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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  Minerva smiled and patted Miranda on the arm. “No, hon,” she said. “I just think you’re being very cautious, that’s all. And who can blame you after what happened?”

  “I’m sure he blames me,” Miranda said.

  “Why in the world would you think such a thing?”

  “Because of the one thing I can’t seem to do.”

  “What’s that? Say yes to him at last?” Minerva joked.

  “No,” Miranda sighed. “That I can’t seem to tell him to go away.”

  “And what does that tell you?”

  Before Miranda could respond, Kurt Oakes burst into the room with Prent behind him.

  “Why the hell are you doing this?” Kurt demanded of Miranda as his presence invaded the room.

  “What a lovely way to greet our new clinic doctor,” Minerva snapped. Kurt’s irritation noticeably ebbed upon Minerva’s disapproval.

  “Well, it’s just that no one told me it was gonna be her,” he said, pointing a stubby forefinger at Miranda.

  “I didn’t even know until this morning,” Prent said.

  “And you didn’t bother to tell me until now.”

  “I e-mailed you as soon as I found out. Not my fault if you don’t read my e-mails.”

  Kurt Oakes’s face was ruddier and more bloated than Miranda recalled, and he’d put on at least twenty pounds since she’d last seen him. As a doctor, she knew in an instant that he was not a healthy man—in body or in spirit.

  “Prent denies this, so I’m gonna ask you: are you two back together? Because for the life of me, I can’t figure out any other reason you’d sign up for this.”

  Angered by Kurt’s presumption as well as his disdain for Prent, Miranda steeled herself and walked toward the blowhard.

  “First, I’m a professional and am more than capable of handling this situation. Secondly, not that it’s any of your business, taking this job has nothing to do with my relationship with your nephew and everything to do my own professional needs.”

  Kurt’s lips were pressed tightly together, and Miranda expected a nasty rejoinder at any second.

  “Not sure I would’ve agreed to this had I known of your involvement,” he muttered, giving her a hard stare.

  “That was completely out of line,” Minerva said. “If she can handle it, you’d better damned well believe her. She’s here to help us, but you have to come in here and insult her as well as Prent.”

  “How did I do that?” Kurt said, looking shocked by Minerva’s accusations rather than angry.

  “For someone with a lot of business sense, your complete lack of common sense as well as common courtesy is astounding,” she added.

  Miranda glanced at Prent, who was still in the doorway several yards behind his uncle. They shared a look of shock and amusement as they both watched the unfolding confrontation.

  “Sorry,” he said in a mildly repentant tone, “didn’t mean to offend. I just wish I’d known. So when does she start?”

  “In a few weeks on Saturday mornings,” Prent said.

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Kurt said. “I’m usually here on weekends. Unlike others.”

  Kurt left the room without further pleasantries or bothering to shake her hand.

  “Well, kids,” Minerva said once Kurt had left, “it’s Friday afternoon and I want to get gone. Miranda, come with me and we’ll get those forms signed.”

  After signing the documents and saying good-bye to Minerva, Miranda went to Prent’s office to find it unchanged from her last visit. Taking care not to let her eyes linger on the large couch to her immediate right, Miranda spied the familiar barrelheads along the wall to her left, each emblazoned with the logo of a bourbon brand served by the cooperage. All major distilleries in the state were represented except for one conglomerate, which found it more economically viable to manufacture its own barrels.

  As Prent seemed preoccupied with typing something on his computer, she took a moment to admire his unique desk: four small, custom-made barrels lashed together with copper hoops and a rectangular wooden top. Miranda recalled him telling her that his father had the desk made for him as a birthday present shortly before he passed away.

  She was anxious to leave. It was now very late, and the sky outside was nearly completely dark.

  “You wanted to talk before I left?”

  He punched something on his keyboard with finality, pushed away from his desk, and stood.

  “I wanted to invite you to dinner. And before you refuse, just let me add that it wouldn’t just be you and me. I’m supposed to meet my mother for dinner tonight at Maggioli’s. Want to tag along?”

  “I really should be getting home,” Miranda said, her discomfort increasing as he approached her.

  “Please? Just to be sociable? You can catch up on gossip. I know my mother would love to hear about Jorrie Jones’s engagement to Mack Blanton—I sure didn’t know about it. That bit of news hasn’t hit Littleham yet, and if you give that scoop to my mother, you’d make her year.”

  It was a tempting offer since she’d always enjoyed Davina’s company even if being around the woman for very long could get tiring. Rather like being in her son’s presence for any extended period of time. Mother and son shared an outgoing personality, while Miranda was a classic introvert, craving solitude and being energized by it.

  But Maggioli’s had a bourbon-caramel cheesecake that was to die for.

  Did they still have that? It was one of their claims to fame, along with excellent fettuccini.

  “They still have the cheesecake,” Prent said suggestively.

  “Damn,” she said. “Read my mind again.”

  “Again?”

  “Uh… nothing.”

  “Like I said, it sure was news to me that Jorrie Jones and Mack Blanton had gotten engaged,” Prent said, scratching the back of his head. It was clear that he was stalling in hopes of persuading her to eat with him. “The story of those two dating was big gossip down here during the past summer since Mack has a lot of fans in this area. I didn’t get to see her ring. Was it nice?”

