Goose reached down, and his fingers brushed an old coil of something that appeared metallic.
“Bingo! A worm!”
“Did you say worm?”
“It’s a worm, or copper tubing from a still,” he explained.
He stood and presented the object to Harriet like a prize, but she remained skeptical. “That’s it?”
“Maybe there’s more around here.” He bent over and started to paw at the leaf litter.
Harriet aimed her flashlight where Goose searched, and another metallic object flashed in the gloom.
“Is that…?”
Goose lunged to his right and plucked a round hoop from the grass.
“Yep, it’s a barrel hoop,” he said, plucking it from the leaves.
He stood and started kicking at the ground, then told Harriet to shine the light near the toe of his boot where he was moving some pieces of cut wood around with his foot.
“Old staves!” they cried together and laughed.
“Congratulations, Goose.” She patted him on the back with the hand in which she still held the piece of tubing. “You were right. You found it.”
“Thanks.” Gratification was evident in his voice, and he grinned broadly.
Harriet’s hand dropped from his back—she could feel those muscles again, even under the layers of his clothing—and he glimpsed the piece of tubing she still held. He took it from her, examined it as best he could in the dimness, and then asked her to stow it in her backpack, which she did.
“We need to get out of here,” he said, taking her gently by the elbow. “Too damned dark to do any more exploring. But now that we know where this site is, we can come back.”
He began to move the way they had entered the thicket.
“We’ll need to establish the property boundaries first, I should think,” Harriet reminded him and said she feared they were trespassing on the state nature preserve.
They picked their way back the way they had come, and it was now seriously, thickly, dangerously dark. Both had their flashlights out, trying to illuminate the short spaces in front of them. Harriet was getting increasingly anxious to get out of the woods, away from the creek, and somewhere warm and bright, preferably with a glass of Old Garnet to warm her from the inside. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood trying to escape the woods.
Did that make Goose the Big Bad Wolf?
The comparison amused her, because he’d been nothing like that today. No leers, innuendo, snarky comments. All business, to the point, a man on a mission. Only the encroaching and consuming darkness of a fall evening had finally turned him away from his quest.
No, Goose hadn’t been a bad boy at all. Hadn’t said one untoward thing to her all day.
And this was the longest time they’d been together alone since their night five years ago.
She started thinking about that night and how since that time there had only been one other man in her life, the man she was about to marry, Mark.
Her thoughts drifted from her fiancé, and she was shocked and disgusted to be unable to keep pangs of jealousy at bay when she wondered how many women Goose had been with since their wonderful night.
Wonderful night.
She still could not get the images, the feelings, the sounds out of her mind. Oh, she’d tried. She’d expected that falling in love with another man might flush away those memories, incinerate them in the heat of new and long-lasting love and devotion.
Wrong.
Her reactions to Goose that day had proven that plan had gone amiss.
What did this say about her? Why was she still attracted to Goose? And why was she having this rather nasty epiphany now?
Proximity.
Other than mostly work-related encounters, they’d avoided each other for years, and quite successfully, even in a small town.
But was there more to it? Something gnawed at her, and she could name it.
Doubt.
It had taken five years for Mark to pop the question. Their very long road to an engagement had been attributable to two breakups as well as her own reservations about marrying and possibly leaving Bourbon Springs. Because she and Mark hadn’t ironed out that rather large wrinkle: where they would live.
Mark was firmly entrenched in a big firm in Lexington. She was happy in her little hometown. And despite having talked it to death, they still hadn’t figured out where to set up the future marital residence. It didn’t help matters that they rarely saw each other. Even though they were only about sixty miles apart, they had a decidedly long-distance relationship. He was constantly busy and traveling for work. They hadn’t seen each other in—how long had it been?
Lost in her thoughts of nights past, doubts, and generally feeling like some of her extremities were going to freeze off (why the hell hadn’t she brought gloves?), Harriet’s attention was inward, on her feelings, and not on the uncertain terrain that was just inches in front of her.
“Oh, shit!” she said for the second time that night as her feet met slippery dirt and rock.
But instead of hitting the cold ground, Harriet tumbled sideways, not forward.
And right into the frigid waters of Old Crow Creek.
She heard Goose screaming her name as she went under and realized, with absolutely no degree of satisfaction, that her worries about the depth of the creek had been spot-on. Deeper than he’d believed, and at least as deep as she had feared.
She was completely submerged, struggling, and blind. Her whole body hurt, attacked by frigid water and nothingness. Harriet could not move even though her brain screamed it, willed it. She was powerless.
Then she felt herself being pulled and wrenched from that dark place, and she heard herself gasping and coughing as some force removed her from the water and placed her on dry land. The shock of the crisp air made her immediately start shivering violently, and she felt something being wrapped around her as someone—Goose—kept talking to her.
“Harriet! Harriet!” He held her head between his large hands.
She sucked in a long, shuddering breath and opened her eyes. “W-w-w-what—”
“You fell in the creek,” he said loudly.
She sat up and saw he’d taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her.
