Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  Damn. And he was just minutes away from picking her up for lunch. He was going south on Main Street instead of north from his apartment; he’d already been to the distillery that morning and met the trade group with Hannah and Bo. Walker thought he’d have plenty of time to get back and pick up CiCi, but there was more traffic than usual going south into town that Saturday.

  Walker checked the dashboard clock. One minute until he was supposed to be there. Looking down at his arousal, he knew that wasn’t going away in the next minute. Nothing for it—he had to circle the block.

  He passed CiCi’s house, hoping that she wasn’t watching out the window for him and wondering why he’d just rolled on by. Yet the idea of CiCi standing and peeking out her blinds or curtains, eagerly awaiting his arrival, was so preposterous to him that he actually laughed out loud.

  But then he thought how wonderful it would be if it were true.

  6

  Their lunch at The Windmill was nice but much too long. They both had turkey sandwiches and split a large piece of strawberry pie.

  “So how was the distillery this morning?” CiCi asked as she took the last bite of pie, managing to leave a bit of meringue in the corner of her mouth.

  He wanted to wipe it off with his finger, to touch her, to kiss that morsel away, but the tidbit fell from her face and onto the table, unnoticed by her.

  Walker had tried—and failed—to keep his eyes off her lips and chest. His typically gentlemanlike attributes were slowly being stripped away. He hoped she hadn’t noticed his lack of manners but feared that she’d seen him checking her out.

  “It was fine,” Walker said. “They were nice, and they seemed very interested in nominating Old Garnet for distillery of the year.”

  “For national distillery of the year?”

  “No, international, although we’re already nominated for state distillery of the year. The state organization has to nominate one distillery for consideration by the international distillery group. And this year it could be us.”

  Walker wanted to check the time and patted his pockets down for his phone.

  But it wasn’t there.

  “What’s wrong?” CiCi asked.

  “Lost my phone.”

  He’d been so anxious to get away from the distillery that morning he’d completely forgotten about his phone. And he knew where he’d left it—in his office after he’d gone back there to get some information for one of the members of the delegation. He’d been about to call CiCi to tell her that he was probably going to be late, but then he found the information and ran back to the group waiting for him in the visitors’ center. The phone was on his desk.

  “I know exactly where it is,” Walker said.

  “Lucky you. Whenever I lose my phone, it takes me forever to find it. Drives me crazy. How can you remember where you put it down?”

  “Got a photographic memory, I guess.”

  “Bet that comes in handy,” CiCi said as she pulled out her purse and extracted some money.

  “Yeah,” he said but not really agreeing. His recent dream about Jana came back to him. Being able to so clearly remember some things wasn’t always a blessing.

  Walker drove them to the distillery, flummoxed about the change in plans. He’d envisioned their lunch date ending with maybe a kiss and embrace—and hopefully inside CiCi’s house.

  “Wow, look at the crowd today,” CiCi whispered as they pulled into the parking lot.

  “And look at that.” Walker pointed to his reserved spot, which was full. “Someone’s taken my parking place.”

  Walker had to park far away from the visitors’ center and distillery, and by the time he and CiCi reached the distillery building, they were hot and sweaty. It was now in the upper eighties and extremely humid, and just a short walk in the heat could make anyone miserable.

  But they encountered no relief from the high temperatures when they entered the distillery itself. The building, as usual, was steamy and warm. Mash was cooking in the tubs on the floor above them, and two of the cypress mash tubs were being steamed and cleaned.

  “Whew,” CiCi said as they crossed the threshold and walked around a tour group to their left. A collection of about twenty people formed a knot around a young tour guide who was giving a basic explanation of the distilling process and pointing to posters and charts hanging on the rough limestone walls behind him.

  They listened to the tour guide for a few seconds, and CiCi put a hand to her sweaty forehead. Knowing they needed to get in and out, he gestured toward a broad set of stairs which led to the second floor and to his office, and CiCi followed.

  “And here’s our master distiller,” said the tour guide. Some in the crowd craned their heads just as his foot hit the first tread on the stairs. Walker turned and waved to the crowd and the guide. “Mash cooking today?” the guide asked.

  “Can’t you tell by that smell?” Walker shot back and smiled. “Be careful upstairs. It’s going to be pretty hot up there.” He turned to CiCi. “You sure you want to come upstairs with me?” he asked in a low voice. “Last time you went up there you got woozy, and it’s much warmer today.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I want to see the spot where you found that Booker’s Baby,” she said, smiling and her eyes bright. “Will you show me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  * * *

  CiCi followed him up and was amazed at how quickly Walker could climb, considering the heat which increased with each ascending step. Once they reached the second floor, she couldn’t resist taking a peek at the mash and wandered over to one of the tubs to see the yellow, grainy liquid bubbling and frothing.

  This was the first day of the cook, and all the movement in the tub was simply the natural fermentation process. To the uninitiated, the concoction—held in a two-story-tall cypress vat with a circumference of several yards—might seem to be a bizarre and stomach-churning mixture. But it was nothing sinister or unnatural, and CiCi knew that it was simply part of the process which resulted in a fine bourbon—in about nine or so years when it came to Old Garnet.

