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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “Is that Mr. Mercer?” someone asked.

  “Do you still deny that you two started dating back in the winter or—”

  “Are you two dating or engaged?”

  “Do you plan to get married so you can prevent him from testifying against you if the—”

  “What did you say?” Cara cried at the young woman who’d just asked her the offensive question.

  “Well,” the young woman said, blinking and walking backward as Cara pulled Drake away from the door and into the light, “it’s just that if you married—”

  “And who told you that was going to happen?” she demanded.

  “Well, ethics and legal experts we’ve talked to about this story indicated that if you two did get married, that could possibly solve your problem about him testifying against you in—”

  “Legal experts?” hissed Drake.

  “My problem? He’s not my problem!” Cara cried and turned toward a video camera far too close to her face.

  She practically dragged Drake away from the cluster of reporters, her stride determined and quick. Cara caught up with Vera and took Nate into her arms.

  “What a way to ruin the day,” Cara said so only Vera and Drake could hear.

  “It’s only ruined if you let it be, dear.” Vera moved behind her daughter, strategically placing herself between the press hounds and Cara and Drake.

  “Wait—are you engaged? Or married? Or what?” cried one of the reporters.

  Cara spun about, but Drake put his hand on her back.

  “Just keep walking,” he said in a low voice.

  “Come over here, and I’ll tell you something I’m sure you’d love to know,” Vera said in a silly voice.

  Cara and Drake stopped and turned around.

  “What is that woman about to do?” Cara asked, looking at her mother, then to Drake.

  Drake shrugged, and both looked on as the small group of reporters surrounded Vera.

  “And who might you be?” demanded a reporter.

  “I happen to be Vera Forrest, Judge Forrest’s mother. Do I have your attention?” The reporters immediately were quiet. “Now then, here’s what you need to know. My daughter and that lovely young man over there only started dating back in late July. How do I know this? I’m her mother. I live two doors down from her and watch her son on a daily basis while she’s hard at work on the bench for the fine citizens of Craig County. You think she could hide something like a boyfriend from me for very long? Not a chance.”

  Cara handed Nate to Drake and strode up to the reporters, edging them aside. She took her mother’s hand and, with the most contemptuous sneer she could muster, looked into the face of every reporter that surrounded them.

  The press continued to shout questions—about Drake, about the race, and even a few about Bruce Colyard—but she ignored them all as she brought Vera back to where Drake stood with Nate and they all made for the parking lot. Miraculously, they were not followed, their silence affording no temptation for further harassment.

  As she belted a sleeping Nate into his car seat after giving Drake a quick kiss good-bye, Cara tried to take her mother’s words to heart—that her day had only been ruined if she allowed herself to think that way.

  But that’s what Cara thought.

  She couldn’t help it. The hopeful, vibrant quality of the earlier hours had been stripped away by the unkindness of strangers, despite her struggle to keep in mind the gracious friendship of people like Hannah, Harriet, and CiCi.

  She hated that her mother had been sucked into her problem and that Drake was continuing to endure the insults and scrutiny of the press. But she also recognized that she was suffering from pride and that her hubris was making her angry—and weak.

  Yet at its most basic level her dislike of her circumstances and treatment by the press had a much more practical aspect.

  She wanted to keep her seat on the Court of Appeals.

  And that meant that nothing had really changed, despite her new job. She had her family and ambitions to protect, and she was starting to see the two as parts of the same whole. She still needed to keep Drake at arm’s—or heart’s—length, at least until the ethics complaint resolved itself.

  And that could make for one uncomfortable Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.

  21

  “Mark my words,” Vera said, waving a wooden spoon at her daughter after stirring a pot of egg noodles, “you’re going to break that man’s heart.”

  Cara peeked into the oven at the turkey. “I really don’t want to hear anything like that.”

  On Thanksgiving Day she should be feeling happy, relieved, accomplished, and carefree.

  She was with her family.

  Everyone was healthy.

