Silver Brewer: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  “I was trying to be a gentleman,” I bite back, taking a step away from her.

  “Well, just…don’t gentleman me.”

  Yes, right. Why am I being nice to her? I should have left her on her knees, hands digging into the gravel and leg bleeding, but it goes against my nature to leave a wounded animal unattended. On second thought, I hope she rots from gangrene in her leg. I hope it festers and falls off. Then I reconsider the wish as I’ve known my share of men who had such a thing happen to them. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t pretty.

  “Fine,” I bark, releasing her backpack strap and leaning over for my bag.

  “Fine.”

  5

  This isn’t glamping

  [Letty]

  My eyes fill again with traitorous liquid, but I rapidly blink back the sting. I should have let him take my backpack. It’s heavy, and I curse myself for overpacking. My knee really does ache, and my other knee throbs from the tender bruise hidden under my jeans. My hands burn. And I’m thirsty. I reach for my water bottle and take a hardy drink of lukewarm liquid. I don’t want to waste precious water, but I pour a little over my cracked hands. The initial drops force me to hiss, but I allow the liquid to cleanse the cuts. Looking up, I find Giant has continued moving, so I follow for the remainder of our climb.

  The slope is steeper than it appears from the base, and he’s right, dammit. My feet are killing me. My toes feel cramped, and my heel rubs uncomfortably. I’m going to have blisters, and I want to curse Giant. It’s all his fault, I swear, but the blame is really mine. If I wasn’t so determined to prove myself to him, I wouldn’t be in this position.

  You also wouldn’t be getting this land, I remind myself. I need this promotion and the financial security it will bring; not to mention, the agency is depending on me. Anything. Thoughts of my future drive me forward but at a much slower pace than I’d originally set. Giant’s strides are naturally longer than mine as his legs are three times bigger.

  Okay, maybe not three times, but I swear he’s hardly broken a sweat when all I want is a shower.

  Tenting, whispers through my head.

  I don’t suppose that thing has a clawfoot tub with fragrant bubble bath and a few scented candles. Oh, or a glass of wine. Conrad Lodge, the place I’ve stayed while in Blue Ridge, had all those luxuries before I began this adventure.

  My eyes travel to Giant’s backside, still visible despite the length of the pack on his back. Even in his rugged pants, he has a fine ass. He’s the epitome of outdoor sexy. The way he blew on my knee had my girlie parts swirling in wonder at how his warm breath might feel down there. It’s been a long time since anyone’s given attention to my nether region. My eyes leap up to the fine curve of his firm globes, and I curse him again.

  I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to be attracted to him.

  A sliver of something. What was it that punctured my lungs, stealing my breath when he looked at me? His deep eyes warming to liquid iron instead of cold steel.

  I lose Giant in a copse of trees, and I shake my head. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s trying to ditch me so I’ll give up my pursuit. Well, he doesn’t know me, and the second I’m told no, I redouble my efforts. Only my efforts are waning as my feet pinch. When I near the thickness of the trees, I notice Giant leaning against one, his arms casually linked, and his ankles crossed. He looks like a man ready for a photoshoot for Outdoor Life or Lumber Men. I don’t know if either is a magazine, but I’d subscribe if all the images inside matched him. He’s watching me, his lips twisting as though he’s thinking. Probably wondering how he can toss me down this mountain or hide my body.

  I must have been crazy to agree to this scheme. I didn’t even know if he was married, and I said yes to a camping trip. In the woods. With a stranger. I don’t know anything about his history. Prison records. Background check. Unknown felonies committed. Yet here I am, traipsing up a mountain with him. Of course, a quick Google search on him last night didn’t produce any illegal dealings in his past. In fact, he’s a decorated military veteran from what I learned.

  Still.

  Hysteria wells in my chest, and I’m ready to break out in song. The hills are alive with the sound of music…Anxiety-riddled laughter builds in my throat. I’m going to sound like a madwoman.

  What was I thinking?