  Even though she’d just eaten, seeing and smelling that corn-based mash made her crave cornbread. Would Walker want to go to dinner tonight? Where? And what would they do before dinnertime, which was several hours away? She grinned at the ideas that popped into her head, happy to be thinking about making simple plans with Walker for another meal. She’d been so anxious for him to arrive that day to pick her up that she’d resorted to waiting for him by her front window—that same window that sometimes haunted her dreams. But today the views had been much more pleasant, especially when she’d seen him pull into the driveway, smiling and looking just as eager as she’d felt. Her anticipation had been so acute that she’d imagined that she’d seen his car drive by her house, causing her some momentary distress. But she’d quickly shrugged off the disappointment and chalked it up to nerves and excitement.

  CiCi leaned against the edge of the cypress planks and watched the bubbles swirling on the surface of the mixture like leaves being carried away on the swift current of a stream. She wasn’t sure what she was seeing or feeling, but she eventually became aware she was very tired and disoriented. Feeling unsteady, she gripped the rough edge of the wood.

  “CiCi!” Walker cried and suddenly appeared at her side. Placing one arm around her and a hand on her elbow, he pulled her away from the vat.

  “I’m okay,” she said weakly, vaguely aware that he was guiding her away from the tub and down the hall to his office.

  “Like hell you are,” he said. “I’m so, so, sorry. I can’t believe I brought you in here after you got light-headed last time around the tubs. I’m an idiot.”

  “Not your fault,” she said weakly. “I wanted to see that hiding place, and I still expect you to show it to me.”

  Walker brought her into his office and put her in his office chair behind his desk. As he had done the last time she’d gotten woozy in the distillery, he plugged a fan into a wall outlet and d
irected the fan right at her. He then excused himself and was soon back with bottles of water.

  He opened and handed her a bottle. “I want to see you drink that,” he instructed and stood back and watched. CiCi brought the bottle to her lips and drank a little before stopping and taking a deep breath. “Better?”

  “Tired,” she said. “But show me the hiding place.”

  He hesitated but moved behind his desk, placed a hand on the coarse limestone wall, and pulled out a chunk. CiCi rose and teetered on her feet a little, hoping Walker didn't notice her unsteadiness. Creeping up behind him, she peered over Walker’s shoulder into a small hole in the wall sufficiently large to accommodate a man’s hand—and a bottle of bourbon.

  “How did you discover the hole?”

  He placed the limestone chunk on his desk. “Heard a noise in there, like a critter scampering around. I think it was a squirrel or possum.”

  “They had good taste,” she said, and he chuckled.

  “When I investigated the noise, I examined the wall and saw the loose stones. I realized what I was looking at.”

  “You mean you suspected it was a hiding place?”

  He nodded. “Distilleries, especially very old ones, have been known to have such stashes. Someone on the bottling line stuffs a few here and there, padding their pay a little bit. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found other bottles in the walls someday. I’ve heard stories of distilleries doing renovations and discovering entire inner walls lined with old bottles. Did you know this place was open during Prohibition?”

  She nodded, having recently learned from Lila that Old Garnet had been one of a few distilleries to have remained open during Prohibition to produce medicinal whiskey, and that was the main reason the business had survived, unlike so many others.

  “So there’s no telling how many old bottles could be squirreled away somewhere,” she observed. CiCi could picture in her mind’s eye workers hiding bottles during Prohibition in hopes of coming back for them to sell, share, or consume. During hard times in a rural area like Craig County, it would’ve been an easy way to make some extra money without resorting to outright moonshining, although both methods were equally illegal.

  Walker replaced the stone in the wall. “Exactly. Although I don’t think more Booker’s Babies are likely to be discovered.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there were so few of them, and the story goes that most were given to Emma and Cass’s wedding guests.”

  “What about the story that Booker buried several cases somewhere before he got ill?”

  Walker shook his head. “Crazy talk. From what the Davenports tell me, Booker was very ill at the end of his life, which was about the time Emma and Cass married. He wouldn’t have had the stamina to bury one bottle, much less a bunch of cases. And if he had help, those people would’ve long ago spilled that secret or gone back for the goods themselves.”

  CiCi sighed, trying to take a deep breath, but sucked in the cramped heat of Walker’s office. This time there was no hiding her dizziness, and she had to grab the edge of Walker’s desk to maintain her balance.

  “I need to get you out of here,” Walker said. “Can you walk?”

  She nodded, and he guided her out of his office, with CiCi carrying her purse and an open bottle of water. Walker grabbed two unopened bottles from his desk and dropped them into her large purse. He led her out of the office and down a back stairwell. As they descended, the air became cooler, although the humidity was thick. Walker flung open a back door, propped it ajar with a rock, and gently led CiCi by the hand until she was outside.

  “This is your happy place, isn’t it?” she asked as they exited.

  “Yep, but right now it’s your place to take a rest and start feeling better,” he told her, pointing to an old half barrel to her left. “Sit.”

  CiCi dropped her purse on the dank, moss-covered ground and sat, water bottle in hand. Before them and several yards away was a high bank above Old Crow Creek. To the left and right at the edge of the distillery building were thick stands of trees and various overgrown bushes, some of which were flowering honeysuckles, their sweet scent mixing with the tang of the mash.

