She was meeting with Hannah and Goose; Lila wasn’t there that morning because she was at work. Usually Lila wanted in on every little thing that had anything to do with history, and especially the history of Old Garnet. But she had told the others she couldn’t take any more time off from her teaching job. She’d already taken leave to get ready for her wedding the next month to Bo during the Thanksgiving holiday and was then going on an extended honeymoon up until the Christmas holidays.
The parking lot was full of cars and tour buses, and the tourists were milling around, snapping pictures of the distillery. Harriet was lucky to find a parking place and hurried inside since she realized she was running a little late. A last-minute call from Mark, her fiancé, had slowed her down. He’d wanted to take her out to dinner that night—but in Lexington, not Bourbon Springs. She hadn’t wanted to go since Lexington was a good distance away and it would entail an overnight at Mark’s place—which was precisely what he had in mind, she was sure. She felt a good deal of resentment about the plan, since it seemed to her that Mark was just squeezing her into his schedule. Nonetheless, she had relented; they hadn’t been together for weeks due to their busy work schedules and Mark’s trips to Atlanta to interview expert witnesses in a big medical malpractice case he was defending. That case had consumed a lot of his time over the past year, and Harriet was looking forward to when he’d finally get that stupid case tried and they could get married in the spring and get on with their lives. They’d been together over five years, and he’d finally popped the question over the summer.
She’d worn business casual for the meeting since that’s how Hannah liked to dress. Hannah had actually chewed her out once when she’d arrived at the distillery for a meeting with Bo and Hannah in a suit; her clients had been in jeans and nice sweaters. So Harriet had invested in a bit of Old Garnet–logoed clothing, including a polo shirt with the embroidered logo on the front and a jacket; she was wearing both of those items that day.
“Love the gear!” Hannah exclaimed as Harriet entered the tasting room.
They were meeting in the tasting room because the small conference room was being repainted. Where there were usually small glasses and bourbon balls waiting for the tourists, Hannah had cleared a space along the strip of table closest to the windows overlooking Old Crow Creek. There were breakfast items and coffee.
Harriet looked around and saw Goose had not yet arrived.
“He’s on his way,” Hannah said, answering the unasked question.
“Why here and not the café?”
“Too many tourists. Although I guess that’s not really something I should ever complain about,” she said, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder. She was wearing jeans tucked into black boots and a dark red sweater.
Harriet heard his footfall on the hardwood floor echoing in the visitors’ center before he entered the room.
“Good morning, all,” Goose said. He nodded to his companions and walked straight to the windows.
He was wearing a white Old Garnet polo that was a little too tight across the chest for him, jeans, and work boots. Goose was also carrying some kind of planner and the Lexington newspaper. For the first time, Harriet saw a tiny twinge of gray at his temples. Otherwise, his thick hair was black as jet.
“Hannah, we really need to talk about the flooring out in the lobby,” Goose said as he put down his materials on the table and poured himself some coffee. “We should bite the bullet and get the whole area replaced. That flooring is plain worn out.”
“Sounds like another nice problem to have,” Harriet remarked.
Goose turned to her, looking confused, and Harriet briefly explained how Hannah had commented on the number of tourists.
As Hannah and Goose fell into a discussion about flooring, Harriet tried to remember the last time she’d seen Goose. She’d spotted him a few times in the grocery store in the past weeks, which was the most frequent place they ran into each other. When he’d been a deputy sheriff and then a city cop, Harriet had seen him multiple times a week. It was very awkward for several months, especially during the time his father was being audited and just after Fuzzy’s electoral defeat. But they eventually had simply become pleasant acquaintances, saying hello in the courthouse, on the street, or wherever.
She figured that the last time they had actually spoken was at the BourbonDaze festival in late May, several months ago. Mark had just proposed and Harriet had noticed the tense look on Goose’s face when CiCi had pointed out the large diamond solitaire on her left hand.
Hannah and Goose sat, still talking, and Harriet followed suit.
“Harriet, thanks for helping out with our application,” Hannah said. “I know you don’t have to do this.”
“But I’m glad to do it. Of course, I don’t really consider this legal work but just using my history degree and knowledge of the area to help.”
“And that’s a good place to bring up something I noticed yesterday when I was going over some of these documents,” Goose said and tapped his planner.
He went on to explain that after researching successful applications for National Historic Landmark status, he had come to the conclusion that the distillery needed to ask the state to designate more distillery acreage as a state historic site, including all of Lila’s land. The land immediately surrounding the distillery buildings had the state historic site designation, but Goose argued the entire grounds should be included, considering the long history of distilling activity along the creek.
“The more acreage the state has already designated as historic, the better shot we have with the feds, the way I see it,” he finished and took a long drink of coffee.
“Is that a very long process?” Hannah asked.
“No, just need to get copies of surveys together and take some pictures of the land. I’d like to get on it today, but I’ll need help.”
He looked to Harriet.
