And Mack had just heard how Jorrie had career ambitions beyond Bourbon Springs. He certainly could understand that mentality.
But he’d also just heard how she had ambitions in her love life that probably didn’t include a guy like him. A year ago, a woman like Jorrie wouldn’t have been on his radar.
Now she seemed out of his league.
Or was she?
She’d tested him. Now he decided to test her.
He strode across the lobby to her, smiling and trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel. She smiled as he approached.
“Thanks for everything you did today,” he said.
“You’re welcome. But I did get the benefit of hearing you sing live. I’d say we’re even.”
“If you’d like to hear me sing live again, you can come to the Craig County Fair next weekend. I’m singing on Friday night.”
“Oh,” she said. He thought he heard disappointment in her voice. “Any other night?”
“No, just the Friday. I could get you some tickets if you’d like to come with friends.”
Jorrie looked at the phone in her hand, then back to Mack.
“I think I’d like that,” she said. “I’ve lived here a few years now and have never made it to the county fair.”
“Then it’s high time you got there. I’ve got some tickets in my truck.”
He opened the front door for her. As she passed him, he caught her scent. Roses. Roses in June. So very perfect.
Yet as they neared his vehicle, his pride and excitement evaporated. His old blue truck was a classic redneckmobile. The bumper was bashed in, the body was full of dents, and one of the headlights was cracked and broken.
He looked at her, expecting her to flee at the sight of his joke of a vehicle, but she didn’t. Mack flung open the passenger-side door, reached into the glove box, and pulled out an envelope.
“How many do you need?” he asked.
“Um, let’s say four,” she said. “Is that too many?”
“Not at all. Since I’m one of the acts, I got them for free and have plenty. Actually having trouble giving them away,” he said, holding out a full envelope of tickets.
“I don’t understand why they’re free and people aren’t paying good money to see you.”
“Not anymore.” He turned away to put the tickets back before she could see the tenseness in his face.
“I bet they will someday,” Jorrie said.
Mack slammed the glove box shut and looked over his shoulder at her.
“Why do you think that?”
“With your voice? Why wouldn’t they? I doubt you’re back in Bourbon Springs to stay—or are you?”
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll get back to Nashville someday,” he admitted.
Was he looking at the perfect girlfriend?
Someone who automatically, instinctively understood that he wanted a future outside little Bourbon Springs, Kentucky?
Mack glanced at his watch, then the sky.
“You going anywhere right now?” he asked. “Want to go to The Windmill for some coffee or a bite to eat?”
“Oh, no, thanks,” Jorrie said, and Mack saw her cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink. Like roses. “I’ve been invited to a brunch the Davenports are having at The Cooperage for the Bucklers. They just got married a few weeks ago and never had a reception. But maybe you could come along?”
Mack smiled and shook his head. “I think I’ve crashed enough parties for one day. So maybe another time for The Windmill?”
“Maybe so.” She thanked him for the tickets and began to walk to her car in the lot.
“Hey,” he called out to her, not wanting the encounter to end just yet. “Thanks for buying my album. I can probably count on one hand the people that did that.”
Jorrie stopped and turned to face him. “It’s one of my favorites. Your voice… it’s wonderful. And I especially love the Bluegrass tracks on it. In fact, that’s the main reason I bought it.”
“I had a Bluegrass album in the works, but it never came to pass,” he said sadly. “But maybe I’ll get that done someday. I love Bluegrass more than pure country. That’s where my heart really is.”
“Then I hope you get that chance someday, Mack Blanton, because I’d love to hear it. I’m sure all of Bourbon Springs would too.”
Mack watched as Jorrie got in her car and drove away. He then hopped in his truck and instead of going to the grocery as his grandpa had asked him to do on the way back, Mack headed straight home.
For the first time in months, he wanted to sit down and write. He had music ideas spinning through his head faster than the wind atop Springfield Knob. He sped home, hoping he wouldn’t get a ticket.
Even if he couldn’t finish that Bluegrass album, he could still write and perform new songs.
Because he wasn’t going to disappoint his one true fan.
Jorrie Jones.
3
Jorrie never thought she’d have a client who preferred house calls. A millionaire. A dream client.
But despite her wealth, Pepper Montrose Buckler was down-to-earth and more friend than employer.
Pepper also was a great client because she had interesting legal needs. After buying GarnetBrooke upon her lottery win a few months earlier, Drake had represented Pepper for a brief period. Pepper had then farmed out legal work to a firm in Lexington but turned to Jorrie to handle the sad task of probating Pepper’s mother’s estate.
And then Jorrie had landed a really fun job.
Working out the contract details with Old Garnet on joint tours between the farm and the distillery.
Jon didn’t handle that work for the distillery since he was married to the farm’s owner, but Jorrie still enjoyed working with the Lexington attorney the distillery used for that specific task. That attorney happened to be at the same firm as Rissa—the same firm where Jorrie would love to work.
Not that she’d shared any of those feelings with anyone in Bourbon Springs. She knew better than to broadcast her sentiments that she might want to leave the community. Not good for friendships, not good for business.