Goose asked her whether she could stand, and she could but barely. With one arm around his shoulders and the other gripping the arm he had around her waist, Harriet was able to walk from the creek area to the open field. But then her knees buckled.
“Forget it,” he said. “You gotta get warm, pronto.”
Goose scooped her into his arms.
“I can walk!” she protested with a scratchy voice.
“Yeah, and you’d be frozen half to death by the time you got to the four-wheeler.”
After a few more complaints, she let him carry her to the vehicle, where he deposited her in her seat. He then slipped into the driver’s side, turned the ignition, and headed south toward Lila’s property.
Harriet wasn’t so rattled she didn’t know they were headed away from the visitors’ center.
“You’re g-going the-the wr-wr-wrong way…,” she said through chattering teeth and over the din of the four-wheeler’s motor.
“No, I’m heading to Lila’s old place.”
“Why?”
“Closer than going back to my place or the distillery. You need to get warm as soon as possible.”
“But—but Lila hates the four-wheeler—”
“I’ll risk her wrath. This is an emergency.”
“You’re overreacting,” she said, her voice and wits returning in small measures. “T-take me back. I’ll drive home and—”
“No, you won’t. We’re going to Lila’s,” said Goose in an end-of-discussion voice.
In a few minutes they were climbing the stairs to Lila’s old farmhouse home. Goose pulled out a large ring of keys, rattled them, and found the one needed to open the front door. He hurried Harriet indoors, although the temperature inside the building wasn’t much warmer t
han outside.
Goose flicked on the lights, moving quickly through the home and into a room to the left, which appeared to be some kind of sitting room. The home possessed that ill-defined-yet-manifest quality of recent and increasing neglect. There was a musty odor mixed with the smell of ash from the dark fireplace. Dust ballooned in the light as Goose moved around, disturbing the particles from their slumbers.
“You have to get out of those clothes, Harriet,” he ordered and began to gather some blankets that were on an old couch at the far end of the room. After collecting them, he walked back across the room and handed them to her. “Bathroom’s down the hall, I think.”
“You really expect me to take off my clothes?” she asked, her mind now alert enough to unleash a little bit of disbelief and snark. Maybe he was the Big Bad Wolf after all.
“If you want to warm up, yeah, I do. And while you do that, I’m gonna build a fire.” He walked back into the sitting room and turned on a lamp, casting a dust-flecked glow through the area. Turning his back to her, he got down on one knee and reached up into the chimney to open the flue.
Since she was stuck with him, there was no point in arguing; she might as well do as he said and get warm. Harriet went to the bathroom and stripped, wondering whether Lila still had a clothes dryer on her old premises. If not, she’d have to dry her clothes—even her undies—in front of the fire, should Goose manage to get one built.
Barefoot, holding her sodden clothes in a sorry little ball, and wrapped so tightly in the blankets she felt mummified, Harriet padded back into the sitting room where Goose stabbed at the fire with a poker. The fire blazed to life, and after dropping her clothes to the floor in a squishy plop, Harriet turned her backside to the hearth. She closed her eyes as warmth moved through the layers of blankets and finally spread across and enveloped her shivering skin.
Goose had brought in her backpack, which was wet but considerably drier than her clothes, as well as her purse. She’d had enough sense to leave it in the four-wheeler, along with her cell phone, so she at least hadn’t lost that.
And in a moment of breath-stealing panic—Mark would be furious if she lost it—she looked down at her left hand.
But her engagement ring was there. Her hands were so numb she simply couldn’t feel it.
Or maybe she didn’t want to feel it.
Because she realized she’d been more worried about Mark’s reaction to the possible loss than she’d been upset at the same idea.
* * *
God, was she gorgeous standing before the fire.
Lit from behind, and even with all the blankets around her, she was curvy and sensuous, and it killed him that he’d seen the goddess-like body underneath. Her hair stuck against her bare neck and shoulders, displaying the stark contrast between her pale skin and ebony tresses.
He turned away and swallowed, knowing it had been a huge mistake to bring her on the excursion.
Because he was not over Harriet Hensley.
Being this close to her again over the course of the afternoon, touching her even in the most gentle ways, had been nothing more than picking at a scab he’d been trying to let heal for five years.
“I’m gonna go see if I can scrounge up anything to eat or drink around here. Maybe Lila left some canned food if we’re lucky,” he said.
“If we’re lucky, she left a bottle of Garnet.”
“Nobody could be that lucky,” Goose chuckled and left.
Goose tried not to think about the nearly naked woman in the other room as he opened every door and drawer in Lila’s old kitchen. He knew he was making a racket, but he felt frustrated, tired—and extremely aroused.
Shit.
He looked down, and there was his friend, bulging against his jeans. Telling him he’d like to renew his acquaintance with the very nice lady parts of the woman in the next room.
It had been a while—a long while—since he’d been with a woman, not that anyone in town would necessarily believe that. He could satisfy himself easily enough with a quick wank in the shower almost every morning—as he’d done that morning, which now seemed like it was years ago, judging by how hard he was.
She’s engaged.
