Bourbon Summer (Bourbon Canyon #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Ruby

It was Friday night, and I had a mandarin bourbon smash in front of me and a semi-crowded bar behind me. The goblet glass was pretty, filled with ice, muddled mandarin, bourbon, orange liqueur, and bitters. It looked like a hard orange creamsicle. Perfect for summer. Only I wasn’t drinking it; I was photographing it.

I swiped to a different undertone on my phone and clicked. Then clicked again. I took a few more shots. Then I put a mandarin next to the glass and went through another round of shots.

“Need a model, Ruby?” one of the regulars called from a few tables away.

I smiled over my shoulder. “I can’t afford you, Jason.” The older farmer was in his forties, but his kids were my age, in their midtwenties, and he treated me like I was one of their lifelong friends when I’d only met his girls once.

“I’d cut Copper Summit a deal.”

I laughed, but inside, I sighed. I’d been suggesting more candid photo shoots. Less-formal sessions, preferably with Baileys involved. After all, the family owned and ran Copper Summit Bourbon Distillery.

But Junie’s the face of Copper Summit was the response I’d gotten from my boss the two times I’d brought up using others for more informal social media posts.

Junie Kinkade had been the face of Copper Summit since she was old enough to legally work for a spirits company. She was also a wildly popular country singer, which helped drive sales. Her audience loved what she loved, and she loved Copper Summit bourbon.

But... the brand could do with a refresh. At least online.

I wrapped up my photo shoot and took the mandarin bourbon smash to Jason’s table. “On the house.”

His mouth dropped open. If there was one thing Jason loved, it was trying all the new cocktails. “Thank you, Ruby. You’re one in a million.”

No, I was not. Not at all. Just ask any of my exes. “You’re welcome.”

I went back behind the bar. Instead of using my phone to stalk the social media accounts of Copper Summit’s competitors, I used the tablet we took payments on. I looked more official and less like I was fucking around online while working. But really, I was working while working.

Outside of my day job at the distillery, I picked up a couple of evening shifts each week in the tasting room to give the illusion I had a social life. I laughed with regulars and tourists, and then I drove back to Bozeman and my empty apartment. No one had to know that if I hadn’t been working, I’d have been home in bed, scrolling through my phone or reading a book like I did the other five nights of the week.

Movement beyond the front wall-to-wall windows caught my eye. I did a double take.

No.

Not tonight. Copper Summit was my safe space. I got to have a career I loved, one that fit my wallflower lifestyle, and I got to have a social life on the nights I worked the bar.

This environment was a judgment-free zone. So why the hell was my ex-boyfriend in the parking lot, my ex–best friend in tow?

That man had judged the hell out of me.

Oh no. They were walking in.

My heart rate crept up. No, no, no.

Brock Gibson had always mocked my social media marketing position with Copper Summit. Now I was also bartending—which I loved—but no doubt he’d act like I’d hit my head on each rung on the way down the corporate ladder. His words ran through my head, as fresh as the day he’d said them.

I just want more, Ruby. I don’t want to watch the world go by, and you’re always buried in your phone. Or in a book. And when we go out, you complain. We can’t keep trying to mine a well that’s gone dry . The pitying look he’d given me when he’d said that was still crystal clear in my head. Probably because I relived that humiliating breakup conversation every day since it had happened.

I kept telling myself that at least this time he hadn’t given me the I need a break convo. Or the it’s not you, it’s me cliché he’d given me the time before that. This time, he had said it was most definitely me.

He hadn’t been the first guy to dump me for similar reasons.

They were almost to the door. When had Brock and Cara Simonson started going out? Right after our breakup? Had she been the reason for his sudden disinterest in me? Did they giggle about how unexciting I was? How predictable?

I was frozen, my gaze glued to the big picture windows that lined the exterior wall of the distillery. Brock and Cara. Cara and Brock. In my workplace. The two people who had made me feel the worst about myself. Brock opened the door for her.

Please go into the main distillery.

They wouldn’t. It was almost eight in the evening and the distillery had been closed for two hours. Only the bar was open this late on a Friday night.

