Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Durban
I’m at my desk when Lane pops in. “Hey, did you get the email—”
“Yes.” I stab at the keyboard. I know he expected a reply, but I am cranky that he has to remind me about it. We’re testing a new ordering system, and I was supposed to do it yesterday. But I had to leave early in a third attempt to meet with Campbell and do . . . something. Fuck. Anything.
But Stanford Cockblocker Baldwin must watch for me because he keeps dragging his increasingly frustrated fiancée down to the tack room early.
“Bro.” Lane pushes all the way into my office and drops into a chair across from my desk. He’s in jeans and a white T-shirt with a flannel over it. Standard distillery wear when we all raise cattle on the side. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just busy.”
He takes his black Foster House ball cap off and flops it on his knee. “You’re uptight as hell. Does it have anything to do with you jetting outta here early all week?”
“That’s for the wedding.”
He rubs the scruff on his chin. “I don’t mean to pry—”
“Yeah, you do.”
He flashes an unrepentant smile. “How’s the wedding going?”
“Good.” I have no idea. All I know is that I haven’t gotten to touch Campbell yet.
“Sounds like it,” he says wryly, then shrugs. “I know none of us cares about what’s going on at Hawthorne unless it affects Jamison. And now Campbell too.” His gaze is steady on me. “You heading up there early again?”
He’s sniffing for information that isn’t any of his business. I like Lane, and I’ve gotten to know him and Cruz well over the last few years, but I keep my private life private. “Not today. It’s raining, so I’m sure she’ll have to shift to entertaining them all indoors.”
“Helluva wedding celebration.” He shakes his head. “I’d rather have something like Myles and Wynter. All the Baileys. Family, fun, and food. Then we’re done and living our lives.”
“Nothing fancy,” I agree. “But I might feel differently if I didn’t know the couple’s trying to justify the hurt they caused or rub it in Campbell’s face.”
“It’s bullshit. How’s she holding up?”
I steeple my fingers. “She said Stanford has complained about how big Hailstorm is, being stiff after riding, and almost falling off when he was riding double with January.”
“Oof. And he won’t give up?”
I shake my head grimly. “Campbell tries to talk to him about taking more time, or giving January her own horse, and they could ride side by side, but he wants his way.”
“I’d ask what either woman saw in him, but Cruz and I are here. Proof our dad could talk our mama up one side and down another.” He taps his fingers on the armrest of the chair. “Makes me glad to share a last name with Myles. From what I’ve heard, his dad was a good one.”
“You don’t have the same— Sorry. None of my business.
” I stop any personal life talk before it happens, so I won’t stomp into someone else’s.
The town knows the Hennessy backstory and how we were carted off to foster care.
They’ve heard things about my mother, and when they ask for more, I shut it down.
Except when I’m alone with Campbell in a tack room.
“Nah, I don’t mind,” Lane says easily. “We share the same last name, so if people learn we’re half brothers, they assume we have the same dad.
But we’re brothers from the same mother.
Our mess of a mom had a tough life after Myles’s dad died.
She kept his name and refused to marry our dad.
Never did give us his last name, which was one of the few things she could hold over his head. ”
My phone starts buzzing. Campbell’s name flashes on the screen.
Lane pushes up and cocks a brow when his gaze dips to the screen. “I’ll let you get that.”
“Wedding stuff.”
He smirks. “It’s kinda like you said earlier—none of my business.”
I scowl at his back as he leaves, then answer. “Yeah?”
“Oh.” Campbell’s husky voice starts a trickle of heat in my veins. “Bad time?”
“No.” Never for her. “Why?”
“That’s right. You always sound cranky.”
“Do not.”
“Mm. Sure.” That hum of hers goes right to my dick. “Anyway, since it’s a rainy day, the Baldwins just want to chill.”
“Good. You need a day off.”
“You’d be the only one who thinks so.”
Who the hell’s giving her a hard time now? “Why?”
“The Baldwins want me to earn their money, and I don’t need them talking crap about me around town. I do need a successful wedding before anyone else will schedule theirs. I’m hoping to get some smaller things going and do some cross-promoting.”
“Do you just go from event to event like that?” The wedding is exhausting her enough, and she’s out hustling for more?
“It’s like a rolling schedule. I might be working on four or five big events and several smaller ones, but they’re all at various stages. And after this, I’ll have zero, so I’ve still gotta get planning, and I finally got a meeting with Bryce.”
“You didn’t have to agree to go out with him, did you?” I growl. I don’t dislike Bryce, but I don’t trust him. He’s too desperate around women, and he makes stupid decisions because of it.
