Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “You report to us immediately if Sims contacts you in any way,” Jon said as they ended the uncomfortable interview. “He harassed you on the job, and he doesn’t have the right to harass and threaten you off the job either.”

  “Thanks,” Mack said. “I seem to be saying that a lot today.”

  Mack, Bo, and Goose then headed for the bottling house. Mack checked the time; he’d completely missed lunch.

  But that was a small price to pay for getting Sims off his back for good and for getting a new job—and a nice raise to go with it. The supervisor’s job was more responsibility and a few more hours, but the pay more than compensated for those burdens.

  Bo and Goose stopped the bottling line and called all the workers to gather around them at the door. As Bo announced Sims was no longer employed and that Mack was the new weekend bottling supervisor, the faces of his coworkers reflected shock then delight.

  After Bo stopped speaking, the employees, led by Derrick, broke into applause.

  After lots of backslapping, hugs, and handshaking, Bo and Goose left and the bottling house got back to work.

  “What happened, man?” Derrick asked when Mack was packing boxes with him.

  “Can’t tell,” Mack said.

  “Well, whatever happened,” Derrick said, keeping his head down and his voice low, “you’re a hero in here—boss,” he added.

  The rest of the day flew by, and Mack still wasn’t fatigued at all. What a whirlwind twenty-four hours it had been. And he had more to look forward to, since Jorrie had agreed to go to dinner with him at the Windmill.

  Feeling happy, giddy, and anxious to see Jorrie, he pulled out his cell phone to check his messages.

  His joyous mood was shattered by her text.

  Tires slashed at my condo!

  Pls drop by after work!

  Mack frowned at the news, upset that Jorrie had to deal with that and also because dealing with tires would put a crimp in their evening plans. He was dialing her number when he arrived at his truck, parked in the dirt lot far beyond the visitors’ center.

  All four of his tires had been slashed as well.

  13

  “You really think it was Sims?” Jorrie asked.

  They were sitting in The Windmill, having a rather subdued meal rather than the fun little picnic she’d hoped they would be having at the courthouse grounds. Mack had nixed the thought of being out in the open with her after the not-so-coincidental incidents of their tire being slashed.

  Both had been duly reported immediately to the sheriff. That had been easy enough since Kyle Sammons was married to one of the co-owners of the distillery and was on the spot in no time. Kyle had agreed with Mack: there was nothing random about the two crimes.

  The sheriff had decried the lack of security cameras in that area of the parking lot and had pointed out that the cameras only covered the main parking lot in front of the visitors’ center. Bo, who had come to the scene and had seen Mack’s slashed tires himself, had vowed to remedy that oversight.

  “Who else could it be?” Mack replied. “Sims did my tires, then yours. Also slashed the rickhouse supervisors’ tires and a security guy’s tires. Guess he didn’t have time to get to Bo’s or anyone else’s. But what worries me is how did he know about you? It wasn’t like he was a friend and I shared the fact that we were going out.”

  “Heard it through gossip or saw us at the concert, I suppose.”

  Mack exhaled slowly. “What I’m really not looking forward to is facing Gary.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Mack explained that Gary was a student and had been at the concert with Sims, and Jorrie told him she remembered seeing the duo.

  “Gary’s already got enough to be angry about.” Mack revealed Gary’s unhappy history. “I’m glad you know what those two look like.”

  “You really think that one of them—or both of them—could be trouble?”

  “After the tire thing? Yeah, I do, Jorrie,” Mack said. “Although I’m more worried about Sims than Gary. And for what it’s worth, I know how it is to be stalked. I had a few crazies in Nashville, although they fell away once I became a lot less popular. One of the upsides of failure, I guess.”

  “I thought I might be one of those upsides as well.”

  “Actually, you’re the entire upside.”

  He held out his hands to her, and she took them from across the table.

  “Where to now?” he asked. “I’d love to take you back to the bank above the creek, but I don’t have the keys to the four-wheeler tonight.”

  She smiled. “Maybe somewhere not so… exposed?”

  “We have kinda done the outdoors thing, haven’t we?” he asked, and she saw that he had the grace to blush.

  Jorrie leaned forward over the table.

  “I’ve never said this to a man before,” she whispered, “but would you like to come back to my place?”

  He squeezed her hands to give his answer.

  After hastily finishing their pieces of pie, they left, with Jorrie leading the way back into town. They were at her door in less than ten minutes, and she was giggling as she unlocked her front door.

  To her pleasant surprise, Mack didn’t try to pounce on her, and she showed him around her condo, leaving the bedroom for last.

  She led him by the hand down a short hall to her room, glancing over her shoulder once. She saw the happiness, excitement, and lust in Mack’s eyes as he followed her. He wasn’t leering or grinning, but rather displayed a look of sheer contentment.

  “My inner sanctum, Mr. Blanton.” She made a sweeping gesture with her arms. “And I assure you that I’ve brought no other man here.”

  She had her back to the bed and watched as he slowly strode toward her.

  “I’m your first here?”

  “My only.”

  Mack’s arms were around her in the next instant.

  “How long can you stay?”