Cara smiled wide at him, flinging her long, glossy blond hair over her shoulder. She mouthed thank you and blew him a kiss. My stomach churned. They looked like they were perfect for each other.

Brock entered behind Cara, a big, indulgent smile in place. He used to aim that grin my way. But when his gaze landed on me, his expression morphed into shock. Cara was laughing and pointing to an open table close to the counter when she noticed his expression. She followed his gaze right to me.

My breath stalled. I did not want to do this, but I was the employee. It was my job to greet them. “Welcome to Copper Summit,” I said woodenly, smoothing my hands over my bright-yellow skirt. I’d paired it with black, chunky shoes. The white socks went with the white dress shirt I’d tied at my waist. The sleeves were rolled up. The tag had called it a boyfriend shirt and I had bought it just for that. A boyfriend shirt for the tragically single girl.

I looked like a school kid compared to Cara and her wide-legged gray slacks and magenta blouse with a goddamn ruffle that should look ridiculous and not sophisticated.

Her smile didn’t fade. It grew broader. The gleam in her eyes turned predatory. Or was it the glow of the neon signs for Copper Summit bourbon on the wall next to her?

“Oh my god!” Her rich voice carried across the din. “Ruby Casteel? It’s been forever.”

People stopped chatting and watched us. Did they see a train wreck about to happen? Was I the stranded motorist who couldn’t move her car off the tracks while they gaped at the locomotive bearing down on her?

“How are you?” That voice. That high-pitched tone. That nasal whine. Her casual yet hurtful comments in school threatened to pour back.

Like when I’d gotten a knit sweater I loved with my own money. Ruby, that color really washes you out, but I guess with your skin tone you don’t have many options.

Or when I’d debated trying a sport. Yeah, you shouldn’t go out for volleyball. Riding the bench is just a waste of time.

Then there was the morning I’d worked for an hour on my hair to impress a boy in history class. That natural curl in your hair could be so cute.

She blinked at me, waiting for a reply. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was actually happy to see me. But I remembered how she used to smile when we met up at the playground versus when we passed in the hall in middle school.

“Cara, hi. I’m well,” I managed to squeak out. “Hi, Brock.”

She threaded her arm around my ex. “Ohmigod. Do you two know each other?”

I tilted my head and waited for his answer. No way was I telling Cara I was that man’s ex. She either knew or she was going to find out from him. I’d learned long ago that it was better to keep my mouth shut around Cara Simonson.

Brock nuzzled her hair. “Remember, I told you about her,” he murmured. He pinned me with his bright blue gaze. “Hi, Rubes.”

I hated that nickname. My dad called me Rubes and I tolerated it from him. Otherwise, it sounded too close to “Pubes” and Cara had thought that was hilarious, calling me Pubes for all of eighth grade.

Before I could correct him, Cara gasped. “ That Ruby? I had no idea.” She laughed. “Small world. I never see you around, but you were always a wallflower.”

Brock nodded, and irritation sparked in my gut. I was not a— Eh, yes I was.

I had never been the life of the party. I’d have to go to a party first, and I wasn’t the fun-loving, innately sexy girl who got invited to such things. Cara was the one who loved gatherings, and she’d never extended the invitation to me.

As if to punctuate my unspoken thought, Brock wrapped an arm around Cara and tucked her into his side. He used to complain I was too short and he felt like I was sniffing his armpit. Cara was taller. They could bang foreheads for all I cared.

“I thought you worked at the Bozeman location,” Brock said.

Cara rubbed her hand across his chest. The two of them were sickly sweet, sweeter even than the huckleberry syrup I used for cocktails.

“I do. I took on some hours at the bar because it’s fun.” And so I could afford more books.

“Oh!” Cara stuffed a finger toward me. “You’re the social media girl.”

Brock had likely not been complimentary when describing my job. Had they had a good laugh at my expense?

“Yep.” It was social media management , but I wouldn’t elaborate. The only people I needed to justify my job to were the Baileys, and I respected them a hell of a lot more than these two. One Bailey in particular. His face had become the heroes in the stories I read. Especially the romances.

Especially the dirty romances.

