Whiskey Kiss: A Small-town Romance

by V McFarlane

  Whiskey Kiss

  V McFarlane

  Copyright © 2020 V McFarlane

  Copyright © 2020 V McFarlane

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 9798668887859

  ASIN: B08DJF2RHH

  Cover design by: V McFarlane

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  To my sister, for always being there for me, for giving me the hard truth when I needed it and for all the pep talks and late-night conversations.

  For always believing in me

  Note From Author

  Whiskey Kiss is written in British English and contains British spelling and grammar. This may appear incorrect to some readers when compared to US English books.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Note From Author

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  Forty-five

  Forty-six

  Forty-seven

  Epilogue

  More by V McFarlane

  One

  Taron

  “Is this a joke?”

  This has got to be a joke. I mean come on, this shit doesn’t happen, and if it does, it doesn’t happen to me!

  “Did one of the guys put you up to this?” I ask, squeezing the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. If it is a joke, it’s a fucked up one. This isn’t funny.

  “Mr Cain,” the woman on the phone sighs, “I understand this is a bit of a shock, but it’s clear as day here on the paperwork. You are listed as the father.”

  “How old is the kid?”

  “Five, Mr Cain, and her name is Ripley.”

  What was I doing five years ago? College. It was my senior year. Shit, I partied hard that year and Anna Baxter was one of the many girls who found themselves in my bed. She was also one of the few I remembered.

  “What happens if I don’t take her?” I question, “Is that an option?”

  “Well Miss Baxter made her wishes clear, Mr Cain, she wanted you to take Ripley if something were to happen to her.”

  “That’s funny,” I snap, “Considering she didn’t even tell me we had a kid.”

  “People do funny things,” The social worker mutters, and then in a louder voice, says, “Of course, you have the option to decline, but Mr Cain, it could be years before Ripley is placed in a permanent home. She’ll be moved from foster home to foster home until she’s adopted, if she ever is of course.”

  “Don’t guilt trip me.” I run a frustrated hand down my face, “How can we be sure she’s actually mine? I mean you can put anyone’s name on a birth certificate, right?”

  “We can arrange for a DNA test.” She advises, “but this will have to be at your cost.”

  “Fine,” I tell her, “Send me a kit and the bill.”

  “And if she is your daughter?”

  Fuck knows what I’m going to do if she is my daughter. I’m not exactly father material, my life is too chaotic and busy for children. What do you even do with them?

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, “I’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it.”

  “Okay, Mr Cain,” she says quietly, “The kit will be delivered in the next day or so, just send it back once you’re ready.”

  “What’s she like?” I find myself asking.

  Does she look like me? Or like her mother? Anna was a beautiful girl back in college, all doe eyed and innocent with black hair and even darker eyes. She was free-spirited and a little bit wild. I had been drawn to her because of that, because she matched my soul.

  How could she go five years with a kid and not tell me? Granted, I probably wouldn’t have taken it all that well, I mean I was only twenty-two, barely legal to drink let alone be a dad. That would have made her twenty when the girl was born. Did she have to drop out of college?

  I swallow hard, guilt eating away at my stomach at the thought she had done it all alone. Anna and I weren’t close by any means, but I can’t get my head around why she wouldn’t have told me.

  After college, I came back to Winters Creek, Tennessee, to take over at the distillery from my dad. Those wild days back in college were long forgotten and the people, well let’s just say I cut those ties a long time ago. I hadn’t thought about Anna in the last five years, not until now.

  “Oh, she’s wonderful,” the social worker – whose name I had already forgotten – beams. I’m an asshole. “She’s such a bright little girl, really social and loves books.”

  “I don’t know how to be a dad,” I say, so quietly I’m not sure she heard.

  “I will contact you next week,” she affirms, “Good luck, Mr Cain.”

  After the line goes dead, I slump back in my chair.

  Holy shit.

  My life just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

  I pour two fingers of the Winters Creek whiskey the distillery is famous for and take a sip. Woody notes hit my tongue first, followed by a nuttiness only found in our whiskeys. W C Distillery has been my life for the last five years, after my dad stepped down, I took on all of his responsibilities and some. How am I supposed to make time for a kid?

  With the distillery, and the ranch, I barely have time for myself.

  And the ranch, Jesus, that’s not kid friendly at all!

  My office suddenly feels too small. I abruptly stand, knocking over a stack of papers perched on the edge, and hurry from the room, through the on-site bar and out into the mid-day sun. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as the heat of summer weighs down on me.

  I can’t do this. I can’t be a dad.