  Be brave. Be strong. Marcus’s words come back to me, and I try to muster emotions I don’t feel. I’ve made a mistake. I’m going to die. This man wishes I would.

  I exhale heavily as I reach him, realizing I’m turning into a drama queen.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here,” I mock.

  “Won’t meet another soul.” It’s a warning and a reminder I’m alone with him and at his mercy. I’ll need him to survive whatever awaits me for the next three nights. Then again, the thing I fear most is him.

  I step into the shadow of the trees, and he swipes an arm forward, suggesting I lead the way.

  “There’s a path from here.”

  The worn-down trail, crushed by well-traveled feet, leads deeper into the trees. I keep my eyes on the flattened leaves and broken twigs before me, not wanting to take another fall.

  “My great-great grandfather brewed beer up here.”

  I’m startled by the sound of his voice, both the deepness and the nostalgia in it.

  “I thought the mountains were known for moonshine.”

  “He might have done that, too, but beer was his product. Even though it wasn’t legal to distribute craft beer in Georgia until recently.”

  “That seems a little archaic. I’m from Chicago. We’re fond of our liquor and have the history to prove it. It’s called Prohibition.”

  He snorts behind me, and I concede this to be a chuckle.

  “He hid his talent up here and made runs along the miner trails.” Pride fills his voice with this heritage. “Today, we don’t need such a thing for our beer.”

  I’m stumped once again as I don’t know the personal side of his story. “Which is?”

  “Giant Brewing Company. I’m Giant.”

  I stop and spin to face him. “You own a beer company. Like Budweiser?”

  I found this information during my Google search but didn’t realize he was the Giant in Giant Brewing. His slow grin is evidence of both his answer and his pride, and I’m blinded by the effect of his lips slightly curling along the heavy scruff on his face.

  “We’re more of a craft beer company. Our sales have jumped since my brother opened the pub, but we aren’t quite at the success of a major beer distributor.”

  “I thought you said your brother was the mayor?”

  “He is. This is a different brother.” I remember what he said while we stood outside his cabin. He thinks I’ll expose his family, so he isn’t sharing much, but this is another tidbit about him.

  “Well, I’d love to sample Giant Beer one day.” Did my voice just drop? Did the statement sound suggestive? I turn away from him, heat rushing to my cheeks, and we continue walking in silence a bit before the trees open into a clearing.

  “Do I hear water?” I ask as a rushing liquid sounds in the distance.

  “There’s a river nearby. We don’t want to be too close as animals venture there as well, but we aren’t far.” Giant’s voice sounds all business-like, and I notice a pile of camping equipment before us.

  I mumble a reminder to myself. “Right, you were already up here.”

  As we step closer, I see a collapsed tent, two sleeping bags, an extra-large cooler, a smaller one, and a fire pit. The space has been used before as the pit is a scorched metal ring buried in the ground a few inches to contain the flames.

  “It gets dark early, so we should set up.” Giant pauses. “Maybe we should head to the stream to wash your hands.”

  “Actually, I need a bathroom.” I’m wary to admit such an act of human nature, but I have to pee.

  “It’s right through there.” He points toward another clump of trees. I’m ready
to say, You’ve got to be kidding, when I realize he isn’t.

  “I don’t suppose you have toilet paper.” He tilts his head a second and then reaches into his backpack. A small cylinder travel container contains a limited number of sheets.

  “I’d use them sparingly.”

  I shudder but realize it isn’t the first time I’ve had to pop a squat. Mustering up my college days, I stomp my feet as I march to the trees. It feels good to remove my pack. My back aches. I’m afraid of what I’ll find when I eventually remove my boots because my feet are screaming.

  “And watch out for poison ivy.”

  Have I mentioned how I curse him? I complete my business, eyes scanning the ground as if poison ivy is a living being that can climb up my backside. When I return to camp, Giant has laid out the tent, but he directs me to help him pitch it. We work collectively under his direction. Silently. He isn’t much of a talker, and I’ve already learned he isn’t going to willingly offer me any information. I tend to chatter to fill the quiet space, but I’m too tired to make small talk.

