Chapter 1 #3
Damn. I have to get this thing looked at.
I roll the windows up and turn the music louder.
Thumping bass fills the cab, barely blocking out the noise.
I’m heading toward the distillery for Hookers and Booze.
It’s my favorite day of the month and the only hours I’ll give myself off for the months ahead.
I need to bake and cook and do cartwheels with my finances to make enough money to cover my ass.
As I turn into the parking lot, the distillery looms large, all timber, glass, and rock. Large, inviting windows allow a peek at the tall stills inside. The shiny copper columns are my favorite over the steel stills. I should design a cupcake tower for the fair to resemble them.
Is vodka made in the copper ones? The frosting I made with their huckleberry vodka turned a nice blush. It’s not exact, but it might be close enough.
I park and suck in a deep breath to prevent my heart from racing. He’s not here. He’s never here for crochet club.
This is only the third crochet club ever.
I look in my rearview mirror and my pulse jumps.
His silver-and-blue pickup is parked right behind me, and it looks like it’s vibrating thanks to the music rattling my windows.
I let my eyelids drift shut. His mischievous smile should be repellent.
It is. I just have nowhere to go when he’s in the bakery.
Then he caught me dancing last week. I was sure I had plenty of time before Lane showed up. But I spun around and there was a tall man with sexily rumpled dark hair that brushed his ears, wearing an obscenely tight T-shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots.
His eyes are the same blue as the denim he wears.
It’d be easier to ignore him if he weren’t unfairly handsome.
Panties burn off when he walks down the street.
Women throw themselves at him. He’s always smiling at them and joking around.
Then he comes in and asks me questions, like about what baking soda does for muffins.
Or how to get the perfect moist cookie. His questions are never innuendos and he listens to my answers. It makes him endearing, dammit.
There’s a light knock on my driver’s window. I bark out a cry and turn the music off. A large shadow with biceps I could lick looms on the other side. I didn’t notice him while I was staring in the rearview mirror at Cruz’s truck.
The man hinges at the waist and it’s him.
His mouth moves and I cock an ear toward him while turning down a song much like the one I was grinding to when he caught me. My cheeks warm as he grins. Is he remembering the scene too?
“Can I help you carry anything?” he calls, that easy smile in place.
He can help by not being so nice. It’d assist me a lot if he weren’t the hottest guy I’ve ever met. I’d find it so useful if I didn’t get so acutely aware when he’s around.
“No,” I mutter. He cocks an ear. He can’t hear me.
I push the door open and he backs up, but all I get is a window full of rugged man.
Powerful thighs and a long-legged stance.
The slight scruff on his face sets my heart beating faster.
I have to look away before the tingles all over my body announce how epically long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid.
The man is arresting, and I don’t need more men and arrests in my life.
“What can I grab?” He peers through the back window.
Why is he so relentless? “I’ve got it.”
“I’m here. Use me.” He holds his arms out to the sides, snugging his shirt to his torso. Ranching and distilling do a body good.
I’d use him so hard.
Nope! I have ninety-nine problems and a guy is very much one. I don’t need to round it out to an even hundred. “You can get the tote with the samples of my fair items.”
I back all the way up to let him into the back seat. He bends over and my attention goes right to his ass. So damn firm I could bounce a quarter off it.
“You need this other bag?” he asks, his voice muffled.
My crochet supplies that never left the car after the last monthly crochet club. “Yes, but I can get that.”
He backs out and hip checks the door shut. “It’s no problem.”
It’s a huge problem. The way he’s holding his arms, a little out to the side with his biceps bulging, and his stance? With that tight shirt and cowboy boots? It’s obscene.
I want to climb his tall body like I’m a kitten and he’s both the tree and the fireman who’ll save me. I have to look away before the image in my head becomes two naked humans. “Thanks.”
He beams like he’s pleased that he finally gets to help me. That’s worse. He tips his head toward the building. “Ladies first.”
I start walking and he falls in step beside me. I have nothing to do with my hands since he’s carrying everything. I have on loose gray linen pants and an oversized Montana shirt I got at the gas station.
“Everyone’s here already.” Does the silence bother him, or is he always this chatty? “You’re not late though. Durban’s running drinks. Campbell’s here, of course.”
I never tire of seeing Durban Hennessy and Campbell Hawthorne together, or Durban’s brother, Iverson, and Campbell’s sister Jamison.
Those couples are real. The love in the guys’ eyes is real.
They’ve been nothing but trustworthy and upstanding citizens in the community.
I knew of the three Hennessy brothers before they bought into the distillery, and before the two oldest fell for the oldest and youngest Hawthorne sisters from the guest ranch outside of town.
None of the gossip about them was scandalous.
It was barely salacious, and that’s because all the Hennessys have the same effect on women as Cruz. Lane’s the same.
I just notice Cruz more than anyone else.
“You excited to crochet?” he asks.
He’s always trying to make small talk, and the less I speak to him, the harder he tries. I can’t succumb. “I’m sure crochet is boring for you.”
“Nah, it’s cool to see everything you guys make. Edna was showing me the blanket she’s making for a silent auction at the fair next month.”
“I’m putting together a package for that.” I bite the inside of my cheek. No good will come from making conversation with Cruz. I’ll just want more, and I know his type. Charming flirt. Skin deep. Even if I could trust a guy again, it’s a bad time to date.
“I can’t wait to see it. You do that white chocolate cake, and it’ll bring in a hundred bucks. At least.”
My insides get all warm and gooey. That flavor is my favorite for a cake. “I’m actually putting together a baking basket. It’ll have all the utensils, ingredients, and instructions.”
