The Distiller's Darling (River Hill Book 2)

by Rebecca Norinne

  And … he was right back to remembering why he was upset with her in the first place.

  But as she’d just said, they had bigger fish to fry.

  “About that,” he said, shoving his hands through his hair and dropping his head back against the padding of the chair he was sitting in. “I’d meant to talk to you about this the other day, but it turns out I’m sticking around River Hill a bit longer than originally thought.”

  He heard her swallow. “How long?”

  He decided to pull off the Band-Aid in one quick tug. “Permanently, if things go the way Maeve and I are hoping.”

  “W-w-how?”

  “After the bomb my dad dropped on me last week, my sister and I decided to go into business for ourselves. Noah gave us a lead on a distillery that’s all kitted out. We’re going to make Whitman’s here.”

  “Here?” she croaked.

  “Don’t worry,” he replied, acid churning in his gut. “I don’t expect this to change anything between us. I know where I stand.”

  “Iain …”

  Just then a loud thud sounded, and he heard Naomi let out a little shriek. “Shit. It’s like World War Three out there. I better go make sure nobody’s bleeding.”

  He heard the door to whatever room she’d been holed up in open. The yelling grew louder and more pronounced. Naomi spoke quickly over the ruckus. “We definitely have a lot to talk about, Iain, but right now we need to keep our parents from literally killing one another.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but the line had already gone dead. Shit. Things were really not turning out the way he’d envisioned.

  This time when he arrived at Naomi’s, he didn’t bother pussy-footing around. Hearing loud shouts coming from inside, he slammed his car door shut and bounded up the front steps. He turned the handle and let himself in.

  And came to an abrupt halt.

  Naomi was standing in between his dad and her mom, her hands out as if she was holding each of them back from one another. Iain did a double take. His dad might be an asshole sometimes, but he wasn’t a violent man. He’d never seen him raise his voice to a woman, much less turn a mottled shade of red and have spittle flying out the sides of his mouth when doing so. Judith Klein was returning the favor with daggers flying from her eyes with her hands on her hips. Both parents were shouting, leaning past Naomi’s restraining hands to accuse each other of all sorts of things.

  This was bad. Very, very bad.

  When Naomi cast him a grateful glance, her eyes full of apology, it looked like he’d arrived just in time. He took a step into the room, and she let her arms drop to her side, her shoulders hunching in on themselves as she stepped away from him and spoke to his father. “Your son is here.”

  All at once, his dad quit ranting and turned to face Iain. “You!”

  Iain raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

  “Yes, you! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  He snorted. “Clearly that’s not true.”

  His father took a step forward and raised his hand to tick off items one by one on his fingers as he spat out words. “The bakery, the restaurant, the winery, the bed and breakfast. Each and every one of the people I spoke with said I would find you here. Care to explain yourself?”

  Iain planted his feet shoulder width apart and crossed his arms over his chest to give himself a few seconds to absorb that not-so-small nugget of information. He couldn’t believe his friends had ratted him out like that. He thought they liked him, that he was one of the gang now, as they were so fond of saying. But friends did not rat other friends out to their parents. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was a bit like Fight Club that way.

  His mood was growing darker by the second. And when that happened, he had a tendency to turn into a bit of an asshole—just like his father. He notched his chin in the air defiantly. “No, not particularly.”

  All at once, Cathal Brennan’s bluster evaporated. He sighed and slumped into the nearest chair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You looked exactly like your mother just then.”

  The statement didn’t come as a surprise to Iain.

  While physically he favored his father’s side of the family, both he and Maeve had gotten their personality from their mother. So it wasn’t much of a shock when his sister had cheerfully joined him to strike out on their own—much as their mother had done once upon a time. More than forty years ago, Colleen O’Brien had left her family behind in Detroit to follow a blue-eyed Brennan back to Ireland, where she’d lived happily ever after since. It was because she was an American citizen—and her children by birth were as well—that any of what Iain had done was possible. Without that dual citizenship, he never would have been able to stay in the U.S. as long as he had, let alone make a serious offer on a piece of commercial real estate

  “How is Mom?” he asked, relaxing his stance. It was the one topic he and his father could speak about without raising their voices. Probably because both men loved the woman dearly.

