Bourbon Summer (Bourbon Canyon #6)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Ruby

Stunned, I let Tenor lead me out of the storeroom. I’d been ready to save as much face as possible by telling them I actually had a busy summer. But Tenor’s big hand had clamped around mine. Strength radiated through him and into me.

“Sorry, guys,” he said to Brock and Cara and draped a heavy arm around me. Who needed a weighted blanket around this guy? “I had to make sure Ruby actually wanted to go to a wedding.”

Cara blinked rapidly. Brock inhaled and straightened as tall as he could. He would never get close to Tenor’s height, and sitting down, he looked like a toddler in a booster seat compared to Tenor. I probably looked like a posable doll, one with bright-red cheeks.

Still, I snuggled into Tenor’s side. It was for show and maybe because I was an opportunist. When else would I get an up-close-and-personal feel of this man’s body? The wall of muscle I pressed against did things to my hormones. Gave them ideas about what else I could be doing with Tenor. As if I hadn’t imagined exactly what since I’d started working here a year and a half ago.

I’d been hired on when Brock had needed one of his “breaks.” We’d reconnected during my bourbon sampling days. Brock had probably seen the lineup of bottles and thought I had infused excitement into my life.

Tonight was a little too thrilling. I couldn’t look around the room. Could customers see Tenor’s arm around me? Cara might not know this wasn’t normal, but a lot of people here tonight would.

My mom always said one lie bled into another, and before you knew it, the cascade would drown you. As long as I perished out of Cara and Brock’s sight.

Cara recovered from Tenor’s faint insinuation that her wedding might not be the event of the season. “Oh, absolutely. Ours won’t be stuffy. It’s an outdoor wedding at the golf course. The house we’re building—that Brock is building—overlooks the course.”

“Hole nine,” Brock boasted.

Adoration filled her face and Brock puffed his chest out. “T-minus four weeks,” she lilted.

“The end of June?” I asked.

“The last Saturday.” She smiled like a Cheshire cat. “I’ll get you an invite. Where can I send it? Do you two live together? I keep telling Brock we’ll have to, like, become outdoorsy people or something. What is there to even do in town?”

“It’s downright boring,” Brock said.

Bourbon Canyon wasn’t my home, but I bristled in defense of it.

Tenor gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “My dad always said boredom is the sign of either a dull mind or a dull life. Fill one or the other and you won’t be bored.”

Brock’s jaw clenched and his eyes sparked.

“You can mail it here or just drop it off next time you’re in town,” Tenor continued, his easy tone belying any insult to Brock. “This is my second home.”

“You work the bar too?” Brock asked with a hint of superiority.

“I work all over Copper Summit, though I’m not at the Bozeman facility as much as I used to be. I’m one of the owners.” Tenor’s direct gaze landed on him, and I nearly felt sorry for my ex.

Tenor could be intense when he didn’t work against his innate presence. I’d watched him for too many hours in the distillation room. He was quiet and focused, always looking like he was hunting for the guys who’d killed his puppy. He stayed away from the crowds. Teller worked the tasting room with a tour, but Tenor always locked himself away in his office or at a computer.

Tenor held his hand out. “Tenor Bailey.”

Brock cleared his throat and accepted the shake. “Brock Gibson.” His voice pitched up at the end and he winced. Tenor didn’t look like he’d even been trying to crush my ex’s grip.

Cara rested her chin on her hand. “We were asking Ruby about having Copper Summit do the wet bar, but she’s not in the know. She’s just dating the boss.” She winked at me. “You don’t need the deets when you have him.”

I funneled more energy into holding my smile. This conversation exhausted me.

Tenor nodded, but his expression said they could eat shit; he wouldn’t care. “We’re able to provide wet bar service. If you’re interested in having Copper Summit help with your special day, either I or my brother Teller are the ones to talk to. But if you don’t mind, I’m gonna help my girl get ready to close now.”

“Oh yes.” Cara slid off her stool, giving Tenor another once-over, then shooting me a look at you! grin. She squeezed Brock’s biceps. “We should get going, babe. Let these two lovebirds close up.”

“I’d rather have you to myself anyway.” Brock drew his fiancée in for a kiss with flashes of tongue.

Ew. I used to be on the receiving end of that inept tongue. I shuddered.

Tenor put his mouth close to my ear. “Ignore them.”

I nodded, and as he pulled away, cool air surrounded me. The man was a furnace, and I’d been toasty warm.

I grabbed a rag and followed him to a table. He cleared the empty glasses and I wiped. The tingle of curious gazes was on us, but I continued working. I stayed close to Tenor. If Brock and Cara ever quit sucking face, they should see us together.

We moved to another empty table. Finally, Cara pulled away and wiped her lips. I should get her a set of handkerchiefs for her wedding gift.

Brock swiveled his head around and disappointment filled his face when his gaze landed on me and Tenor doing our thing and not paying attention to them.

