Love Brewing (Love Brothers #3)

by Liz Crowe

  Which one would be the least upsetting to his mother?

  He’d thought about those options so many times, and they snuck back in now as he sat in Diana’s barn while the good Lord dumped water and showed off with His lights and noise felt, surprisingly, sort of nice—like a warm bed and a soft pillow after a long day of work. Which, as he well knew from his time spent in talk therapy, was not good.

  He kept scratching the ears on the wet dog in front of him, blinking slowly, trying to process why he’d even come here.

  What had he been thinking? Better yet, what sort of mess had he left behind?

  He wished he could talk to his older brother, Kieran. They’d gotten close in the last months since Dom had required a rather alarming rescue from a jail down in Georgia and Kieran had shown up, very few questions asked. But no, his brother had his own issues and likely at that very moment was busy trying to convince his old high school girlfriend to marry him, even as she processed being jilted at the altar by a different man.

  He attempted to banish all the mental images of Kent for the zillionth time.

  “What are you gonna do for dry clothes?” Diana asked, interrupting his pity party.

  He shrugged and kept his gaze fixed on the view of rain, skipping the torture of seeing her near-nakedness. “Your garden looks like shit. When’s the last time you bothered to pull weeds?”

  She snorted. He smiled. He used to love it when she’d do that. He’d honestly had no intention of showing up there today. The Brantley farm remained way off the beaten track, if the track around Lucasville could be considered beaten in any way. When he’d raced out of the stifling-hot church sanctuary and hotwired Kieran’s car, he’d driven off without a single thought in his addled head other than escape.

  But when he’d finally released his death grip on the steering wheel a few days later, he’d been facing the old two-story farmhouse where he’d lost his virginity—not to Diana, but to her sister Jen, an older version of the girl he’d been hanging with since God was a boy. The whooshing sound deafening him for the last couple of days had receded ever so slightly when he’d arrived even though he’d not been welcome anywhere near the place in years. He groaned and ran a palm across his wet face.

  You earned the reception you received, numbnuts.

  As if on cue, the dog whined and bumped his leg with her huge muzzle.

  “Bossy bitch.” He gave her another scratch. The animal gazed at him adoringly. Yeah, dogs always did love him. He glanced up and spotted Diana tugging on a shirt that looked way too big for her, that sent a thrill of something he didn’t want to acknowledge as jealousy down his spine.

  You have less than no place being jealous of anything about her.

  She glared at him as she buttoned the light-blue, obviously man-sized shirt. He had to concentrate on not blinking too fast at the onrush of memories threatening to mow him down.

  “Put on a few pounds, eh, Di?” he asked, leaning against the rough barn wall. The dog crawled up onto the hay bale and laid her head in his lap. Damn thing must weigh over eighty pounds and smelled like rancid pond water, but Dom didn’t care.

  “Fuck you.” Diana turned away and gave him a lovely rear view. “Come up to the house and get some dry clothes on.” She crossed her arms in that…man’s shirt, her legs bare and beautiful. He set his jaw against the alarming urge to weep.

  “I missed you and your ladylike ways.” He resumed his study of the rain pounding against the window. “Ow!” The towel pop flicked his neck, then his thigh. “Damn girl, you on your period or what?” He rubbed his leg and noted that he was, indeed, soaked through and could use a change of clothes. Too bad he hadn’t thought of that when running away from what remained of his former life about forty-eight drunken and half-forgotten hours ago.

  “Your sorry-ass, crybaby-ing is breakin’ my heart.”

  Anger burned every inch of his skin. But in her deep-blue comforting gaze, he was reminded why he’d shown up there, on what could be labeled as the worst, lowest moment of his sorry-ass thirty-some years.

  “How’d marriage work out for ya?” He shoved the dog off his lap and got to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his neck and back from sleeping in the car.

  “How d’you think? I mean, I’m sure it was the talk of the town.” She clenched her fists, keeping her distance. Dom wanted so badly to close that gap, to feel her skin, taste her lips. But he rose, keeping the four or so feet between them, the dogs milling around their ankles making worried noises. An errant drop of water fell from a lock of hair into his eye. The moment was unbelievably fraught with old, stale emotion and he cursed under his breath for causing her pain again. And again.

  “Well, I guess the guy was lucky to escape with his balls intact.” He regarded her, drawing on all his reserves to remain calm. “You’re still as ugly as homemade sin,” he lied.

  Diana smiled and shook her head. Dom exhaled with relief.

  It’s on now. She’ll let me stay, at least for a while.

  “Aw, bless your heart.” She cocked one hip. “You always did think the sun rose everyday to hear you crow.”

  “But it does, darlin’,” he said, stretching and noting how her gaze flickered up and down his torso. Unable to help it, he ran both hands down his wet shirt to his legs.

  “So help me to God, Dominic Sean Love, if you touch your crotch and think I’m gonna fall out over that, you are dumber’n a bag of hammers.” She raised one eyebrow, putting him firmly in his place.

  His skin burned and the whooshing sound returned, along with a crippling nausea. “You win. I got nuthin’.”

  Her face fell. “I hate you.”

  “With good reason. Diana, I swear, I just need a few days, I think. Gotta lay low, out of Papa Love’s line of sight.”

  “What happened?”

  “I, um, don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Wow. If you aren’t braggin’ then there must be a dead body somewhere.”

  “Can I stay? Please?” His pulse raced and his stomach churned. He hated his own guts so much right then it hurt his very soul.