“That’s a great idea. It’s going to get a big bid.”
“You think so?” I’ve been a little insecure about it.
He smiles at me. “One hundred percent sure.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. More boastful promises.
When we’re inside the tasting room, all the women shout greetings. My smile pokes through, but I still want to hide behind Cruz’s big body. I don’t like having attention on me.
Edna waves. “Now it’s a party.”
My sister is sitting at a table next to Edna and four of her friends, who are all past retirement age, along with one of their grandsons who’s home from college.
Clem’s hair is dark like mine, but she’s got hers down today.
The tasting room is cool. Must be why she has the green gradient shawl she crocheted over her shoulders.
Campbell is poring over an instruction pamphlet for some project, her long chestnut braid hanging over her shoulder.
I wistfully admire her athletic shorts. Why didn’t I throw a pair of shorts on?
I’ve gotten too used to dressing like this.
My linen pants today are very sweats adjacent.
Durban is behind the bar. Does the distillery buy tight T-shirts and blue jeans in bulk? Except for Cruz’s older brother Lane, who wears suits once in a while, that’s all I’ve seen the five owners in.
Technically, there are six. Lane and Cruz have an older brother who stops into the bakery to pick up various desserts when he’s in town.
Myles Foster is the founder and owner of Foster House, but he brought in his brothers and the Hennessys to invest and run the Huckleberry Springs site they call Foster House Gold.
I hear and see a lot in the bakery, and I like to be in the know. Because then I’ll know if my personal business ever starts making the rounds.
I weave around the tables toward Clem. She grins at me.
“If she gets out of line,” Cruz says to me, “we’ll put her to work.”
Clem gives him a playful glare. I ignore him.
“Don’t listen to him,” Edna calls, not missing a beat in her crocheting. “We’ll move this shindig if the guys try to ruin our fun.”
Cruz chuckles, and gah! It’s such a deep, pleasing sound. “As long as no stools go through the window. And Durban will need you all to sign a disclaimer before there’s any dancing on the tables.”
Durban nods, but the smoldering glance he shoots Campbell suggests that there’s been some private table dancing already.
“Where can I put these?” Cruz holds up the bags.
“I’ve got them.” I set the containers with the samples on the bar counter. He doesn’t leave my side as I unload them. “Thanks,” I say in a way that sounds more like goodbye. He doesn’t move until I shoot him a deliberate stare.
He ducks his head, but his smile is all charm your pants off. I immediately look away. A thousand pairs of panties can burn off, but I’m not going to do anything about it. After I arrange the containers of baked goods, I bring them to the bar counter.
“I have enough here for all of you to taste test,” I explain to Durban even though Cruz is leaning on the counter and hanging on my every word.
“I put the huckleberry vodka in the batter and the frosting of the cupcakes. Your spiced gin was used for the oatmeal raisin cookie. Then”—I move the samples around to stimulate my memory—“another cupcake because I wanted to play with the gin. This time I put it in the filling. Oh, I also made a single-serving spiced cake with a buttery whiskey glaze. If there’s something you don’t like, don’t hesitate to tell me. ”
“Samples?” Durban peers at the goodies. “You didn’t have to.”
“I told you I would.” I shoot Cruz a questioning look. Didn’t he pass the message along?
“That’s right, you did. I must’ve forgot.” Cruz’s lopsided grin probably makes all the girls forget when he doesn’t keep his word.
I don’t play relationship games like that anymore. It’s easier not to do relationships at all. No one’s made me want to—until Cruz turned my head. But I swiveled it right back to my goals—to run an honest, successful business and pay it forward as much as I can.
“Thanks, Elodie,” Durban says to me before turning to Cruz. “I’ve gotta pop into the storeroom. Be right back.”
Cruz nods, his attention on me.
I’m going to smolder and start smoking if he leaves it there, and it’ll burn away my resistance.
I grasp for something, anything, to deflect the heat and keep my wits about me.
It shouldn’t be so easy, and maybe it’s not fair to Cruz.
He could’ve legitimately forgotten, or he could be like someone else I once knew and playing games.
“Don’t say you’re going to do something when you don’t mean it.” I keep my voice low so only we can hear.
He blinks. “I’m sor—”
“Don’t apologize when you don’t mean it.
” Anger that Cruz isn’t responsible for rises from the depths I try to keep it in and aims right at him.
“Don’t keep trying to help me. I don’t want it.
I don’t know what you’re looking for, but it’s not me.
No more flirting. No more fake promises. You need to leave me alone.”
His jaw goes slack. Oh my god, did I go too far? The bewilderment and, dammit, hurt in his eyes turn my well-aged fury to panic. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and ignored him like usual. Only Cruz doesn’t make it easy.
The urge to apologize is strong. To tell him I don’t mean any of it. But I do. I have to.
I take refuge with my sister at her table, my heart racing.
Eventually, Campbell sits with us. I struggle to draw a full breath and the middle of my shoulders aches from the tension I’m holding.
The handsome distiller reminds me of too many bad boys I’ve known in my life.
It’s not his fault, but I need space. Lots of it.
Cruz chats with Durban before he steps away from the bar. I slip a stitch on my project. I lashed out way harder than I meant to and much harsher than he deserved. I glance up and my gaze collides with his. He only gives me a tip of his head and disappears into the main distillery.
I slump in my seat and keep working on the bodice of an apron for the silent auction basket. Guilt and longing mix in my chest and breathing is hard again.
Well, there’s the space I wanted.