Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Emerson
I licked him.
I licked him, so he’s mine.
Pulling into the parking lot of Foster House Gold, I breathe through pursed lips. Calm down. Nerves tingle up and down my body. I breathe and hold.
I put my tongue on that man’s chest. I can’t believe I did that.
But damn, what a chest. He tasted refreshing. I could drink him down until he’s consumed and I finally feel whole.
Hillary holds up two crochet hooks and inspects each one. “I want to make a blanket.”
“Have you crocheted before?”
“No.”
Neither have I. “It’s going to take practice.” If I can keep Hillary interested for more than twenty minutes, I’ll consider it a win. “Did you bring your tablet?”
“Yep.” She keeps rooting through the bag of supplies I drove to Billings to buy. Otherwise, I would’ve ended up in the tasting room, hoping to catch Lane alone. I’m here for crocheting, not to see him again. “When’s Daddy coming to get me?”
“In an hour.”
Hillary heard me talking to Brooks about Hookers and Booze, and she insisted on coming with me. I have no idea if kids are allowed, but I said she could join me. That way, I have an excuse to leave.
What was I thinking agreeing to this? A crochet club for a girl who’s never touched a hook in her life? My mom hated domestic crafts. She wanted the best of the best and handmade was not the best in her eyes.
I park in the line of cars. My stomach almost throws up the last red velvet muffin I bought from Dee’s Sweets. Is he here?
I avoided him last night. I was in the guest room when I heard him arrive home. Then this morning, I worked in my room until I heard him leave after breakfast. I’m a coward.
A coward wouldn’t have licked him, but I’m also an opportunist.
When I get out, I spot his pickup parked by the rickhouse. Will I see him? Or is he going to play a card from my deck and hide in the other building? The way my butterflies are roiling, I might hide out there.
I brush the dust off my skirt. It’s new, but paired with wedge sandals and a plain top, it’s summery and sporty. I’m clean and trendy, unlike when I was in school. Will I know anyone here?
“Are there a lot of people here?” Hillary whispers loudly to me and clutches my hand.
“I don’t know. But you know me, so just stay by my side.” I grip her hand in return.
I steel myself and open the door. Here we go.
“There she is,” an unfamiliar voice says.
More cheers go up, and a lot of greetings are called out.
Blinking, I struggle to focus, and when I do, my gaze lands right on the man behind the bar counter.
The way Lane’s looking at me isn’t politely professional like when I first met him.
His eyes are simmering. Intense. His hair is combed to the side and his shoulders are broad. I don’t notice anyone else.
Then someone appears in front of me and the trance is over. The haze that Lane causes starts to clear. The woman in front of me is stunning. Long chestnut hair is in a fishbone braid hanging over her shoulder. She’s in a sundress that brushes the top of her boots, and I don’t feel overdressed.
“Emerson!” She points at herself. “It’s Campbell. Remember?”
“Ah, yes. Campbell Hawthorne.”
The three Hawthorne girls were the daughters of a wealthy rancher outside of town, in the other direction from my dad’s place.
Campbell was in Clem’s grade. Avery is the middle girl, and Jamison is the oldest. They were all nice enough, doing their own thing, and everyone knew not to mess with them. The girls were as good as royalty.
Mom kept asking why I couldn’t be friends with them.
The Hawthornes weren’t aloof, but they were always involved in stuff—sports, horses, and helping their parents.
Our paths rarely crossed. If they were interested in getting to know me, I didn’t realize it, but most likely, I just wasn’t on their radar. Everyone knew them, though.
She grins. “It’s Hennessy now. Both Jamison and I.”
“Oh.” Three Hennessy guys and three Hawthorne girls?
Her grin widens like she’s reading my mind. “Avery’s in Utah with her partner, Thea. I’m married to Durban, the middle Hennessy brother, but Jamison went for the oldest, Iverson. Picked him up at Bootleg when— Oh.” Her gaze finally lands on Hillary. “Oh! You must be Brooks’s girl. I’m Campbell.”
Hillary gives Campbell’s outstretched hand a little shake, then crowds against me. “I’m Hillary.”
“Lane makes the best Shirley Temples, and he’ll give you extra cherries.” Campbell gestures for us to follow her. “Can I introduce you two to everyone, and then he can get you something to drink?”
Hillary looks up at me, and I nod. We’re in this together, but Campbell’s excitement is untangling the knots lining my back. Hillary nods.
Campbell claps. “Perfect. Let me introduce you to my bossy older sister first.”
“I heard that,” Jamison calls out from a four-top table.
Hillary lets out a little giggle.
Jamison’s gorgeous too, with hair a little darker than Campbell’s, and it’s blanketed over her back.
