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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  Over breakfast, they talked about their work. She wanted to hear more about his buying trips, and he learned that the doctor with whom she’d spoken was trying to lure her into his medical practice. She seemed extremely conflicted by the idea, even though she said that she didn’t want to do it since she liked the freedom of a solo practice. He thought there was more to the story but didn’t press for details and revealed that his uncle and Brad Byrd were sometimes golf buddies, which Miranda found hilarious.

  “I can’t think of anything more dull or frustrating than golfing with those two,” she said with a laugh.

  Miranda rose from the table after she’d finished her meal, looked at her watch, and headed to the sink with her dirty dishes. He suddenly felt very anxious as the reality hit him that she was about to leave and their wonderful time together was drawing to a close. He was worried about her going out into the elements even with the sheriff’s help (she was leaving her car at his house temporarily), and they knew she didn’t have power in Bourbon Springs because she’d called a neighbor to check.

  “Do you have any firewood?” he asked as he joined her in the kitchen.

  “No, and I feel really stupid about that. I have that woodburning stove and really should put the thing to use.”

  He insisted on giving her some firewood, staves, and other supplies, including a flashlight, batteries, and some canned food. He found some old boxes and placed the stash by the door, along with Miranda’s overnight bag, then returned to the living room to sit with her for a few last precious minutes in front of the fire. She put her head against his shoulder, and he realized she was crying.

  “I never liked New Year’s Day until this year,” she said.

  “And now we have something to celebrate every year. Us.”

  He wasn’t sure when they’d be together again, considering the weather, her schedule, and his travel plans. So when he finally heard a large vehicle grinding to a halt in front of the house, Prent felt as though he was about to send the woman he loved on some long, indeterminate voyage and was absolutely sick. After helping her into the vehicle (not an easy thing since the driveway was still covered by ice) and giving Snipe Callaway, the sheriff, his thanks, they kissed one last time.

  “Stay safe and warm,” he said, holding her hand at the window of the Humvee while the sheriff got into the vehicle.

  “I can stay at the hospital if need be,” she assured him. “I’ll be fine. Call me.”

  “Hell, I’ll probably hike fifteen miles in this ice just to see you by the end of the day.”

  “Shut up and stay safe yourself,” she said as the sheriff pulled away.

  Prent watched with terror as the Humvee proceeded out of his ice-clad drive and toward the main road. He kept the vehicle in sight as long as possible before retreating indoors to the warm and lonely confines of his house.

  Miranda was gone. He hated that feeling.

  He distracted himself by checking on his mother, uncle, and Minerva. All were cranky but safe. He had called them the previous day, and they knew that Miranda had spent the night, the official explanation for her presence being that the weather had made travel impossible.

  But there was no hiding the true nature of their relationship. His mother and Minerva were happy, but Kurt was his typically annoyed self.

  “You going to be at work tomorrow?” Kurt asked. Prent could almost see the frown through the phone.

  “No, how could I get there?”

  “How about calling around to get a ride?”

  “Are you nuts? I thought we were supposed to stay off the roads for safety reasons. And it’s not like I can get the sheriff to come get me, like Miranda.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because I’m not essential emergency personnel, that’s why,” Prent said. “I suppose you’ve been to work?” Kurt lived in downtown Littleham in a large Victorian home on Main Street and sometimes walked to work although he usually drove the short distance.

  “No,” snapped Kurt. “Too much damned ice. And—well, I fell trying to get there today and bruised my ass something awful. I’ll try again tomorrow. Damn ice can’t stay around forever.”

  Prent assured his uncle he’d call the sheriff to see if he could somehow get a ride to work.

  “But if I do that, you realize I’m stuck and you’ll have to take me in.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kurt said, laughing. “But I’ve been looking after you for years, haven’t I?” Prent heard a bit of playfulness in the old grouch’s voice instead of contempt.

  “Yeah, you have,” Prent allowed.

  They fell into a discussion about his buying trips and whether they would need to be delayed due to weather. Prent expressed the hope that he would be able to go on all of them.

  “And I suppose you want me around to make sure the clinic opens on time in a few weeks?” he added, thinking about that task.

  “Not so sure you should be involved in that project any longer since your girlfriend is the clinic doctor,” Kurt said, easily slipping back into cranky mode. “Not sure it’s professional.”

  “Look, Miranda’s a professional, completely and—”

  “And I caught you two on your couch in the office.”

  “That again.”

  “Yeah, that,” Kurt said. “Can’t believe that woman is back.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that I thought she might, well, you know, have moved on or something. But I suppose that’s not the case since she’s been at your house since last year.”

  Prent laughed despite the jab. Hearing his uncle express Miranda’s stay at the house in such an absurdly factual way was undeniably funny.

  “Luckily for me, she didn’t move on. We’re back together. And this time it’s for good.”

  “Don’t tell me you proposed to the woman again already.”

  “No,” Prent said, subdued. “Not yet. Need to work some things out first.”