“No, thankfully, and he didn’t ask me out this time.”
Doesn’t mean he won’t try to get with her. “Are you meeting at the downtown office?”
“No, he’s at the middle river site today, getting equipment ready.”
My warning bells get louder. “And you’re going there?”
“Yeah. If I’m whoring for clients, I’ve gotta go where they are.”
“You’re not whoring for any goddamn client—”
“Whoa, take a joke, grumpy.”
“—and you’re not going to the middle river site alone. Why the hell is he even there?” Bryce might be legitimately working riverside, or he could be luring Campbell away, where her rejection won’t matter.
“Well, now that you brought it up . . . Can you come with me?”
Astonished, I stare out the glass wall of my office at the pipes crossing over the stills. She’s not brushing off my concerns, and she’s asking me to go along. She trusts me.
“Durban?”
“I’m here.” Still reeling, but here.
“I just know how Bryce is, and I don’t want to bug Iverson. Daddy will take it as just another sign I’m not going to cut it in this business or in Huckleberry Springs. So congrats. You’re the only other decent guy I know, but you can say no.”
The fuck I can. “Want me to pick you up?”
“I can meet you at the distillery so we can talk about how all the Baldwins would like a tasting night.” She sucks in a deep breath. “And they don’t want you to host it.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I believe Pricilla said that you look like you’re either going to dump a drink on them or bite their hand.”
“I don’t bite unless I’m asked to.”
There’s a quick inhale on the other side, then a frustrated exhale. “I wouldn’t know because Stanford is getting jealous. That’s the other reason they don’t want you. They being Stanford.”
“That fucker’s getting married. What does he care?”
“I think January should be asking him that question, but he’s probably gaslighting her. I will happily tell them it won’t work out.”
No, otherwise it would make Campbell look inept. “We’ll make it happen. I’ll talk to the guys.”
And I’ll make plans for Campbell while the Baldwins are busy with their drinks.
Campbell
I greet Clem as I breeze through the Foster House entrance. She’s dusting off bottles on display. I tap my shoes off on the rug. It’s been raining on and off all day. Right now, it’s on.
“Edna was hoping to catch you while you’re here,” Clem says. She’s got Dutch braids in today. It’s one of my favorite styles when I’m home, but since I’m technically working and the Baldwins already think I grew up milking cows and yodeling—which sounds fun—I’ve been keeping my styles chicer.
“Okay. I’ll let Durban know I’m here first.” I’m two minutes early.
I would’ve been sooner, but I got caught talking to Stanford’s grandma about the names of the animal heads mounted in the game room.
They have none. Daddy only called his kills “dinner” because they were many of our breakfasts, lunches, and dinners growing up.
“Edna’s in the tasting room with him. Go on in.”
I keep from sprinting to see Durban. That almost-kiss days ago has taunted me every moment of the day. I think about it at night. What was he going to do? What did he plan? Would my pants have come off? A little dry humping?
Everything I thought of, and it was a lot, sounded amazing. I haven’t even done any self-care because I want to experience the explosion he can cause.
Edna’s sitting at one of the low-top tables, sipping on a glass of clear fluid with a mint leaf floating inside. She beams at me. “Campbell. Nice to see you again.”
Durban’s in a chair next to her, his arms folded and his gaze traveling down my body. I’m wearing jeans today to keep from giving Bryce any thoughts that I dressed up for him. I put on a loose vest over a long-sleeved shirt. The rain has kept the day cool.
“Hey, Edna.” I give her a quick hug before she can stand.
She grins and raises her glass in a cheers. “Durban’s letting me crash your meeting to talk about my hookers.”
Durban arches a brow.
I slide into a seat next to him. “Hookers and booze. My favorite combination.”
She giggles and pushes up her wire-rimmed glasses. “My daughter told me to leave all the cocktail wordplay alone.”
I laugh. Durban’s faint smile makes this the best conversation of the week. Other than when we were in the tack room. “I’ll think of a title. Do you have a day or time?”
She nods. “Durban here said Monday afternoons are good since the tasting room is closed. Most of my group are retirees. And Clem and Elodie.”
“My grandma taught me to crochet,” I say. “I picked it up easier than knitting.”
“Then you’ll have to join us.” She pats my arm.
“Mom got frustrated when I’d start so many projects and just leave them.”
Edna shrugs and takes a drink. “I don’t care if you start a hundred blankets and never finish. It’s not about productivity. It’s about hookers and booze.”