  His dad waved his hand. “You know your mam. She’ll outlive us all.”

  Except, she probably wouldn’t. His parents weren’t getting any younger.

  Studying his father intently, Iain realized the vibrant man who’d dominated his life was actually old. His hair was much grayer than it had been at Christmas, and the paunch around his belly was growing more pronounced as the months passed. But most telling of all were the lines bracketing his eyes and mouth. Before, they’d only been evident when his dad scowled—which, admittedly, was frequently—but now they were a permanent fixture on his face. Iain suspected he’d been the cause of many of them.

  But Iain had changed, too. Over the last six months, he’d sprouted several gray hairs at his temples that hadn’t been there before. The stress of making Whitman’s a success rested heavily on his shoulders, and it hadn’t been lightened any by the nonstop grief he’d been given by his dad and his brothers along the way.

  Which brought him back to the reason for his dad’s visit in the first place.

  He sighed and dropped down into the chair next to his father. It felt strange to have this conversation in front of Naomi and her mother, who wore identical frowns as they watched—especially considering this was Naomi’s house and not really the place for it—but he needed to nip this in the bud once and for all.

  “What are you doing here, Dad?”

  “John told me you were selling your shares in Brennan’s.”

  Behind him, Naomi gasped, and he turned to look at her over his shoulder. She opened her mouth, no doubt to ask what his dad was talking about, but her mother shushed her before she could get the question out. Judith Klein made a ’go-on’ motion with her hands, and Iain dragged his gaze back to his father, briefly wondering just whose side Naomi’s mother was on.

  He nodded once. “I am. Yes.”

  His father’s eyes turned sad. “Why, son? That’s your birthright.”

  “Right. My birthright. Not Maeve’s, even though she’s more talented than all of us put together.”

  Cathal let out a weary sigh. “We’ve been over this before, Iain. This company was built by Brennan men.”

  Iain snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. There was the father he knew. “How very eighteen hundreds of you.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” His dad’s jaw ticked, and his face grew red. “This business has been in our family since eighteen twenty, and you are the first Brennan to ever try to break it up.”

  Iain shot out of his chair and paced the perimeter of the room. “Oh, come off it! You know as well as I do the second my shares are available, you’re going to pick them up. The only one breaking up this family is you!” He turned to face his father, his chest sawing in and out with anger. “If you had just let Maeve and I do this our way, the way you promised we could, none of this would have ever happened. We’d still be two happy Brennan Family Distillers employees. Every single part of us leaving Ireland and buying a distillery here
in America is on you.”

  His dad shot Naomi a quick look, and his eyes raked over her bare legs to the tops of her cut off shorts. “Is it because of this one? She’s a trifle thin for my liking, but I guess there’s no accounting for taste.” He snorted and rolled his eyes.

  Immediately, Iain saw red. Blood boiling, vein popping, all-his-patience-going-up-in-flames red. “How dare—”

  Judith Klein stepped in front of Iain and leaned down to poke his father in the chest. “I don’t care what sort of family drama you have going on with your son, but you will not speak about my daughter that way. She is more than her looks, which I’ll have you know, are absolutely gorgeous. She is a talented, award-winning artist, and your son would be lucky to be with her. No! More than lucky. He should drop to the floor and kiss the feet she walks on!”

  Iain turned away so neither of them would see the smile tugging at his lips. This was a very serious moment, but the righteous indignation coming off Mrs. Klein in waves was a sight. He suspected Naomi had never heard so many kind words about herself from her mother. No, he knew she hadn’t. The startled look on her face confirmed it. She looked like a wee bunny that had been surprised mid-carrot by a stampede of dogs.

