“So I’ve been told once or twice.”
“You know, I have to say that mouth of yours has grown on me. I might have to allow it every once in a while. Preferably in bed, preferably while you wear a cowboy hat, preferably—”
“What is it with you and the cowboy hat?”
I wink at her. “What can I say? I like a girl who knows how to ride.”
“You have a sick, sick mind.”
Leaning closer, I whisper, “Well, yeah, sweetheart. And you enjoy it, particularly while I’m in the delightful process of getting you off.”
She shakes her head, but her lips twitch. “No comment.”
“One of these days, I’m going to get a real smile out of you, Miss Shaw, and when I do, I suspect you’ll be stunningly beautiful.”
Now she’s definitely trying not to smile. “Just shut up and sit there so that I can fix you.”
“I don’t need no fixin’,” I say, my fingers inching toward her waist.
Jude swats my hands away and steps back from between my outstretched knees. She points at me. “You behave.”
I pout. “Yeah, you know, I’m really not that into that, actually.”
“Don’t you dare pout at me, mister. If you don’t behave, I’ll take this peroxide solution and splash it in your eye.”
“That seems rather felonious to me.”
“With you, it might just be worth it.”
“Fine, fine. Let’s get this over.”
Satisfied, Jude steps back between my legs and reaches for the first aid kit, then douses a cotton swab with peroxide. She dabs it on my split lip.
“Ow!”
“Suck it up.”
“But it hurts. Can you kiss it for me? I swear that’ll make it feel better.”
She glares at me.
I laugh, raising my hands in surrender. “Couldn’t resist that last one.”
“Uh huh.”
I study her as she cleans my face. “You know, you’re kind of obsessive about health, aren’t you?”
She remains silent for a long time, wiping the blood and sweat from my injuries.
“I had a brother,” she finally says. “Year younger. We were always really close. Our parents were never around, even when we were kids. They worked constantly, and even when they didn’t, they had better things to do than spend time with us. Like schmooze their corporate buddies. We were raised by nannies.
“James dealt with this abandonment by being a risk-taker. He pretty much only ever got our parents’ attention by doing stupid shit, so he did a lot of it. One of his favorite things to do was climbing. Rock walls, indoor gyms, some boulder out in the middle of nowhere. Didn’t matter. All he cared about was the challenge, and later, the fame.
“One day he decided to free climb this mountain out in Washington. I told him it wasn’t safe, I begged him to have a friend belay him, but by that point, James had become rather famous in the local climbing community, and he was adamant about doing it. No matter what I said, no matter how I tried to convince him, I failed.
“He was only ten feet up when he fell. Barely even started. He laughed it off, but at least he didn’t complete the climb. I told him to get checked out, but he just said that he was fine, that it wasn’t a big deal. That he’d had much worse falls.
“I urged him to see a doctor, but like everything else in his life, he never listened. A week later he died. Massive embolism in his brain. It had traveled from his hip, where he landed. Dead at twenty-three. Had he just gone to the doctor, they would’ve caught it. But he didn’t, so he died of a fatal stroke. And now I’m all alone.”
“That’s why you freaked out about the STD test,” I whisper, horrified.
She shrugs. “You said I’m obsessive. I’m not. I’m paranoid. Paranoid that some stupid and unnecessary thing will happen to me like my brother. You want to know why I agreed to stay here? Fine. I know what it’s like to unexpectedly lose someone. And I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. Anyone. Not even you, Nathan.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jude
After the bar fight and my unexpected confession, I hightail it back to my hotel. Practically as soon as I hit the pillow, I’m up and making the drive back again.
It’s an untenable situation. I’m going to have to figure out an alternative living arrangement for the next month. This is just too much driving. Maybe someone has an extra bedroom I can sublet for a few weeks?
One thing’s for sure. I won’t be asking Nathan. The words would barely exit my mouth before he’d invite me to stay in what I’m sure is a den of iniquity above his bar. Just thinking about it is far too tempting, and for that reason alone, it’s better that I secure lodging before I tell him.
I don’t need more temptation.
When I arrive back in Ovid, Nathan insists on taking me somewhere. At least he also insists on driving, as the last thing I want to do right now is get in another car. But he refuses to tell me our destination, convinced I’ll enjoy the surprise. Pretty much all I’d enjoy right now is another two hours of sleep, but thankfully he remains quiet during the drive.
“You know I really am sorry about your brother.”
Spoke too soon.
“Thank you,” I say, “but we don’t need to discuss it again.”
“Hmm. You were there when I learned about Alice. And now I know about your brother. We know each other’s most painful loss. Doesn’t that bring us closer together? You can talk to me, you know.”
I stare blankly at the building of the place we’ve just pulled into. He’s not wrong. Typically, I avoid talking about my brother, but I guess it’s too late for that now. And the fact someone knows my deepest pain—and accepts it—is almost … nice.
Huh. It’s actually nice to confide in someone.
I turn back toward him. He’s watching me, his expression uncharacteristically serious. I raise a brow at him, wondering where he’ll go with this.