I swiped around the table until my back was to them. “You were right,” I said quietly. “Ignoring them was best.”

“She’s insecure and he feeds off it,” he murmured. “She might even be jealous of you.”

With her looks, her job, and my ex, Cara was not jealous of me. She had a superiority complex.

Another couple got up at the table next to us. The guy smacked Tenor good-naturedly on the back, and they started chatting. I smiled at the woman. She ran the coffee shop. I usually stopped there when I came to town before my shift.

She glanced curiously between me and Tenor. Oh damn. People had noticed. How were we going to play this? How were we going to pretend to be a couple for a wedding in a small town that adored Bailey business? A lot of the guests would probably be from Bozeman and old classmates of mine—not that they’d remember me—but the happy couple was still moving to town. Would one wedding date be enough to sell the idea that Tenor and I were a thing? Could I count on Cara to be so self-absorbed that she didn’t notice?

Yes, probably. Brock might be so into his new wife he wouldn’t track the lack of me and Tenor after his wedding.

What incentive did Tenor have to keep the ruse going? He was a nice guy, but my crazy announcement had to be stretching the limits of his generosity.

I needed to freshen my cleaning rag. Tenor juggled several empty glasses. I took two from another cleared table. Relief was a breath of fresh air when Cara and Brock wound through the room for the door.

I smiled brightly. “Nice to see you again.” Might as well finish the night with another lie.

Acid churned in my stomach as I rinsed my rag and washed the glasses. Tenor deposited more glassware, grabbed the cloth, and went back to clear up more tables.

Everyone was gone. It was nearing closing time, and there were a few other bars in town that people went to for darts league, bingo, or bands. Copper Summit knew what it was—a tasting room by day and a cocktail bar by night—and didn’t try to compete with them. I appreciated the casual, quiet atmosphere. So many people from all around the world stopped in, and chatting with them had become one of my favorite things.

Tenor steadily cleaned the front while I stayed behind the bar. I got the dishes done, restocked, and cashed out the till. Using the tablet, I uploaded the numbers for the night and sent the reports to Tenor, surreptitiously peering at him from under my lashes.

He was crouched nearly to the floor, peering under a wobbly table. It’d be fixed by Monday. That’s just how Tenor was. When he saw something needed to be done, he did it. He didn’t expect fanfare or a pat on the back. He was humble. A trait that shouldn’t be rare, but in my experience with guys, it was.

He rose, uncurling that powerful body. My stomach dipped and twirled.

When he turned, his longish hair fell over his forehead. He shoved it back and pushed up his glasses. The tingles spreading across my skin rerouted, shivering down my spine and curling through my belly.

He was like Clark Kent. If he slicked back his hair and lost the glasses, he’d be kryptonite to oodles of women. As it was, the shaggy, nerdy look did enough damage to interested parties. Me being one of them.

Tenor was safe to admire from afar. He wasn’t abrasive, he listened, and he kept his distance. I didn’t have to worry that a giggle would give him the wrong impression about me. He didn’t field flirtation; I’d seen many a tourist try. Therefore, I knew there wasn’t a chance and could fantasize away.

His attention was on me, and he wasn’t slouching. He could be across the bar in three strides. He could pick me up and set me on the edge of the counter and?—

Heat bloomed across my cheeks. That’d never happen.

Oh crap. I was staring. I jolted and looked around for my purse. “We’re officially closed.”

“We should talk,” he said.

The tingles and swirls were gone. Anxiety filled their place. “Yes. I got you into a mess.”

He waved my words away and came around the bar. Yep, three powerful strides. I’d need six. But he didn’t take me in his arms and toss me on the counter because he couldn’t stand one more second apart. That wasn’t a surprise. His bending to dig in a cupboard was.

He withdrew two short tumblers and a bottle of Copper Summit Gold from a bottom cabinet. That was where the Baileys stored all their special bottles they didn’t serve to the public. I’d never served a drink from there.

He poured a finger in each and scooted one over. He lifted his chin across the bar. “Have a seat.”

A shiver traced over my skin. A subtle command. He wasn’t bossy or pushy. He wasn’t loud or brash. And I ate it up like the attention-starved woman I was.

“Thank you.” I situated myself on the same stool Cara had sat on and crossed one leg over another.

His dark gaze lifted and met mine. Surely he hadn’t been looking at my legs.

I took a small sip. Copper Summit Gold was one of the best. A top-shelf spirit, it had the most complex flavor profile in our line. Vanilla, oak, and spices mingled without one element taking over. It was robust, yet smooth. Rich, yet simple. Pure bourbon, the way it should be made.

I had pitched a post describing it as so established it had the full charisma and not just the “rizz,” but Wynter had shut it down. I had thought that as the youngest sibling in the Bailey family, she’d be open to new ways to reach the just-turned-twenty-one crowd. So far, she was proving me wrong.