  “Long enough to make you feel like you did last night.”

  “You think you can perform like that again?”

  “Jorrie Jones, you’re about to learn that I’m a consistent performer.”

  Mack moved his hand up her shirt as her head fell back to allow him complete access to explore her neck then the delicate line of her collarbone. She let him slowly peel away her clothes as she did the same to him.

  Within minutes, they were in bed together, nude, and he was above her, kissing her breasts and massaging her wet center. She reached for the condom packet he’d thrown on the bedside table, tore it open, and handed it to him.

  “You do it,” he said and looked down.

  He was over her, fully erect and ready to take her, and it was easy to roll on the thin sheath. She saw him tense as she touched him, and after she’d finished, Jorrie gripped his length and lightly pumped.

  “Jorrie…,” he moaned before she moved her hips to meet his.

  “Tell me what you want, Mack,” she said, continuing to stroke him.

  “You,” he rasped. “You… around me.”

  As much as she wanted the same, she also wanted to feel him in the way she desired.

  “Then get on your back.”

  Mack fell to his side at once, and Jorrie switched places with him. She straddled him but didn’t put him inside her just yet, and Mack brought his hands to her breasts. Jorrie gazed down upon him, ready to make love to this amazing man once more.

  A man who wrote songs for her, a man who publicly claimed her, and a man who was driving her to the edge of a desire and love she’d never known.

  She bent to kiss him, and as she did so, Mack moved a hand to her clit and began to rub. She broke the kiss and ground against his hand.

  “Put me inside you, Jorrie,” Mack said, his head deep in the pillow and his eyes half-lidded. “Please.”

  She granted his plea and slid down upon his length.

  Jorrie immediately tightened around his shaft and he gripped her hips. She rode him slowly, enjoying the se
nsation of how he felt against and in her as well as reveling in his look of ecstasy. She soon felt herself spiraling upward, and her hips moved quicker as she sought her release.

  “Faster,” Mack encouraged her. She looked down to see a pained look on his face and realized he was holding back, trying to delay his own satisfaction.

  She obeyed and thrust harder against him, and when he moved his thumb again to her clit, she came hard. She threw back her head and moaned as he pumped himself into her and followed her off the edge.

  Jorrie fell onto his chest and buried her face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his sweat and their mutual arousal. Mack gently rolled her to her side, slipped out of her, and left to toss the condom. By the time he returned, she was shivering and uncovered. He pulled her to his side and covered them with the sheet and comforter.

  As she tumbled into unconsciousness, the words of Mack’s songs flitted through her mind, and she smiled in anticipation of soon hearing another new one.

  Mack crept back to his house after midnight and was relieved to see that Albert had not stayed up to wait on him. The following morning, however, Albert peppered his grandson with questions about Jorrie.

  Starting with a very basic inquiry.

  “So when do I get to meet this girl that’s got you crazy? I’m not gettin’ any younger, y’know.”

  “Pa, I can’t—”

  “Can’t? How about won’t? You need to bring her here, and do it today, boy.”

  “You mean bring her here? To this mess of a house?”

  “It’s not messy, Pa,” Mack said. “Small, yes. But not messy.”

  “But if you’re gonna bring her here, we’re gonna have to cook for the gal, and—”

  “No, no cooking. How about a nice, friendly visit?”

  “You’re not much of host if you won’t cook for your woman,” Albert grunted.

  “I don’t even know if she wants to come over to eat.”

  “Then pick up the phone and ask her, boy! If she’s willing to have you in her bed—and don’t even try to tell me that ain’t happened—you ought to be willing to have her at your own kitchen table!”

  Mack closed his eyes. His grandfather’s words had unwittingly conjured up a very vivid image of Mack having Jorrie on his kitchen table.

  It had been like that for him most of the night. He’d kept thinking about her and all the things he wanted to do with her.

  Now he had to add banging her on the kitchen table to his naughty list.

  “Well?” demanded Albert. “Ain’t ya gonna call the girl? Or are you too ashamed to bring her here?”

  “I’m not ashamed. I haven’t brought her to the house because I don’t want to disturb you.”

  “Disturb me? Hell, I need the company! No one ever comes out here to see old Albert! And when was the last time I had a pretty woman in this house to take a gander at? Eh? Ever think about that? Makin’ the old man a little happy?” Albert snorted. “She is pretty, right?”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Then get on the damn phone and get her here!”

  Mack pulled out his phone, but instead of calling her he noticed that he had a voice mail from a familiar number.

  His old agent had called him.

  “Hey, Mack, it’s Webb. Heard you had some cool gigs playing locally up there in Kentucky. Give me a call. Love to hear about it.”

  Mack held the phone out from his ear and looked at it as if it were some alien creature.

  His old agent wanted him to call him?

  That meant Webb had detected the scent of success lingering around Mack Blanton once more—even though Webb was hundreds of miles away in Nashville. Mack realized that word traveled fast, but he was astonished that news of his moderate successes at the fair and at the distillery had reached so far so quickly.