He leans closer, expression turning pleased when I don’t move away. “It seems that both of us would benefit from a little companionship. What do you say to you and me making each other feel better?”
Should have known better. “Aaaaand there’s the Nathan King I know. You are unbelievable. I bet you’d pick up someone at a funeral, wouldn’t you? Have you no shame?”
He turns serious again. “I might joke, but what makes you feel better than sex? I can’t imagine a better way to feel close to someone. And I don’t care how that looks to other people.”
Huh. “You really do use sex to solve everything, don’t you?”
“Sex isn’t the solution to everything—it’s the reason for everything.”
Whoa. Okay, then. Shaking my head, I say, “Well, I suppose when you fuck like you do, it wouldn’t be surprising you think that way.”
I reach for my door, but Nathan suddenly leans across me and captures my hand. I suck in a breath, falling absolutely still, my gaze locked on his mouth just inches from mine.
“Now, Miss Shaw, was that an actual compliment?”
“I suppose if you’d like to interpret it as one, I won’t stop you.”
He smiles, leaning another inch closer. With hardly any effort at all we could kiss. Right now. Right here. Will he do it?
“I think I just might,” he whispers, and I realize I’ve spoken aloud.
“Nate—”
“Nathan! There you are.”
“Naturally, he shows up now,” Nathan mutters.
“Where even are we?”
“My distillery,” he says, pulling his door open and climbing out. I follow suit as he extends a hand to the man. “Hey, John. How’s it going?”
“Oh, fine.” John releases his hand and casts a glance at me. “I take it this pretty lady is the one in need of a tour?”
I nod, adding under my breath, “Apparently.”
Nathan laughs. “I didn’t tell her we were coming here. Wanted to surprise her. Jude, this is John MacGregor. In exchange for a small equity stake in Old Abe’s, he
lets me use his facilities to distill until I have my own space.”
“I have a feeling pretty soon you’ll be glad to have that equity,” I say.
MacGregor smiles. “I like this one.”
“You’re not the only one,” says Nathan, winking at me.
I roll my eyes. “How about we start that tour, John?”
“Sounds excellent.”
John leads us into the building. Nathan keeps silent as I pepper John with questions. Not only am I curious as someone who enjoys spirits, but also out of professional obligation. This is the perfect opportunity to see just how serious Nathan is about his endeavor. Working out an agreement with NBI at this stage is kind of putting the cart before the horse. I need to know he’ll actually be able to scale up enough to ship to us.
I try to be subtle about it, but I have plenty of questions for Nathan, too. I suspect I’m not fooling him, but thankfully he still answers all of my questions. And accurately, too. He’s put more than enough thought into where he wants to go in the future. What a relief. It’s one less thing Northwood could try to screw him on.
I freeze. Now, where the hell did that thought come from? I have zero evidence of that, no matter what my coworkers say.
“How did you two meet?” I ask the two of them, just to distract myself from the strange feeling of impending doom.
“Oh, I just bought alcohol from him for my bar,” Nathan says.
John scoffs. “It was bloody well more than that, boy, and you know it.”
Nate shrugs.
What’s this? Nathan King being reticent? “Have I said something wrong?”
“Oh, no,” says John. “My boy, Nate, here, is just being too modest.”
I do a double take. “We are talking about the same Nathan King, aren’t we? Too modest? More like not enough.”
“How kind,” Nathan mutters.
John chuckles. “Well, now, Nathan may act a little exuberant from time to time, but he’s a real godsend when the chips are down. We met a few years ago at a trade show in Atlanta. When we realized we live close to each other, we got to talking and Nathan promised he’d order a few cases of my whisky for his bar.”
“Whisky as in the Scottish style, I presume?” I say. “And not American whiskey, with an ‘e’?”
“Of course. As if this Scot would dare mess with the greatest distilling process on earth? What do you take me for, a bloody ingrate?” John says, winking at me. I laugh. “Anyway, fast forward a few weeks later, and I get a call from Nate raving about my label. He immediately put in a much larger order and said he wouldn’t mind coming up to visit sometime. A few months after that and he’s arriving nearly every week to shadow my every move, asking these absolutely incessant questions. Does terrible things to a man’s ego.
“Fortunately for me, Nate just so happened to show up the same evening I had a massive stroke. All of my employees had already left for the day, and had he not arrived, I probably wouldn’t be here today. He performed CPR until emergency services arrived. They told me that his doing so maintained enough oxygen flow to my brain that I didn’t suffer nearly the kind of damage I should have. My distilling days would have been over.”
“I just did what anyone would have done,” Nathan says uncomfortably.
Do I really know anything about Nathan King?
“Just when I think I’ve got you pegged, you do something to ruin the image,” I say quietly.
He winks at me. “It’s part of my considerable charm.”
“Hey, Nathan,” John says suddenly. “I just remembered an email I forgot to send before end of business today. How about you go show Jude the inner supply room while I take care of that?”
Nate gapes at him. “Really? Are you sure?”
John glances from me to Nathan, a slight smile on his face. “Yeah, I think that would be great. I’ll catch up with you after I send that email real quick.”
“Uh, okay,” Nathan says, staring after him.
