“You and Cara will love it here.”
Drake blinked, shocked.
“Who said anything about Cara?”
“Didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
“Is it now?” Drake asked, trying to maintain his cool.
“She’s so sweet,” Sam said. “I was friends with Todd. Great guy—oh, no offense,” he added, apparently seeing Drake’s frown.
“None taken.” Drake meant it. His disgust was complete for the memory of Cara’s late husband.
“Anyway, terrible what she and Nate had to go through.”
“Yes, very bad,” Drake said, hoping a terse response would end the conversation.
“But you two—you make a great couple. I’m glad she’s found someone. After Todd’s death, it was like she disappeared. But I guess loss does strange things to people.”
Drake headed for the door leading back into the house. He wanted to thank the owners and say good-bye since he was anxious to call Cara and tell her the good news. He also wanted to hear how her interview with the Judicial Nominating Committee had gone. She’d been nervous about it, and they’d even gone through a mock interview, with Hannah, Harriet, and himself acting as the committee.
Sam put a hand on Drake’s shoulder, forestalling his advance into the house.
“So will Cara be moving in soon?”
“What?”
“Well, I thought—I thought that since you two were nearly engaged and—”
“Where the hell did you hear that?” Drake shot back.
“Well, you two have been going out for months now, haven’t you?” Sam said, shrinking from Drake.
“No, we haven’t. Only since July. Barely two months.”
“Oh, I’d heard—well—”
“What exactly have you heard?” Drake asked.
“I—well—just that you’d been together for several months since the winter.”
“Not so,” Drake said. “Like I said, just since July.”
“So—uh—no wedding bells yet?” Sam stammered, turning redder by the second.
“What you’re hearing is the clock chiming on top of the Craig County Courthouse,” Drake responded, entering the house and terminating the conversation.
14
When Drake and Cara compared notes about their respective encounters with Craig County gossip, they both suspected a larger hand in its spread.
“I don’t know how Hannah hadn’t heard about this yet,” Cara told Drake that Friday night as they enjoyed a small celebratory dinner at The Rickhouse in honor of his upcoming home purchase.
After her conversation with CiCi, Cara had taken a long lunch and called Hannah to tell her what had happened. She didn’t want to call from the courthouse, even using her own personal cell phone, lest she be overheard talking about her campaign during work hours. In fact, she completely left the vicinity of the courthouse and went home for lunch to eat, relax, and see Nate.
“How’d she take it?”
“What do you think?” Cara said as the server refilled their water glasses as they waited for their meals. She had ordered the hot brown, a dish for which the restaurant was well known, and Drake had ordered filet mignon.
“How long did she curse?”
“Didn’t time it, but she did go on for a while.”
“And knowing Hannah Davenport, she has a plan to counteract those vicious rumors?” Drake picked up his glass of Garnet over ice, took an appreciative whiff, and sipped.
“She didn’t say what it was, but I could almost hear the gears in her mind whirring through the phone.”
“I’m amazed that CiCi hadn’t heard the rumor either. That woman knows everything.”
“Apparently she doesn’t, and that, along with Hannah’s ignorance of the same gossip, really worries me. It shows me that I’m up against a formidable force.”
“Garner,” Drake nodded, replacing his glass on the table. He loosened his tie and ran his hand through his hair.
Cara looked at him, breathless. He was strikingly handsome. There had been times in their relationship when she’d questioned why he had any attraction to her. While no slouch herself in the looks department, Drake was the kind of guy that women noticed and wanted. She had seen the envious looks of other ladies when they’d been out together. By contrast, men had rarely sought her company.
Or had she pushed them away? If so, that made someone like Drake all the more remarkable. He had persevered.
“Something wrong?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“No.” She brought her glass of white wine to her lips but not taking her eyes off Drake.
He grinned, and Cara hoped where the evening was heading—straight to Drake’s bed. Maybe they’d even skip dessert and go directly to his place.
That thought simultaneously made her happy and sad, because when he moved to his new abode, he would be at least ten minutes away from her house instead of an easy, less-than-five-minutes’ drive.
While she was delighted he was buying the home of his dreams, the physical distance it would put between them was already making her wistful for the relaxed, comfortable circumstances they enjoyed. He’d promised her that on Sunday he would show her his new estate, as he jokingly called it. The sellers were going out of town for the long weekend and had been happy to accommodate his request to view the property again. She was looking forward to Sunday since his Saturday would be taken up with the Water of Life tour. She had promised to meet him, along with Nate and her mother, at the tour’s terminus at the distillery.
After dinner, he told her to decline dessert because he had a surprise.
“We’re going to the nature preserve, aren’t we?” she asked as Drake turned right on Main Street after pulling out of The Rickhouse parking lot.
“Of course.”
“I’m a little too dressed up for rolling around on the ground tonight,” she teased, referencing their last nighttime visit to the nature preserve.
“We can do some of that later indoors if you’re so inclined, but I have something different in mind for right now.”