  She had (at least for the time being) a steady job. And even should she lose that job, she was still financially independent enough to not have to worry about money.

  Yet she found herself being an ingrate on the day of utmost gratitude. Her awareness of her fractiousness only set her more on edge.

  And it certainly didn’t help that her mother was almost constantly nagging her.

  “Don’t you talk to me like one of the attorneys in your court,” Vera snapped.

  “I’m not on that court anymore, remember?” Cara sassed back, happy to have something snarky to say that wasn’t too over-the-top.

  Then she heard Vera grumbling something that sounded like smart-ass judge.

  The doorbell rang at that moment, giving her the excuse to flee the kitchen drama. But only to exchange it for more drama she sensed would unfold that day.

  Because even though she wouldn’t have that much time alone with Drake through the day, she sensed that later he would want to take her someplace, probably back to his place for a long-awaited sexual reunion.

  Cara actually stopped in her foyer, staring at the door, thinking of the last time they had made love earlier in the fall, their need for each other infusing the joyous yet sad occasion.

  But now what? When could they—

  Another ring of the doorbell startled her, and she opened the door.

  Drake looked like a model from some menswear catalog: clean-shaven, smiling, perfect hair. In one hand he held a bottle of champagne, and in the other he cradled a large fruit basket. He was wearing that nice coat he’d sported the day before but today paired with a deep red scarf wrapped around his neck and tucked down under the lapels.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, slowly moving into the doorway without invitation. He kissed Cara on the cheek as she relieved him of the fruit basket.

  “You didn’t have to do this.” She examined the basket while closing the door with the other hand. Then she caught sight of the bottle and recognized it as a very expensive brand of champagne. “And that! Where’d you get that?” she cried, pointing. “Certainly not here in Bourbon Springs.”

  “When I was in Lexington yesterday, I went to my favorite liquor store. Wanted something special for today.”

  Cara put the fruit basket down on an entry table as Drake handed her the bottle and slipped out of his coat. She examined the bubbly and confirmed her original impression that it was indeed quite expensive. Drake had really splurged.

  Smiling, she quickly kissed him on the lips, but he immediately demanded more. His arms slipped around her waist, and he held her closely.

  “I thought judges were supposed to wear black.” He glanced down at her red apron as she put the bottle on the table.

  “Not wearing my judge hat right now. Or robe, as the case may be.”

  “Good.”

  His lips fell hard and hungrily on hers, and she lost herself to him.

  Their kiss outside the capitol the day before had been intense but interrupted and nothing like this. Cara felt herself responding as the world faded away and there was only him. She knew what he wanted of her that day, that night, and into forever.

  His scent—soap, mixed with sweat and something remotely leathery or outdoorsy—envel
oped her. She was transported back to the night they’d become lovers at the state park and those summer and fall nights in his bed. She felt his hands, tongue, every part of him on and in her as she was consumed by the memories of their physical love.

  A buzzer from the kitchen sounded, the harsh noise echoing down the hall and shattering the spell of their reunion. She broke the kiss and breathlessly reached for the bottle, not once tearing her eyes from his until she had to turn and hurry back to the kitchen.

  She heard Drake following her, and as she opened the oven door to check on a casserole, he appeared, asking whether he could help.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Vera declared and pointed to Cara. “She’s been nothing but grumpy today. Did you kiss her already? I need her in a better mood.”

  “Mom!”

  “I did kiss her, but I’d be happy to do so again if that would improve anything,” Drake said.

  Cara pretended to ignore her mother and Drake while she went to the fridge to retrieve more butter.

  “Excellent. Kiss her and then stand watch over those damn noodles,” Vera commanded. “I need to check on Nate. He should be about to get up from his nap.”

  Cara and Drake watched as her mother swept from the room, then Drake turned to her.

  “Come over here,” he said, smiling.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kinda busy at the moment.” She dropped the butter onto the kitchen counter and moved toward the oven to check the turkey. “So get over there to the stove and stir those noodles to make yourself useful while I—”

  But Drake took her by the arm and drew her to him quickly.

