He’d heard from Brock earlier today. The information wasn’t what he’d hoped. Emily Brooks was treated for a brain injury and she was in a home for people who couldn’t live on their own. That was all the information he could get, which was less than Holly had told him. Emily’d had to relearn how to feed herself and tie her shoes and everything else that people like him took for granted.
Her family visited her once a week. Evan, his wife, and Holly alternated who went because Emily could only see one person at a time. More wasn’t good for her because their presence agitated her. Emily had said she had behavioral issues, but she hadn’t elaborated.
Ross had nearly choked up. His family irritated the shit out of him sometimes, but they had his back all the time and that was worth more than every drop of Blackthorne Gold they’d ever produced.
They were almost to the bottling facility. He could hear the clink of glass, the whir of the machines. The smell of bourbon whisky permeated the air. Something deep inside him shifted. It said, I love this. I love being here. With her.
Ross stopped. Frowned. Holly moved on, oblivious, phone to her ear as she talked to a supplier about something. She disappeared into the bottling area. He remained where he was, smelling the old wood of the building, the charred oak of the barrels, the bourbon and mash. The glasses clinked, the machines whirred, and the building felt alive somehow.
His equilibrium was shifting, like a river finding new channels.
He shook his head. What the hell? He was a Blackthorne, but he was a Blackthorne who didn’t feel the whisky moving in his blood. It wasn’t his thing.
And yet it called to him. Somehow. Some way. The whisky called.
And not just the whisky. The Kentucky bluegrass. The people and customs. The land. The distillery itself with its picturesque setting—the creek and pond, the old oak trees that stood tall, the house on the hill. The buildings that bore his family name but had once bore hers.
Holly’s face appeared in the glass door to the bottling room. She came out again, walking toward him, her red hair flowing down over her shoulders, her skin so creamy white and perfect. She wore a dress today because they’d had a meeting with distributors. It was pale blue and it wrapped around her like a glove, showcasing her gorgeous body. She’d worn heels earlier but of course she’d put on a pair of Converse once the distributors were gone.
The top three-quarters of her reminded him of women in the racing world—polished, perfect, assets on display. But her feet? That was pure Holly Brooks.
His heart thumped hard. Feelings whirled in his brain, feelings he’d never had before. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Hey? Everything okay?” she asked, looking worried as she approached.
He wanted to grab her. Kiss her. Push her back against the wall and unzip that dress. He already knew it had a side zipper. He’d spent almost twenty minutes in a meeting this morning staring at it and thinking about the moment he got to pull it down. Then he’d push the edges open and feast his eyes and mouth on her gorgeous form.
But he couldn’t do that. Not here in the middle of the distillery. There were employees, tourists, and probably even a few cameras trained on them.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I was thinking.”
Her eyes searched his. Concerned. He loved that she cared about him. He cared about her too.
“Do you need to take a break?”
“What I need,” he said, low enough that only she could hear, “is to peel that dress off you.”
She flushed pink. He loved it when she did that. “Why do you think I’m still wearing it instead of changing into something else? As soon as we walk through the door tonight, I’m expecting you to do just that.”
He grinned at her. “Oh baby, I’m going to. Maybe even with my teeth.”
She looked shocked. Then she laughed. “I’m counting on it, Ross. Now come on, bottling waits for no one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
But as he followed her through the doors, he knew something was changing. He just didn’t know what. Or if he was fully ready to accept it.
Chapter Sixteen
THEY WENT to Muriel’s again, partly because of the food and partly because of the high-backed booths, which meant Ross could hide just a little bit. Glenda served them, chatty as usual. Ross flirted with her and she blushed and playfully smacked him on the shoulder as she poured more sweet tea into his glass.
Billy Truesville was bussing tables tonight. When he got to a table nearby, Holly could tell that he recognized Ross from the last time. He didn’t say anything though. Probably too shy to do so.
“Hey, Billy,” Ross said, and Billy looked up with wide eyes. Then he smiled so broadly that Holly’s heart ached for him. He’d thought Ross wouldn’t remember him. It was written clear as day on the kid’s face, and now that Ross had, Billy lit up from the inside.
“Hey, Ross. I didn’t see your car out there. Didn’t know you were here.”
“You didn’t see the Super Snake?”
Billy nodded. “Oh yes, I saw that. Cool truck. Is that yours too?”
“Sure is. You want to see it?”
Billy clutched the tub of dishes he was holding. “I’d love to. But I don’t get a break for another hour.”
“That’s okay,” Ross said. “We just got here a few minutes ago. I’m sure we’ll still be enjoying dinner.”
“Awesome. Thank you. I better get back to work.”
“Swing by when you’re on break,” Ross told him.
“I will. Thanks!” Billy practically floated to the next table.
Holly’s heart was still aching. But not for Billy. For the man in front of her who was so damned thoughtful of others. Ross didn’t have to pay attention to a teenager whose dad was in prison and who worked to help his mom make ends meet. But he did. Because he was a good guy. An amazing guy.