“Now?” she asked, and looked down at her attire. She wasn’t dressed for a hike, although she could probably do it in the cowboy boots she’d worn.
“What about later this afternoon after it gets a little cooler?” he asked. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do around here right now, but after the tourists leave would be great.”
“What about next weekend?” Harriet asked, thinking about her date with Mark.
“I’d like to get some of this done today if at all possible. I have most of the application already done, and I was hoping to submit the paperwork next week. I guess I could do it all myself, but some of that land out there is rough, and one person shouldn’t be out there alone traipsing about.”
“I understand,” Harriet said. “I can come back later today. No problem.” She’d call Mark and move their date to Saturday night.
After more chatter during which Goose advised it was likely someone would have to go to the state historical society in Frankfort and make a presentation in support of the expanded historic site status application, Hannah said she needed to leave.
“Meeting CiCi in town. Wedding talk and girly stuff,” she explained.
“Why not meet here?” Goose asked and stood. He drained his coffee, crushed the cup, and threw it in a can near the wall. “Too many people?”
“One too many husbands-to-be,” Hannah said, obliquely referring to her brother. “If he saw CiCi and me together, he’d get up in our grill, so we need to meet somewhere else.” She picked up her materials along with her purse. “Harriet, care to join us?”
“Oh, no, thanks,” Harriet begged off, citing errands she needed to run before returning to work.
Not to mention the uncomfortable conversation she needed to have with Mark. She expected he wouldn’t be happy she was putting off their date, but at least it was only a delay of one night.
Why had she so readily agreed to do this?
“Good-bye,” Hannah said and quickly left.
“Right behind you.” Harriet began to pick up some of her trash from the small breakfast she’d
enjoyed. After ditching her paper cup, napkin, and half-eaten roll, she turned to see Goose was staring at the wall.
Specifically, a large round pie-shaped wooden plaque.
A bourbon flavor wheel.
It looked like a crazy, fractured sun, with a myriad of shards radiating from its center. Each slice was labeled with a different flavor which could be detected in bourbon, and ran the gamut from caramel, chocolate, cinnamon, and fruits, to odder tastes such as cedar and geranium.
Harriet had been to a few tastings and was vaguely familiar with the wheel, but mostly as a conversation piece. As a good Bourbon Springs girl, she loved her water of life and savored it when she got the chance, and it was almost always Old Garnet. But she was not a bourbon snob and couldn’t pretend to taste all the different flavors.
Could Goose?
He was, after all, a Davenport, and well versed in most things bourbon.
He moved toward the wheel and rested a forefinger on the sliver of the pie marked cedar. His thick, broad finger then traversed the disc to the opposite side where cinnamon was engraved.
“Can you detect all those flavors?” Her question broke whatever spell Goose had been under.
He dropped his hand from the plaque and blinked at her like she’d just arrived in his midst without announcement. “No, just the basics when it comes to Garnet. The caramel, mostly.”
“Every time I see the wheel, I’m amazed at all those different flavors.” She drew closer to examine the wheel as Goose turned his gaze to it again. “It’s so interesting to see what the opposite of a flavor is considered to be.” Harriet’s eyes landed on almond; its opposite on the wheel was tobacco leaf.
“This…” Goose said, not responding to Harriet’s observations. He tapped the wheel. “I’ve got an idea. Follow me. I want to know what you think about something.”
They left the tasting room, Goose leading the way, and headed into the visitors’ center lobby, which was thick with tourists. He went smack to the middle of the space and stood under the clear dome hovering above. But instead of looking up in the light and airy space overhead, he looked down at the floor.
Harriet could see the subject of his concern: damage to the hardwood flooring. The visitors’ center was only a few years old but already showing its age due to excessive use. The floorboards were worn and unsightly and looked loose. Tourists came directly across this spot upon entering the building and marched toward the café, tasting room, and gift shop. It had to be one of the highest foot traffic areas in the entire distillery.
Goose put his planner and newspaper down on the seat of a nearby overstuffed leather chair and pointed to the floor. He walked in a wide arc, and when he came to a piece of furniture which blocked his path, he shoved it aside. His sudden motion surprised several tourists, who scurried to get out of his way. He apologized but quickly resumed his examination of the floor.
He stopped, crossed his arms, and gazed down at the floor.
“What if we could put that wheel right here? Either in stone or somehow get an entirely new wooden floor, with the boards marked with the wheel pattern. Wait—it has to be wood. Oak, of course.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, Goose. It would be beautiful.”
“The biggest bourbon flavor wheel on Earth, right here at Old Garnet,” he said proudly.
“Educational, unique, and decorative. Hannah would love it.”
“But the price,” he mumbled and went to pick up his materials from the nearby chair. “It’ll cost a pretty penny. Getting the design, the materials, the labor. Not to mention the hassle and mess it would cause to install it.”
“Hannah’s never seemed the type to worry about cost,” Harriet said.
“She’s not. I was thinking about Bo.”
