Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gideon
While it was clear my wife liked her job at Copper Summit, I wished she’d quit now so we could go home and I could get between her legs again.
I was a man obsessed. She’d barely been able to pry herself away from me to go to work yesterday. Now, it was Saturday night. I was semi caught up on work—after sating myself in my wife—and was actually enjoying the evening. Autumn laughed and joked with her customers. A few of them talked to me. Since the only open part of Copper Summit was the bar, and the entire site was a distillery, I was safe from being around Dad.
He’d called yesterday, asking if I wanted to help with bullshit projects. Regardless, I almost said yes, but legitimately, I’d had meetings and reports to get to my assistant to type up for next week’s meetings. I’d also needed space from him.
Autumn was more than a nice distraction. She was my focus. I was unsure about Dad, I didn’t know what he’d do, and I wasn’t clear on how I felt about home, him, and everything else.
“Voilà.” Autumn slid a clear glass mug in front of me.
I frowned at the white frothy drink with a sprinkle of cinnamon. I’d already had a concoction that included Scarlett’s lemonade, a light, fruity cocktail that was outside the realm of anything I normally drank. This was out of the entire universe. “A bourbon milkshake?”
“No.” She laughed, then paused to consider the idea. “You know, that might work and appease Teller and Tenor’s desire for more limited-edition drinks. I’ll have to brainstorm with Wynter.” She tapped the glass. “You’re the guinea pig. This is our annual bourbon eggnog. Wynter and I switch up the recipe each year, but it’s pretty much on me this year.”
“I’ve never had eggnog.”
“It’s delicious, I swear.”
“Raw egg with my drink?” I said dubiously.
“We use pasteurized eggnog. It’s safe, I promise.”
I took a drink. The play of spices hit my taste buds first. Cinnamon, probably nutmeg, maybe ginger, and something else I couldn’t identify. Smooth bourbon fused with the creamy flavor. “It’s good.”
She grinned, pride shining in her eyes. “I added ginger and cardamom this year. Mostly, we just add a new spice each year and take one off.” She leaned on the bar top. “We learned the hard way we can’t veer too far from the traditional eggnog flavor. Peppermint nog was an epic fail.”
She looked over my shoulder and straightened. “Teller, hey. Everything okay?”
“Can’t I have a drink and talk with my sister?” He pulled a stool out, keeping an empty one between us. He fit in with the clientele in a green-plaid shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. His dark hair was almost shaggy, but his beard was trimmed. “James.”
“Bailey,” I greeted in return. I wasn’t dressed much differently. But not because I wanted to blend in. My attire just made sense. Made it look like I was accepting this new marriage and new life... in a place where Dad wouldn’t be.
“She’s testing her new concoctions on you?”
He was joking, but he was also diminishing her job. The bar was an advertisement for the distillery. Autumn did ground-level marketing for the company. People didn’t just come here for the drinks. They came for that ambience, and also for the employees who served them and added pleasant conversation to cap their day. “Good thing you have such a savvy sister when it comes to mixing drinks.”
Teller’s brows drew together. “I didn’t say she wasn’t.”
“But you didn’t say she was.”
He pushed a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long fucking day, James, and now you’re telling me I’m a shitty brother.”
“You’re not a shitty brother.” Autumn set an empty squat glass in front of Teller. “You’re bossy, stubborn—which I’ve heard is a family trait—and you tend to treat me like an annoying little sister. Sometimes, I wish you took me as seriously as you take yourself.”
If I smiled, I’d look like I was gloating, but pride rang through me. She hadn’t flinched away from the topic. Maybe she’d told him before and it’d run off him like rainwater, but this time, she had me to corroborate it. He pondered her as she grabbed a bottle from the top shelf, Copper Summit Gold, and poured two fingers for Teller.
He spun the glass in his hand. “Is this about what Tenor brought up?”
Autumn glanced at me like she was seeking permission to stand her ground. I put as much encouragement in my gaze as possible. She said, “It’s about Tenor discussing it with Tate first, and then you, and then telling me like I’m just another employee and not part owner. I’ve taken over running the bar, but it’s my and Wynter’s area of expertise. Would you two discuss marketing campaigns without her?”
Teller frowned. “You already have a job?—”
“I have two,” she said firmly. “And it’s my decision to decide if I’m overwhelmed or not. I’m not an injured kid anymore. I realize it’s inconvenient that I’m not around Copper Summit as much as you guys are, but you can call, text, or email.”
“Shit,” Teller grunted. “I didn’t realize it bothered you so much.”
She rolled her eyes. “You did, but you weren’t taking me seriously.”
Teller rocked back like she’d hit him. “Fair enough. I’ll make sure Tenor and I come to you first.”
Autumn dipped her head, gratitude and relief in her eyes.
Teller pinned me under his gaze. “You’re trying not to laugh.”
I didn’t hide my snicker.
“You wouldn’t laugh if she called you out.”