  The tent appears rather small, but I don’t give it another thought as we force the stakes into the earth. When we finish, he starts a fire in the ring as the late afternoon begins to grow dimmer.

  “If you want to wash up, the stream works best. It’s cold for bathing, but a little quick in and out works well enough.”

  Bathing in a stream? Is he crazy? I’m not getting naked near this man nor am I dipping in a stream. I don’t know what I thought, but all practicalities escaped me when I said yes to this challenge. Toilets. Showers. What’s going to be missing next? I turn back to the tent.

  “There’s only one tent.” The statement echoes between us.

  “And?” He pauses from laying wood in the pit. “Is there a problem?”

  “Only if I need to sleep outside of it.” I hadn’t thought this through. His lips curve at the corner, and my fear dissipates a little at the welcome expression on his face.

  “No, you can sleep inside.”

  “And you’ll sleep out here?” I question.

  “No, I’m sleeping inside, too.”

  My mouth pops open and then clamps shut. He’s serious. “And what are the sleeping arrangements?” I sound haughty and prudish, but he’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m giving him cuddle time in order to prove myself worthy of this land.

  “I brought two sleeping bags. One for you. One for me. You’ll want to zip up tight. It can get cold at night.”

  His statement should settle me, but it doesn’t. I need some separation from him.

  “Maybe I need that stream after all,” I mumble.

  Giant points in the opposite direction of the makeshift bathroom, and I march off for fresh water. My breath hitches as I see the low water rushing over the rocks. The sun streaming through the surrounding foliage to the crystal clear water gives the scene an otherworldly feel. Taking a moment, I breathe in the crispness, allowing the air to fill my lungs. A shiver ripples up my arms as I feel strangely alone. It’s peaceful, but I don’t like the sense of loneliness.

  I lower for some water, scrubbing my hands together and then cupping a fair amount to drink. I should have brought my water bottle to refill. A twig snaps from somewhere nearby, and I assume it’s Giant. When a second snap occurs, I look up to find a deer with a giant rack standing opposite the stream looking back at me.

  “I wish I had my gun. He’s eight points.”

  I turn on Giant in my crouched position. “You wouldn’t dare,” I hiss. The horror in my voice raises his brows, furrowing his forehead.

  “It’s called survival.”

  “It’s called there’s a grocery store.”

  “How do you think that meat gets into those stores?” He glares back at me. His hands come to his hips with a water container in each one, making him look imposing as well as ridiculous.

  “The freezer fairy.” I meet his stare until his face cracks. His mouth remains closed, but his chest rumbles. Was that a chuckle? He shakes his head as he closes his eyes for a second.

  “City girl,” he murmurs, before opening his lids and holding out my water bottle. He squats next to me to refill his canteen, and then we silently watch the deer trek away.

  “Beautiful,” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” he says just as quietly, but he isn’t looking at the buck. His eyes weigh on the side of my face.

  “You scared him with your evil thoughts,” I mock.

  “I hope not.” His voice remains low, gravelly and rough, as his eyes linger on me. Then he shakes his head again and effortlessly stands. “Let’s eat.”

  Following him, I suddenly don’t feel hungry.

  + + +

  “What’s this?” I ask although I know full well what he’s offering me.

  “It’s from a grocery store,” he mocks me, holding out the long twig with meat on the end.

  “That’s a hot dog.” I can’t remember the last time I had a hot dog, let alone one roasted over an open fire.

  “Don’t tell me you’re some highfalutin, non-meat-eatin’, I-won’t-even-eat-a-vegetable-because-it-hurts-the-plant kind of person?”

  His sass gets under my skin, and I want to wipe the smirk from his face with the bun he offers me.

  “I’ll have you know I eat meat.” The tone of my voice is suggestive as I stare back at him. He sits perpendicular to me, but he’s close as the fire pit is small. The temperature has dropped considerably under the cover of darkness, and with the elevated location, I expect nothing less.