Cocktails were a way to capture younger consumers, and she knew that, but we’d never grab their attention with Copper Summit’s uber-polished aesthetic. We were entering the world of short video, and rizz was the terminology I needed to be using.

The golden bourbon inside my glass almost glowed under the soft bar lights. I dug out my phone and snapped a few photos. I never forgot the older crowd who loved their bourbon neat and insisted that it was a sipping drink. The counter was the best place to capture images.

Tenor watched me without saying anything. His hands were propped on the counter and he stood like he was bracing himself.

I slid through the images and held my phone out for him to see. “That’d make a good post.”

The tumbler was in focus, the amber liquid inside catching the light. But behind the drink was Tenor, strong arms braced on the bar top. He was slightly out of focus, thanks to the setting I’d used, but he captured as much attention as the drink.

He frowned. “Why would you use it?”

“It gives the drink a personal touch, and you would get the attention of males and females alike.” How many women would stare at it like me?

His brows drew together. “How?”

Was he oblivious? I fluttered my fingers around the screen. “Guys see that and think, ‘Maybe I could look that strong drinking Copper Summit Gold.’ Women look at it and wonder if you’d be the one serving it.”

The furrow between his dark brows deepened. “You can’t even see my face.”

“That adds to the mystery. You can be anyone to them.”

His lips thinned. “Junie’s the face of Copper Summit.”

“Junie doesn’t speak to everyone.” I clamped my teeth down on my lip. My inside thoughts had escaped through my mouth. I wasn’t usually that forward. I made suggestions, and when I was shut down, I dropped it. Copper Summit wasn’t my business to run. It was Tenor’s, and maybe I didn’t shut up around him because he’d already saved me once tonight. If we kept talking shop, he wouldn’t have a chance to tell me what a tragically bad idea going to the wedding was.

He was still propped on his hands, his shoulders hitched up. “She speaks to our demographic. They know her. She’s familiar. And now she’s famous in her own right.”

“I know. She’s brought a lot of new customers to Copper Summit.” I spun my glass in a circle. Junie also gave me more rein when it came to managing her personal social media. Working for her fueled so many ideas that I would love to use for Copper Summit, but my first attempts had not been successful.

“But you don’t think that’s enough?”

I shouldn’t be having this conversation with him. “I don’t want Wynter to think I’m going around her.”

“You’re off the clock. Speak freely.”

Uh, no. Unlike what Cara and Brock thought, I was not dating the boss. He was helping me out. “It’s nothing. I just think all of you Baileys are amazing and I think the public would agree.”

“By seeing my headless body behind a glass?” he asked, his tone gently prodding.

I should quit talking, but I loved my job. I loved studying the market and following the campaigns other companies used, and not just other distilleries. Anything food and beverage would do. Most entertainment industries were worth monitoring. Even fashion influencer accounts told me a lot about how different age groups reacted.

“Actually, I’d prefer the head attached. You each would attract your own audience, and you could do it without sharing much personal information. Anything would be related to the distillery and your roles within it. Even the ranch would be cool. A faces-of-Copper-Summit type thing. More than the bland headshots in your brochures.”

He cocked his head like he hadn’t heard me correctly. “Bland headshots?”

Yep, I should’ve quit speaking. Could I answer without digging more of a hole? “Don’t get me wrong, brochures work for an older crowd. Anyone older than me, at least.”

His mouth formed an amused twist. “You’re saying young people don’t like us?”

“No, trust me. All ages like you.” Shit . We’d been talking about the family and I’d singled out him. “They love the polished scraps you give them, but they’d go feral over the flannel. Every single one of you. The product needs to sell itself, but the key to growth is to build a community around the Copper Summit story, and not just the family origin, but the family as they are now. And it’d give me more content to work with.”

Tenor and his brothers, Tate and Teller, worked around the distillery, hauling out used mash or unloading bags of grain. I’d caught the show more than once. Muscles and rugged country guys making bourbon sold unsurprisingly well to both a male and female audience. Tenor wore baggy shirts, but they couldn’t hide how his body bunched and flexed when he moved, and the man moved like a melody. He’d sell some spirits.

I could take still shots, video, do interviews. Junie shouldn’t be the only face of Copper Summit.

“You’ve talked to Wynter about all this?” he asked quietly.

I lifted a shoulder. “Yes.”

He pressed against his hands. “Really talked and not just agreed with her because she’s your boss?”

“Yeah?” My voice pitched up.

Quiet, he studied me like he did with the rest of the world. When his lips pressed together, I knew he thought the same as his youngest sister when it came to updating the distillery’s brand. “I don’t want to attract an audience.” He took a drink. His mouth worked slightly as he rolled the bourbon over his tongue, then his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“Fair enough.” I understood, and I was relieved to drop the subject. I didn’t want to create waves at my job. “I don’t like to be on camera either.”

“Why not?”