“What can I get you two to drink?” I asked before I could blush. Wouldn’t want them thinking it was because I was embarrassed about my job.

“Isn’t this a tasting room?” Brock asked, his mouth turned down as he eyed the tables and the large windows that viewed the lobby.

“It functions as one yes, during the day. The Baileys have taken to calling it a cocktail bar so tourists know they can do more than sample in the evenings. But tasting room and bar are interchangeable for us.” I snagged a laminated sheet from under the bar and plopped it in front of them, anxious to serve them and move on. “Here’s a menu if you want some ideas.”

Cara forgot the table she’d initially been interested in and slid onto a stool. “Ruby.” Her expert pout had only gotten shinier and puffier. “It’s been forever. We used to be such good friends.”

We had been. Then her family had gotten money, moved out of the apartment building I was raised in, and Cara had found herself some friends with clothing and hairstyles that matched hers. She no longer wanted to talk books, didn’t care about Percy Jackson or Katniss, and definitely wasn’t interested in discussing film adaptations and how they never lived up to the book.

“It’s a busy night,” I lied. Everyone was taken care of, and a brief scan showed all the drinks were at least half-full. Damn. “What would you like?”

“A mojito,” she drawled. “It’s the perfect summer drink.” Her wide smile returned. “Don’t you think? This place has mojitos, right? I know it’s in the boondocks, but I’m optimistic.”

My right eye twitched. It only did that when I’d been staring at a screen for too long, which was most days, but Cara stressed me just as much. “So FYI, mojitos tend to be rum-based drinks, but I can make you a Copper Summit version with our original line of bourbon.”

She laughed, a sharp, cutting sound. “Isn’t a mojito a mojito?”

“This is a bourbon distillery,” I said.

Brock bristled, more defensive over Cara than he’d ever been for me. “She said she’d like a mojito.”

“I’m just trying to highlight the difference, so there’re no surprises.” I attempted the same megawatt smile Cara had displayed. “Predictability is a good thing in a bar.”

He flinched and looked away.

Cara’s gaze sharpened as if she sensed the dig. “I guess I can’t expect much excitement in a town as small as Bourbon Canyon.” She put her chin in her hand. “Do you live here, Rubes?”

Some days, it felt like there was more for me in this little town than where I’d been born and raised. I pinched off the longing before it could ignite. “No. I’m still in Bozeman.” I grabbed a bottle of Copper Summit Original and started on the mojito. “What can I make you to drink?” I asked Brock. The sooner I served them, the sooner they’d leave. I hoped.

“I’ll just take a bourbon. Neat.” He straightened like I was going to challenge him.

I didn’t. He hated whiskey. If he thought he could gut through a glass of plain bourbon in front of his girlfriend, who was I to argue? It was a chance to squeeze some joy out of the night.

I slid the mojito in front of Cara and poured the drink for Brock.

She took a sip and frowned. Then she shrugged and smacked her lips. I was about to scoot out from around the bar when she asked, “What have you been up to since graduation?”

Why did she want to visit? For most of high school, she’d pretended I didn’t exist. “School and then work. You?”

“Mm.” She sucked more of the drink down. “Same. I’m working for my parents’ real estate company now.”

A thread of envy wound around my heart. Cara had walked into her family’s company. And Brock probably still worked as a project manager for his dad’s construction company.

My mom had toiled away at three jobs trying to keep us afloat while I’d been growing up. Now, she worked as a remote bookkeeper and had spent her time since I’d graduated catching up on everything she’d missed after becoming a teen mom.

“What a wonderful opportunity.” There. I’d been the bigger person. I saw my exit in the conversation and went for it. I was about to duck out from behind the bar when Cara put her left hand out.

A knot in my gut cinched so tight I almost doubled over. A giant square diamond sparkled under the bar lights. How had I missed that monster ring? Well, she had been pasted to Brock since they’d walked in.

Brock had never bought me jewelry. No guy had.

No guy had bought me anything.

“We’re getting married .” She sang the last word.