  Ignoring the curious looks of my workers and visitors here for the tours and tastings, I hurry across the gravel lot to my pickup, throwing the door open and climbing in.

  “Taron!” I hear Rhett, my best and oldest friend call from somewhere behind me, but I don’t acknowledge him. Instead, I slam the door closed, turn over the engine and hightail it out of there. Dust and stones kick up behind me, no doubt hitting some of the bystanders gawking at my swift exit, and I follow the long dirt track back to the main road.

  With no aim, I drive the roads of Winters Creek, my head swirling with too much information. I don’t call my father, he’d be no good with this ki
nd of information and growing up, he wasn’t much of a dad, choosing to work more over spending time with me and ma.

  Ma would be all over this, but she’s no longer here, so I’m on my own.

  I find myself in town, my car parked on the opposite side of the road to the rec grounds. Kids play in the park, swinging from brightly coloured swings and tumbling down the big metal slides built into the sides of the wooden jungle gyms. The sounds of screaming laughter fills the air as the kids parents loiter around the edges of the park, watching their kids run wild.

  That’s going to be me.

  I don’t know how long I sit there for, long enough apparently to garner the attention of one of the moms who is looking at me with narrowed eyes, her brows pinched with a mix of curiosity and worry.

  Oh crap. This looks bad.

  I meet her eyes, taking in her sweet, angelic features and swallow hard, slumping down in the drivers’ seat as if that could make me invisible. Her golden blonde hair teases the edges of her face as she begins her march over to the truck, those long, tanned legs closing the gap between us quickly.

  I fumble to turn the ignition ready to make an escape, only she slams a hand down on the door, stopping me from leaving unless I want to run her down in the process.

  “Which one’s yours?” She asks, her accent tells me she’s not from around here.

  This close I can see her eyes are green, so green in fact they put an emeralds shine to shame, framed by golden lashes, a few shades darker than the honey hues of her hair. One slim, arched brow is cocked in a challenge and her rosy pink mouth is set in a thin, judgemental line.

  I get it, I do. What weirdo sits outside a playground watching kids play? I know the answer to that, but that’s something I’m not even willing to entertain.

  “None,” I answer honestly, “yet at least.”

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  Her head snaps back and she fumbles into the pocket of her denim cut offs.

  “Wait! That’s not what I meant!”

  I open the car door, forcing her to take a step back as she brings out her phone. I really don’t need her calling the cops.

  I’m a whole head and a half taller than she is and she visibly gulps as she looks up at me, my shadow falling over her tiny frame.

  “I’m phoning the police?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement. Her green eyes are wide and if I’m not mistaken, she’s afraid of me. I don’t make it a habit to scare anyone, especially women.

  I take a step back, “Look, I’m not some perve, okay? I just found out I’m having a kid. I just don’t know how to deal with,” I swing my arms around, gesturing to the kids in the park, “all this.”

  With the newfound space between us, her confidence grows a tad and she squares her shoulders, jerking out her chin defiantly, “well then,” her arms cross over her chest, sitting just below her breasts. I have to will my eyes to stay on her face, but there’s no denying it, the girl – woman – is stunning, “If I were you, I’d do my reflecting somewhere else.”

  Her eyes do a once over of my body, lingering for a just a few seconds longer on my chest and arms than the rest of me. Her features are neutral, her emotions well hidden behind a mask, but the way her eyes roam over me and the slight twitch in her upper lip… she’s judging me.

  “Got it,” I bite out, “Have a wonderful day.”

  She purses her lips and takes another step back to watch me as I climb back into the cab of my truck.

  “You’re in the way,” I tell her, flicking my arm dismissively in her direction.

  She grits her teeth, the little muscle in her jaw ticking with the pulse and then she steps back, watching me as I pull away from the sidewalk and head back to the ranch.

  There’s no way I’ll be able to focus on anything other than the shitshow that will soon be my life. Frustration, fear and even a little bit of anger is churning away in the pit of my stomach.

  Frustration because, whilst I can’t be sure the kid is mine, if she is, I’ll do right by her by taking her in, only I have no idea if that’s the right decision.

  Fear because, well, how am I supposed to keep a five-year-old alive?

  And anger…anger because Anna kept her from me. Despite my lack of experience and willingness to be a dad, I should have been given a choice. I should have known there was a little human out there that shared half of my DNA.

  Anger because her mother went and died, leaving me in a position where I didn’t have much of a choice!

  Two

  Penny

  I watch the large black truck pull around the corner and disappear from view.

  With a sigh, I make my way back to the park where Ava is playing on the swings. Her long blonde hair blows wildly around her face, the sound of her shrill giggle filling my ears and warming my heart.

