Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3)
Page 1
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9
Bottled Bluegrass, Toast and Char, Water of Life
Jennifer Bramseth
Contents
Foreword
Bottled Bluegrass
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Also by Jennifer Bramseth
Afterword
TOAST AND CHAR-Excerpt
Bits About Bourbon
About the Author
Toast and Char
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Also by Jennifer Bramseth
Afterword
WATER OF LIFE: Chapter 1 Excerpt
Bits About Bourbon
About the Author
Water of Life
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Also by Jennifer Bramseth
Afterword
BITS ABOUT BOURBON
About the Author
Also by Jennifer Bramseth
Want a free book, two free short stories, and a free novella?
Here’s how to get them!
First, if you leave a review for this box set (Amazon, iBooks, Goodreads, or wherever you downloaded the set), I’ll send you the first book in my next series, Sharp Practice (Bourbonland Book 1) for free (ebook download link). All you have to do is leave the review, send me the link to your review or a screenshot of it via email (jennifer@jenniferbramseth.com), and I’ll email you a download link for Sharp Practice. Bourbonland is a connected world series to Bourbon Springs. In fact, the Bourbonland Series starts chronologically
just as the Bourbon Springs Series ends.
Second, if you sign up for my newsletter, you can get two free short stories and a free novella, (short stories exclusively available at this time to my newsletter subscribers). The first story features Hannah and Kyle, the couple from the second book in the Bourbon Springs Series, Filtered Through Blue (Bourbon Springs Book 2). The story takes place shortly after the end of that book, and overlaps a little in time with Angels’ Share (Bourbon Springs Book 3). The second story features Lila and Bo, the couple from Angels’ Share, and takes place between Bourbon Springs Books 6 and 7 (Distilled Heat and Bottled Bluegrass). The novella, Single Barrel, takes place during the last third of Water of Life (Bourbon Springs Book 9) and overlaps with the first part of Sharp Practice (Bourbonland Book 1).
You can sign up for my mailing list via this link.
And if you’re interested in learning more, join my readers’ group, Old Garnet Sipping Society, on Facebook!
Join the group on Facebook!
For CEO
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Victory Editing
Thank you again, Mary Jo
Cover design by Kim Killion
1
Mack Blanton had vowed to never again set foot on the grounds of Old Garnet Distillery, at least not as an employee.
How the mighty had fallen.
That gorgeous early June Saturday should’ve seen him singing at the big music festival that weekend in Louisville like his agent had promised him.
But that dream was so last month.
The fact that his agent finally dropped him a week ago shouldn’t have surprised him. But it still hurt.
So here he was, Mack Blanton, the former pride of Bourbon Springs, Kentucky, winner of The Big Sing Thing—Nashville Edition only two years ago, on his way up Ashbrooke Pike in a rattletrap of an old pickup truck to apply for a job he’d left years ago.
The same guy who’d been promised a great recording contract, a fabulous career, concerts in packed arenas, and product endorsement deals out the wazoo now was praying that he could get a part-time job at his hometown distillery on the bottling line.
The information on Old Garnet’s website said to apply early on Saturdays for distillery jobs, and he was going to make damn sure that he was the first applicant there that day. Not because he was eager or even happy to return to Old Garnet.
The sad truth was that he needed the job. He needed the money.
Because Mack Blanton, one of the sexiest dudes in country music according to some magazine a few years ago, was flat broke and living with his grandfather on the outskirts of little Bourbon Springs, Kentucky.
He pulled into the distillery parking lot outside the visitors’ center and cursed when he saw a number of vehicles already in the lot. He knew it was too early for the tourists—he’d checked and knew that the distillery didn’t open until later for tours—so all these people had to be here at eight to apply for the same job he desperately needed.
Mack picked up a folder from the passenger seat of his truck and flipped through the contents. His application, copy of his driver’s license, and a letter of recommendation from the principal of the elementary school where he was working again were all in order.
Time to do this.
He checked his hair in the cracked rearview mirror, ran a hand through his shaggy blond locks, and wished he’d heeded his grandfather’s advice and gotten a haircut. But his shirt and pants were new and clean, so he felt confident about his looks although not so much about his prospects if all these other people were here looking to snag the same job.
He stood for a few moments taking in the scene—and the smell. The mash was cooking, and the yeasty scent was all around. That sweet smell had been at the top of his very short list of things he’d missed about Bourbon Springs when he’d been in the bi
g city.
Mack slowly walked to the front door, sensing something didn’t feel quite right. He stopped in the middle of the flower-and-fern-lined path and looked back at the vehicles in the lot. Several expensive cars and SUVs were there along with a sheriff’s cruiser. Those weren’t the kinds of vehicles that people needing part-time work usually drove.
Confused but undaunted, Mack shook off his mild trepidation and walked through the front doors of the visitors’ center, pausing to look at the Old Garnet logo above the doors.
Uisce beatha—there was that Gaelic inscription on the logo, which meant water of life. He’d learned that bit of bourbon knowledge during his earlier stint as a bottler at the distillery.
Water of life—what a great song or album title that would’ve been.
He shook his head to try to physically rid himself of those shattered dreams.
No more notions like that for him. No song titles or album titles. Just a career as a schoolteacher in a little Kentucky town and, if he was lucky, a part-time bottler at a distillery. Maybe someday he’d get back to Nashville. But that was a dream, and his reality was Bourbon Springs and trying to fight off bankruptcy to save what little reputation he had left.
He strode through the front doors, irritable and now warm in the late spring heat, hoping that he wasn’t sweating too much or that he didn’t look too angry.
Once in the visitors’ center, Mack took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the difference in the light. Overhead, a skylight in a dome allowed abundant morning sun to flow into the area. Mack blinked to see several people gathered in the middle of the hardwood floor, under the dome, standing atop some kind of circular design.