I looked like a knockoff Snow White. My curls usually frizzed and my clothing was too cutesy to be a woodland princess. But I liked my style. Mom had taught me how to be a master thrift shopper. I wasn’t going to sell bourbon, and there was nothing wrong with being realistic. “I don’t have the vibe,” was all I said.

Ugh, but I knew who did.

“Maybe if Cara and Brock decide to book Copper Summit for their wedding, I can ask Wynter if we can make a deal with them. We could get some images from the event to show how young and versatile bourbon can be.”

He took another drink, emptying half the glass. “About this wedding.” He polished off the rest of his bourbon and washed the glass, his fingers deftly handling the cup and the cloth.

My pulse jumped. “About that. I think people saw you with your arm around me.”

He was going to bail. He’d been willing to save face in the moment, but that was the extent of it. Cara wasn’t his childhood frenemy. Instead of panicking, I should be helping him think of a way to untangle himself from the lies I’d told tonight.

I could always show up to the nuptials solo. Oh, sorry. Did I say boyfriend? I meant boyfriend material. Not my boyfriend.

It wouldn’t be the most humiliated I’d ever been.

“Bourbon Canyon’s too small,” he said, sounding not at all surprised. He’d probably clocked everyone’s reactions before me. “People are going to be asking Mama or my brothers about us. And then there’s the wedding. We’ll have to pretend to be together around town too.”

“You mean, like fake dating? You’d do that?” Why? He could just say no and be on his thick-thighed way. Why would one of the most-wanted bachelors in Montana let himself be tied up in a pretend relationship?

He lifted a shoulder like we were talking about which cocktail I should post next. “If we go back on it now, then Cara and your ex will most likely find out. She’ll get away with making you feel bad, and I don’t like the thought of that.” He shook his head for emphasis. “Not at all.”

“People are going to talk.”

His right eye twitched and a cloud of tension rolled over him. “And this time, I’ll be in control of the narrative.”

What other times hadn’t he been in control? He wasn’t talking and it wasn’t my business to ask. It wouldn’t take much to convince people. The town’s grapevine would take over and fill in the blanks. Fake dating Tenor Bailey. He wouldn’t have to do much to be better than all my real dates.

I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining the idea of a date, real or not, with a Bailey?—

I gasped. “Your family.” The embarrassment choked me. The coolest family I knew would find out I was a popularity charity case. They’d hear about how I had to pretend to have a boyfriend while I was a full adult. “Oh my god. I can’t ask you to lie to them. That’s not very most valuable employee of me.” There were no parking spots for most pathetic employee either.

“Hey,” he said soothingly, ducking his head to catch my eye. “It’s fine. We don’t have to tell them. You’d be doing me a favor.”

I let out the most undignified snort, but unrefined was the theme of the night around Tenor. “How?”

He drummed his fingers on the countertop before answering. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a girlfriend. They think I’m hung up on my ex, and this’ll show them I’m not.”

Working over his words in my head, I couldn’t find a hole in them. Either that, or I was too relieved he was willing to go full ruse with me to look harder. “You’re willing to break the hearts of all the women patiently waiting for a date with you?”

“I can put a pause on my life of serial dates.” He smirked, but his eyes were shadowed. “You’ll be doing me a favor.”

I doubted that, but I wasn’t in a position to argue. The only other option was to tell the entire family I admired that I’d cornered their loved one into going out with me. “Okay. So we know what we’re doing.”

The flood of adrenaline that had been fueling me all night suddenly drained. I smothered a yawn with my hand. I still had to drive back to Bozeman tonight. The trip only took about forty minutes to get to my actual apartment, but it’d be close to midnight before I got home. Past my bedtime, and my emotions had been through the wringer tonight.

A lot of women my age were at clubs or even married and expecting kids. I didn’t even have a cat.

“Where do you stay when you close?” he asked.

“I commute. It’s not a long drive.”

“Every night?”

I nodded. “No big deal.”

His mouth formed a troubled line. “Why didn’t you say something? We could set you up somewhere.”

I was touched by his concern, but I squirmed under his attention. People weren’t usually concerned about me. “You don’t need to.”

“You’re my employee.”

Didn’t mean he had to worry about me. I shrugged and lifted my bourbon to my lips. He snatched the glass from my grip. “What?—”

“Not if you’re driving.”

“I’m twenty-five, Tenor. I can handle one drink before I drive.” I hadn’t planned to finish all of it, but pride was pride. My stomach growled as if to announce that I also hadn’t eaten.

“Twenty-five. Jesus,” he muttered. He dumped the bourbon down the drain.

I gasped and leaned over the counter. “That’s like thirty dollars!” And a pour was cheaper at the cocktail bar than anywhere else. I sat with a plop. “I’m not that young.”

“I’m thirty-eight, Ruby.” He pushed his hair off his face. “Thirteen years. Christ. People are going to think I’m robbing the cradle.”

“It’s not like I’m fresh out of high school. It’s not a big deal.”

