right of the building as one approached was a metal carport, and Bo’s SUV was parked underneath.
“I’d invite you in, but it’s a mess,” Bo said apologetically.
“That’s fine,” Lila said, “I’d rather walk. But where to go from here? Back out the way we came?”
Bo shook his head. “Follow me. There’s a path along the creek.”
He led her around his house and down the steep bank behind it, which descended to Old Crow Creek. Along the bank was a distinct, worn trail that led both north and south from the point where they joined it, although the way to the south (and toward her land) was not as well-trodden.
“Do you walk to work this way?” she asked as they walked beside each other and headed north along the stream.
“Every day, unless there’s snow. But as you know, that’s not very often.”
“Last winter being a big exception,” Lila said.
“Yeah, I did end up driving to work several days this past winter instead of just hoofing it along this path.”
“So your commute is five, ten minutes at most?” Lila joked, and smiled.
“Yeah, something like that,” Bo said.
They walked along further, with only the sound of the rushing creek below them and the rustling of the nearly-bare branches of the trees above them. Several times they came across a large scattering of leaves that had not blown away from the path, and they waded into the leafy detritus, kicking the leaves away and carving a path as they advanced. Trodding through the leaves made a crunching, grinding noise that Lila loved and released an earthy, dank smell that she always associated with fall.
Within a few minutes they were directly below the visitors’ center. Lila could clearly see the tasting room; its windows flashed and glittered in the light of the setting sun. A set of stone stairs flanked by a railing led up the side of the bank and toward the building, making Lila wonder if the visitors’ center had been Bo’s destination all along. Was he really going to try to get her back up to the tasting room?
She got her answer to that question when Bo took a seat on a wooden and wrought iron bench, one of several along this area of the creek bank.
“This is one of my favorite places along the creek,” Bo said, and looked from south to north. He leaned over until his forearms rested on his legs and his hands dangled between his knees. “I should try to get down here more.”
Lila shivered. Although the sun was still up, it was getting lower in the sky as the afternoon wore on, and the bare trees blocked just enough of the sun’s thin light and waning warmth to produce a noticeable chill along the creek. She finally took a seat on the bench, and tried to position herself as far away from Bo as possible.
“I’m really glad you came to dinner,” Bo said. “Even Kyle was tickled to see you.”
“It was kind of hard to refuse all of you. I decided it was easier to come rather than listen to all the complaining later.” She huddled on the bench, with her hands under her arm
s and her legs pressed together.
“I can relate to that,” Bo said. “Being caught between my mother and my sister is no fun, let me tell you.”
They said nothing for a while, and Lila enjoyed listening to the water and watching it as it sparkled and danced in the dying light. Even though Old Crow Creek cut through her property, she rarely went down to view it, preferring the solitude and peculiar beauty of her springs.
“What would you have done today if you hadn’t come to dinner at Mom’s place?” Bo asked.
His question startled her from her pleasant reverie, and she shrugged, trying to project a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Probably would’ve stayed around the house, watching football, doing chores. Nothing big.”
“Sounds lonely,” he said, and put his left arm on the back of the bench, and stretched it in her direction.
“I probably would’ve hiked out to the springs, too,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I love to spend time out there. Just sitting, walking, doing nothing but listening and breathing the fresh air.” She turned to him. “It may sound crazy, but I think the air there is somehow different. It’s better, clearer, sweeter. I can’t explain it. And when I go there, I hardly ever smell the mash. It’s so strange.”
“Hannah said that the springs are beautiful,” Bo said, leaning toward her.
“They are,” Lila said, lost in her thoughts and memories.
“Would you show them to me sometime? I’ve never seen them.”
“Maybe,” she said, and immediately tensed up.
She stood, walked away from the bench, and went to the edge of the bank over the creek. Directly below them, the waters of Old Crow Creek rushed along over the rough limestone and fallen branches. Every few seconds a leaf would detach itself from a nearly-bare branch and flutter down to the moving water, where it would be whisked away by the swift current.
“I don’t like this time of year,” Lila said, and swiveled her head around to take in the view along the creek. “I hate to see everything wither and die. And I absolutely hate the cold.”
Angels' Share (Bourbon Springs Book 3) Page 7