  His puzzlement turned to anger as he thought about how Webb had dropped him as a client so abruptly and impersonally—he’d sent him an e-mail.

  And despite Mack’s e-mails and calls back to Webb, asking for an explanation or a second chance, all he’d gotten in return was silence. Rejection. Nothing.

  Mack was done with that kind of treatment. He deleted the voice mail.

  “Well, boy?” Albert grumbled impatiently. “You gonna call her?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mack said. “Just listening to a message.”

  He then called Jorrie.

  And to his surprise and regret, she said she’d just love to come to lunch.

  “What time? Should I bring anything?” she asked.

  “No need to bring anything,” Mack said.

  “Just your own sweet self!” Albert yelled.

  “Pa!”

  “Did he just say…,” Jorrie began.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid he did.” Mack put his hand over his face. “I probably should’ve introduced you two earlier.”

  “Yeah, you probably should have,” Jorrie and Albert said at the same time.

  Jorrie told Mack that she could come for lunch, but then was going to Frankfort to see her parents later in the afternoon.

  “So lunch it will be. Hope you like fried chicken and cornbread.”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a Kentuckian if I didn’t,” she said before hanging up.

  14

  Mack hurried out to Minnick’s that morning, knowing that they didn’t have everything they needed to fix a proper Southern Sunday dinner. He hustled home as quickly as possible and had to endure his grandfather’s wrath for having the temerity to buy an apple pie instead of making one from scratch for company.

  “No time, Pa,” Mack explained as he rushed through the kitchen. “Already making the chicken, macaroni and cheese, salad, and the cornbread.”

  Jorrie arrived promptly at a quarter until noon, but Mack was so busy cooking that Albert met her at the door. Mack fretted as Albert entertained Jorrie in the small living room at the front of the house, hoping that his grandfather didn’t ask pointed, embarrassing questions—or tell embarrassing stories about when Mack was a kid.

  He was relieved to hear them both chatting quietly, with the conversation punctuated by polite laughter. A few minutes after her arrival, Mack managed to escape the kitchen and greet Jorrie and announced lunch would be ready in about five minutes. Jorrie excused herself to the bathroom, and Albert rose from his chair and headed into the kitchen, where Mack had already prepared the table.

  “You were right, Mack,” Albert said quietly as he looked out the window to his left at their backyard, which rose sharply upward. “She is beautiful.”

  “Told you so.” Mack brought the macaroni and cheese to the table then a plate of cornbread wedges.

  Albert took a seat at the table.

  “Are you in love with her?”

  Mack stopped halfway between the table and the stove and smiled to himself.

  “Probably.”

  Albert grunted. “No probably about it, boy.”

  Jorrie chose that moment to return from the bathroom, and Albert rose from his seat and pulled out the chair to his right.

  “You didn’t need to get up, Mr. Blanton,” Jorrie protested.

  “You can call me Albert, and I most certainly did need to get up for a lady. Been a long time since we had one in this house,” he said, helping Jorrie into her chair. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, I gotta say.”

  “Pa,” Mack said warningly.

  Jorrie giggled as Mack bickered with his grandfather. He began to have serious regrets about the whole affair. After he’d placed the plate of fried chicken in the center of the round table and took his seat opposite his grandfather, with Jorrie to his left, Mack caught his grandfather’s eye.

  The old man winked at him.

  After a short blessing delivered by Albert, the trio dove into the food. Mack was happy to see that Jorrie enjoyed her meal, if cleaning her plate was any indication as to her approval of his cooking. He didn’t talk much as they ate and allowed Jorrie and his grandfather to chat and g
et to know each other.

  Jorrie didn’t seem to mind telling Albert about her background (originally from Frankfort, undergrad and law school at the University of Kentucky) and how she loved working in Bourbon Springs.

  “You really like it here?” Albert asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

  “Lots to appreciate about this little town.” Jorrie patted Mack’s knee under the table. Mack grabbed her hand and squeezed it before she pulled it away.

  “So you’re gonna stay here? A young professional like you?”

  Mack saw Jorrie hesitate just a little before she answered.

  “That’s the plan so far.” She turned and glanced at Mack after she’d delivered her answer. “And I’m sure you know you’ve got one talented grandson here.”

  “Talented? In what way?” he asked, a little too knowingly.

  “Oh, uh…” Jorrie blushed deeply and looked down at her plate.

  Mack gave his cackling grandfather a death stare, which partially quieted the man but not completely.

  “Jorrie was at the fair and the first concert at the distillery,” Mack said, trying to salvage the conversation and get it back on a more polite track.

  “I see,” Albert said, grinning. “And do you plan to continue to enjoy these concerts?”

  Mack was about to intervene, but Jorrie threw it right back at the old man.

  “Oh, yes, absolutely. All summer long. As many concerts as possible, and wherever they are.”

  Jorrie had done the impossible.

  She’d silenced Albert McCowan. The man had turned bright red.

  Mack was so amused he had to create an excuse to leave the table and go into the kitchen lest he burst out laughing. He managed to contain his laughter, but just barely, before returning with a few more slices of cornbread, which had been the announced purpose of his departure from the table.