“Normally, it’s not, but I haven’t...” The muscles in his jaw flexed and he looked away. Something bothered him. Something because of me.

I let out a sigh. None of this was his fault. He was allowed to have issues with it. “You shouldn’t have been dragged into any of this. I didn’t think, and I’m sorry.”

His steady gaze landed on me, the yellow flecks glinting. What was going on in that brilliant mind of his? “You can stay at Mama’s tonight, and we can get you something to eat.”

“I do not need?—”

“You’re my fake girlfriend,” he said, his tone challenging. “Isn’t that what I’d do for you?”

I snapped my mouth shut. “How far are we going with this? Staying at your mom’s seems pretty serious.”

Translation: Tell me everything so I don’t foolishly mistake your consideration for actual interest. I’d have to write it on my mirror at home. You and Tenor are not a thing. He’s pretending to save your ass.

He narrowed his eyes while considering my question. “It says that we’re getting more serious. Then it’ll make more sense to my family when we go to the wedding together.”

All that echoed in my head was “...go to the wedding together.” Traitorous hope rose in my stomach. This is not real.

Regardless of my mental warnings, the one small sip I’d had lit in my belly, spreading warmth through my abdomen. “Just what does that mean?”

“We’ll talk about it. After you eat and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Are you sure I can just drop in on your mom?”

“She’ll be delighted.” At my dubious look, he shrugged those big shoulders. “I grew up with foster kids arriving at all different hours. Now her house is almost empty. She’ll love having another room filled.”

“I thought your brothers-in-law...” I frowned. “Brother-in-law’s brothers?” I shook my head. Wynter’s husband had been a foster. His two brothers were much younger than him and now worked for Mae Bailey. “How do you keep everyone straight?”

“They’re all family. Lane and Cruz are staying with her for now, but they go to Denver a lot to learn about distilling and Foster House.” He rinsed my glass. “You gotta remember there were seven of us after my parents adopted the girls, plus the foster kids who’d come and go. Mama can have five people staying over nowadays and it’d feel empty to her.”

“Oh.” That was sweet. I’d grown up with no siblings. My stepdad hadn’t been around for long. It’d been just my mom and me, and since I’d graduated, we’d traded roles. She was off seeing the world and I had settled down. “I guess if she doesn’t mind. Then we can discuss everything tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there in the morning helping with chores. I’ll grab you for breakfast and then we can talk.”

Butterflies took flight in my stomach. I hadn’t ever been this excited for a real date. If just fake dating Tenor filled me with giddy anticipation, then I had to be careful. A whole month of pretending could go to my head, and I couldn’t let it.

It was just after eleven at night and I was sitting in Mae Bailey’s house, at her kitchen table. She was in long pajama pants and her salt-and-pepper hair was in a French braid.

“I can make decaf.” She rummaged in a cupboard and looked over her shoulder. “Of course, we always have bourbon.”

Tenor was standing at the door, his arms folded across his chest. “You can go to bed, Mama. I’ll make sure Ruby gets something to eat and finds the guest room. And I’ll text Lane and Cruz to make sure they’re presentable in the morning.” He ended the last part on a low growl.

Mae set a mug on the counter and quirked a brow at her son. “Good idea. Cruz seems to think every day is boxers-only day.” She chuckled. “To be young and lack self-consciousness.” She patted Tenor’s arm. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She turned to me. “Don’t worry about noise, Ruby. My room is upstairs. Lane and Cruz might be young, but they hit the hay fairly early and sleep like the dead. Though early for them might be midnight.” Her fond smile showed how much she cherished them. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mrs. Bailey,” I said.

She stopped on her way to a large, open living area. “If you call me Mrs. Bailey again, I might have to revoke the welcome.” Her eyes twinkled. “Mae or Mama are all I’ve responded to my whole life. Sometimes more colorful names, but never Mrs. Bailey.”

“Thanks, Mae.” When she left, I was alone in the kitchen with Tenor. “Your mom is amazing.”

“She is.” He opened the fridge and peered inside. “Looks like there’s leftover pork chops, mashed potatoes, and...” He lifted the aluminum foil off a glass container. “Squash or sweet potatoes. I can’t tell.”

My stomach clenched. I was so damn hungry. Usually after a bar shift, I wolfed down toast when I got home, or waited until morning and woke up ravenous. “Does she make that big of a meal regularly?”

“She wouldn’t consider this a big meal, and yes.” He pulled out the dishes. I rose and crossed to a cupboard that I hoped had plates.

He glanced at me. “What are you doing?”

“Helping?”

“Sit. You’re a guest.”

“I’m your fake girlfriend.” Saying it didn’t make it more real. More fake? It was too late to decipher what was happening.

“You’re not a fake guest.” He turned toward me, not slouching at all. “Sit.”

The low grumble rippled right over my skin. I went back to the table.

He prepared two plates. I felt moderately less like an intrusion if he hadn’t eaten either. “That’s a lot of food. Are you sure your mom wasn’t saving it for someone?”

