Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Durban
I drum my fingers along the bar top. The last of the tours for the day are done.
I’ve cleaned up everything. Haven’s coming to work the bar for the evening.
I can go home and get something ready for dinner.
Dee’s Sweets is closed, but Campbell’s enduring the after-hours cake tasting with Stanford and January.
Campbell said it makes the couple feel special, but also protects Elodie from any public rudeness from the future Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin.
I’m antsy. I want to go home and watch Campbell walk into my house like she did last night.
We made chicken alfredo together and she told me how the training went.
Hailstorm can get stubborn with Stanford, but at least Stanford didn’t drop January.
The swoop-and-grab is still clunky and Campbell worries for their safety, but Stanford refuses to drop it.
Lane enters instead of Haven. He’s wearing black slacks and a half-buttoned white shirt. If he wore a tie while he was at the headquarters in Denver, it’s long gone.
“How was the drive?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It gets old.” Shoving a hand through his inky hair, he sighs. “Makes moving sound like a good idea.” He crosses to the bar and sits on a stool.
“Want a drink?”
“Gimme a finger of that ninety-proof whiskey we bottled last month.”
I don’t grab a glass. The cask was bottled, but Lane hasn’t approved it for sale. We’re sitting on it. “You’re not sure about it.”
“It’s . . . subpar.”
The Golden Nugget is one of mine, and it’s a rye whiskey. “It’s for mixing.”
“Customers won’t know that when they buy it. We need to release products that stand on their own. Foster House is known for whiskey. We have more leeway with vodka and gin.”
I stomp down my frustration. We’ve had this discussion several times over the years. “It’s a good whiskey.”
His jaw hardens. “It’s not good enough.”
I leave him and go to the storeroom. I grab a bottle of Golden Nugget. I don’t pour him a glass. I make a Montana sunrise. Whiskey, lemonade, huckleberry syrup, and grenadine. Just to rub him the wrong way, I add a cherry and a small umbrella.
His expression is unimpressed. “You know how much I like cherries.”
“A bunch of cherry fiends around here,” I grumble and drop in two more.
He uses the thin straw to stir it, then takes a sip. Rolling the drink around on his tongue, he furrows his brow and swallows. “Damn, that’s good flavor.”
“I know.” I’m newer to the whiskey world. I’ve been drinking it a whole lot longer than I’ve been making it, but I know the science. I know I can create some amazing products.
“Use that for Rafting and Tasting.” He takes another drink while my optimism takes a dive.
“We talked about something new, and I was going to do a vodka infusion.” Campbell set it up so I can do something new. She threw me a bone in front of all the guys, and she didn’t have to. She has faith in me without knowing what I can do. “It’s summery.”
He shakes his head. “We need to move all the Golden Nugget.”
“And we will. In cocktails. How many festivals and street fairs do we have set up this summer? Our presence at those shouldn’t be to move product on shelves. Maybe we start offering exclusive event lines.”
Interest lights his eyes. Lane’s good at the business end. He learned everything about running a national brand from his brother. But he’s too pragmatic when it comes to Foster House Gold’s goals.
I should be the realist, but Campbell handed me an opportunity after hearing only once that I wanted more of a creative role. I’m not wasting her faith in me.
Lane nods thoughtfully. “What kind of vodka infusion for the rafting gig?”
“It’s summer. It’s Montana. Huckleberry mint.”
“Tourists will eat that shit up.”
“Hoping they’ll drink it up.”
He tilts his head. “I didn’t peg you as the outside-the-box thinker.”
“It’s not outside the box. I’ve studied what other distilleries do, especially those in the state and Wyoming.”
“Our competition.”
Previous conversations with Campbell run through my head. Her experiences could come in useful. “And our colleagues. We should work on some promotional events with them.”
He takes a slow drink, his gaze shrewd. “You have some good ideas. Your girl too.”
“Who?” I know exactly who he means, and I like how my girl sounds.
He gives me a flat look before he shakes his head. “I underestimate you. I need to quit doing that. I keep thinking you’re a quiet cowboy that got dragged into the distilling world.” He blows out a breath. “I’m just a mechanic cosplaying as a businessman.”
“Didn’t you cosplay as a cowboy first?”
He lets out a short burst of laughter. “Didn’t feel as unusual of a transition.”
“Guess we’re all just trying to figure our shit out.”