  CiCi took a drink from the bottle and began to feel better. “This is lovely,” she said, looking around and inhaling deeply. She tried to tuck a wild curl behind her ear, but it immediately sprang forth from its brief confinement.

  “It’s quiet,” Walker said. “The path beside the creek is far below us, along the water at this point, so there’s hardly any chance of seeing anyone down there or someone seeing us up here.”

  CiCi studied their surroundings. “Isn’t there anywhere for you to sit?” she asked as he slipped another water bottle from her purse and offered it to her. She declined, and Walker opened it and took a long swig.

  “Nope,” he told her. “Never have needed another seat. It’s only been me out here.”

  “I’m honored to be the first you’ve taken here,” she said, playfully batting her lashes.

  He took another drink. “I see you’re recovering well.”

  “I’m getting there. Did you find your phone?”

  He patted his pocket. “Yes.”

  “Sorry for making a nuisance of myself. I shouldn’t have gotten so close to the mash,” she admitted. “But there’s something about it that attracts me.”

  “There is?”

  She nodded. “It smells so good, and I love to watch the fermentation. Before I got all goofy, I was standing there wondering how I could get some good cornbread for dinner tonight.”

  “I could bake you some,” Walker offered.

  “You know how?”

  “Is that doubt I hear?”

  “I’ve never known any man to make his own cornbread.”

  “Then you’ve not been keeping very good company. I happen to have my grandmother’s perfectly seasoned antique skillet. A very simple thing to make a pone or two in it, although I’ll admit it’s been a while since I’ve done it.”

  “I have my mom’s skillet,” CiCi said. “I get it out from time to time, but usually in colder weather. I love to make it with a big pot of chili.”

  “Oh, a woman after my own heart. Do you spice up your chili with a dash of Old Garnet?”

  “Not telling. Family secret how I spice it up.”

  CiCi looked at Walker and swallowed at the idea of how to spice it up with him. She felt herself getting flushed again, and looked away.

  “Hey, take another sip,” he encouraged. “I don’t think you’re out of the woods yet.”

  CiCi’s eyes roamed the vicinity, thinking about the fact of their relative seclusion from the outside world. “I think you’ve got that right.” They passed the next few minutes in silence as CiCi leaned back on the barrel and put her head against the hard limestone wall of the distillery. “Shall we get out of here?” she asked and placed her hands atop her thighs in an I’m-ready-to-go gesture.

  He agreed and tossed his empty bottle into a nearby barrel that had been drafted into service as makeshift trash can. CiCi handed him her spent bottle, and he chucked it away as well, the bottle making a satisfyingly resonant thunk as it hit the bottom.

  CiCi was sitting low to the ground on the half barrel, and struggled to stand. She wasn’t surprised when Walker, gentleman that he was, came to her assistance and offered both his hands. She slipped her fingers around his broad, flat palms, and he pulled CiCi to her feet in one powerful, swift movement that left her a little off balance. He was so strong that he nearly pulled her right into his chest, but CiCi managed to stop herself before her body crashed into him.

  “Oops,” he said. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  Walker didn’t release her hands, and CiCi made no move to pull away from him. They had never been this close face-to-face. But instead of backing away, they remained in place, looking at each other with growing awareness of the specialness of the moment. In that fraction of a second, CiCi could feel the heat
between their bodies as it broadcast their mutual attraction.

  Walker leaned in and kissed her a little harder than she expected, raising their intertwined hands until he was holding them out to their sides at shoulder level. CiCi squeezed his palms, a little message that she was enjoying his attentions and giving him encouragement to continue. She gave him even more encouragement when she pressed her body against his chest and his lower torso—and when she felt him against her, there was no doubt in her mind about what was going on downstairs in those plain old khaki pants of his.

  He nudged CiCi backward, pinning her to the wall of the distillery, and put his hands over hers, slowly placing them against the limestone wall at both sides of her head. She was completely within his control as he continued to rain kisses upon her waiting lips.

  And she loved every second of it.

  It had been quite a long time since a man had kissed her on the lips, and she sure as hell couldn’t remember whether a man had ever taken such control of her body and mind so quickly. CiCi loved how Walker had backed her up against the wall—literally—and had never once stopped to release her lips or her hands.

  But his lips finally did leave hers as they traveled down to her jawline then her neck. She felt his mouth on her earlobe as he sucked it before his tongue traced the contour of her ear. CiCi moaned and shivered as his mouth went lower on her neck where he raked his tongue along the top of her collarbone.

  Walker released her and moved his hands to her hips where he grasped her firmly for a few seconds. His arousal brushed against her leg as his hands wound around her waist and down to cup her ass. CiCi sighed (when was the last time a guy had copped a feel on her rear?), and Walker slipped his hands back to the front of her body where they crept up her shirt and her torso toward her breasts. CiCi’s head fell to one side as she felt Walker’s touch until he was just underneath her breasts with his fingertips resting along the lower edge of her bra. She squirmed against the wall and then cried out in pain.