“Mama can throw a four-course dinner together as quickly as I can make a sandwich.” He tossed one plate into the microwave and busied himself with making coffee. “She always makes more so anyone who stops in has food.”

“She’s unreal.”

He leaned against the counter. “She is.”

His answer lacked emotion. So did his expression.

Actually, he was like that a lot. He seemed like the most mellow brother. Teller would stomp around the distillery on occasion. He didn’t take his irritation out on people, but we could tell when he was in a jovial mood or when he was pissy. The same with Tate, but he was quicker to smile. Because he was married with kids?

At first glance—and second and third—Tenor came off as the calmest. But no. That wasn’t correct. He just hid what he was feeling. The little bit we saw was the tip of the iceberg.

The smell of coffee and savory pork chops filled the air. My mouth watered.

A shirtless man around my age sauntered into the kitchen. He was scratching his chiseled chest. His dark hair was longish, like Tenor’s, and rumpled like he’d been lying down. “Damn. Something smells good.”

Irritation flickered across Tenor’s eyes. “Get a shirt on. We have company.”

Surprise flitted across the guy’s face and he frowned. “This late?” His gaze landed on me. “Oh shit. Sorry. Didn’t know you had someone over.” He ducked into a room off to the side and I heard a metal lid clang. A dryer.

“Sorry about that,” Tenor said and swapped plates in the microwave. “That’s Lane.”

“I should’ve assumed since he has more than boxers on.” The corner of Tenor’s mouth lifted and I wanted to pump my fist in the air. I’d made him almost smile. “No worries. It’s his home.”

Tenor’s face softened. “Yeah, it is.”

While I never minded seeing a chest as defined as Lane’s, there was only one man’s torso I was interested in gawking at. But Tenor wore his shirts too big for me to do more than imagine the muscle underneath.

Lane came out in a Mountain Perks T-shirt that might’ve been Mae’s from the way it was glued to his chest.

Tenor’s mouth flattened. “Seriously? That’s the best you could do?”

Lane pressed his fingers to his chest and adopted an astonished expression. “Perhaps it’s my ankles on display that torment you.”

I smothered a snicker.

Tenor shook his head. “I’ll give you extra chores tomorrow just for that.”

“Bring it on, old man. Mm. The pork chops. Mae made, like, fifteen of them. She has a sixth sense for when you’re going to swing by for food.” His long legs ate up the distance between me and him. He stuck a hand out. “Sorry. My manners are rusty because I usually hang out with my brother or this guy all day. I’m Lane.”

“Ruby.” I shook his hand. I’d seen Lane and his brother Cruz around but had never been introduced to them.

His shake was perfunctory, but Tenor straightened, his eyes narrowing like he was worried Lane would pick me up and haul me to his bedroom.

Lane snapped his fingers. “Social media girl,” he said warmly, with a hint of admiration. So unlike Cara when she’d said it. “I follow the accounts. I’ve been studying them. You do a good job.”

“Thank you.” I might’ve beamed a little. It was one thing to get compliments from my employers, but Lane wasn’t directly involved in Copper Summit, though he was familiar with the industry. From what Tenor had said, he’d been training with Myles at his whiskey distillery outside of Denver.

“Rough night at the bar?” Lane asked, leaning against the counter next to Tenor.

Tenor’s face was impassive. “Don’t you have an early morning?”

One of Lane’s dark brows arched. He looked from Tenor to me, then back. “Oh. Yeah.” He let out a theatrical yawn and stretched. His shirt rode up above his waistband. “It’s past my bedtime. Got those chores in the morning. The goats don’t like it when I’m late with their food.”

I bit back a grin, but heat flooded my face. I wasn’t ready for everyone to think there was something between me and Tenor. What if they didn’t think I was good enough for him? Would they have issues with my age? At least I couldn’t help that. I’d tried to change for Brock but it had never been enough. Cara probably didn’t go to bed by nine on Fridays just so she could read.

By the time Lane was gone, the food was done heating up. Tenor brought both plates to the table.

He poured some coffee, then retrieved a bottle from another cabinet and splashed some bourbon into each one.

“What line is that?” I asked when he set them on the table.

“Solemn Summit.”

“The one named after you.” All the Baileys had a special barrel named after them.

He sat next to me. Only the corner of the table was between us. “I shouldn’t be surprised you know them all.”

“You know, when I got the job, I went out and bought a bunch of bottles to try before I started.” I’d used all my tip money from the serving job I’d had through college.

He was midslice of his pork chop. “You bought them all yourself?”

“I was excited.” I still was. “It’s a dream job, and I wanted to be good at it.”

He cut a chunk of pork off. “We’ll reimburse you.”

“That was eighteen months ago.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He swiped his meat through his potatoes and shoved the forkful in his mouth.

“Oh. Thank you.” I took a bite and groaned. “So good.”