  “I should think so,” Kurt said. “You two… with your history.” Prent could picture his uncle shaking his head in a disapproving manner. “Is it really a good idea, Prent? Do you want to go through all that again?”

  “Go through what? You think I’m going to leave her again?”

  “Well, no, but as I recall, she wasn’t the most anxious to get back together, considering the circumstances.”

  Prent laughed aloud at his uncle’s comment when he thought of the past few days he’d spent with Miranda.

  “That’s not really a problem from my perspective.”

  “Probably not, but what about hers, boy?” his uncle continued. “If you’ve managed to convince her to give you a second chance, you must be the greatest salesman in history, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

  He wasn’t flattered by the comment since he knew his uncle was trying to seed doubt. And although Kurt had never cared for any of his girlfriends, he had always directed a unique level of thinly disguised vitriol when it came to Miranda.

  While Kurt often claimed he was only looking out for his nephew’s best interests (Kurt repeatedly warned him against gold diggers, a laughable concept when it came to Miranda), Prent believed Kurt was on some level jealous. To Prent’s knowledge, Kurt had never had a serious relationship.

  “Considering that I am a salesman and that Miranda is quite definitely back in my life, I’ll take that as a compliment regardless whether you meant it as one.”

  Before his uncle could further argue, Prent began to discuss business. Due to the weather, he learned that they had lost a few production runs and would likely have to suffer some late deliveries to some of the distilleries, including Old Garnet. Kurt told Prent to contact their customers and warn them about delays.

  “And get your ass into the office as soon as possible,” Kurt said and hung up.

  Restless and lonely, Prent wandered through the house. When he ambled into the bedroom Miranda had helped him select for his son, Prent called Cord to see what the ne
xt step was.

  He wanted to know his child’s name.

  He wanted to see him.

  He wanted to be a father.

  And the sooner that relationship was established, the sooner he could propose and marry Miranda.

  After so much time waiting for something to happen in his life, everything was happening at once.

  “Bed rest? I can’t do it! I’ll go nuts!

  “If Hannah can do it, so can you,” Bo said.

  Miranda placed Lila’s chart on the small countertop behind her and looked at her patient.

  “Women have to do this all the time,” Miranda assured her. “And for now, it’s only temporary. I’m hoping that by putting you on light bed rest for only a week, these preterm contractions will decide to leave you and Angelica alone. It’s not a guarantee, but that’s your best course of action.”

  “I know,” Lila said. “I just hate feeling helpless, trapped in the house, useless.”

  “I’m sure you can find something to pass the time,” Miranda said and smiled sympathetically at Bo. “I want to see you back here in a week. In the meantime, you don’t have to stay in bed all the time, but no heavy lifting, limit your activities, that sort of thing. Do you have power at your house?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. We’ve got a generator.”

  “Excellent,” Miranda said. “Wish I’d had the foresight to get myself one of those things. I’ve got to go back to a dark and cold house although I do have a woodburning stove.”

  “Thanks again for coming in to see us,” Bo said. “I know that the trip into town wasn’t an easy one.”

  “It’s my job to be here for my patients. And the one to thank is Kyle. I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t fetched me in that Humvee thing. I had no idea the county had one.”

  “He’s mighty proud of it,” Lila said, adjusting her hospital gown around her back. The thing swallowed her tiny form. “Took a lot of criticism last year for buying it, but now everyone wants him to pick them up. After he dropped us off here, he went straight to the county line to get you.”

  Bo’s cell phone rang. He immediately slipped it from his pocket and glanced at it briefly.

  “Walker,” he said. “Sorry, gotta take this. We’ve had problems with the stills due to power problems with the distillery generators.”

  Bo left the room but said he’d be back as soon as possible.

  “Running a distillery in the middle of an ice storm can’t be an easy job,” Miranda said sympathetically as Lila began to put her clothes on.

  “It never is,” Lila said. “Now he’s got a pregnant wife to worry about on top of everything else. And I worry about him. He works so hard, just like his dad from what I hear. Hannah and I are always after him to take care of himself.”

  “Good. He needs to be as healthy as possible—you both do—for what’s about to happen in your lives.”

  “Thanks again for coming in. You were out in Van Winkle County?”

  “I got stranded at Prent Oakes’s place. Went out there for a New Year’s Eve dinner.”

  Lila’s eyes widened just a touch. “That must have been an adventure.”

  “You could certainly say that.” Miranda smiled and felt herself redden.

  “Back together, huh?” Miranda nodded. “Good for you! I like Prent. I don’t know him that well, but I’ve talked to him several times at the distillery. Always pleasant, and according to Bo and Walker, he sure knows his oak. And I love it when things work out for people like this. Second chances are so special.”

  “Yes, Prent and I are a thing again,” Miranda said in a lilting tone.

  “I know where that can lead.” Lila patted her belly, causing Miranda to blink in shock a few times before the two women burst into laughter.

  After the Davenports left, Miranda made for the doctors’ lounge. She’d not had a moment’s rest since leaving Prent’s house and was exhausted.