  Cathal flattened his palm on the tabletop and pushed to his feet, crowding the elder Klein. “If it weren’t for your daughter, my son wouldn’t be throwing his future away!”

  “Do you not listen? No, of course you don’t. You’ve proven that! He just said it was your fault he’s moving to America. Not that I’m surprised. An hour with you and I’m ready to relocate to the moon. You insufferable, pig-headed—”

  Naomi put her fingers to her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. When their parents fell blessedly silent—Cathal’s eyes pinched with distaste, and Judith’s jaw hanging open in surprise—Naomi held up her hand. “Enough already.”

  She turned to Iain’s dad. “Personally, I don’t give two shits what you think of me, but you’ve really got it wrong here. Your son—your amazing, intelligent, awesome son—would have worked himself to the bone for your precious family business, if only you’d ever shown him a modicum of respect.”

  She turned to her mom. “And you! Well, thank you.” Her cheeks turned pink, and she glanced away. Iain could tell she was uncomfortable with her mother’s praise and wasn’t exactly sure how to take it. It was apparent the two women had much to discuss.

  As did Iain and his dad. And doing so in front of one another was a recipe for disaster.

  He moved to Naomi’s side and squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you for calling me. I’m going to grab my dad and head out.”

  She glanced up at him, her lip trapped between her teeth. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Quickly, he stole a glance at his father. His irate, very troublesome father. “Somehow, I’ll have to be.”

  “Call me later and let me know how it goes?”

  His eyes flicked between hers. “Is that what you want?”

  She nodded, and for a brief second, he thought he saw her eyes begin to shimmer with tears, but then she took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

  That was the understatement of the century. “Yeah, I think we do.” And he had no idea what the outcome of that conversation would be. Or even what he wanted it to be.

  Iain turned to his dad. “Come on. We have a lot to discuss, too.”

  21

  The door closed behind the Brennan men and Naomi blew out a long, slow breath before turning back to her mother. She found Judith Klein watching her closely, with a strange expression on her face.

  “What?”

  “Naomi …” Her mother’s voice sounded almost tentative. “You wouldn’t … move to Ireland, would you?”

  Naomi stared at her. “I-what?” She felt as though the entire world were spinning around her. Somehow, her feet were stuck to the floor, but she was afraid to move. She might start floating away into the whirlwind that seemed to be hovering over her house.

  “Well, you seem to be close with Iain.” Her mother’s lips twisted. “His father is a piece of work, but children don’t always turn out like their parents, as I’m discovering.” Her tone was rueful. “You just… I don’t want you to leave, Naomi. I’m very proud that you’ve built your own life, but I’m terrified that you’ll realize that you could do it anywhere.”

  “I spent years living further away than River Hill, Mom. You never said anything.” Her stint as a roving artist-in-residence had taken her all over the western half of the United States, living in places that ranged from palatial to bizarre.

  “Those were all temporary. I knew you’d come back.”

  “And you’ve acted like River Hill is practically Timbuktu ever since I’ve lived here. You’ve never visited.”

  “You’ve always come home.”

  “This is still about me not returning your phone calls?”

  “Not entirely.” Her mother sighed. “I’ve questioned a lot of your choices over the years, Naomi—” she ignored her daughter’s snort of assent “—but I’ve never, ever, questioned that you love your family. And you know we love you.”

  “That’s true,” Naomi said slowly. She hadn’t ever questioned their love for her. She’d been driven to the point of rage by their attitude toward her, wanted to scream in frustration at them, and made it a point to escape their orbit at every opportunity, but she loved her parents and she knew, deep down in her bones where the knowledge could never be shaken, that they loved her. They just didn’t understand her.

  “I’ve always assumed you would eventually fall in love with somebody and settle down, just like I did.” Her mother smiled, a secret sort of Mona Lisa half-smile. “I had a fairly wild time in the seventies, you know.”

