Chapter 9 #2
“All right. I’ll make sure I’m free.” The wedding party will have to accept that I’m not theirs twenty-four seven. “Until then, I’ll get it all arranged for you, and I can run a socials page or anything you want to keep your group informed.”
“Let me know your rates.”
I wave her off. “This is nothing.”
“Campbell Joanna Hawthorne, I am paying you.” Edna used to volunteer at the school when I was a kid. She downs the rest of her drink and digs a twenty out of her purse. “My ride’s here.” Slapping it on the table, she rises and shuffles away before I can argue with her.
“She keeps paying.” Durban picks up the money. “We save it and add it to her yearly bonus.” He stands and digs out a box from a cabinet behind the bar. “Joanna?”
“One of my grandmas.” I push the tables in. “Mom was terrified people would call me CJ, but she loved the name Campbell. So she extinguished every CJ she heard. What about you? Where does your name come from?”
“My brothers and I all have family surnames from Mom’s side. Iverson was her maiden name, Durban was her mom’s maiden name, and Haven was her grandmother’s maiden name.”
“Nice to have some family legacy like that.”
“I guess,” he says noncommittally. “I never knew them. There’s a history of running off.”
“I’m sorry.” I cross to the bar.
“It is what it is.”
I slide apart a few of the papers he set on the top. Neat, boxy handwriting fills the page. Some of the numbers are measurements. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.” He tucks the box back.
I don’t know Durban well, but these aren’t nothing. I’m being nosy, but I spin a sheet around. Oak-aged vodka, along with lengths of time and amounts for the recipe is listed.
Another piece of paper has a different time for double-barreled whiskey. “Honey infused?”
“Yeah,” he says gruffly and gathers them up. He stuffs them in whatever slot behind the counter Edna’s money is kept in. “Just what I do when the bar’s quiet.”
I know he and his brothers work the tasting room, along with the Foster brothers, but they really need to be capitalizing on that.
How many office parties would suddenly be scheduled by the women making the decisions?
Pictures of them are all I’d use to pitch the tasting room. “Have you done any yet?”
“No.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. I shouldn’t pry, but there are layers to Durban I haven’t seen before, and I’d like to pry them all apart. “Why not?”
He flattens his hands on the bar top and seems to deliberate.
“They want to stick to safe products right now. They’re afraid that if we weave too far out of the margins, we could damage the whole Foster House reputation.
So, we’re sticking with tried-and-true blends, and doing single-barrel lines, barrel strength, double barrel, and simple infusions. ”
“But you want to play?”
“I’m interested in the science of it, yes.” His gaze sweeps around the bar, taking in the clean wooden lines of the beams used more for decoration than support. “My brothers and I all own a part of this place. Not the main headquarters, but this site. Foster House Gold. Forty-nine percent owners.”
“Forty-nine percent divided by three? So you don’t have as much say in how to run the place.”
He works his jaw back and forth. “The Fosters don’t make us feel that way, and Myles didn’t have to sell any part of this at all. He wanted to buy this property straight out.”
“Just like that?”
“Foster House does very well. But part of his brand is helping out people like us. Former foster kids trying to make a better life for ourselves. Iverson was in charge of the trust our dad left behind, and we agreed to sell the old mine and any acreage the distillery would need if we could invest back in. Myles did more than that. He trained us. Gave us a profession that won’t ruin our bodies, and hell, we even have retirement accounts now. I’m grateful.”
“But it’s not enough?” I ask softly.
A guy like Durban, who has shelves full of books and sketches out formulations and recipes and woos women with PhDs, won’t settle for being the help forever.
He might’ve done it when they had nothing but a tapped-out gold mine, but now this distillery is a gold mine, and he wants to take his pick and dig in.
“There are times,” he says reluctantly, “when I’m aware that my footing isn’t exactly equal.”
“Have you told them it’s important to you?”
His brow furrows. “There are five of us, six if you count Myles, and we work well together. Their caution is warranted. This space is meant to play, but we have to be smart about it, or we’ll go in the red. Ready to go?”
I give my head a quick shake. Message received. Conversation over. “I can drive.”
“We’ll take my truck.”
He rounds the bar and strides out the door. I follow his infuriatingly wide shoulders all the way out of the bar. He’s so hot and cold. Mercurial. “I get better gas mileage.”
“Most definitely.”