“She’s put me in my place a time or two.” I took a sip of my boozy, creamy drink. The flavor was growing on me. It’d become my favorite fucking drink if it irritated Teller.
“I’ll encourage her to do it more,” he grumbled.
She went into the storage room, came out again with a couple of new bottles and started restocking the bar. Was she purposely giving me and Teller space? Or was I invading her work and expecting her to cater to me instead of doing her job?
Teller rotated his glass on its edge. The air between us wasn’t strained, but it wasn’t light.
I should stay away from the sale topic, but I didn’t. “Did you ask Hank to fix fence?”
Teller continued swirling his glass. “He asked if we’d mind. I figured he wanted to keep himself busy before the holiday season.”
I pushed the words back. I was not going to ask the significance. “What about the holiday season?” Lost that fight.
“His charity work?” He took a long sip, glanced at me, and did a double take. “You don’t know about the charities?”
Other than what I’d heard the Baileys mention, no. I didn’t know a lot about what Dad was like since I’d left. “We don’t talk.”
He wiped off his mouth. “I don’t get that. I talked to my dad every day until he died.”
“Did he get drunk every day and ignore you? Forget to buy groceries or treat you like hired help that didn’t get paid? Did he yell at you for five minutes straight when he was the one who’d spent the grocery money on beer?”
Teller’s jaw tightened .
“Did he neglect everything that meant anything to you until it died?”
I got a small shake of his head as a response.
“I don’t have to mention the sale on top of it all. He drank away everything else, and he’s selling what should be mine, what my mother wanted to go to me. So excuse me if I’m ignorant about what he does for charity.”
“He plays Santa at the senior center,” Teller said. “He’ll dress up for the school’s field trips when they sing for the residents. He works at the food pantry year-round. It’s usually only open once a week, but between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, the office hours are three days a week. Then there’s the toy drive. I heard he can wrap a mean gift.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Teller’s right cheek twitched and he took a big gulp that was more like a shot.
He polished off his drink and glanced at Autumn like he was making sure she was still across the room. “The man you know isn’t who the rest of Bourbon Canyon know, and I think once you understand that, maybe you’ll understand his motivations. What you experienced was wrong. But if you truly fell that madly in love with my sister, and she was suddenly taken from you, would you keep your shit together? Or would you lose it until the pain dulled enough to face it?”
That’d never happen. I’d have to fall in love first. “I was a kid.”
“I know.” His voice was soft, compassionate. “I’m just saying you might understand him. Look, no one knows why he’s not turning Percival over to you. I looked up what you’re worth. God knows you can pay him for it. Maybe it’s pride? He doesn’t want to live off the son who didn’t have a chance to live off him? I don’t know. No one does. But reminding him of every way you hate him probably isn’t going to soften him up to stop the sale.”
I didn’t hate my dad. That was part of the problem. “And you’ll go through with it if he does?”
“Better us than some rich out-of-stater who doesn’t give a shit about Montana and thinks the local residents are quaint and disposable little peasants.”
I didn’t want to see Percival going to some stranger either. I didn’t want hunting cabins built, and if I heard the word “rental” thrown around in regard to the property, I’d burn every structure down. Pretty rich coming from a corporate city guy like me.
In Bourbon Canyon, I wasn’t as much that person as I had been over a week ago. Each step I took in town shed one more layer of polish. “I’ll agree with you on that.”
He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “How are things with you and Autumn?”
I drank a mouthful of eggnog. Fucking hot. That wasn’t what her brother wanted to hear. “She hasn’t kicked me out yet.”
“You also haven’t moved in.”
What’d he mean by that? How would he know? Had he gone into her bedroom and seen my suitcase open on her dresser? Had he judged the new clothing that I hung on a folding chair next to it?
He was trying to trip me up.
Autumn breezed back, dropping off glasses from the customers who had just left. Only Teller and I were left in the bar.
He pulled Autumn in for a one-armed hug. He’d darted in for that comment and was jumping back out of range. “I’m going back to the office to work a little more. You mind locking up when you leave?”
She patted his back. “Will do. Love you, big bro.”
“I know you’re testing products,” he grudgingly admitted. “You do good work. But you’re still my sister and I’m gonna give you shit.” He started to walk away but stopped. “Oh, and I only take myself that seriously because I’m a big deal.”
She snorted and flicked a rag at him. He danced away, smirking, then he disappeared from the bar.
I helped her wipe down and put the dishes away.
On the way out of the bar, she flipped off the lights and locked the door to the outside, but she led me through the entry into the main distillery. A little store was on the far end, tucked into a corner next to another wall of windows that opened into the still room.
Autumn caught me looking. “You haven’t seen the rest of Copper Summit, have you?”
Surprised I was interested, I shook my head. “No, you mind?”