“Congratulations.” The envy had returned. I didn’t want Brock, but why did a superficial person who bodysurfed on others’ feelings get to be spoiled? “Excuse me. I need to check on the other customers.”

I distracted myself from all the old feelings of inadequacy Brock and Cara exposed with orders and refills. While I was adding a splash of ginger beer to a bourbon mule, Brock took a sip of his drink and sputtered.

I gestured to my cheek. “Gotta shut off this part of your nose, remember?”

After I’d gotten the job with the Bozeman location of Copper Summit, I’d bought several bottles to try. I’d tackled them like I had a semester final. I had been filled with excitement and ideas to promote the product. Unlike Brock, I had been through a tasting session at the distillery. I could sip and enjoy the flavors playing over my taste buds. Brock had nearly swallowed his tongue and snorted bourbon out his nose.

Annoyance crossed his face. “A good bourbon wouldn’t do that.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes and brought the drink I’d prepared to Jason.

“Thanks, Ruby,” he said. His gaze narrowed on me. “Everything okay?”

My face was hot. Embarrassment. Irritation. Frustration. The night had started out so well. My skin showed all my emotions. I didn’t tan well and flushed easily. “I’m good. Just getting a little warm.”

I grabbed some empty glasses on my way back to the bar and took a few more orders. When I returned, Cara and Brock had their foreheads tipped together. His bourbon remained untouched since his first attempt, but her glass was empty except for ice, mint leaves, and a lime wedge.

I took her glass. “Need a refill?”

“Yes, please, Ruby.”

I tensed, waiting for some dig after that, but she actually sounded sincere.

She draped herself over Brock and kissed him. It was no quick kiss. The two were making out. I had to endure the smacking sounds while preparing another mojito. The metallic clang of the shaker didn’t faze them. I was a helpless bystander.

Cara pulled away and licked her lips. “Mm.” Her dreamy gaze slid toward me. “We’re having our wedding in town.”

Surprise flitted through me. Mental note: find out when they were getting married and make sure I wasn’t in town. Another giant party I was not invited to. “Oh?”

“We’re moving here.” She kissed Brock’s cheek and somehow had enough lipstick left to leave an imprint on his skin. “I’m opening a real estate office, and his family’s decided to do the same.”

“That’ll make your life exciting .” Petty, yes, but Brock’s fleeting, irritated expression was so satisfying. “Congratulations again.” I continued assembling the drink orders. A lemonade special, a blackberry bourbon, and another bourbon mojito. They were bestsellers during the summer. I needed to make some posts with them, but I’d refrain in front of the two lovebirds.

“I hope it all works out.” Her pout returned and she spread her hands. “It was all falling into place for a whirlwind wedding, but then the country club called earlier and told me they’re no longer offering wet bar options. The person who was supposed to work our wedding quit, and they’re too short-staffed for the Fourth the week after.”

“That stinks.” I had no clue how country clubs worked, but Cara used to fantasize about being the happy bride, and she had her... well, Brock wasn’t Prince Charming, but she had her groom. “I’m sorry.”

She eyed the bottle of Original in my hand. “Does Copper Summit do wet bars?”

“I... don’t know.” I wasn’t involved in the everyday workings and that was something my boss, Wynter, would want to keep separate. The distillery social media feeds didn’t dig that deep into Copper Summit business.

Cara leaned over the bar. “The president of the club actually said that Copper Summit has provided wet bar service before. That’s why we came tonight.”

Brock grunted and looked away. “I suppose there’s no one in charge around to talk to.”

I wished I had more information, if only to make it seem like the social media girl wasn’t a lowly position in front of Brock. “I can leave a message for?—”

Cara gasped. “You could work it. Oh, I’d feel so much better if you were in charge. You’re so organized.”

Was that a compliment? Without an insult? “I’m not...”

“Or would that be weird?” Cara looked from me to Brock. “With your history?”

Yes. “I mean, I’m not going to create drama. I’m too boring for that.” I hadn’t been able to resist, and apparently, I was no better than Cara, getting digs in when I could. “You two are clearly in love.”

She beamed. Brock’s lips formed a line, but he grasped Cara’s hand. “I want you to have a stress-free day, baby,” he said to her. “No need to worry over any single ladies in attendance. I only have eyes for you.”