  “Yes,” Miranda said, sensing that they were headed into a dangerous topic of conversation.

  “I saw you admiring it,” he nodded. “What was the stone shape?”

  “Round solitaire. Jorrie mentioned that it belonged to Mack’s grandmother.”

  “You like it?”

  “It’s lovely, of course.”

  “Good to hear since I’ll need to know what you like for next time.”

  “Next time?”

  “The next time—and the last time—I get you to agree to marry me.”

  6

  “Prent…,” she said warningly.

  “Do you know why I got you an oval cut?”

  The unexpected question cut short her departure announcement. She’d always thought Prent had gone out and bought the biggest thing he could find at the moment.

  “No idea,” she said after a short pause.

  “Two reasons. First,” he said, holding up a finger, “since Old Garnet is my favorite bourbon, the cut was a tribute to it because the gem on their label is an oval-cut garnet.” He turned and pointed to a barrelhead, upon which was stamped the Old Garnet logo, complete with a tiny red gem. “Secondly… can you guess?”

  Miranda glanced at the ground, mildly surprised and embarrassed to learn there had been meaning behind the oval stone. She’d sold Prent short not to think that there had been symbolism in his choice. As her eyes darted along the floor, they fell upon his desk.

  “Because an oval looks a little bit like a barrel?”

  “Exactly! Too bad you sold it, but that car you have sure is nice. Do you think about me when you drive it?”

  “No, I don’t, and I’m definitely not going to dinner with you now.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I get carried away at times. And you make it so easy to tease you, Miranda. Lighten up, would you?”

  She took a few ste
ps back and assessed him. Teasing and so eager. And still so damned handsome. How was she going to deal with this?

  “We can’t act this way when others are around, do you understand? We have to be professionals when I’m here for clinic purposes.”

  “I understand that,” he said. “And by the way, no one’s around right now.”

  “But understand that if you act like this during clinic hours or when I’m otherwise here on business, this is not going to work. I’ll have to pull out of this deal.”

  “Will you still come to dinner?” he asked plaintively.

  “I… I don’t know,” she hedged since the thought of a dinner at Maggioli’s would be a wonderful treat.

  “But my mother will be there and I promise to be a good boy.”

  “It will still look strange.”

  “Like we’re still engaged or together? Is that what you’re afraid of? Afraid to be seen with me?”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Okay, if image is the issue,” he interrupted, “what if I took Minerva up on her offer?”

  “Her offer?”

  “To be a chaperone. If she’s present, it doesn’t look so strange, right? Word will get out that we all gathered together to talk about the new clinic. And no one will care that Uncle Kurt’s not there because the man doesn’t socialize much, so it’s not like his absence would raise an eyebrow.”

  “What I heard was that Minerva would rather dance with your uncle rather than be our chaperone.”

  “You don’t think she’d do it if I asked?”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  “If I get her to agree to do it, will you go?”

  Miranda sensed a trap.

  “She doesn’t owe you some kind of huge favor, does she?”

  “Minerva owe me a favor? Get real. More like I owe her, considering how much I rely on her. She’s saved my ass more times than I’d care to think.”

  Time to call his bluff.

  She nodded to the phone Prent had already pulled out of his pocket and held in his hand.

  “Call her. If you can get her to agree, I promise to go.”

  Prent grinned and punched his phone.

  “Minerva? Yeah, sorry to call you but—Oh. Your dog did what?”

  He grimaced and held the phone slightly away from his head. Miranda could hear angry chatter on the other end but couldn’t make out what Minerva was saying. Prent slowly put the phone against his ear.

  “Well, sorry about your new boots, but let me tell you why I’m calling. I was wondering whether you’d like to meet us at Maggioli’s for dinner. My treat. … Yeah, my mother will be there and so will Miranda if… Yeah, Miranda, but only if… But… I know I gave you that dog, and I’m sorry, but Miranda said she’d only go if you go. … That’s right. … No, I’m not making this up. … Prove it? You want to talk to her?”

  Prent held the phone out to Miranda, and she took it.

  “Miranda, I understand that he’s put you on the spot as well as me, so if you don’t want to do this, all you have to say is ‘Sorry about the boots,’ and I’ll tell Prent I’m not about to show up for dinner. And whatever you decide, I promise I won’t ever tell.”

  Miranda heard weariness in Minerva’s voice but intuited that its source wasn’t irritation born of Prent’s antics but of something else, like regret and sadness.

  Miranda glanced at Prent and saw that his lips were pressed together tightly and his whole face was knotted into one big ball of tension.

  If she rejected the invitation, she might mildly disappoint Minerva.

  But she’d crush Prent.

  That cheesecake did sound mighty tasty.

  “Well, yes,” Miranda said, “Prent did say they still had that cheesecake. So you’re saying that’s true?”

  Minerva emitted a small noise of pleased surprise.

  “I promise I’ll never tell. This will make him so happy. Hand the phone back to Prent.”

  Miranda did as instructed and watched while Prent’s face turned from worried to elated as he listened to Minerva on the other end.