The kind of guy a woman could love.
Holly’s stomach fluttered. Her heart started to hammer. If she’d been standing, she’d have had to sit down again.
No way.
There was no way she was in love with Ross Blackthorne. It was impossible. Not to mention it was the dumbest thing she could possibly do. Fall for a guy because he was nice and sweet and great in bed? Really?
Yes, her heart whispered.
That’s exactly how you fell for someone. They made you happy and they were somehow the best person you knew. Her heart knew it even while her brain continued to argue in circles.
Not possible, too soon, it’s just a phase, you’ll come to your senses…
But no, it was the truth. She felt the weight of it in her soul.
Holly felt like someone had sucked all the oxygen from the room. She sat there blinking, not really hearing anything, waiting for the world to catch up.
Oh God, she was in so much trouble here.
“You look pale,” Ross said, frowning. “You okay?”
Her stomach was a knot of tension. “I, uh, no. I feel a little light-headed.”
His expression instantly morphed to one of extreme concern. “Do we need to go? Should you lie down? Can I get anything for you?”
She waved him off with a weak laugh. Breathe, dammit. “No, it’s okay. I’m probably just hungry. It’s been hours since lunch.”
Glenda chose that moment to return with a basket of hush puppies. Holly seized on one, not quite certain she could stomach it but determined to try anyway. They had to hang around so Billy could see the truck. And there was nothing wrong with her other than she’d just realized she was in love with a man who not only had power over her job (for now), but also wasn’t likely to stay at the distillery beyond the moment his father gave him the okay to return to racing.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
They started talking about things that had happened at the distillery that day. She seized on the conversation, grateful because it was about work and she could focus on work instead of these crazy feelings swirling inside her. Ros
s was talking about the bottling and ideas for how to package any new flavored bourbons they might produce when Holly tilted her head to look at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Why Ross Blackthorne, I do believe you’re displaying an interest in the distillery. How is this possible?”
He laughed. “I’m as shocked as you are. But things are starting to make sense to me. I mean I don’t want to sit in an office and pretend I know what I’m doing, but I kinda get why people get addicted to crafting fine whisky. Not everybody can do it, can they?”
She shook her head and smiled. “No, they can’t. And I think I understand why people like fast cars.”
“Not just fast ones. Unique ones.”
“Those too. I like the older one you have. The red Italian one. What was it?”
“I’ve got a few, but I think you mean the Pantera.”
“Yes. The lines are so sleek. But I also like the older Corvette too.”
“It’s a classic. Same body style as the movie Corvette Summer.”
“I never saw that.”
“It’s an old movie. The guy from Star Wars was in it. Luke Skywalker.”
Glenda bustled over then with their food, interrupting the conversation. “Here you go. Two catfish specials. Tartar sauce, green beans, and fries.” She straightened again. “Ross, thank you for being so nice to Billy. He’s just bouncing around back there. Harry says he can take his break whenever y’all are ready. That way you don’t have to wait around.”
“He’s a nice kid and he likes cars. It’s the least I can do. Thank Harry for me, please.”
“I will. Billy hasn’t stopped talking about that fancy car of yours since you were in here before. His dad had an old Camaro they were going to fix up together, but that man was as useless as tits on a bull. He never intended to fix a thing. Damned car just sits in the yard, rusting away.”
Somebody at another table waved. “Gotta go, sugar,” she said to Ross, giving him a pat on the arm as she did so.
Ross was staring speculatively at his plate.
“What is it, Ross?”
“I need to open that garage, don’t I? Start fixing up cars for people who need them. Billy’s almost sixteen. He’ll need a car to get around.”
Holly swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s your call, but it sounds like something that would be great.”
“There’s a lot of work to do—finding a location, building the facility, hiring the mechanics and staff. And I need to get the plans in place before I return to racing. Because once that happens, I won’t have time.”
Holly’s chest tightened. She picked up a fry and ate it. It tasted like dust. Of course he still wanted to return to racing. Expected to return.
For him, nothing had changed. For her, she’d just discovered the most momentous thing to ever happen to her. Between one breath and the next, her life had changed irrevocably.
She was in love.
And he was trying to figure out how to build a garage without cutting into his racing schedule. It wasn’t his fault she was gutted by his casual announcement. It was hers.
And she couldn’t let him know it.
“You’re rich,” she said lightly. “You can hire people to do everything for you. And you can talk to people via Skype or Face Time when you’re on the road. This isn’t really all that hard, Ross.”
He was still frowning. “No,” he finally said. “Maybe it’s not.”
She took a bite of catfish. It was flaky and crispy and she didn’t taste a thing. “I have no doubt you’ll get it done. You can start now while you know you’re working at the distillery for the foreseeable future. Then when you go out on the road again, the ball will already be rolling.”
“You’re right. The sooner I get started, the better.”
“Absolutely,” she said, her throat closing up.
He grinned. “Thanks, Holly. If you hadn’t picked Muriel’s the first time we went to dinner, I’d have never met Billy or realized how much impact I can have right now instead of someday.”