Maybe it was their affectionate display or having endured the sloppy make-out session, but Brock’s assumption that I was single and would be pining for him rubbed me in all the wrong ways. It was like having sex with him all over again. “I’m not single.”

Shit.

The lie was out, and I couldn’t take it back. I swallowed the acid crawling up my throat. At least I shouldn’t have to prove it.

“Then you should come as a guest. There are more people who can do the wet bar.”

My laughter came out thready. “Uh, if they do wet bars.”

“You have to come to the wedding,” Cara said, a note of finality in her voice. Delight grew across her face. “I’ve lost touch with so many people from the good ol’ days. It’d be great to have you.”

Good ol’ days? Other than how we dressed, that was the starkest difference between us. Graduation had been the happiest day of my life. It had meant I wouldn’t have to see people who made me feel horrible about myself on a daily basis.

“And I’d get to meet your boyfriend,” she said in a singsong voice. “It’ll be just like when we dreamed about our weddings. We’ll be together.”

Was she for real? As if she hadn’t come in here and low-key insulted me earlier?

Pleased, she hugged Brock. “Isn’t that wonderful? We’ll have people from the past and present there to show us how far we’ve come.”

“Mm-hmm.” How did I get out of this? I had to have something going on that weekend. She’d mentioned whirlwind planning. It had to be soon. Whatever excuse I gave, it had to sound natural. I could not be humiliated by getting caught in a lie about my single status. Not by my ex.

I hadn’t cried for days just to let Brock get to me again. I hadn’t relived every other breakup with an ex who’d said similar things only to repeat the cycle when I wasn’t even dating anyone. All those typos Wynter had called me on after nights of terrible sleep could not happen again.

I hadn’t even been able to get myself off. So much for proving that I wasn’t the reason it had taken so long to orgasm. Their wedding would be the great libido robber. No, thank you.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me. I have to get these out before all the ice melts.”

I loaded a tray with drinks and scurried off. I struggled to get my breathing under control while I delivered the orders. At every single table, I asked if I could get them something else, practically begged, but since we were nearing closing time, they all passed. Damn the tasting room for not being open later on weekends.

What did I do? Find a date before the wedding? I’d only been single a year, but maybe I could use an app and just ask them to pretend with me. Was there a Tinder for fake dates?

My back was to the lobby entrance as the door opened, a waft of air crashing into me. A wave of heat followed.

It was him .

I turned, my gaze drawn to Tenor Bailey like there was no one else in the room. He stopped by Jason, probably talking about ranching. Jason’s land bordered the Baileys’ ranch. Tenor might run the finance department at Copper Summit, but he worked with Bailey Beef just as much.

The breathing I had tried to get under control quickened. He was so big. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was the tallest of all his brothers. Tenor had a way of slumping, of curling in on himself when he might otherwise loom over people. Was he aware?

Tenor Bailey occupied my mind far more often than he should.

He pushed up his solid-framed black glasses. Behind the lenses, his thick lashes were a few shades darker than his brown hair. He didn’t have a beard, but scruff always graced his square jaw.

He was scratching at his cheek as he listened to Jason. Tenor did a lot of listening. He wasn’t blustery or quick to add his two cents. Those qualities attracted me. I was a fluttery moth and he was a bright flame.

The guy could run numbers faster than should be humanly possible, but he never lorded over everyone how smart he was. The brainiac wore blue jeans and a simple rust-colored polo with a black Copper Summit logo on the breast. The cowboy boots that completed the look also consumed far more of my brain than they should.

One time, I’d seen him in a cowboy hat when he’d stopped in after helping with calving and I hadn’t been able to speak around him. A nerdy cowboy was my kryptonite.

A customer scooted his chair out, bumping into me. I jumped and nearly dropped my empty tray. “Sorry,” I squeaked.

Tenor glanced up. When his gaze landed on me, my pulse jumped. His pecan-hued irises were as unique as he was. He lifted a brow with an unspoken question— Are you okay?

