Chapter 21 #2
I set my glass on the bar top and stared at the amber liquid. “It’s only been a little over a month of actual dating. It’s not like we’ve talked about marriage and kids.”
“You talked about marriage, just not yours and his.” She flashed a devious grin.
I mock glared at her. “Ha ha.”
She kept looking at me as she took another sip. “Are you afraid to discuss the future with him?”
Yes. So scared. “I stormed into his life. He’s gone from being a recluse to a sex god. What if he realizes what he’s missed out on and wants to see others?” I took a gulp of my drink.
“Jonah was never a ‘see others’ type.” She wrinkled her nose. “From what I remember, he was an ‘if you can keep up’ type. Jackie got tired of trying. He left any other dates in the dust.”
I didn’t think he’d return to his previous personality full force, but that didn’t quell my concern. “His life is in a period of upheaval.”
She polished off her bourbon, took my glass, and drained it too. That was fine. I didn’t want to feel like I was drinking my worries away. “Sounds like another talk you’re avoiding.”
I scowled at her while she ran a small sink full of water and washed the glasses. “Another talk?”
“I think you’ve been neglecting to have important discussions with the men in your life. Like what you really want for a wedding.”
“Boyd was different.” The arch of her red brow cut me off. I’d still be in shitty relationships if I avoided hard discussions completely. Maybe I just delayed them. “I am not avoiding the talk. There’s a right time to have one.”
“Remember that one guy you dated before Boyd?”
I’d had a few serious boyfriends as an adult. Boyd had been the longest and the most serious, which was saying a lot since, looking back, our relationship had had as much substance as cotton balls. “Which one?”
She screwed her face up. “Um . . . Jerry? Gerald?”
“Garrett?” I said dryly.
She snapped her fingers. “Right. The guy who loved to smoke meat and drink beer.”
“I like smoked meat.”
“You didn’t tell him that spending the weekend building DIY smokers was not your thing. And that you didn’t like beer.”
“I didn’t like his beer.”
Her gaze was steady. “My point is you didn’t talk to him about something that might end the relationship.”
“Smoked meat should not ruin a relationship.” I scoffed.
“It would’ve with Jerry.”
“Garrett.”
“How convenient he moved for work, and when he hinted that you could move with him, you gave him a tour of the family distillery.”
I had laid the family part on really thick. “Fine. I might be a little scared. Compared to Boyd—and Garrett—what I feel for Jonah is . . .” Everything. I wanted it all. If he didn’t, then what?
She opened her mouth but raised voices caught our attention. She snapped it shut and we both cocked our heads.
I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were on the move. I swiveled in my seat to look out the window. Whoever it was hadn’t left the building yet, but the guy with the nice car must be arguing with one or more of my brothers.
Finally, a guy shouted, “You cannot take advantage of an old drunk like that!”
“He’s stone-cold sober when he’s talking to us.” That was Teller.
“You Baileys think you have the right to everything.”
“If he doesn’t sell to us, he’ll sell to someone else.” This was from Tenor.
“He’ll sell to goddamn me.” This time the stranger’s voice was a low growl. “That land has been in my family for generations.”
“You’ll have to take that up with him,” Teller said with more than a hint of defensiveness.
A door banged open. Autumn and I jumped.
A tall man’s powerful strides ate up the pavement as he stormed to the sleek black car.
His charcoal suit was tailored to highlight his long, lean body and wide shoulders.
The fading sun glinted off his ink-black hair.
He ripped the driver’s side door open, and I was afraid he’d take the damn thing off.
With a parting glare that should’ve melted glass, he slid behind the wheel and peeled away.
Teller’s comments from over a month ago about buying more land ran through my head. I knew who that man was. “Gideon James.”
Interest crept into Autumn’s expression. “Whoa.”
“Yeah.” I had the hots for Jonah, but I could acknowledge when another man was fine.
“Whoa,” Autumn breathed again. “I think my ovaries just packed their bags to follow him,” she whispered.
I chortled. The spell of Gideon James was broken. For me at least. Autumn’s starstruck gaze was still plastered to the window.
“Apparently,” I said, “he has opinions about his dad selling to us.”
She blinked. “What? We’re doing business with that guy?” I didn’t miss the interest in her voice.
“Not him. His dad must be selling without talking to him.” Empathy welled for the man. If Daddy had sold it all before he’d passed, I’d have been upset. If he hadn’t talked to us first, I’d have been devastated.
“That sucks.” She shook her head like she was ridding herself of the last remnants of a spell. “He’s going to hate each and every one of us.”
Yep. Copper Summit might be buying the land, but each of my siblings and I were the owners.
Teller entered the bar, his expression tight. Tenor was behind him, pushing up his glasses. He gave me a half wave when he saw I was there.
“Looks like you two need a drink.” Autumn put a mixing jar on the counter.
Teller blew out a breath and took the stool next to mine. “Make it girly. I want it so dainty that a guy like Gideon would throw a clot knowing I drank it after our talk.”
Tenor sat on the other side of me. I settled in.
I wouldn’t have another drink, but I’d stay and let Autumn’s advice filter into the recesses of my mind.
Maybe she was right. But maybe it was too early to ask Jonah what he wanted out of us.
After all, he wasn’t even willing to be seen on a date with me in Bourbon Canyon.
Jonah had packaged the tables and stools in protective covering and padding and hauled them to the loading door. My luggage was packed and I was ready to return to Bozeman. Mama had called while Jonah was finishing up in the shop.
He was cleaning up his workbenches and reorganizing tools. Buckets got stacked in the corners, and every once in a while, he’d stoop and pick up a stray screw or scrap of wood. He was meticulous about his workspace, but this was the most relaxed I’d seen him all weekend.
I sat on one of the stools he’d made himself with a swivel bottom and a gorgeous polished wooden seat that looked like it’d been made from stone. “You got it all done.”
He nodded and grabbed the broom. Less tension rode across his shoulders, but it was still there. “Almost. When the delivery is signed off by the client, then I’m done.”