  “In this case, you really need to listen to your mother,” he said before leaning her over.

  Unable to resist lest she fall on the floor, Cara clung to him. “Drake, I get that you missed me, but—”

  “The let me show you how much.” He kissed her hard and quick, with a little swipe of his tongue across her lips. It was just enough to make her melt, to make her tremble, and wish to hell that it wasn’t Thanksgiving Day and that they were off somewhere dark and warm and alone. That she wasn’t under investigation and—

  But that wasn’t reality.

  “Drake…,” she said between a storm of kisses, “…we’re in the kitchen and…”

  “Afraid… your mother… will see us?”

  Cara finally found the strength to pull away and stand up. “After she ordered you to do what you just did? No, not worried about that,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the nose before moving around him. “But I am worried about this turkey. It’s not like you can go to Minnick’s and pick up an extra one for me to cook straight away if I end up ruining this one.”

  Trying to focus on the tasks at hand, she bent over and opened the oven door; the rush of heat stung her face and made her eyes water. As she closed the oven door, Drake gave her a playful slap on the rear, causing her to yelp and jump in surprise.

  “Since when do you like to do that?”

  “Did you like it?” he said, taking up his station at the stove and dropping the wooden spoon into the pot.

  “Not at all.”

  “Okay, then you can do that to me next time we’re alone,” he said matter-of-factly. “Or would you prefer that I be under you as you grab the headboard while I—”

  “Shut it!” she cried, looking furtively toward the kitchen entrance.

  “No worries. Your mother and Nate are nowhere in sight. Now where were we? Talking about our options for later tonight. Because I have a feeling that your mother would be more than willing to watch Nate this evening, bless her.”

  “I get it, Drake,” she said.

  “Get what?” he asked all innocent-like, turning a smirking face to her.

  “That you’re trying to tempt me.”

  “Judging from your reaction, I’d say I’m doing a damn good job at it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you tonight.” She grabbed the butter from the countertop. She’d completely forgotten why she needed the stuff.

  “Fine,” Drake said, spooning out a few noodles and blowing on them. He plucked one from the surface of the spoon and slowly sucked it into his mouth, making a very audible slurping noise.

  And then he did it again, sucking three more noodles into his mouth, taking each one slower than the last, his tongue sticking out quite too far on the last noodle.

  He’d hypnotized her into horniness by slurping up carbs.

  “How about a walk later?”

  “D-deal,” she said, opening the fridge and tossing the stick of butter back inside.

  Mercifully, Nate came barreling into the kitchen in the next few moments, grabbing Drake around the legs and pulling him away from the stove. The boy was eager to have his big playmate join him in the other room to show him a new toy he had received.

  “I’ll take it from here, Drake,” Vera said, giving Cara a sideways glance.

  Drake disappeared with Nate as the little boy chattered about superheroes, trucks, and frogs.

  “Did you get all hot and bothered in here while I was gone?” Vera asked with a knowing grin. She picked up the pot of noodles and removed them from the burner, placing them on a trivet on the kitchen counter.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because your face is beet red, there’s hair in your face, and the oven door isn’t completely closed.”

  Cara spun about, and sure enough, the oven door was cracked a bit, her attention the victim of Drake’s naughtiness. She closed the door and tried to put Drake out of her mind so she could concentrate on the meal.

  “I don’t mind helping if you’d rather watch Nate,” Drake said to Vera from the other room.

  “Oh, no,” protested Cara. “You’re our guest. So relax.”

  “As much as you can with a wide-awake two-year-old,” Vera added.

  An hour later, the meal was ready.

  “So where’s that champagne?” Vera asked. “I’ve got the flutes on the table.”

  “In the fridge.” Cara snapped Nate’s highchair tray into place. “I’ll get it.”

  Cara did so and soon returned to the table with the bottle, where she handed it to Drake. “You want to do the honors?”