“Yep.” He slides off his stool, goes to tug his shirt sleeves down, seems to realize how disheveled he is, then scrubs a hand down his face. “How’s the wedding prep going?”
Fucking fantastic. I get to bury my head between Campbell’s legs each night. “Straightforward.”
“The couple’s not causing any trouble?”
“Campbell’s been managing it.”
“She’s good at what she does.”
I nod. She’s very good. The girl I thought was wrapped up in herself is the best listener I’ve ever met. After we sate ourselves on each other, we talk. At night, in the dark, I tell her stuff I’ve never shared. Is it the temporary nature of our relationship, or a real connection?
I think I know, but I wasted years on someone I thought I was in love with.
I don’t want to change what we’re doing.
In a little over a week, the wedding will be over and then what?
Waiting two weeks is a drop in the bucket compared to my dating history, but I don’t want to dive in further than Campbell just to find out only one of us is thinking about a possible future.
I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.
Campbell
I stop at home to pack a bag for tonight.
I have another weekend off before the week of wedding festivities really takes off.
I made it this far, and other than a few annoyances, it hasn’t been that bad.
Stanford’s parents have transitioned to treating me as the event planner.
Now that I’m not trying to trap their son in a marriage with a girl they think isn’t good enough for them, nor am I trying to win him back, they’re happy to ask for my travel recommendations.
As for the couple . . . They oscillate between sucking face where everyone can see and bickering where they think no one can.
We’ve taken a break from the horse lessons. Stanford can finally get January on Hailstorm, but January’s shoulder is getting wrenched out of its socket, and I’ll have a heart attack if my cousin breaks her neck. I do not like worrying about her.
I talked them into using two horses. January will have to figure out her dress situation, but I convinced them of the photo worthiness of a shot of them both riding into the sunset.
Then I took an antacid.
Time to figure out another dream wedding. I’m no longer sure I can get married on the ranch after this.
I’m just leaving my bedroom with a small overnight tote bag when the front door opens and closes.
Mom rushes down the hallway. She jumps when she sees me, throwing her hand on her chest. “Campbell, ohmigosh. Did you hear?” She rushes past me, her cowboy boots clicking on the hardwood floor.
“What’s going on?” Did the wedding implode? My hope skyrockets. If I don’t have to go through next week and it’s not my fault, that would be a real dream come true.
“Jamison’s in labor.”
Happiness fills me. “Oh! That’s awesome. Do they need help with Kacey?”
“I’m meeting them at the distillery and picking her up so they can get to Billings. Haven’s watching her.”
“Not Durban?” He said he would be there all day, so I stayed at the guest lodge to go over inventory with Chef before January’s friends and cousins start arriving next week.
“He’s doing the evening chores, and there’s a heifer with a hoof issue in the barn he’s checking on.”
“I’m around all weekend if you need help with Kacey.”
She shakes her head. “Not right now, but I promised her Auntie and Nana time this weekend.” She stops and blinks at me. “Are you going to Billings again?”
A tendril of guilt slides across my conscience. Everyone thinks I have a beau in Billings when the only time I went there was to recruit the wedding band. “I’ll be coming and going.”
She arches a brow. “Is it getting serious?”
My evenings this week have been some of my favorites, and I’m fighting off the fantasy that it could turn into something real. He hasn’t said anything to give me the impression he wants more than sex. “No. Not after Stanford.”
“I don’t blame you. Will you be home Saturday?”
“I’ll make sure I’m around.” I’m about to turn when she grabs me into a big hug.
“I like having you around.” She’s still squeezing me. “If only Avery would move closer, but with you and Jamison back in town, I don’t have to ration my days off to go see her and Thea.”
I hug her back. “I’m glad to be home.”
Just not in this house, but a place of my own will happen soon. After the wedding, I’ll have enough to look for my own place. Jamison told me it’s dismal out there unless I build. Huckleberry Springs is an old town and the houses reflect that.
Durban’s sprawling but cozy home flashes through my head. His place is so gorgeous.
She releases me and I almost go reeling. “Be safe.”
When she’s out of sight, I pull out my phone. I have a text waiting.
Durban: I’m at Iverson’s. Let yourself in.
Campbell: Need help?
He’s probably already done.
Durban: No, just gotta doctor a hoof and I’ll be there.
Campbell: I’ll work on dinner.
Warmth curls through my belly. Let myself in? Don’t mind if I do.