Tenor paused, his fork in the air.

I patted my mouth with a napkin. “Sorry. My mom isn’t a big cook. If it’s not from a box, she can’t make it.”

“Mama’s food is the best, but it’s been basically her full-time job most of her life.”

“My mom’s sensitive about it. About her cooking.” I loaded up on mashed potatoes. None of my family could cook this well. “I think it’s because she had me so young. Then my stepdad, or my ex-stepdad—I never know what to call him. Bill. They’ve been divorced for several years. We don’t talk much anymore.” He’d met another woman who hadn’t liked that his stepdaughter was still in his life. “Anyway, Bill used to tell her she could scorch water.”

“Did he cook?”

“No.”

“Then why was he complaining?”

“I asked him that once. He didn’t have an answer, and Mom pointed out what a good question that was.” Bill and my mom had divorced shortly after. I’d been sad to see him go, but the atmosphere at home had gotten lighter. Mom quit trying to be superwoman when he wasn’t there and could just be Mom.

I finished my food about when Tenor did.

I took a sip of the coffee with bourbon. “Mm. I think this is the only way I can drink decaf from now on.”

“It’s the only way any of us can drink it.”

I chuckled and caught a flash of a smile from him before he closed his lips around the rim of the mug.

My heart fluttered. I longed to push his hair off his face and take those glasses off. Or leave them on, as long as I could see sharp cheekbones and intense brown eyes.

“Cara and Brock might be moving to Bourbon Canyon, but we won’t let them bother you if they keep coming into Copper Summit on your shifts.”

I scoffed. “You Baileys can do a lot, but you can’t control other people.”

His steady look said maybe they could.

I shivered. His attention warmed me faster than the hard coffee. “She shouldn’t have power over me. She wasn’t even that bad, but I felt like I was in middle school again, wondering why she was making me feel bad in front of her new friends. I had a weak moment and dragged you down with me.”

“We’ll make sure you’re safe.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “The only part of me that Cara’s dangerous to is my pride.”

He shook his head and rose, taking both of our plates. “People like her shouldn’t get away with how they treat others.”

I followed him with the mugs. “I’m sure she has her own issues.” Tonight, she hadn’t been nearly as hurtful as when we’d had classes together in high school. I’d sat with my other friends at lunch, the quiet, bookish ones who also liked Hollywood gossip. They’d been my refuge from wondering why I wasn’t enough. That lunch table had been my oasis. I’d looked forward to it. In the tasting bar earlier tonight, I hadn’t had a table of friends to look forward to. I’d had to be my own oasis.

He turned abruptly. I tipped my head back to meet his gaze. The yellow in his eyes sparked. Contained energy rolled off him. I was a short statue in front of a towering Tenor.

“She very well may,” he said, “but she has no right to make others feel worse because of them.”

He said it with so much vehemence I put a hand on his chest. His heart thudded under my palm. “It’s okay. I know what she’s like.” I did know what she was like, which was why I hadn’t been able to bear her doing it to Tenor. “It’s just been a blissful seven years since graduation, and she took me off guard.”

But now I was alone with Tenor, touching him. Hard to have regrets— Oh my god. I had my hand flat on his hard pec. I jerked my arm back. “Anyway, I didn’t want to cost the distillery her business with the wet bar.”

He gripped my wrist. The power in him was intoxicating. Did I look like a Chihuahua barking up at him? He’d be a Great Pyrenees. He looked fluffy, but there was a lean dog under that fur, and they were insanely protective.

Geez. Having a bunch of ranchers as regulars was getting to me.

He ran his thumb over my skin. His gaze was on my lips. The air between us charged, and my breath quickened. “I’d rather lose her business than let her affect you.”

He released my hand, and just like that, I wasn’t an oasis. I was an island. A deserted island.

“I’ll show you where the room is.” He scooted around me.

Stupid me. I’d made this situation even more uncomfortable for him. He probably worried he’d lead me on. I needed to do better.

I followed him through the house. The main area was three times the size of the first apartment Mom and I had lived in. With its open floor plan, the house’s ceiling soared above me, wooden beams crossing from the walls to the peak. Despite all the wood, the space had a lived-in feel. Cozy throws covered the two couches and a love seat. Pillows were tucked in each corner by the armrests. A giant stone fireplace claimed its space as a showpiece, but the large-screen TV mounted above it made it more inviting.

Wow.

He led me down a short flight of stairs. I stopped by a row of photos. A framed family picture centered the grouping. A younger Mae and her late husband, Darin, grinned from the middle of a gaggle of kids. Tate and Teller stood taller than their dad. The sisters were so young, but I could still pick out who was who. Summer’s solemn face was between the older brothers. A redheaded Autumn smiled next to a grinning Junie—that girl had known she’d be commanding a full stadium one day. Wynter’s pale hair gave her away. And behind them was another boy. The shirt on the kid in the picture was tight around his stomach. He was shorter than his brothers, but he was bigger in other ways, and his face was rounded with full cheeks. Dark-framed glasses were perched on his face.

