Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Summer
The rays of the sun bounced off the piles of snow. Between the wind and the drifts, the landscape wasn’t a white blanket. Green treetops stuck out and the brown tips of the tallest grasses were visible.
I shaded my eyes as I stared out the window. A winter wonderland. The road reports were good. They had been for the city and the surrounding county for a couple of days, but now the country roads were getting cleared. We were waiting on the main road, which would be cleared any minute.
My time at Jonah’s was coming to an end. I’d had days to bring up What now? and I hadn’t. I hadn’t so much as asked him what he thought about us when it wasn’t snowing.
The entire day before, I’d been in his shop while he worked.
He’d given me a piece of wood to tinker with, like a toddler playing with pots and kettles while their parent cooked.
We’d listened to music and his woodworking podcasts.
There were several. I would’ve been bored silly, but I’d had him to watch.
His big body bunched and flexed when he heaved six-foot planks of wood around. A line of concentration creased his forehead when he was pondering his next move—to stain or not to stain, the best method to add sealant, or how heavy-handed to be with the epoxy.
I found craft work fascinating. I ran the distillery in Bozeman.
So much of my job was managing people and resources, but I also knew each step.
I could prepare the mash and mix additives to yield different flavors in the bourbon.
I liked playing around with aging times and even sourcing new barrels for single-barrel batches to get different flavor profiles.
Jonah’s work paralleled those decisions. What were the various ways to bring out the personality of the wood and how could he best enhance those qualities?
I turned grain into spirits. He turned wood into furniture. I played with the flavors to bring out the grain profiles. He changed the wood’s shape to showcase the lines and grooves. Add in talent and efficiency and he brought in a lot of money, just like the distillery.
He came to a stop next to me at the glass. “What are you thinking?”
Grateful I’d let my mind wander to our similarities and not how our differences might interfere in our future, I smiled. “How alike our professions are.”
A tiny frown tugged at his lips. “I never thought of what I do as a profession.”
I gawked at his handsome profile. “You bring in that much money and you consider it a hobby?”
There was that uncomfortable shoulder lift again. “I just do it.”
He had an efficient process. And while he worked, he basically did daily continuing education with his podcasts and online videos. He brought in more money than my generous wage at the distillery. How much had he socked away? The guy was a rich mountain man up here all alone.
“If everyone knew how much money you make and how good at sex you are, you’d have hordes of women climbing this mountain.”
The tips of his ears burned red. “Summer.”
I laughed. “I’m serious. The sex alone would sell it, with your looks.”
He drew his brows together. “My looks aren’t anything.”
I scoffed. “You’re right. It’s your glowing personality that got my sweats off.”
He blinked. “I’m . . . not sure how to take that.”
“I like your personality. For the record.”
His lips quirked. “Noted.”
We stared out the window in silence. Was he having the same existential crisis about us? Or was he sexed out and counting down until I could drive my car down the road and get back to making more masterpieces and raking in the cash?
“Hey, uh . . . Would you like to go out sometime?” His voice was hoarse, as if we hadn’t been conversing every day for the last week.
I bit my cheek. How carefully should I tread? Would I scare him off if I was overly enthusiastic? “If we went out, people might think we’re a thing.”
“We don’t have to go anywhere in Bourbon Canyon. I can go to Bozeman.”
“Oh.” Disappointment rang through me, as clear as a choir song. “Okay.”
“Bourbon Canyon is fine too. I don’t want you to have to drive.”
“Curly’s buns are worth driving for.”
“He’s a dick.”
I nodded, pleased I wasn’t the only one who thought Curly Binstock was a good ole boy who got away with too much. But he owned the best restaurant in town and he made sure his food was good enough we all looked the other way. “Is that why you don’t want to go anywhere in town?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he replied just as softly. “Until we decide how to proceed.” He turned toward me and his gentle touch at my elbow drew me around until I faced him.
“Your history with Eli”—he winced—“mine too, will make the chatter loud and opinionated. I know fifteen years have passed, but once we’re seen together, it’s going to feel like yesterday to those who remember. ”
My shoulders drooped. He was right. I didn’t care, but he clearly did, and I’d respect his feelings. “Bozeman would be fine. There are some restaurants I’ve been wanting to try.” They’d been too gauche for Boyd.