She hooked an arm through mine. “Only if you promise not to zone out when I geek out.” She towed me to the windows. Giant copper-and-steel stills filled one end of the room. A small ladder led to a platform between some squat but still quite large tanks. The ceilings were high and the walls were a mix of cinder block and rock, much different than the rugged wood and rock exterior that made the place look more like it belonged in the mining industry. Metal piping ran between the pots and stills and a maze of plumbing trailed down from the ceiling and up from the floor .
“The mash tanks are the short tanks. Let’s go in so you can smell them.”
“I’ve never been asked to smell something by a woman.”
She grinned. “Who better to do it than your wife?” She tugged me toward one of the mash tanks. Inside, a yellowish mix was bubbling. The sight reminded me of soggy cornflakes. “The yeast are busy at work. When we were younger, we called the bubbles yeast farts.” She hovered her hand over the top of the suspension. “You can smell it better from here and feel the heat.”
I sniffed. A fruity, bready smell hit my nose, much stronger than the warm-grain scent of the rest of the place.
“It’ll create fewer bubbles each day,” she explained. “And it’ll get browner. Then we call it distiller’s beer and it gets piped to the distillation tanks, where we’ll turn it to moonshine, basically, and then distill it down some more.”
I’d been raised mere miles from this place and I’d never gotten a tour. I’d been in the grocery store or walking downtown and heard tourists exclaim how cool Copper Summit was. I hadn’t thought much about it back then. Copper Summit was just another thing I’d left behind.
She led me to the stills. “Do you know how many gallons of bourbon we can get from five hundred gallons of distiller’s beer?”
“What happens if I’m wrong?”
She hummed. “You don’t like being wrong, do you?”
Not at all. “Fifty gallons?”
“One.” Her smile was the nerdy kind she’d warned me about. She was in her element in the distillery. And in the school. She was lucky to have more than one place where she excelled. Bourbon Canyon provided both of them.
There was nothing here for me without Percival Farms.
“How many gallons in a barrel?” I asked to keep my mind from mulling over how I’d made my place in Las Vegas.
“Fifty-three, but we never get out that many gallons.”
“The angel’s share?”
Her eyes lit at my very limited knowledge of distillery terms. “Every year we age a barrel, we lose a percent of the product, but you also get to extract more of the flavors and sugars from the wood.”
“Kind of weird to think you flavor your alcohol with wood.”
“Oak, specifically, but we like to play around with different oak varieties.” She shrugged and looked around, her fond gaze taking in the building. I could see it in her eyes. To her, Copper Summit was a work of art, but it was also comfort. It was passion. It was home.
She’d never leave. I’d never stay.
“The other buildings on-site are the barrel houses. Those are better to check out during the day.” She led me back toward the main entry. “Copper Summit also employs its own delivery drivers. Daddy was really proud of that.”
“Lots of jobs.”
She beamed. “It’s a small but tight team. We can’t say we’re like family since I can’t call other employees a stubborn ass like I do with my brothers. But we have full-time positions other than my siblings.” She turned back toward the windows. By the far wall were three computer screens and a U-shaped desk piled with papers and folders. “We track everything. Temperatures, yeast strains, the types of grains and how much— Tenor loves to dig into all that.”
“What about you? Do you stick to the bar now?”
“Daddy made me do my share of tossing around fifty-pound bags of grain, but no, I don’t do that anymore. I’d be charging into a well-choreographed dance the distillers have going on.”
She’d grown up with her family’s legacy, yet she’d chosen another profession. She had three older brothers and an older sister. Kind of like a monarchy, she would’ve been too far down the line to have much authority.
“You were okay with knowing you weren’t ever going to be in charge?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s still ours.”
Her words echoed in my head. All the kids at the party Dad had thrown would learn exactly what Autumn and her siblings had. If we had kids, the same would happen. Their roots would burrow deep in the Bourbon Canyon area.
But we weren’t having kids.
“The bottle line is on the other side.” She pulled on me again, her hand still in mine. “We can peek in, but it’s not exciting. Just a small assembly line where bottles are filled, sealed, labeled, and packed for shipping. The trucks go in and out that side too.”
She hit a switch. Lights flooded a plain room whose centerpiece was the metal bottling line. A long carousel traveled much of the length. At one end were nozzle heads to fill the bottles, then more silver knobs and moving parts to cap and label them. At the end was a place for crates and boxes.
“Which sibling oversees this?”
“Teller. He’s in charge, so he gets the boring stuff. Tenor’s his backup, but he prefers to crunch numbers all day. Tate helps out, but he doesn’t like to make Teller or Summer feel like he’s watching over them. Junie might not physically work on the premises, but she coordinates with Wynter for commercials and radio spots.”
This whole building was a small ecosystem that took from its surroundings and gave just as much back. According to what Teller had said, Dad was giving back too.
I wanted Percival Farms for myself. I wanted it kept in the family. I’d focused only on what I wanted, but I’d never considered how I’d give back. Contributing to the community hadn’t been one of Grandfather’s lessons. As I was standing here, gazing at what was only one part of the Bailey empire, I struggled to come up with a good example of what I had to give.