  The trip back to Bourbon Springs had been akin to a nightmarish wagon train in the snow. What was usually no more than a twenty-minute trip to Prent’s house had taken almost two hours along icy, devilishly treacherous roads. By the time Miranda got to the hospital, she was a nervous wreck.

  She fell onto the couch, pulled out her phone, and checked her messages. Nothing bothered her until she saw the text from her office manager, Grace.

  Call me

  Stuff

  In Gracespeak, that was akin to yelling fire in a crowded theatre. Miranda immediately called the office.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m the only one here, for starters,” Grace said, and Miranda heard the taint of irritation in the young woman’s voice. “Not one patient has tried to come in, but everyone keeps calling. The phone is insane. But that’s the good news.”

  “The bad?”

  “The landlord sent you another letter.”

  “And?”

  “It’s a very polite thing in which they kindly inform you that they are being bought out by some superconglomerate company effective July 1. They’re urging you to go ahead and sign a longer lease to lock in your rent rate since they also kindly inform you that this new company has a reputation for raising rates.”

  After issuing a string of curses, Miranda spoke.

  “So how much longer?”

  “Five years,” Grace said, “and at the rate they gave you in the first letter we got from them when they announced the rent was getting jacked up. And there’s more. The letter says that unless you re-up with them by May 1, their offer will be withdrawn and you’ll have to deal with the new company.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Better talk to your accountant.”

  “I’d better go buy a damned lottery ticket,” Miranda snapped, “but I can’t even do that because of this stupid weather. Besides, Pepper Montrose used up all the town’s luck when it comes to winning the lottery for the foreseeable future. But enough of that. How are you dealing with the weather?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Nice to be somewhere warm and bright for a change rather than in my cave of an apartment. Only got to work because there’s a sheriff’s deputy in my apartment building who really wants to get in my pants, and he had the sheriff come pick me up.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Yeah, just like you. You have a nice time down south of town?” Grace asked a little too knowingly.

  “I can think of worse situations,” Miranda answered truthfully.

  After a little more discussion, Miranda told Grace to go home early if she could and ended the call. She then curled up on the couch to try to rest a little but instead began to obsess about her financial situation.

  Her rent conundrum was getting more complicated, and she didn’t like complexity when it came to money or her practice. She resolved to go find Brad—she’d heard he was still somewhere in the hospital—and talk to him some more about a joint practice.

  With this latest wrinkle in her professional life, Miranda knew she was going to have to accept the likely reality that she was going to have to go into practice with Brad, should he still want to do that. The uncertainty with her building was not something she could easily manage.

  All her instincts told her that it would soon be time to swallow her pride and surrender the independence she so cherished.

  18

  Prent had always loved the buying trips. Selecting the wood made him feel creative and powerful.

  His father had taught him that finding the best oak was art as much as science, something he had taken to heart and which his own experience had proven to be true. He enjoyed tramping into the forests to look at the cathedral of trees, smelling the dank, sweet earth, and seeing in his mind’s eye the creations that would eventually burst forth from the tall trunks.

  Acres and acres of barrels in the warehouses back at Commonwealth Cooperage. The forest moved indoors.

  Yet the past two trips had been full of frustrations: weather delays, bad food, and his own general sense of dispiritedness. Instead
of wanting to be where he was, he wanted to be somewhere else, and that was with Miranda.

  Over the past three weeks, they had only seen each other intermittently due to their schedules and the weather. While they had spent some time together at his house several weekend nights, he was not satisfied. He wanted more. He wanted to get married, to be in that house with her every day, every night, and when he wasn’t there, he wanted to come home to the woman he loved.

  Yet he still couldn’t propose because of the situation with his son.

  Although the grandmother had indicated she wanted to get the ball rolling as soon as possible, that hadn’t happened.

  Instead, she’d been sick, and due to Prent’s traveling and the bad weather, he still hadn’t even actually laid eyes on the boy in person. He’d finally learned that his name was Peter, and the grandmother had e-mailed several pictures of the child.

  Prent had poured over them, searching for those little visual hints that would show a resemblance.

  It was hard to discern in just a few shots, but Peter had the same color hair and eyes as Prent as well as a certain curvature of the nose which Prent thought resembled his own.

  The boy looked happy and healthy in the pictures, usually on a playground or with some toy. The grandmother had been careful, Prent noted, not to send any shots of the child with Ainsley. Maybe the grandmother was having a hard time even looking at those kinds of pictures since the loss of her daughter had to be so fresh and raw.

  With no discernible movement on the paternity issue, however, Prent was unhappy and had vented several times to Cord in telephone and e-mail conversations. Cord eventually told him to come into the office to discuss the matter, hinting that not-so-easy decisions were ahead.

  “I just don’t get why she keeps delaying this thing,” Prent said as Cord closed his office door. “I thought she wanted to move.”

  “I’ve been in touch with her attorney—Elizabeth Minton up in Lexington, good lawyer. I have a guess about what’s really going on.”

  “So tell me.”