Minutes later, they were at the parking lot adjacent to the playground and above the confluence. After Drake helped her from the Jeep, Cara took a few steps and saw why Drake had brought her to the preserve that night.
The new gazebo was perched above the confluence, a lone, proud sentinel at the edge of the water. It was an elegant structure, made of nothing but wood, and it complemented rather than detracted from the beauty of the landscape. Under the light of a half-moon, Cara could see that although the construction was finished, the work was not. Around the perimeter of the gazebo were scattered bags of mulch, fertilizer, and potted plants awaiting their final destination.
“When did you finish it?” she asked.
“Wednesday night,” he said. “Been dying to show you. I’d hoped the landscaping would be finished by now.”
“It’s wonderful. How does it feel to see a plan come together?”
He turned and pulled her to him until they were face-to-face. “It’s getting better every day.”
He kissed her, and Cara put her arms around his neck, craving even more closeness.
“You sure you don’t have that blanket in your Jeep?” she whispered.
“Aren’t you the whimsical mind changer?” he teased as he slipped his hands down to cup her rear. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t have the blanket in there. But I do have something else.”
Drake walked to the Jeep and opened the back, with Cara following. He popped the top off a cooler, reached inside, and pulled out a small white container. Replacing the lid of the cooler with one hand, Drake held a pint of ice cream in the other. He held it out for her inspection and shook it in a teasing manner.
“Can you guess what it is?”
“I’m hoping that’s Blackberry Garnet.”
“Got it in one. Seeing how you ate every last bite of this ice cream at Jorrie’s wedding—”
“You ate all the leftovers,” he countered. “And now I know your weakness.”
“You know a lot of my weaknesses,” she said, slipping her arms around his waist.
Drake reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her. He still held the ice cream in his left hand as he placed the palm of his right against her back. Lifting her lips to his, Cara kissed him, drinking in his presence and scent and feeling the growing hardness between his legs.
But for the ice cream he still held, she knew that his left hand would be on her butt, her breast, or creeping up her skirt at that very moment. Moving her leg against his, he caught it with his free hand as she deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue with hers.
He broke away and she smiled, knowing that she had gotten the better of him for the moment.
“Right now I do wish I had that blanket,” he admitted, dropping her leg. “But if I did, that would mean that this,” and he held up the ice cream, “would likely go to waste because we’d probably let it melt.”
“What about the cooler? We would’ve popped it back in there.”
“I have a feeling I would’ve forgotten all about the damn cooler by now.”
“Want to put that back in the cooler and leave this minute?” Cara suggested.
“No, I want us to be the first to use the gazebo, and that opportunity expires tonight,” he said, pointing behind her. “Tomorrow is the first day it will be open to the public.”
He walked back to the Jeep, grabbed some plastic spoons from the cooler, and took Cara by the hand and led to her down to the gazebo.
They sat together on a built-in bench in the octagonal interior, and once under cover lost the light of the moon. Cara kicked off her shoes and sat on her legs as Drake opened the ice cream and handed her a spoon.
“How did you score this stuff?” she asked after savoring her first bite. “Surely not Goose. I’m pretty sure he sees you as a rival now.”
Over the past few weeks, the concoction Drake had shared at Mack Blanton’s last concert had made its debut on the distillery café menu. Hannah had christened the treat the Applejack Garnet, and it had met with great success. The shake’s popularity was such that food writers from both the Lexington and Louisville papers had done articles on the bourbon-apple milkshake. Goose was reportedly green with envy and hard at work to come up with a treat to take the wind out of Drake’s sails.
“Got it from Mack and Jorrie, of course,” Drake said. “Soon it won’t be hard to get this though. Mack says that they’re going wide with distribution next summer, at least in the Lexington and Louisville markets. People can’t get enough of bourbon-related products.”
“And you can count me in that number,” Cara said, plunging her spoon back into the ice cream.
They gorged on the ice cream, with Cara putting her spoon down first and leaving the rest to Drake. She watched as he ate and taunted her with long licks of the spoon.
“Ready to go home yet?” he asked, tossing his spoon into the empty container.
“Nope,” she said, glancing at his crotch and the bulge she could tell was there, even in the darkness of the shadows of the gazebo. It was her turn to tease.
He responded by pulling her to him until her head rested on his lap and she was looking up at him. Drake played with her hair, which she had worn down for the evening instead of up, which had been his request. His fingers lightly moved along her temple and scalp, then traced the contour of her cheekbones and jawline. Cara closed her eyes and sighed into his touch as his fingertips skimmed along her collarbone and his hand gently swept over her breast, coming to rest on her tummy.
She opened her eyes, reached up, and stroked Drake’s cheek, feeling the smooth skin and appreciating that he had taken the time that evening to shave before their date.
“Why did you want to build this gazebo?” she asked.
“You know how I feel about the water,” he said, brushing some hair from her face.
“I know that,” she said, “but why this gazebo here? You could’ve put it anywhere else along the creek. Was it because of the confluence?”