I hit the unlock button on my fob. The clouds are giving us a reprieve from the rain. “I invited you. I’m driving.”
I start to veer toward my car, parked across the lot from him, but he spins around and blocks my path.
“Driving will distract me.” His jaw is hard, and his gaze sweeps around us.
“From what?”
“From not getting to hear you come for the last few days when I fully expected to find out for myself how wet you get.”
My mouth drops open, and fire blazes over my skin. That was unexpected. “I can’t get a read on you.” My body’s humming, but there’s a whirlwind in my head. “You can be a very confusing man.”
“As long as you remember that around you, I’m all man.”
More lust pumps into my veins. My skin is too tight, a vault, and only he has the key to open it. Then clarity washes cold through me just as a raindrop splatters my nose. I wipe it off. “That’s right. You haven’t gotten laid in a while.”
“No, but what does that have to do with our arrangement?”
Arrangement. My heart twists just a little. “It explains why you have wild swings. One minute, you’re a stone. And the next, you’re talking dirty. Sort of.”
“I can talk dirty.”
Another raindrop hits my forehead. “It’s been a while. You might have to brush up on it. What were they saying the last time you were with a woman? ‘Show me your totally tubular tits’?”
His eyes flare wide, then he chortles. “I’m not that old. Maybe more like ‘chillax and come for me.’ ”
“Ha! What decade is that from?”
He groans and starts for his truck again. “The nineties, and my dad liked to unwind with TV shows.”
He opens the door for me.
“What shows?” I ask as I climb in.
“Anything.” He shuts the door and goes around to the other side.
He leaves town on a road I don’t normally take. Our ranch is on the other side of Huckleberry Springs in one direction, and the distillery and Hennessy land is on the other. Sy’s Water Adventures are on the other side of town.
As he drives, signs point us toward the river site for the midriver adventures.
I’ve gone white water rafting a few times in my life, a couple of river floats even more, but I’ve never used Bryce’s family business.
His mom used to run it, and she wasn’t as safety conscious in those days.
Two lawsuits later, the company was turned over to Bryce.
He’s not someone I wanted to date, but he’s at least more safety conscious.
As Durban drives, I send messages to both Stanford and January about when they want to have a tasting.
Stanford: Tomorrow afternoon. It’s supposed to rain again.
I checked the forecast. Cloudy with a twenty percent chance of showers. That isn’t exactly worth canceling the archery event Daddy has set up. Now I’ll have to reschedule that, which isn’t a big deal since the Baldwins are currently the only guests, but there’ll be some rearranging with staff.
Me: If it’s okay with Foster House.
I could’ve checked first, but I couldn’t resist showing Stanford he’s not the ultimate authority. “The couple would like to do the tasting tomorrow afternoon with their family.”
A frown pulls at his lips, and his mustache twitches. “Afternoons are our busy time with tours and tastings, but we could start after they have an early dinner. I’d rather have them when they’ve got food in their stomach.”
“I’ll let him know.” I type out the message and stuff my phone away. We’re almost at Sy’s.
I’m looking forward to this meeting. I have a good idea, and I think Bryce will work with me even if I don’t put out.
But I’m dreading walking in there and finding out exactly how much he’ll push for, or what he’ll want me to trade for his help.
He can be questionable, but he’s respected my nos before.
Durban parks next to a rack of kayaks. Only one other black pickup is in the lot. Any of the seasonal workers must have the day off. We’re far enough from civilization and right next to a river in the rain that I’m grateful I asked Durban.
This trip does double duty. I also wanted to get some time alone with him that Stanford couldn’t interfere with.
We’re here. I’m on. Time to go build my position as event coordinator. I stare at the entrance of the small building and chew on my lower lip. Acid splashes into my throat. I’m probably overreacting.
Durban unbuckles. “I’m going in with you.”
“No. No, it’s fine.” I grip the charm of my necklace.
I can’t tank one of my few options for work in the community.
“As long as I know you’re out here, and he knows, I doubt he’ll try anything.
I don’t know if he would anyway, but guys who do that stuff only corner women when they know they can get away with it. ”
Durban’s gaze sharpens.
I give him a tight smile and hop out. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Stay by the window so I can see you.”
“If I can.” A pit in the center of my chest smolders. This isn’t like before. Bryce has only ever been persistent. He won’t ask me for favors as part of the cross-promotion. He won’t corner me between the wall and filing cabinet. Will he?