“So what’s so special about this supply room?”
“Oh, you’ll see.” He leads me down the hall, past the giant distilling vats, empty barrels, and bottling machines until we arrive at the only door on the entire wall. He opens the door to reveal a vast room with floor-to-ceiling stacks extending off into the distance. Each stack is filled with various types of corn, rye, and barley, as well as sterilization supplies and empty bottles waiting to be filled.
“Uh, Nathan,” I say. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this looks like any old supply room to me.”
He smiles. “Come here.”
“This isn’t some kind of elaborate seduction ploy, is it?”
“Would you like it to be?” he quips, hand raised on a keypad.
Kind of. Nathan proved he really knew his stuff on that tour. It was hot, damn it.
Nathan’s head whips toward me when I don’t respond. “Jude—”
“Show me this magical supply room.”
Sighing in disappointment, Nathan keys in the code. A second later, it unlocks.
“He gave you the code?”
He nods, turning the handle. “After the stroke, well. You kind of bond with a person, don’t you? He trusts me. And I trust him. And, apparently, John trusts you as well, since he’s letting you in here.”
What could be so special about this room?
I follow Nathan inside, then grind to a halt in shock. There’s shelves and shelves of incredibly old, incredibly rare whisky.
“No way!” I cry, practically shoving Nate out of the way to get a closer look. “Nathan. This is a 46-year-old Macallan! This bottle must cost tens of thousands of dollars. I’ve never even seen one this old. I’m afraid to even touch it.”
“You can touch anything you like, sweetheart. Especially if it’s a part of my body.”
Oh my god. Oh my god. This is seriously the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Northwood would kill for a collection like this. Dear God, I’m never telling him. My eyes scan the shelves, over and over, my brain incapable of grasping the true scale of the collection. I want to move in right here. Just take up residence. Give me bread and water and a measly blanket, I don’t even care. I’ll huddle right down in a corner and stay there until I expire.
“There must be at least three million dollars worth of rare Scottish whisky in here,” I say in awe.
He grins. “It’s probably closer to five. Pretty great, right?”
“Absolutely unbelievable. This is one of the most complete collections I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen quite a few. How did he even get so many bottles?”
“John’s family immigrated from Scotland in the early twentieth century. They had been making scotch for decades when they decided to come to America. When they moved, they continued their business but also brought their private collection. They kept adding to it over the years. Now John’s the only one left, but he hasn’t stopped investing for a second.”
“If he’s all alone, what will happen to it when he’s gone?”
Nathan shrugs. “No idea. He had a wife, but she’s already passed and they had no children. I’m sure he’s already taken care of it. John’s as shrewd a Scot as they come.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. I begin to feel horrible. He’s just done something genuinely nice for me. He must have known how much I’d enjoy coming in here. He didn’t have to; even though John offered, he could have said we had to get back on the road. I certainly haven’t given him a reason to go out of his way for me.
Simply put, I haven’t treated him as well as he has me.
“Nathan,” I say, waiting until he looks at me so I know I have his full attention, “I owe you an apology. I haven’t been particularly kind to you. A lot of that was because of the condom episode and my shock over us having to work together. But I still could have been kinder.
“After the condom incident, I wrote you off as irresponsible. But the last few days have proven otherwise. You care an awful lot about the people in
your life, even if you hide that fact with truly outrageous behavior. I was too quick to judge you, and I apologize for that.”
Nathan stalks toward me until our shoes nearly touch. Reaching out, he gently cradles my cheek and then presses a soft, surprisingly chaste kiss to my mouth.
“Thank you, Jude,” he whispers. “Most people … they don’t see through my behavior.”
I stare up at him, wondering if I have the courage to admit the last part. “I know. You … remind me so much of him. My brother. That hurts, sometimes. He always got into trouble just for the sake of it. Just to clown around. I think I must have recognized that, deep down, from the moment I met you. And I think that’s why I was so cold to you. To protect myself.”
Pain flickers across his face before he pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around him, holding on tightly, trying to remember the last time someone held me like they actually cared.
Chapter Sixteen
Nathan
The day after I take Jude to the distillery, I hold an impromptu memorial for Alice. I hadn’t planned to, but when Griffin rolls in at five in the afternoon, looking like he’s either killed something or escaped something that tried to kill him, a normal evening at the bar is clearly out of the question.
“Hey, man,” I say cautiously as Griffin throws himself down onto one of my bar stools.
He grunts, staring at the counter in front of him. Hot damn, does he look bad. I don’t think he’s shaved once since I last saw him on Friday, his clothes are wrinkled to hell, and his eyes are beyond bloodshot.
Poor guy. Normally, seeing my usually put-together, do-gooding brother like this would make me tease the hell out of him, but today is not that day.
“Grif. You alive?”
He lifts his face and just looks at me. Yiiikes. The man looks like he can’t bring himself to care about anything. It’s unnerving. So much for his usual pleasantness.
“How are you doing?” I ask when he doesn’t answer.
“How do you think? Alice is fucking dead because of me.”
Yeah, I figured that’s where this was going. “Griffin, that’s ridiculous. She had a stroke.”
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