She’s engaged.
She’s engaged.
He kept repeating it silently to himself as he picked through the cabinets and discovered a few cans of soup, some canned fruit, and a vacuum-sealed bag of chocolate chip cookies.
Goose could be a real horndog —at least he used to be, he realized with a start—but there was one place he’d never gone.
He had never knowingly gone after or done another man’s woman. That was a personal line in the sand no matter how hard, horny, desperate, or lonely he was.
Just like he was feeling now.
So once more he was an unlucky bastard when it came to his timing with Harriet Hensley.
He kept looking through the cabinets, trying to distract himself, in search of glasses for water (Lila hadn’t turned off the water, thank goodness).
And then his luck changed for the good. Just a little bit.
Like an omen of all things good and wonderful, Goose opened a cabinet door and saw that familiarly comforting sight: a bottle of Old Garnet.
“God bless you, Lila McNee,” he whispered.
10
Tired of standing in front of the fireplace, Harriet retreated to the couch. It wasn’t as warm, but her legs were aching and she wanted to rest. She felt like an idiot for falling into the creek; she should’ve trusted her instincts about the water’s depth.
After Goose had gone to the kitchen, she had pushed two rickety chairs in front of the hearth. Her clothes now were drying in front of the flames, including her bra and panties, which, she had happily noted while peeling them off her chilled body, were serviceably white undergarments. Not exactly sexy little bits to attract her companion’s attention.
Now she was on the couch, curled up into a fetal position with her head on the seat cushions, wondering how she’d gotten herself into such an absurd situation.
She could hear Goose fumbling about in the kitchen; he’d called out that he’d found some canned items and would bring dinner in for the two of them since the kitchen was cold. He also claimed to have a surprise for her.
“I’ve had more than my fill of surprises for the day, thank you very much.”
“You’ll change your mind when you see what I have. Not an unwelcome surprise, I assure you.”
Harriet sat up and tried to rearrange the blankets around herself. She’d originally wrapped all three around her body, leaving her shoulders bare. And that was all well and good while she stood basking in front of the roaring fire, which was still blazing and warming the room.
But now that she was beside the fire and out of the range of its radiant heat, she was cold and needed something about her shoulders. She had just readjusted her dressings when Goose entered with a tray. He protested her presence on the couch and away from the fire, but she explained she had become tired and needed to rest. Yet Goose had a quick solution to her problem. He put the tray on a table, shooed Harriet from the couch, and moved it until it squarely faced the fire.
“Much better,” he declared and retrieved the tray.
And Harriet’s jaw dropped when she saw what he had on that tray.
“Garnet? Seriously? She still had a bottle here?” Harriet spied two small clear glasses Goose had placed on the tray, obviously to receive appropriate applications of bourbon in the very near future.
“Can you believe it?”
“Well, maybe it did make sense to leave it.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, she’s an owner now, right? Can get Old Garnet whenever she wants. No need to come back for it when you can order a whole barrel delivered right to your doorstep.”
Goose put the tray on one of the nearby chairs and then handed her a bowl of soup, a bowl of pears, and a spoon. Goose had pulled bottled water from her backpack and offered her one; Harriet in
dicated he should stuff the bottle between the couch cushions since her lap and hands were full.
After her quick meal which was passed in near silence, Goose took the glasses and Garnet from the tray. Harriet pulled her water bottle from the couch, took the glass, and dumped the remainder of her water into it.
“Not straight?”
“No, and I can’t drink but a little bourbon. I have to drive home.” He handed her the bottle after pouring a thin brown line for himself into his own glass.
“But not until your clothes get dry. And that could be a while. I checked for the washer and dryer in the room off the kitchen. Not there. Lila must’ve moved or sold them.”
“What are you suggesting? I spend the night here?”
“No, only that you could probably sip it straight, that’s all. You’re gonna be here a bit, unless you want to put those cold clothes back on.”
“Still better not drink it straight.” She added a splash of bourbon to her glass, just enough to feel the heat of the spirit.
“Aw, c’mon,” he coaxed. “You’re a Bourbon Springs girl and know Garnet’s better straight. Hell, I’ve seen you do Pitted Garnets and know you can take it. And you can trust me not to let you have too much. I won’t bite.”
The memory flooded over her, and Harriet actually stopped breathing for a few seconds.
“I heard you say something just like that once, if you remember.” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks even though she hadn’t taken a sip of bourbon and the fire’s warmth was not on her face.
A muscle at his temple tightened. “I remember. But I was telling the truth then too.”
“Yes. Yes, you were,” she replied. Harriet smiled, looked away and took a sip of her drink.
* * *
Goose took a breath and then tipped the entire contents of his glass into his mouth. Holding the bourbon there for a few seconds, he savored the mixture of sweet and heat before swallowing. He tried to concentrate on the flavor and the physical sensation of the drink—anything to distract him from the woman in the room. He poured himself some more bourbon and retook his seat.
She had turned on the couch, and her body faced him. Harriet held her bourbon glass in her right hand, and he felt her eyes on him.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2) Page 40