She was driving north on Ashbrooke Pike to GarnetBrooke that bright June morning to talk to Pepper about some boring issues about the tours: insurance, liability clauses, and shared profits.
Pepper was worried that the tours wouldn’t make a profit, which had been one of her aims in agreeing to the joint venture with the distillery. While increasing the visibility of the thoroughbred retirement facility Pepper had established at GarnetBrooke was the main priority of the enterprise, Pepper had told Jorrie she didn’t want the tours to become a drain. Jorrie thought there was little likelihood of such a result, especially since the tours had only started around a month earlier. But Pepper wanted to talk, feed her lunch at the farm, and worry.
Free lunch plus billable time with a lovely client in lovely surroundings?
That was a perfect weekday afternoon.
She slipped her gate pass card through the security device at the farm entrance; Pepper had entrusted her with one when it became evident that she would often be at the farm. Jorrie drove past the new GarnetBrooke visitors’ center, a small house at the front of the property which had previously served as offices for the thoroughbred facility before Pepper’s purchase of the operation.
Pepper had told her how much it had thrilled her to be able to walk into that building and start directing its remodeling into something for tourists to see. It had been the same place Pepper had worked part-time doing data entry before she’d won the lottery. Jorrie anticipated that Pepper had other plans for that building, such as expanding it, and that would likely mean more legal work for the new law firm of Mercer & Jones.
She parked in the front drive of Pepper’s two-story home and found her client waiting for her on the front steps.
“Am I late?” Jorrie retrieved her legal pad and some files from the passenger side seat of her car and shut the door.
“Not at all. It’s just
such a lovely day that I couldn’t stand to stay inside.” Pepper lifted her face to the sky and smiled.
Her long red hair spilled over her shoulders and glowed like fire in the bright late spring sun. In fact, Pepper was aglow with that effusive happiness possessed of the intensely happy newlywed. It was that same level of joy she had seen on the faces of Goose and Harriet just a few days earlier.
“Come on through the house,” Pepper said as Jorrie climbed the short steps into the house. “I’ve set us up for lunch on the patio. A tour or two is coming through later, so there’ll be people walking around the backyard looking at the cemetery. If they bother us, we’ll just go inside.”
The patio overlooked a thoroughbred cemetery, and beyond that were acres upon acres of Bluegrass dotted with huge horse barns and crisscrossed with fences and a small stream. It was a glorious view, and on that June day the vista was like peek into heaven.
The patio was partially shaded by a pergola, a recent addition, Pepper said.
“Jon had it done last week when we were on our honeymoon,” she said. “He’d heard me talk about having one constructed, and had it here as a surprise for me when we got back.”
Pepper revealed a little about her honeymoon—they’d gone to West Baden Springs in Indiana, a resort Judge Craft had recommended.
“It was just a few days, but it was great,” Pepper said. “I think we’ll take a longer trip in the fall.”
“Eat first or business first?” Jorrie asked, seeing that Pepper had already prepared the table for lunch. There was fruit salad in a large glass bowl, a pitcher of iced tea, and a pile of sandwiches on a platter. “And is all that just for us?”
“All for us should we want it,” Pepper confirmed. “And let’s get the business out of the way so we can enjoy the food and company all the more.”
Pepper poured iced tea for the two of them as they discussed the more mundane legal aspects of owning a massive thoroughbred retirement facility.
She went through the dull stuff as quickly as she could as she was eager to eat and chat. Pepper signed a few documents, asked questions, and expressed the anticipated worries. Their business finished, the women tucked into lunch.
About halfway through the meal, in the middle of her description of the grounds of the grand hotel at West Baden Springs, Pepper suddenly stopped talking and cocked her head.
“A tour is coming this way,” she said.
“I don’t hear any—”
Jorrie didn’t manage to get the words out before a rowdy group of teens cleared the area beyond Pepper’s backyard. They were with Rolly, the farm manager, and he was giving the kids and their chaperones a tour.
Some of the kids were already complaining about the walk; walking tours began at the visitors’ center, which was a good hike back toward the front of the farm. The small tour bus co-owned with Old Garnet was only used for the joint distillery-farm tours. Regular farm tours were all on foot.
At the periphery of the small assembly was a tall and familiar-looking blond man.
“Mack!” Pepper cried, waving.
Pepper and Jorrie rose from the table and walked to the edge of the lane where the students had gathered. All the way across the lawn, Jorrie had locked eyes with Mack, and he had followed her progress until directly addressed by Pepper.
“What are you doing here?” Pepper asked Mack after a quick hug.
“I’m teaching middle schoolers this summer,” Mack said. “This is kind of a treat for them. They had a great week.”
At their teacher’s pronouncement the kids let up a whoop, except for one kid who was sulking at the back of the group.
“I see you came prepared.” Pepper pointed to Mack’s cowboy boots.
Mack looked down. “I figure boots are always appropriate attire on a farm.”
“Good to see you,” Pepper said, waving them on their way up the lane with Rolly.
“You too,” Mack said and then turned to Jorrie. “Both of you.”
The tour group trudged up the lane toward the quarantine barn, and Pepper and Jorrie returned to the patio. Jorrie was anxious to share a new idea with her client.