“You have to get back to work right away?”
My remote work attempts had stopped when I’d left my laptop in my loner office in Copper Summit over a week ago. Now it was Wednesday. “I should go catch up for the rest of the week.” He needed to make up time too. “Saturday? We can have a sleepover.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners and heat filled his gaze. “Saturday.” The heat cooled. “You have history in your place with that cocksucker, don’t you?”
My heart sank. We each had separate lives, but I, too, would’ve had hang-ups thinking about him and other women in the cabin. “Yes, but not much. My little condo wasn’t posh enough.”
“No worries. Just wondering how many condoms to pack. I’m going to make you come at least twice in every spot you two did it.”
I stopped at the distillery to collect my laptop before going to Mama’s.
The place was quiet for a Wednesday, but I’d left Jonah’s when the workday was winding down.
Otherwise, I might’ve skipped the errand.
I was wearing the same sweats as when I’d brought groceries to Jonah.
The roads to the distillery had been plowed a couple days before the ones to Jonah’s place.
I was antsy, waiting for my siblings to pop up and interrogate me. Autumn already knew, but I didn’t want to admit that I hadn’t really talked to Jonah about us. She might not view the way he’d asked me on a date—out of town—as a good thing.
Going back to my condo was looking better and better. None of my family would venture there to interrogate me. After I visited with Mama, and evaded some questions she’d likely have, I could return to Bozeman.
I wrapped my charging cable and stuffed it into my computer bag, followed by the computer.
“Look who the cat dragged in.”
I yelped and spun around, nearly knocking my computer bag off the desk. “Teller! Don’t sneak up on me.”
He grinned and leaned against the doorframe. His beard wasn’t as trimmed as it had been at my wedding, and he was in a green flannel shirt and jeans. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
But he was a proper brother and had capitalized on the opportunity. I scowled. “I thought everyone was gone.”
“They are, but I wanted to check on some things.”
He was a workaholic. If there was nothing at the distillery that needed his attention, he was on the ranch, finding equipment to weld or animals to rescue.
I pulled the strap over my shoulder. “I’m taking off.”
“How’s Jonah?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard me.
“Fine.” My cheeks warmed. I could not blush or Teller would know.
“Weird how you got stranded with him twice.”
“Yeah.”
He continued blocking the doorway. I could push past him, but then he’d know I was hiding something, and he’d guess it was that I knew what Jonah looked like naked. Intimately.
“He’s doing okay?” he asked again.
I softened. In all my drama about what to tell Jonah about me and Eli and when, and how Jonah would react, and when would we tell others that we were a thing now, and what did being “a thing” actually entail . . . I’d forgotten that Teller had lost his best friend.
“He is doing really well.” I leaned against the desk and looked out the window at the tree-lined parking lot.
The view wasn’t as busy as the one out of my office in Bozeman, but it was more familiar.
More comforting. I’d grown up gazing out of the distillery windows.
“He won’t admit how much he misses doing things like hunting and fishing and camping, but he’s found woodworking and he’s good. Really good.”
Regret lit his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve seen his stuff. He’s got a gift.” He contemplated the floor. “You think he really can’t . . . do everything he used to?”
I tilted my head and considered my brother. Growing up, Teller and I hadn’t been close. He’d been a fresh teen when I’d arrived with my sisters and happy to do his own thing. Other than messing with me when it came to chores, he’d done his thing and I’d done mine. But we had Jonah in common.
“Do you blame yourself?” I asked.
Teller scowled, but scuffed the tip of his boot against the floor. “Nah.” He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe. I made him stick around until we caught one more fish, so I had enough to feed everyone for supper.”
Eli’s death had had a ripple effect on all the relationships between the people around him.
My silence had only added to all the guilt.
I’d told Jonah. Teller needed to know too.
“I broke up with him, and he accused me of liking Jonah, and I didn’t argue.
What happened was definitely not your fault. ”
Teller’s arms dropped and he regarded me, his stare incredulous. “Shit, Summer.” He shoved a hand through his loose, dark curls. “Shit.”