  “Great! See you soon!” he said, laughing as he ended the call. “I knew she’d do it! So are you going to live up to your promise and go?”

  “Of course,” Miranda said. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Minerva.”

  Prent looked down at his phone, smiling.

  “Well, it would’ve really disappointed me if you didn’t go,” he said softly.

  Prent slipped the phone into his pocket and moved toward her where she stood in the middle of the room. Breathing heavily and with his lips rolled into his mouth, he gazed down at Miranda, his body still tense to the point of quivering.

  Miranda quite suddenly and powerfully felt the fact that they were alone in that office, yet could not bring herself to move from the spot.

  “Please tell me that the professional part of the day is over.”

  He was so close that even through the thickness of her winter garb she could feel the body heat pouring off him.

  He had perfectly cornered her. Even if he had manipulated events and people to get her alone and extract her promise to go to dinner, she still couldn’t blame him for the minor subterfuges. His need was evident, his desire for her on that razor’s edge between desperate and magnetic.

  And she understood his need since despite her best efforts over the past two years she was starting once more to fully share it.

  Why resist? Why not give in, just a little?

  Was he that dangerous?

  She’d learned that he most definitely could be when it came to her heart.

  But the truth was that he still claimed it.

  “I suppose it’s after five, isn’t it?”

  Prent’s mouth dropped open a little before he slowly raised both hands to cradle her face, searching it as she waited for him to kiss her. Yet he hesitated, swallowed, and closed his eyes.

  “Please don’t pull away,” he begged. “Please don’t tell me that we can’t do this again.”

  He opened his eyes as she wound her arms around his waist.

  “All I can promise you right now is a kiss,” she said in a very weak voice. “That’s it.”

  “Good enough.”

  His kiss was strong but not fierce and needy like it had been in her kitchen the previous week. Miranda felt like she was falling back in time as the kiss lengthened and intensified. It was as though the burden of their past had been lifted and she had discovered him anew.

  As his hands moved from her face to her back, Prent trembled in her arms. She couldn’t recall him shaking during their previous encounter.

  She broke the kiss but not the embrace.

  “Why are you afraid?” she asked.

  He put his forehead against hers and took in deep breaths.

  “That every kiss you give me is the last one. Like this.” He gave her another quick kiss and with a long sigh pulled away. “I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  Miranda stood motionless for a few seconds as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

  “Aren’t we going to dinner?” she asked.

  “But… I thought there was no way in hell you’d go after what just happened.”

  “I made a promise I’d go, and I want that damn cheesecake,” Miranda said. She pulled her gloves from her pocket and put them on. “Shall we walk or take my car?”

  With Miranda at his side, Prent headed down Cross Street toward Main in Littleham. It was dark and windy, but he felt warm and happy. He had somehow, miraculously, managed to not only get Miranda to go to dinner with him but had gotten to kiss her as well.

  He’d offered her his arm as they walked, and she had demurred. He shouldn’t have expected her to be so willing to publicly display their increasing level of affection; dinner would have to be enough. They said nothing as they walked, as he was afraid of the answers to the questions which raced through his head.

  Can I walk you back to your car?
r />   When can I see you again?

  Do you want to see me again?

  Will you marry me?

  “Do you have a reservation?” Miranda asked once they reached the curb opposite the restaurant.

  “Yes, at least that’s what Mom told me. She made it.”

  “But if she only made it for two and there’s supposed to be four…,” Miranda ventured as the light turned and they proceeded into the crosswalk.

  Prent glanced in the windows of Maggioli’s to see a crowd bustling in the foyer and nearly every table taken. If they didn’t have a reservation for four, there was no way the impromptu quartet could dine together in that restaurant. Maggioli’s usually required reservations, even in the middle of the week, but they were absolutely necessary on a Friday night in the middle of the holiday season.

  They squeezed into the stuffy, packed reception area and went to the hostess station.

  “Oh, yes,” the young woman said as a clutch of people surrounded them. She looked down at a diagram of the restaurant and frowned. “But that was a table for two and two ladies are already back there.” She pointed into the restaurant’s darkened interior.

  A familiar titter of laughter immediately drew his attention. Minerva was raising a glass of wine to her lips and polishing off the contents. She caught his eye and waved him over.

  As they approached, Prent saw the typically genial countenance of his mother morph into shock as she caught sight of Miranda.

  “As I live and breathe!” Davina sprang to her feet, causing her poufy blond hair to bob up and down. She pulled Miranda into a choking hug, then held her out at arm’s length. “You look wonderful! What brings you to us?”

  “You haven’t told her?” Prent asked Minerva.

  “Only that you were bringing a guest and that my attendance was mandated by the terms and conditions of said guest,” Minerva chirped with a nod to Miranda as she asked the waitress for another glass of wine.

  “What’s going on here?” Davina cried, looking from Prent to Miranda with surprise.

  “Let’s get a table for four and talk,” Prent said, looking around.

  “But there isn’t one,” Miranda said. “Almost every last place is taken.”

  They were attracting attention from the other diners, and Prent feared that such notice might make Miranda uncomfortable. He suspected she’d leave if he couldn’t figure out a way to get a table and fast.