Instead of the boots and jeans she wore in school, she’s also in a loose dress.
She smiles and sets whatever she’s crocheting down.
She spins in her chair. “Hillary, right? You must be . . .” She narrows her eyes. “Twelve?”
“Eleven.” My niece’s grip on me loosens a little.
“My daughter is almost seven. I know you’re older, but if you like to cuddle dogs and cats, she’s got some to show you.”
“I like chickens and bunnies.” She tugs on my hand. “Auntie Em calls me Bunny, but Daddy won’t let me get a rabbit until we own the house.”
“I love bunnies as long as they stay out of my lettuce patch.” Jamison smiles up at me. “Hi, Emerson. If you need anything in town, find me. You know what, let me give you my number.”
Hillary digs my phone out of the tote with our brand-new yarn and hands it to me.
The entrance door opens, and Clem enters. “Hey, Emerson.” Her face brightens when she sees Hillary. “Are we going to corrupt another kid with the wiles of yarn?”
“Only if you don’t get her started on that thick crap,” Edna hollers from the table she’s at with two older women and a college-aged guy.
“I’m actually working on a scarf today, but you know we like thick around here,” Clem mutters and snickers, her face going red.
I chuckle and my gaze lifts to Lane and I’m back in the hallway. What was that towel hiding? He cocks an arrogant brow, and heat flushes my face. I have to be redder than Clem.
Hillary gives me a perplexed look. I shrug and exchange numbers with Jamison. Then Campbell insists I take hers. Elodie comes through the door from the main distillery wearing leggings and a loose shirt, like she was at the bakery. Beside her is a tall, curvy redhead rocking a soft-green romper.
I relax even more. Clean and trendy. I fit in.
“Emerson, hey,” Elodie says in that soft but firm demeanor she has. “Have you met Prescott yet?”
Campbell shakes her head, answering for me. “We’re still making our way through introductions, and then I promised Hillary here some refreshments.”
Elodie smiles and waves to encompass a table I didn’t notice piled with goodies. “Help yourself. Don’t let me bring all this back to the bakery. Oh, and take my number if you need anything.”
I’ve never felt so welcome somewhere, and it’s in my hometown. A lump forms in my throat, and I concentrate on punching in numbers.
“Here,” Prescott says, “take mine too. I’m Haven’s fiancée.”
“You look familiar,” Hillary says, her gaze on Prescott. The whole room goes quiet, and it’s like they know a secret I don’t. But unlike when I was younger, I don’t feel like I’m the punchline. From how thrilled Prescott looks, it can’t be a bad revelation.
“You like animals?” Prescott asks like she’s prodding Hillary.
Hillary gasps and yanks my arm, but her attention is still on Prescott. “Ohmigod. You’re that Prescott. With all the rescues!”
“You watch my stuff?” Prescott sounds delighted.
“She likes bunnies,” Jamison calls.
I’m lost, but thrilled that Hillary’s suddenly in her element. She’s chattering with Prescott about a Holland lop she featured once.
A wall of heat is next to me. Lane. He hands me a slice of what looks like banana bread. “What’s a Holland lop?”
“I’m going to guess a rabbit.” I take a bite of the bread and moan. Yep. The most delicious banana bread I’ve ever had. Is that whiskey icing? “Did Elodie make this?”
“She’s testing recipes for the Billings Street Fair. We cross-promo. When people stop for a tasting, we’ll send them to Elodie’s stand to try her baked goods with the same spirits we’re showing off.”
“So what’s in the icing?” I take another bite.
“A lower-proof whiskey we aged for two years. It’s got the rich notes of oak and caramel, but it’ll let other flavors shine through, like the vanilla in the icing and the banana.”
Three guys come out of the door that leads to the main part of the distillery.
Even if I hadn’t seen them use the employees-only entrance, the resemblance between them is enough to tell me who they are.
The Hennessys. I suck in a steady breath.
I’ve just gotten over the introduction to all the girls.
Now there are three more business owners with their shit together facing me.
None of them had to marry to get a house.
Jamison tugs the gruffest-looking one over. “This Hennessy is mine,” she says, and the other two guys follow him. “Iverson.” She points to the one that Campbell’s sneaking up behind. “Durban.” He puts his hands behind him and Campbell clasps them and hugs against his back. “And that one is Haven.”
If I didn’t know Haven and Prescott were together, I would guess it. His attention is always swinging back to her, and she’s peeking at him with a little smile. Envy snakes around my heart like ivy. They’re so damn cute. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Sorry about your dad,” Iverson says and the other two murmur and tip their heads. “He was a well of knowledge about this area, and he always had a good memory to share about our dad.”