I met Tenor’s gaze. The muscles in the corners of his jaw flexed and his expression had turned guarded. I suddenly felt like I was prying into his personal life just by looking at a family photo. “I can’t believe you were once shorter than your brothers.”

“I was never the littlest brother.”

I shrugged. “You’re always going to be their little brother.”

His expression softened slightly. “Right.” He disappeared around the corner like he couldn’t get away from the photos fast enough.

I took another step and landed by his senior picture. He wasn’t smiling in his like his brothers had. His arms were crossed and he was wearing clothes much like he wore when he didn’t have his Copper Summit polo on—an oversized shirt, this one a white button-up, and black jeans. Same longish hair. Same dark-framed glasses. But he’d leaned out, and even seated, it was obvious he’d grown at least a foot since the earlier photo.

I skipped down the rest of the stairs before I could get caught spying. Another sprawling family room greeted me. The fireplace was smaller and less ornate, but the TV was not. A couple of couches lined the room with a few recliners. This house was set up to host, that was for sure.

Tenor was beside another hallway, waiting for me. A wall of doors lined the space behind him.

He pointed to two next to each other. “Cruz and Lane are in those rooms.” He spoke low and gestured to another door in the middle of the hallway on the other side. “The bathroom. There’ll be extra of anything you need. Mama’s always ready to take people in, and she’s got more supplies than a hotel.”

“I wish my mom would’ve had a Mae in her life.”

“Yeah?” he prompted.

I bit down on my lip. He wasn’t interested in my past. One of my college dates had asked why I was such a downer when I’d told him Mom’s story.

Tenor studied me, waiting for me to continue.

“You don’t want to hear about my family drama.”

An emotion I couldn’t identify lit his eyes, then he was back to impassive Tenor. “I don’t mind.”

He was easy to talk to, and maybe after the glaring reminder I lacked friends in my life, I wanted to talk. “My mom had me just before she turned eighteen. Her parents cut her off, and my dad wasn’t interested in a relationship, so she was left on her own. She went to school online and worked at a daycare since she had no one to help with me.”

His face grew harder the longer I spoke. “She was left alone with a baby?”

“She’s a strong woman. But she really can scorch water.”

His lips twitched. “Where’d she get your name from?”

Caught off guard, I blinked. “Um, she said it was her favorite gemstone and that they’re a symbol for love and commitment, which was how she felt about me.”

“That’s beautiful.” His gaze dipped down to my lips.

My pulse kicked up. This wasn’t real.

I wanted it to be real.

A door opened down the hall. A guy wandered out in red boxers, squinting down one side of the hallway. “Why’s the light on, bruh?” He glanced over and did a double take when he saw me. “Oh, hey. We got company.”

“Yeah, so put some pants on,” Tenor said through gritted teeth but Cruz just shrugged.

I ground down on my cheek to keep from laughing. “Hi, I’m Ruby.”

“Cruz.” He scratched his bare chest. “I gotta use the bathroom, then it’s all yours.” He shuffled across the hall to the door Tenor had pointed out earlier.

“Sorry about that,” Tenor mumbled. “I trust them with my life. Just not heavy equipment when they’re bored. At least Lane fixes whatever they break.” Concern scrawled over his face. “Do you feel okay here? Safe?”

“I always feel safe around the Baileys.”

“You don’t know Cruz and Lane.”

“Oh.” Tenor was so damn sweet. Should I have been worried? I trusted all the Baileys and I included the Foster brothers in that group. Call me naive, but I wasn’t worried. Yet Tenor was concerned about me and for me. Huh. Why couldn’t I have found a guy like him?

Because I had found him and he’d never been interested. I lusted from afar. I was near him, but in his mind, he was only helping me. “It’s fine. Really.”

“I’ll sleep here too.” He winced. “Unless that makes it worse for you. Three strange guys.”

I laughed. “You’re not strange, Tenor.”

Cruz came out of the bathroom, looked at me, smirked at Tenor, then sauntered to his room.

“Put on pants next time you come out,” Tenor called after him.

“Sure thing, old man.” Laughter edged his voice. His bedroom door clicked shut.

Alone again with Tenor. Just how I liked it.

“I’ll stay in the room next to yours,” he said. “Anything you need, give me a holler. Knock on the wall or something.”

“Is that your old room?” So far, I’d talked about me. Tenor knew the situation around my birth, my ex-friend, and that I hated to admit I was single in front of an ex. He’d revealed nothing about himself. The old family picture had given me more clues about him than the man himself.

“Yes. You can use the bathroom first. I might run home in the morning before chores and change. Then I’ll be back and we can talk in private.”

Talk. About us. I’d get him to myself again.

I could get addicted to having his intense energy focused on me. He was like that with everyone though. I wasn’t special to him. But at least I’d get to pretend I was.