“Yeah. I should’ve said something years ago, but I was also—god, this sounds so bad—I was so upset with Eli for putting me in that position.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you be?” It was my turn to gawk at him.
He held his hands up like he was warding off an argument, yet I wasn’t sure I could argue.
“He was young and a lot of young guys make stupid decisions and nothing terrible happens. But in this case, it did. We all lost Eli, but I also lost my best friend.”
“He’s still there,” I said softly.
Teller snorted. “He was there pushing me right back out the door whenever I asked him to hang out.”
“It’s been hard for him since the accident. He doesn’t open up easy.”
“But he did. To you?”
I sensed more curiosity rather than his normal teasing, so I nodded.
“Just how close did you two get?”
I sighed and hugged the computer bag to myself. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’d like to think we’re very close, but I also feel like he’ll cut me off any minute. I worry he still blames me, and now that he’s alone again he can convince himself it’s better that way.”
“Did he treat you right? He’s not like that douche?”
I let out a gusty exhale. “Why didn’t anyone say a thing about Boyd at the time?”
“Would you have listened?”
“Yes!” I snapped, then sighed. I went back to gazing out the window. Maybe I would’ve listened. Or maybe I would’ve dug in harder and become the next Mrs. Harrington, the blond trophy wife Boyd had wanted.
“Sure.” He pushed off the doorframe. “This last week, I’d like to say Mama’s been worried about you, but that’d be bullshit. Every time I caught her looking out the window in the direction of the mountain, she had a little smile on her face.”
The heat in my face was back. “How much should I tell her?”
After our talk, Teller would understand the privacy issue.
He let out a low whistle. “It’s not going to matter. She’s going to take one look at your blush when his name is brought up and know. You’d better hope Wynter goes into labor before you get to the house.” He lifted his chin toward the desk. “I stopped by for another reason. Know the James place?”
“Of course.” Everyone knew the James place.
As landowners, we coveted the property. The Jameses had acreage that could be both farmed and ranched, and had been, but the land had fallen into disuse.
The house, a once-great masterpiece of log construction, hadn’t been kept since Jenni James had passed.
Her husband, Henry James, was doing better than he had been, but we’d all seen his sad stock, the broken-down equipment, the neglected fields, and the pastures that were either overgrazed or underutilized, be it from lack of herd rotation or haying.
My brothers had been chatting about the place, murmuring about it going up for sale.
Henry and Jenni’s only son, Gideon, had moved to Las Vegas to be some big shot out there and hadn’t been back to Montana once.
Gideon was slightly older than Tate, and Teller thought there was a chance he wasn’t interested in keeping the land in his name.
“Henry James called Tate.”
“Oh my god.” Henry owned as much land as the Baileys, now that Jenni was gone. He’d married into it.
The Bailey property had gotten split up between us. The main ranch area was in Mama’s name. Other tracts had been signed over to each kid before Daddy had died. The James property would be completely open. “What would we do with it?”
“Other than prevent some rich city pricks from buying it and going all Yellowstone on the town?”
I laughed. “It’d be a tough sell to convince the city to let them build a ski resort and airport there.”
“Tough, but not impossible. Henry used to grow some of the best corn crops in the state. He used to do business with Grandpa.”
“I remember Daddy saying that.” Henry’s wife had passed away before I’d come to live with the Baileys, but I’d heard my parents talk about him over the years. Usually past tense—used to be good to do business with, used to be reliable, used to have it all.
“We could hire someone to manage the place and grow our own grains.”
I lifted my brows. Copper Summit’s motto was Montana Made, Montana Proud. “Wynter would have a heyday with the marketing on that.”
He nodded. “Yep. We’d have more control from field to still.”
“It would be exciting.” Instead of making deals, we could cut out the middleman and support more employees. The grains grown would likely go to the Bourbon Canyon location, but I might have to be involved if there was product routed to the Bozeman facility. “Keep me posted.”
“Do the same.”
“We aren’t talking about work, are we?”
He gave me a knowing look. “Jonah’s been through some shit, but he didn’t show up at your wedding because he had nothing else to do. Don’t let him push you away.”