  “I’m sure the hot dog gods are grateful.”

  “Hardy-har,” I snap. “I eat hot dogs. Once a year at the ballfield.” I’m a Cubs fan, and the food is part of the experience in Wrigley—hot dogs with bright green relish, peanuts in the shell, and an ice-cold beer, which reminds me…

  “Got any Giant Beer in one of those coolers?”

  I’m not really a beer drinker, but I’m curious. His proud grin returns, and he reaches back for one of the coolers to remove two bottles. Cracking each open on the edge of the container, he hands me one.

  “It’s our October blend. We haven’t distributed it yet because we save it for Oktoberfest, our annual street party.”

  “So I should be honored to taste an early sample?”

  “Among other things,” he snarks.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He can make me go from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.

  “Nothing.” He tugs the hot dog stick from my hand and holds it over the flames. “Burnt or lightly roasted?”

  “Roasted, I guess.” I sound sullen when I should be grateful. At least he hasn’t tossed me off the mountain. He was even slightly sweet when I tripped. And he hasn’t said no to selling this property. It’s a pretty piece of land, and I imagine future resort goers sitting under a starry sky around a blazing fire pit. Of course, that pit will be in a raised fireplace made of stone with cushioned bench seating around it and a wine bar nearby.

  Giant hands me the perfect hot dog, and I hold out the bun, using it to tug the frankfurter off the stick. Marcus would have a million innuendos for this meal.

  “So why do you want this land so badly?” It’s an honest question, and I wonder if I can give him an honest answer without revealing too much. I need the deal for the commission.

  “Have you heard of McIntyre Farm?” His head pops up, so I’ll take that as a yes. “Rumor is a corner of the farm will be used for a music festival in the future.”

  I might as well be speaking a foreign language with the way he stares at me.

  “Does Magnolia know this is going to be done to her land?”

  “Who’s Magnolia?”

  He huffs and shakes his head, and I realize I’ve made another mistake. Magnolia must own the farm property.

  “Do you really think people coming to a music festival want a resort? They want the experience of a night under the stars.” He glances up, tipping his head back, and I follow his gaze.


  “Wow,” I mutter, my throat clogging at the beauty. It’s rare to see a clear sky in Chicago. It’s even rarer to see one like this—filled with pinpricks of light. I want to connect all the dots.

  “Yeah. Wow.” Giant’s voice struggles. When I lower my head, I find him watching me. My face heats, but I attribute it to the fire. It’s a good flame for a small space.

  “Do you need to call someone? Check in?” The questions surprise me; it’s as if he read my thoughts of home. I shake my head.

  “How about you?”

  He replies with a simple headshake as well. The sadness in his face makes my hot dog lodge in my throat. Cancer, he said earlier. He must miss his wife, and I wonder how long ago she passed away. Instead of asking, I take a hardy drink of the fall blend. Crisp. Light. Apple-ish.

  “This is good,” I say with hopes of shifting our conversation, but Giant doesn’t take the bait. He only responds with a chin tip, and I realize discussion time is over. It’s going to be a long, quiet night.

  6

  A touch is too much.

  [Letty]

  Giant offers me privacy to change into something more comfortable for sleeping. It’s difficult on my knees and then on my back to slip into my pajama pants and a crew-neck sweatshirt, but I manage. A battery-operated lamp offers minimal light in the tent. He warned me not to use my phone for light.

  “Conserve the battery as there’s obliviously no electricity around here.” Another thing I hadn’t considered—charging my phone. I really should have called Frank, checked in, and assured him things were going well. My family knows I want this commission almost as badly as I want the partnership. Although I haven’t secured the property or discussed the particulars with Giant, our companionable silence tells me he won’t murder me in my sleep.

  I slip into one of the two sleeping bags, which seem relatively close in the narrow pop-up tent. Giant asks if I’m finished, and then he enters the tent as well. His big body fills the remaining space, and I catch a whiff of him. Manly. Musky. Soap. Did he bathe in the stream after all?