“You’re going to do terrific things, Ross. I know you will.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thanks to you.”
“No, it’s all you. You’re a great guy.”
He arched an eyebrow. “That’s something I’d have never thought you’d say two weeks ago.”
Holly’s smile felt brittle. Probably was brittle since she felt like her heart was breaking inside. “There are a lot of things I never thought I’d say or do two weeks ago. But I’m glad I did.”
No matter how much they ended up hurting when this was over.
ROSS COULDN’T SLEEP. Beside him, Holly lay completely still, softly breathing.
After they’d eaten at Muriel’s, they’d returned to her house and made fast, furious love just inside the door, unable to make it to the bed for the first round.
They’d made it there for the second. Holly had come apart so easily, so beautifully, beneath his touch. But something had felt off. There was a distance between them tonight, a distance he didn’t recall feeling before.
It had to be what he’d said about returning to racing. He’d said it because he’d always assumed his dad would relent and he’d be back with the team. It’d been his light in the darkness and the ultimate goal he’d kept his sights on.
But saying it hadn’t felt the way it should. It hadn’t made him happy.
Holly made him happy.
He was at a crossroads. He knew it in his bones. He loved driving, loved the speed and danger of the race. But he also wanted Holly beside him. Why couldn’t he have both?
It shouldn’t be that difficult, not really. He was still based in Kentucky. He could sell the house, buy something in Lexington to be closer to her. The only thing that would change is that he wouldn’t be at the distillery anymore. She’d have her domain back, which he thought would make her happy.
And yet the idea of not being at the distillery with Holly—not seeing her smile that was only for him, not watching her serious expression as she tested the mash or tasted the first drops of whisky from an aged barrel, not seeing her red hair gleaming like copper as she strode down the aisle of a barrelhouse when the sun was setting—was painful in a way that surprised him.
He liked being at Blackthorne Kentucky with Holly. He liked how important it was to her, how hard she worked, and how she never forgot her own family’s history or traditions when it came to the whisky.
And it wasn’t just Holly. He liked Evan Brooks and the whole team. They were filled with pride in their jobs, and they contributed a great deal to the Blackthorne bottom line. Yes, his father had bought Brooks Creek and built bigger and better facilities.
But without these workers who lived and breathed bourbon whisky, Blackthorne would not thrive here. The Blackthornes weren’t from here, and that kind of tradition meant a lot in the South. Especially in Bourbon County where there was pride for a whisky that went back centuries and was named for this patch of land in Kentucky.
Other distilleries made bourbon-style. They did not make bourbon.
Ross lay there for a long time, thinking. No matter how many angles he considered it from, no matter how often he asked himself what if, there was only one answer he could come up with.
Ultimately, he knew what he had to do. He only hoped it was right—and that Holly would forgive him.
Chapter Seventeen
THE KENTUCKY SPEEDWAY was jammed with people who happily shouted and drank beer and cheered on the drivers as they sped around the oval track. It was a seething mass of humanity who’d all come out for a sport that was loud and smelly and dirty.
And exciting as heck. Couldn’t forget that part, because it was much more exciting in person than it had been on television.
Holly had toured the pit with Ross, met his crew, his driver, and been overwhelmed with the noises and smells. Rubber was the predominant smell once the cars began their laps. Gas was big on the list too. And there was
road grit that got into your nose and onto your skin if you hung around out there for very long during the race.
They had not, thankfully. Holly thought Ross wanted to, and she’d been willing if it’s what he wanted, but he’d said goodbye to everyone, taken her hand, and led her to an air-conditioned suite where finely dressed people mingled, drank, and watched the race from on high. And where they did not have to wear ear protection.
“Wow, this view,” Holly said as they walked inside.
“It’s great, right?”
“Sure is.”
They didn’t get to say much more because Ross was suddenly mobbed by people who came over to talk to him.
Holly took one look at the women—most of them dressed to the nines—and felt a little out of place. She’d worn a cotton sundress and kitten heels and Ross had told her she looked amazing when she’d emerged from getting dressed this morning at his house.
She’d stayed overnight with him because his house was closer to the track. It’d only been a couple of days since she’d realized she was in love with him and every day was more poignant and worrying than the last. She thought, for her heart’s sake, that maybe she should pull back, put some distance between them.
But she couldn’t do it. She wanted to be with him because she loved the way she felt when they were together. They way he worshipped her body so tenderly and did everything he could to make her happy.
Maybe that was just Ross when he was with someone, or maybe it was something more. She wanted it to be more, but she knew she couldn’t fool herself that it was. That would not be healthy.
She’d decided to enjoy this weekend, because he’d asked her to, but she was always conscious of a ticking doomsday clock somewhere in her head. Counting down the minutes until he left the distillery and returned to the track.
Ross had been holding her hand when they walked into the suite, but he’d let go to shake hands and hug people. Holly stayed beside him, and he introduced her to everyone.
Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3) Page 15