“Get Lila on board, and you won’t have to.”
“That was my plan,” he said with a grin. “But don’t tell Bo.”
Harriet assured him his secret was safe with her but asked to let her know whether the plan was approved. He promised her that information, and they made plans to meet back at the distillery at around three that afternoon.
She drove back to town in a daze. She was amused, excited, and actually anxious to return to the distillery. Why had she so readily agreed to come back and go traipsing all over God’s creation with Goose Davenport?
Oh, shit.
What am I doing?
I’m engaged…
* * *
Why did he even give a fuck what he wore if all he was going to do was go on a hike?
Because he was going on a hike with Harriet Hensley.
Just a one-night stand from five years ago, he reminded himself.
And she’s engaged, dude.
Yet there he was in his house, Bo’s old place, fretting over which old shirt to wear. Bo had moved into Emma Davenport’s house in anticipation of getting it ready as a marital residence, and Bo and Hannah had offered Bo’s small home to Goose to live in since (in his cousins’ words) he’d become such an integral part of operations at the distillery. Goose had been happy in his small apartment on the eastern edge of Bourbon Springs, close to where his mother, Lucy, still lived on the small family acreage she’d shared with her late husband and his late father, Fuzzy. But that was an inconvenient drive back and forth, even in a small locality, and Goose had accepted Bo and Hannah’s offer of new digs late in the summer.
He liked it more than he thought would.
Because he loved working at Old Garnet, especially now that he’d become the heritage director. He loved learning more about the distillery, discussing the sour mash process with Walker, organizing the tours, and even selecting new items for the gift shop. His long-term plan had been to become sheriff after his dad. When that plan had gone into the crapper after his dad’s election defeat, he’d been left embittered at the loss of the future to which he thought he had been entitled. But it had turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to him.
He was extremely happy working at Old Garnet and had come to realize it was where he belonged. It was his life’s work. It was home. He loved working with his family. He’d been close to Bo before starting at Old Garnet, but not so much Hannah. Now it was like the three of them were siblings rather than cousins.
Deciding that indecision was stupid, Goose tore an old plaid flannel shirt from a hanger, found his rattiest jeans, and started changing clothes during his lunch break. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all; he could still call Harriet and tell her that he could do this on his own. But then he’d be violating his own rule of going out onto the rougher parts of the property without a buddy, and that was just dangerous.
In the end, he decided to just go along with her. It would be a nice hike, and it would be nice to have some time with Harriet, even if she was totally off-limits. If he couldn’t be more to her than an acquaintance, he’d live with that and try to be her friend.
Although it still hurt.
He kept wondering when that would stop. Maybe it wouldn’t.
Because Harriet Hensley was the only woman—the only one—who had broken his heart.
Goose figured she had to know she’d hurt him five years ago when she abruptly turned him away after one night of passion. He’d wanted more, but never did get it. He had wanted a next with her. Instead, he got nothing.
His father had seen to that.
Within hours after Harriet had dumped him, he’d figured out why. She was his dad’s lawyer. He was hardly some ethics expert, but he got that. Couldn’t do the son and represent the dad.
He’d never told his dad about his fling with Harriet because he hadn’t wanted him to think any less of his new attorney. Fuzzy hadn’t needed that information to mess up his professional relationship with Harriet, especially when the stakes had been so high in the audit. Fuzzy could’ve been thrown out of office, and Goose had never understood how his dad had escaped that fate, knowing how poorly his father had operated the sheriff’s office. He’d chalked it up to some d
amn fine lawyering on Harriet’s part.
So keeping his mouth shut had saved his dad’s ass. For a while. Then Fuzzy had faced the voters.
But protecting his dad had never been as important as protecting Harriet.
Because he still cared for her. He always would.
8
“So we get to ride in this thing?” Harriet asked excitedly as she looked at the four-wheeler.
It was about a quarter past three in the afternoon that Friday, and Harriet had returned to the distillery for the jaunt onto the grounds. Like Goose, she was wearing hiking boots and old jeans along with a thick blue hoodie and white turtleneck. Completing her outdoorsy look was an old backpack, left over from her law school days.
“We can’t take it everywhere.” He slipped on a bright red jacket with the Old Garnet logo embroidered on the back. “Lila won’t allow it on her land. At some point, we’ll have to park it and walk to her springs.”
“I’ve never been there,” Harriet said. “I’ve heard she doesn’t allow many people on that part of her property.”
“I haven’t been there either. My first time too.”
Goose had his camera and GPS device along with some extra water and a few granola bars in an old messenger bag. Harriet was similarly prepared with a stash in her backpack, and they set off in the four-wheeler across the property.
“Where are we going first?”
“North,” Goose said.
Harriet gripped the side of her seat in the four-wheeler as they bounced along. Did this thing not have any shock absorbers? Her unhappy bladder and other parts were thinking that might be the case. She was beginning to seriously regret her decision to put off that date night with Mark.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2) Page 38