  Naomi raised a hand. “I really, really do not want to know.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Suit yourself. Maybe I’ll write a memoir.” She paused thoughtfully, her eyes distant. “Might have to wait for a few people to die, though.”

  “Mom.”

  “Sorry. We’re getting off track. The point is, I assumed you’d settle down with somebody who was… one of us. Somebody we knew, whose family we knew, whose future we understood.”

  “All evidence to the contrary?”

  “Yes. Some assumptions you just can’t shake.”

  “And now?”

  “Is he really staying here?” Her mother frowned. “His father seems very certain he’ll go back to Ireland.”

  Naomi felt her heart cracking again. How could there be any pieces left to break? “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken about it.” They hadn’t spoken about anything. Apparently, he and his sister had come up with some sort of plan to stay in California, and put it into action, but the need-to-know crowd hadn’t included her. She couldn’t put into words how much that hurt, especially not to her mother. Even if her mother, of all people, suddenly seemed so sympathetic.

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.” Judith patted her daughter’s arm. “I want to hear about your work.”

  “You do?” Naomi swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “Didn’t you hear me telling that obnoxious Irishman how amazing it is? Next time I yell at him, I want to come armed with more than a mother’s intuition.”

  Naomi giggled through a wave of emotions that threatened to swamp her. Pride, relief, grief, heartbreak, and a little bit of awe. She knew that her mother had the ability to annoy the stuffing out of her, but who knew she was able to turn that ability on for perfect strangers? She’d practically given Cathal Brennan an aneurysm. One he fully deserved, in Naomi’s opinion.

  “Come on. Let’s start with the design work that pays the bills, and then I’ll show you the studio where all the fun stuff happens.”

  As her mother paged through her portfolio, which now included both Max’s menu design and Iain’s whiskey branding package, Naomi’s fingers drifted to the phone in her pocket. Should she text him? What would she say?


  Sorry my mom turned your dad into a raving lunatic?

  Are you still leaving?

  What are you and your sister planning?

  Is everything okay?

  Please stay?

  She shook her head and pulled her hand away from her phone. He’d made it clear that he and his dad had a lot to talk about. And she had her own life. Her family was worried about her. And she’d woken up this morning to an email from Z Gallery letting her know that the space was ready for her to set up her show. She had more than enough going on without worrying about Iain’s plans, whatever they were. If he didn’t see fit to include her … well, it was only what they’d agreed on in the beginning.

  “This is the restaurant your father took me to last night.” Her mother tapped the page she was looking at. “I like what you did to freshen the design here.”

  “Thank you.” Naomi leaned over her mother’s shoulder and pointed. “I thought reorganizing the sections was pretty effective, and removing all the ridiculous frames and curlicues in favor of just a few basic typographic ornaments really brings out the simplicity that Max goes for.”

  “You know the owner well?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  Her mother pursed her lips, and Naomi watched her, mesmerized by the faint facial cues that indicated that Judith Klein’s mind was working, making connections and sorting facts. All she said, though, was, “The food was delicious.”

  “He was nominated for a James Beard award a couple of years ago.”

  “Hmm. Well deserved, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll let him know you approve.”

  Her mother smiled. “I’m sure I can get in touch with him myself.”

  Naomi narrowed her eyes. “What are you planning, Mom?”

  Her mother raised her hands defensively. “Nothing! Just thinking of how charming this little town you’ve settled in is, and how entrepreneurial all your friends seem to be.”

  Well, that was certainly true. River Hill thrived on food and wine, and Naomi had somehow found herself in the thick of a group of small business owners who formed the current backbone of the town’s economy. Angelica had once told her she thought Noah had formed his group of friends based solely on how they could help each other out on dates with food and drinks, and she’d laughed at the kernel of truth in it. Naomi had been along for the ride, but she’d drunk her fair share of Noah’s wine, eaten Max’s food, and feasted on Sean’s baking enough to make her daily yoga sessions a necessity for more than just her peace of mind.