I was never okay around him. He was older and confident and a lot more man than I’d ever associated with. I nodded and scurried back to the bar.

Cara’s second mojito was already empty. She leaned over, her eyes taking on a fevered glaze. Was the alcohol hitting her that hard already? “You have to tell me. Who are you seeing? Do I know him? Is he from Bozeman too? Wouldn’t it be funny if I’d dated him?” She guffawed and hugged herself to Brock. “I saved the best for last.”

Brock’s mouth curled into a smug smile as he slid his gaze off me and to his fiancée. “Me too.”

Jackass.

“Aw.” Cara had damn hearts in her eyes. “So? Who is he?”

I was back in the car, stuck on the train tracks with Locomotive Cara bearing down on me. “Oh. Um... you wouldn’t know him.”

I ran some fresh water to clean the dirty glasses I’d picked up earlier. Tenor broke from Jason and chatted with another customer, leaning down instead of towering over the guy. Gah. He was so considerate.

Cara put her elbow on the bar top and rested her face in her hand. “Try me.”

I scrubbed at an imaginary smudge on a glass. “He’s not from Bozeman.” I tried for an apologetic smile.

Brock’s eyes narrowed on the way I was frantically washing the same clean glass. “It’s a small world. Who is he?” His tone was cajoling. He thought he had me.

Dammit, he did have me.

This wasn’t fair. He was the one who’d brought his fiancée into the place where he’d known there was a possibility of seeing me. He and his saturated kisses could fuck right off. I would not admit I was single. I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. I would not give him even an inkling that my social life had gotten even less thrilling than when we’d been together.

Tenor came around the bar. “Hey, Ruby. How’s it going tonight?”

His deep voice washed over me, but it only fueled my determination. “Hi, Tenor.”

Cara’s gaze turned awestruck as she took him in. “Tenor?” She giggled. “What kind of name is that? It’s so... unique .”

The way her voice pitched up scraped against my patience, warning me what would come next. A hidden insult. A snide remark. My pulse pounded at my temples. I might lose my job for this, but it was either that or jump the counter, knock her to the floor, and slap my hands over her mouth.

“Isn’t it a great name?” I slid an arm around Tenor’s waist. He stiffened, a hard wall of muscle. “Also, meet my plus-one. Tenor’s my boyfriend.”

Oh god, oh god, oh god . What had I done?

Cara and Brock stared at me.

Tenor’s brows knit together.

I was flat on the train tracks, smashed to bits, and had only myself to blame.

Tenor

I hadn’t been anyone’s boyfriend for a lot of damn years. I had to have misheard.

Ruby’s arm was around me and she was close enough I could smell her limoncello scent. I inhaled deeply. In the past, I had caught a delectable whiff of her, but I’d never been this close.

I might have inappropriate thoughts about the petite marketing pro, but I always shoved my X-rated ideas out of my head as soon as they arrived. Not only was she much younger than me, she was an employee.

An employee who was smashed up next to me, inciting all those earlier ideas I’d had about her. “Ruby?”

The mouth of the woman across from us dropped open and a shrill squeal left her. “Ruby. Oh. My. God. He’s a snack . Like a whole buffet.”

I steeled myself, trying to figure out if this woman meant it as a compliment or not. Did I want to be a buffet? The guy next to her scowled.

“He’s the whole seven-course meal,” Ruby said with knowing confidence. “Um, Tenor. This is an old friend of mine, Cara, and her fiancé, Brock.”

I dipped my head, flailing to keep up with the turn of events.

“I hope you have a nice suit.” Cara’s grin was wide.

What the hell was going on?

Brock studied me with a slight frown. His date’s delighted gaze danced between me and Ruby.

I immediately knew this woman’s type. She was polished, her hair as sleek as her portfolio probably was. Something about her put me on guard. I stayed far away from women like that.

Brock was exactly like someone I’d expect to see with her. His gelled, dirty-blond hair crested in the middle like an ocean wave. His clothing was just like hers. Some brand name that cost more than it was worth. He was probably the only guy in the place not wearing jeans.