“I think you might want to consider starting to sponsor community events,” Jorrie advised. “It’s a great way to get good publicity for the farm, something I know you’ve been concerned about, and I’m sure Bourbon Springs would love to see GarnetBrooke more involved in the community.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Sponsor a charity marathon, do something at the Fourth of July festival, something like that,” Jorrie suggested. “And definitely get involved in BourbonDaze next year. Have a booth or sponsor an event, like perhaps a concert or a play.”
“I totally missed BourbonDaze this year,” Pepper lamented. “But I was a little preoccupied.”
“Yeah, like planning a surprise wedding in your backyard!”
The two talked about various ideas, and Pepper started to reminisce about her times at BourbonDaze when she was a kid.
“I remember one year I went with Jon—well, we went together most years,” she clarified.
Jorrie stared at her client in confusion at this correction.
“What?” Pepper asked.
“How did you two not know?” Jorrie asked. “I’m sorry—that’s personal—but you were friends for so long before you got together.”
Pepper had shared a few details about how her relationship with Jon had suddenly and unexpectedly ignited from platonic to passionate shortly after her lottery win.
Pepper laughed. “Do you know how many times I’ve asked myself the same question? I really have no idea why it took us so long to see what was staring us in the face. But the important thing is that we finally saw it.”
After more talk about BourbonDaze, the joint tours with the distillery, and summer plans in general, Pepper and Jorrie heard before they saw the return of the students and Mack.
Pepper rose and declared she’d give this part of the tour—the horse cemetery—since the former schoolteacher in her couldn’t resist interacting with school kids. Jorrie followed suit and walked by Pepper’s side until her client stopped without warning in the middle of the backyard. Pepper’s mouth was slightly open and she had a faraway look.
“I think I’m channeling Hannah Davenport,” Pepper whispered, smiling to herself.
“Excuse me? Wait—are you saying you’re—”
“No, no, not pregnant,” Pepper shushed her. “I meant that Hannah is the Queen of Awesome Ideas.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Jorrie chided her. “You had the idea to turn this place into a thoroughbred retirement facility. You had the joint tour idea. You share the crown with Her Royal Hannahness. But tell me this idea.”
“In a minute,” Pepper said. She moved toward Rolly and told him she’d give the cemetery portion of the tour.
Most of the kids, except for the sulky one, seemed genuinely interested in the history of the horses laid to rest in the cemetery. But they soon grew restless, and Pepper wrapped up the tour quickly so the kids and the long-suffering Mack could leave.
“I didn’t know you were teaching this summer,” Pepper said to him as the kids shuffled into the lane.
“Need the money,” he said. “I’m lucky to get the job.”
And before he left he waved to Jorrie, who had returned to her seat on the patio. Jorrie smiled at him and returned the wave.
“Does he have your number?” Pepper asked upon returning to the patio.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Say the word and I can make that happen.”
“Stop it and tell me this great idea of yours,” Jorrie said, happy to have a reason to change the subject.
“What if there were weekend concerts on the distillery grounds?” Pepper suggested. “I wouldn’t want to try to do something like that here at the farm in case the noise bothered the horses. But there’s plenty of land at Old Garnet, particularly to the right of the driveway on the way
toward the visitors’ center, before the old rickhouse. That’s just open land.”
“Concerts? And charge admission?” Jorrie asked.
“Yes, a nominal fee,” Pepper said. “But there would be sponsors to underwrite the rest of the cost, like the distillery and the farm. The distillery café could open and sell concessions.”
“You see this is as a local event?”
“Yes, with local bands. Maybe once a month, twice a month if it gets popular.”
“There’s not much time this season to set something up like that,” Jorrie said. “And even if we did, how could we attract enough attention to the event on such short notice? It would probably take at least a month to get everything into place, and that’s assuming the distillery goes along with your idea.”
“We can attract attention—at least on the local level—by getting a known quantity.”
Jorrie sat back in her seat, understanding Pepper’s plan. While her idea was obviously something which could benefit Bourbon Springs, Jorrie intuited an ulterior motive.
“You want to give Mack Blanton a gig? A regular venue?”
“Why not? He’s a wonderful musician and singer—we all know it. It’s a shame that he had to come back here, but Nashville’s loss is Craig County’s gain.”
“He’s great, no arguments here,” Jorrie said. “And I know that he likes to play live. He’s playing the fair this weekend.”
Pepper asked which night Mack was going to play at the fair, and Jorrie told her on Friday.
“He gave me some tickets when we were at the distillery last week.”
“Are you going to go?”
Jorrie sighed and told Pepper about her blind date for the same evening.
“But why go to Woodford Reserve when you’ve got Old Garnet and Mack Blanton right here at home?”
Jorrie sensed more than teasing in her client’s tone since Pepper had a business interest in the distillery doing well.
And Woodford Reserve was a rival distillery to Old Garnet. It was a lovely place, Jorrie knew from personal experience, but a rival nonetheless. She hoped she hadn’t offended a native of Bourbon Springs with her weekend plans. Jorrie was from Frankfort, and although she considered Craig County home—at least for the time being—her ties to the area just weren’t as strong as Pepper’s.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3) Page 3