  With only a few weeks left before she starts first grade at this new school, I want to make the most of my time with her.

  “Mommy!” She squeals when I re-enter the park, jumping from the swing to run over to me. A couple of the other moms’ eye me warily. I’m a newcomer, I don’t know anyone in this town, and I found, even before I moved here, just how cruel parents, and people in general, can be.

  But wasn’t that exactly what I just was to that man? Maybe not cruel, but judgemental which is just as bad. I remember how I was judged, how that hurt. Shit.

  It’s justified, though right? I saw what happened to my best friend when her boyfriend didn’t know what to do with the news they were about to become parents. He upped and left her in the end and that kid is now being raised without a dad. It takes two to make a baby, which makes it both parents responsibility.

  I’ve seen that look, the panic, and it damn well ain’t fair. The pregnancy was probably an accident with his girlfriend or even lover for that matter, but he should step up and deal with it.

  Even so I had no right to judge him. I don’t know his story.

  My story? Well, that was different.

  I look down at the small child wrapped around my legs and smile. Yes, my story was different, and we are all the better for not having him around.

  “Can I play more?” Ava asks.

  “Of course, sweetie,” I tell her, sitting down on one of the benches.

  Ava darts off, joining a group of other kids around the base of the jungle gym. Despite our rocky start, that girl has grown by leaps and bounds in the past few months. The move to Winters Creek was the best decision I could have made. No one knows our history here so judgement for our past can’t be had.

  “You’re new here,” a sweet, southern voice says beside me. I turn to see an older woman, mid-forties maybe taking a seat next to me. Her dark hair is pulled back and her kind blue eyes smile at me, “I’m Helen.”

  I smile, “Penny.”

  “She’s a beauty,” Helen tells me, referring to Ava who’s climbed to the top of the jungle gym and is now swinging off the set of monkey bars, “She looks just like you.”

  I’m thankful for the fact that she looks more like me than her father. The only thing that she got from was her eye colour. Ocean blue, not the typical light blue, but dark, like the ocean at dusk when the sun is setting and causing the water to glisten like tiny diamonds are floating on the waves.

  It was his eyes that drew me to him when I was nineteen. He was the bad-boy, the one who charmed all the girls and I was the one to finally tie him down. Only, that’s not really what happened. I didn’t realise just how bad he was. It would be easier if I hated him, but I don’t hate him, it just makes me sad.

  “Which one’s yours?” I ask.

  “Oh, I’m just the nanny,” Helen smiles but points to a little dark-haired boy near Ava, “That’s Ethan.”

  I nod, watching the two children play.

  “Will she be going to school here?”

  Nodding, I say, “Starts first grade in a couple of weeks.”

  There’s so much to do in the next couple of weeks before
Ava starts her new school. With the move I haven’t had a chance to look for a job and with my savings running dangerously low we run the risk of not affording our basic living expenses.

  I was lucky enough to find a cute little house at the edge of town for low rent and an extremely nice landlord, but even that will disappear if I can’t afford the payments.

  The job is just a long list of things for me to do. I have car repairs to pay for and school clothes to buy. I think about the balance currently sat in my account and wonder exactly how I’m going to pay for it all.

  I check my watch and realise it’s close to Ava’s dinner time and stand from the bench.

  “It was lovely to meet you,” I tell Helen, “maybe I’ll see you at the school.”

  “Yes, dear,” Helen stands as well, “see you around.”

  After I call Ava, we make our way to the rusty hunter green jeep parked at the side of the road where I then strap her into the seat at the back and climb in the front. The engine rattles noisily to life, loud enough to turn a few heads and I pull away, trying to ignore the stares from the other parents still in the park.

  The younger you are, the harder you are judged, that’s what I’ve always found, like my age has anything to with my ability to raise a child.

  I fell pregnant quickly with Ava, her father and I had only been together for a few months. She was born a month after my twentieth birthday. Whilst all our friends went out to parties, I stayed home with a baby. Did I regret it? Absolutely not.

  I missed out on college but managed to catch up with a bachelors in Event Management online. Though getting a job within that department was harder than I was led to believe.

  Ava is happily humming a Disney tune in the back seat whilst my car rattles through the town. Clouds of dirty coloured smoke cough out of the exhaust and my cheeks warm, wishing I had tint on the window so people couldn’t actually see who was driving. God this is a mess.

  I pass the famous Winters Creek Whiskey Distillery on my way to my street and a mile or so down the road, I turn the corner, pulling into the driveway of the little two bedroom I’m renting.