  He shook his head. “Your champagne, you get to do the honors. Unless you can’t handle it.”

  “Wrong thing to say to her today,” Vera whispered.

  Standing in the area between the kitchen and the dining room, Cara pursed her lips, unwrapped the foil around the top of the bottle, and gradually eased the cork out. The popping noise made Nate laugh riotously, demanding, “again, again!” When he was informed that they could not recreate the noise, Nate began to whine, but Drake distracted him by putting his finger in his mouth and producing very loud pops, reducing Nate to fits of laughter.

  Cara poured and asked Drake to make the toast as the three adults stood together at the head of the table, behind Cara’s chair.

  “To the newest and loveliest judge on the Kentucky Court of Appeals,” he said. “Long may she preside.”

  Cara laughed and raised her glass along with her companions. The flutes clinked, and she took a sip.

  The champagne was really, really good. Probably the best she’d ever had, even better than the stuff from her own wedding.

  After taking that first sip, she caught Drake looking at her. Perhaps she had expected a leer or that smirk she’d seen him wearing when he arrived at the house. Instead, she was treated to a look of calm eagerness. The picture of the patient man.

  After a blessing by Vera, with particular thanks for new beginnings, new jobs, and the company of loved ones, the foursome attacked the feast. Vera expertly carved the turkey, giving an impatient and very hungry Nate the first slices. Despite all the dishes being the same foods she’d typically served for the past several holiday meals, Cara found herself enjoying the food more than usual and attributed that satisfaction to the addition of the exceptionally fine champagne.

&nb
sp; She poured herself another glass and wondered whether the Davenports ever made their Bluegrass Bubbly with something so good. She’d have to recommend the particular label they were enjoying the next time she saw Hannah. They had a meeting scheduled at the distillery on Saturday afternoon after Thanksgiving to eat lunch and talk about the campaign.

  By the time Cara pulled out the remnants of the bourbon chocolate pie CiCi had bestowed upon her, the world was indeed a warm, happy, and magical place, full of smiling faces and lovely food.

  Of course, another flute of champagne had absolutely nothing to do with how great things seemed to be.

  After the adults had polished off pieces of pie, Cara became vaguely aware of Drake starting to clear the table, with a modicum of assistance from her mother. Soon the pie plates and remaining dishes had been removed, and Cara started to notice she was coming off her little buzz. She stood, sighing at having to say farewell to the pleasant world of mild inebriation.

  Drake returned to the table after a short trip to the bathroom, and Vera left to put Nate down for a nap. Picking up the champagne bottle before he retook his seat, he jostled it and tilted his head, the inquiry evident. She nodded, and Drake poured the last of the champagne into her flute, filling it halfway.

  He replaced the bottle on the table as she brought the crystal to her lips. “How many is that for you?”

  She arched her eyebrows and swayed a little in her seat. “Thinking I’ve had too much?”

  “Ask me that again later tonight. I’ll have a more definitive answer.”

  “If you’re keeping track, and I’ll bet you are, this last bit of bubbly makes not quite four. And if you were counting on this stuff to be a panty-peeler, you can just think again.” Cara took another drink, downing the contents of her flute.

  He put his arms on the table and leaned toward her. “I wasn’t counting on it,” he said in a husky voice, “but it’s good to know that I can rely on it to be in the future.”

  “What the—”

  He leaned closer to her.

  “Your face is red, your lips are parted, and every little thing I said during dinner made you laugh. I caught you looking at me more times than I can remember, and that includes a few times I noticed you looking at my crotch, my dear, when I got up to get that serving spoon and more milk for Nate. Your chest is heaving, and even though you’re wearing a turtleneck, you’re also wearing a very thin bra, and your headlights are on full beam. So if we weren’t in your house with your mother and Nate just down the hall, I’m pretty damned sure that five minutes ago, even without those last drops of champagne you just so happily guzzled, we would already be in bed, naked, with you begging me to take you.”