These people were all very well dressed. No tuxes or ball gowns but suits, ties, and pretty dresses. The group had formed a circle around a couple.
“Do you, Harriet Jessica, take Marvin for your lawfully wedded husband?” intoned a man in a dark suit.
“I do,” said the woman. Her black hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a long strapless ivory dress with a deep teal sash and a small veil.
“And do you, Marvin, take Harriet Jessica…”
Mack took a step back. He’d walked in on a wedding? At this time of the morning? Who the hell gets married at a distillery at eight in the morning?
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister declared. “You may now kiss the bride.”
And then he saw the groom as he leaned in to kiss his new wife.
It was Goose Davenport, an old acquaintance and, according to Mack’s grandfather, now an Old Garnet owner.
Mack’s heart skipped several beats when he realized what he’d done.
He’d just crashed a Davenport wedding.
His heart sank as he watched the happy couple being showered with confetti and applause.
He felt ill at the realization that he’d likely lost any chance of getting a job that day (who in his or her right mind would hire a wedding crasher?), and the spectacle also made him sick at heart because it reminded him of what he’d lost in the past year.
When his own fortunes had seriously reversed—as in the loss of his recording contracts and gigs and any decent income—his fiancée had dumped him and found another up-and-coming country star to latch onto.
He’d only proposed because his agent had told him he had been getting a bad reputation and needed to get married.
But then he’d done something really stupid—he’d fallen in love with his fiancée. It was about that time that everything started to go to hell.
It had been like falling in love was a punishment and an omen of misfortune.
Mack backed away from the scene of happiness, trying to escape unseen, but his movement caught the eye of some women standing at the edge of the circle and he knew he’d been busted. He stopped, only a few yards from the doors, and hoped they’d think he belonged there.
No such luck.
One of the women on the periphery of the happy event detached herself from the group, which was now laughing, chatting, and offering congratulations to the couple. The woman, a thin blonde with short curly hair and wearing a light blue suit, walked to him bearing a pleasant smile but, he could tell, a sense of curiosity and wariness about his presence. She was quite remarkably pretty, and her striking good looks added even more of an edge to his already frazzled nerves.
“Hi,” she said, looking him up and down. “You here for a tour? It’s a bit early. We’re kind of in the middle of a wedding here.”
“Not here for a tour, no,” Mack said rapidly and fidgeted with his folder.
And then he dropped it, sending the contents fluttering to the floor.
He cursed but immediately apologized. Yet the woman was amused. And she even helped him gather his wayward papers.
The woman picked up his application, glanced at it, and then did a double take as she stood up with it in her hand.
“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out for his application.
“Oh, yes, sorry.” She gave him the sheet of paper. “It’s just… your name… it’s so very familiar.”
He hated it when this happened. He hated getting recognized in Bourbon Springs.
Back in Nashville it had been the biggest thrill of his life to get recognized. Hell, even some of the paparazzi had followed him around for a while. That’s how the word had gotten out that he’d been quite the player. Stupid thing was that he’d never been like that in Bourbon Springs. But once in Rome, Mack had done his fair share of roamin’.
Now it was just the locals who had a little thrill to see the Voice from Bourbon Springs back in town. And then they’d look all confused as to why he was back.
He could see the disappointment in their eyes when they understood that he was back because he’d failed.
“You!” the woman said, pointing. “You’re Mack Blanton! I love your music, your voice!”
He was about to offer his thanks but then someone else noticed his presence.
“Mack?” called Goose Davenport. “Is that you?” Mack waved an arm above his head and greeted Goose. “What the hell are you doing here? Aw, who cares? Come on over here! Meet my wife!”
The circle around the couple opened a little as the guests turned to greet the unexpected arrival. The curly-headed blonde, whose name Mack still didn’t know but wished he did, followed but kept her distance.
Goose enthusiastically shook Mack’s hand until Mack’s whole arm hurt and then pulled Mack into a bear hug, causing Mack to drop his folder again.
“Oh, sorry, man,” Goose said.
This time the contents didn’t escape, and the folder fell to the hardwood floor closed.
Mack was about to bend over and get the folder, but the woman had already retrieved it.
“Thanks again,” Mack said as she handed it to him. He glanced at the hardwood floor with its engraved planks and was momentarily distracted by the design, a large circle with a multitude of slices cut through it and labeled with various flavors.
“Your wife happens to know this guy,” Harriet said to Goose as she took her husband’s hand. “How are you, Mack? I heard you were back in town.”
“You two know each other?” Goose asked.
“Went to high school together. How do you know him?” she asked.
“Buddies back in the day. Before you came along,” he said and kissed Harriet’s cheek.
“Looks like you found The One, huh?” Mack teased.
“Yep,” Goose proclaimed happily and put Harriet’s arm through his. “Found each other a few years ago, but it took a while to get here. And just why are you here today?”
But before Mack could answer, a pregnant woman with long blond hair who looked vaguely familiar called for a toast.
“Time for the toast, people!” She gestured to a table against a wall lined with champagne flutes.
But Mack could tell at a glance that the vessels were not filled with merely champagne.
Goose and Harriet turned away
as the blonde delivered a flute to each of them.
“And all I get is the cider!” she sighed as she left the newlyweds with their glasses.
As the crowd moved toward the table, Mack stepped back.
And right into the curly-headed blonde. She was still there.
After apologies, she laughed.
“Maybe I should introduce myself. Jorrie Jones.”
She offered him her hand and he shook it.
“Friend of the bride or groom?” he asked.
“Both, I guess. Not really sure how I got invited but glad to be here.”
“Unlike me,” he muttered as the guests got their glasses. “I was here to apply for a job.”