“Why do I need a suit?” Diligently, I tried to keep my mind off the lush body pressed next to me. Ruby’s hips hit below mine and her breasts?—

She was my employee . I would not notice how her tits were perfect handfuls.

“For our wedding. Ruby is invited, naturally. We’re old friends.” Cara gave me a coy look and Ruby stiffened next to me.

I nearly put an arm around Ruby. She was bothered by this Cara, but I didn’t know why. Nor did I know why Ruby had claimed I was her boyfriend. I wasn’t a guy who liked to act without all the information. “I need to steal Ruby for a minute.”

Because I was a glutton for punishment, and that couple was watching, I slipped my hand over Ruby’s and tugged her to the back office. Energy zinged up and down my arm. It was like my nerve endings had just been waiting for her touch to come alive.

I gritted my teeth and led her to the storeroom behind the bar.

“Wanna tell me what?—”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, dropping my hand and clapping her own over her crimson cheeks. “I can’t believe I did that.” She released her face and balled her hands into fists at her sides. Her ruby-red lips were set in a mutinous line. “I cannot stand him.”

This was not a Ruby I’d seen before. She was usually quiet, not speaking to me unless I had to ask her a question. She was more animated with my sisters, but this flush on her face was new. How far down her neck did it go? Was a blush ghosting over her?—

Shut it down.

I crossed my arms over my chest. She looked up, guilt scrawled over her face, and more than a little fear simmered in her eyes. I couldn’t help towering over her, but I hunched more to keep from intimidating her. “I thought you said you were friends with her, not him.”

She scrunched her nose. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

“The guy with the coif?” He didn’t deserve her. I had no clue who he was, but it didn’t matter. She’d been wasted on him.

“He dumped me last year.”

Fucking idiot.

She hugged herself. “Cara and I went to school together. We used to be close. Best friends. Then we so weren’t. Apparently, they’re getting married.” Her smile was tight. “I’m invited. Oh! She talked about having a Copper Summit wet bar. I didn’t have much info for them?—”

“Ruby. Explain.”

She snapped her mouth shut. Her lower lip was just a little puffier than her top. The perfect little shelf to nibble on.

She worked for me. How many times did I have to remind myself of that?

I could fire her.

No , I couldn’t. I’d hate myself. My brothers would beat me, and my sisters would kill me and hide the body.

“I don’t know how it happened. We were talking about the distillery and wet bars, then whether I’d work it, but how it might be inappropriate because I’ve seen the groom naked. And he assumed I was single. I told them I had a boyfriend. So Cara invited me as a guest, but she wanted to know about you. I mean, not you , but my ‘boyfriend.’” She tossed up air quotes and huffed. She glared at a shelf of extra highball glasses. “He smirked like he just knew I was single. I couldn’t let him be smug about it.” She let out the cutest growl.

“ Are you single?” I intentionally hadn’t asked the question before—to myself or anyone else.

Her flush blazed back and she nodded.

The information was beginning to sift into place. “You don’t want them to know you don’t have a boyfriend?”

She shook her head.

“So you named me as your boyfriend?”

Her eyelids drifted shut. Dark eyelashes rested stark against her skin. “Sorry.”

Okay. She was humiliated, and if I was to pick between Ruby and the happy couple out there, the choice was a no-brainer. “And we’re supposed to be going to some wedding?”

“No. No, it’s fine.” She waved her hand so quickly I was offended. “I don’t want to drag you into it. I’ll clean up my mess.”

I hadn’t thought twice about the wedding, but disappointment welled inside me. “Is the wedding in Bozeman?” Wasn’t there something about a wet bar?

She shook her head again. “In Bourbon Canyon. They’re moving here.” She screwed up her face. “They moved here? I don’t know.” She prodded at her forehead. “I’m going to tell them I can’t make it. I have something that weekend.”

“Do you know when it is?”

She blanched. “No.”

I bit back a smile. Disgruntled, flustered Ruby was working her way under my skin farther than quiet, competent Ruby ever had.

I wanted to help her. She was under the Copper Summit umbrella and we protected our own.

And I couldn’t stand assholes.

I took her hand in mine once more. “Let’s go find out when the wedding is.”