“Yes,” he said. “I can’t explain it.”
Cara sat up, stood, and walked in her bare feet across the new floor of the gazebo. It smelled of lumber—a mixture of pine and something vaguely chemical—and the planks were smooth underfoot and unmarred except for the faint indentations of nails and carpenters’ marks.
She went to the bench opposite Drake and leaned over the edge of the gazebo, staring at the cluster of trees that hid the blending of Old Crow and Brush Grove Creeks.
“I think I can,” she said, hearing Drake get up from his seat and walk across to her.
His hands rested on her shoulders, and the heat from his palms felt good against her shoulders.
“You like the water, but you also like the symbolism.”
“The symbolism?”
“Two streams combining into one, making something greater than being apart. The water is unchanged, yet in a larger, stronger vessel, moving wherever the course takes it.”
Drake leaned back, and a small slice of moonlight illuminated his face. His mouth was open and his eyes unfixed. He blinked, swallowed, and recovered, reaching for and claiming her hands.
“And all this time I thought it was just because I liked a nice place to put in a canoe or kayak,” he said softly.
“I was expecting you to ask me again how I know you so well.”
“Oh, I figured that out.”
“You did?” she asked.
“Yes. Because you’re in love with me. And I’m in love with you.”
She took a sharp breath but then forgot to exhale. Drake’s face morphed from something relaxed and almost cocky into an expression of intense mortification.
Drake ran a hand over his face.
“Sorry, I don’t want to put words in your mouth,” he said, starting to pace. “I— I didn’t want this to happen like this—because I do love you and—”
“You can put words in my mouth if they’re the truth.”
He stood before her in the center of the gazebo and placed his hands on the sides of her face.
“Nothing but the truth, Cara Forrest. I love you.”
“And I love you, counselor,” she whispered, placing her hands on the back of his head.
Without her shoes on, Drake towered over her as he claimed her with a long, languid kiss. She again had the sensation of being overcome in his presence, drowning and mesmerized, and realized finally for what it was.
Love.
Consuming yet empowering, overwhelming yet sustaining. A river of life and possibilities flowed between them.
And all of it was hers again, right now, in Drake’s arms.
Better than it ever had been. Better than she had ever believed possible.
Breaking the kiss, she buried her face against his chest, the primal need to feel, smell and experience him. Drake held her tightly and kissed the top of her head.
This was a moment she wished eternal, and in her heart she was already home.
15
“Can I see the boat?”
“I don’t know, honey,” Cara said distractedly, her attention focused on the Sunday editorial page of the Lexington newspaper.
Nate began to whine, but she took little notice and began to read—for the third time—the editorial about her Court of Appeals race.
If Garner and his cronies had a hand in the rumors about the length of her relationship with Drake, the mark of Hannah Davenport’s influence was splashed across the pages of the Herald-Leader that morning, the Sunday before Labor Day, and the traditional kickoff point for major election campaigns. And while Cara wasn’t actually in an election race—yet—with Garner, the attention the editorial would attract on that high-profile Sunday would be intense and wide-ranging.
The editorial’s title was “Politics and Personalities,” which revealed the writer knew of Garner’s unct
uous side. The piece itself actually never went near such a topic, except to note that some attorneys had complained of his sometimes curt demeanor in court. Instead, the editorial detailed Garner’s political ties to a number of connected Kentucky politicians and recounted his family’s political past.
And by merely mentioning Garner’s recent marriage and his wife’s connections and wealth, the seed of doubt was planted.
Had he married her for love, money, or political advantage? There was no reference to a previous girlfriend, but the term “whirlwind romance” was used, much to Cara’s surprise.
Her shallow side was cheering.
Garner was getting his comeuppance! This was good for her chances to get that appointment!
But her practical side cringed.
If a newspaper was willing to publish something like this—which, in her opinion, was far too pointedly personal and failed to focus on the main issue of judicial qualifications—she could easily be the next target.
The fight for the seat was going to get nasty, and Cara didn’t like it.
That’s not why she signed up for the wild ride of trying to get a spot on a higher court. Maybe she was naïve and had thought that politics surrounding judicial appointments and races wouldn’t be as ugly as other races. Now the scales were falling from her eyes, but it was too late.
Because she wasn’t about to walk away.
Her ambition still ran strong, and she knew she owed it to herself and her son. She wanted him to understand someday that his mother was resilient and ran on her own beliefs and abilities. Cara had to be Nate’s role model since she was his only parent.
Although thoughts of Drake stepping into that role with her kept popping into her head.
Because they were quite deeply in love.
While at first this idea troubled her since they hadn’t been dating that long, Cara realized that Drake was no stranger; they’d known each other for years. And when she ticked through several other couples she knew around town, a pattern emerged: people who had known each other, sometimes for decades, finally getting together and finding love.
So while she could only say that she’d been dating Drake since July, Cara could perhaps trace her heart’s desire much further back. Time sometimes made things clearer, even the course of true love.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3) Page 70