  She headed out of the barn door into the now drippy paddock. “Come up to the house and get some clothes. They’re still in the dresser. You know what room.” Her voice faded as she headed to the side porch.

  He deflated, his normally strong legs weakening even further. Thank the Lord for well-placed hay bales. After a few minutes, he got up, still shaky, and walked through the paddock, across the soggy grass and up to the porch. Diana blocked the kitchen door.

  “You aren’t allowed to touch me, Dominic, do you understand that? I really don’t want you to even look at me. But I know that much can’t be helped.”

  He hesitated at the lower step, already feeling at home there in ways he didn’t deserve. At that moment, for some reason, touching Diana had become his number one priority. She let out a loud yelp of anger, shocking him since he didn’t think he’d moved, much less said anything.

  “Goddamn it. All you ever want is whatever you can’t have.” She whirled away from him, leaving him on the porch, surrounded by her passel of mutts.

  Chapter Three

  “Listen, seriously Dom, it’s time to get your ass home.”

  Dominic sat, studying the depths of his coffee cup and ignoring Kieran, who sat across from him at Diana’s worn kitchen table. He’d been sleeping in the barn for the past few nights, piled in with dogs like a littermate. The day after that first stinky night he’d spent two hours scrubbing all four of the animals with horse shampoo, twice.

  “I don’t gotta do anything.”

  “Listen, Dom, I know this is a … hard time for you and all but—”

  He jumped up and walked to the kitchen window. His muscles twitched with excess energy. He could smell malt and hops—stupid because he hadn’t been anywhere near the brewery in days. Damn odors must be embedded in his nasal passages. “Don’t try to understand what I’m going through all right, Francis,” he said through g
ritted teeth, calling his brother by his middle name as was their brotherly tradition.

  “Lordy, would you just quit all the whinin’?” Diana appeared from the porch with a bushel basket full of dark red tomatoes under one arm and dirt smeared across her cheek. “Hey, Kieran,” she called out as she shouldered her way into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Di. Lookin’ good, as always.”

  “You Love brothers are the biggest bunch of lying charmers.”

  “Yep.” He grinned, making Dom want to punch him for being so…fucking…normal. “So about that coming-home thing….”

  Dom gripped his cup tighter at the patient, coddling expression on Kieran’s face. “I don’t want your fucking pity,” he spat before stomping over to Diana and yanking the basket out of her grip. “We have work to do.”

  She shrugged and flopped into one of the ladder back kitchen chairs. “That’s just one of about three I can harvest today.”

  “Fine.” Dom dumped a bunch of the rich, red fruits into a colander and ran water over them. “Got lots of choppin’ to do here, Francis. Unless you wanna join in, you’d best beat it.” He kept focused on the task, fighting off guilt. He knew he had no business leaving all the brewery work to his father. The man was slowing down and counted on Dom to be his right-hand man at their family business—the head brewer. Or at least…he used to be.

  But Dom had needed space. Surely they’d understand that?

  Besides, he doubted he’d be welcomed back with open, paternal arms at this juncture anyway.

  He glared up at Kieran but his redheaded, goody-two-shoes brother shook his head. “We have to work this out. Mama is beside herself. She’s making Daddy’s sleep in the pole barn. It’s a damn mess, Dom, and only you can fix it.”

  Diana rose and hip-bumped him aside. “Go on. The thought of your mama upset enough to banish Anton to the barn pisses me off even more at you.”

  “It’s not any of your fuckin’ business.” He focused down at the ancient, cracked ceramic sink, unwilling to acknowledge that he would, indeed, give anything to resume the détente status quo with his father, but afraid he’d ruined that possibility forever this time.

  “Oh? Well, you know what is my business?” She grabbed one of the knives he’d sharpened that morning and brandished it too near his nose for comfort. “Hmmm?” She put the shining metal right against his left nostril. “Well?”

  “Uh…could you not—” He tried to move backward, but ran into Kieran.

  “You’re a grown-up man now, Dominic. You’d best start acting like one. I still don’t know what happened to bring you here, but I’m guessing it’s time to own up to whatever the hell it is. Go on.” She waved the blade around his face so close he ducked.

  “Jesus humped-up Christ,” he muttered, as she shot him another hairy eyeball. “I don’t know….” He passed a shaking hand across his face. It’d been so nice here, so quiet, so free of Love-family drama. Silly of him to think he could hide forever. But his stomach leapt into his throat and lingered there a good long while at the thought of actually facing his parents.

  “I’ll make sure everyone’s there,” Kieran said from behind him. Diana kept her gaze on Dom, accusatory, as much as he deserved and more. He was lucky she didn’t filet him with that blade, the way he’d treated her. “Diana, d’you—”

  “No. I’m not involved. None of my fuckin’ business, remember? I’m just the flophouse owner. Get him out of here, Kieran, before I change my mind about amateur castration. I could use the practice….”

  Dom gulped. Kieran grabbed his arm.

  “Fine.” Dom said, yanking out of his brother’s grip. “Whatever. God, I just wanted some time to—”

  “Hide out. I know. You told me more than once. So I let you. Time’s up on that deal. Beat it.” Diana gestured to the door with the knife, which dripped red tomato juice and seeds onto the worn hardwood floor.

  “Come with me, Dom. You can shower at my place or I can take you to yours,” Kieran said. Dominic froze, picturing the chaos he’d left behind in his small apartment. Fury crawled across his scalp. The band around his chest tightened.

  “Relax.” Diana’s familiar hands took his, easing them open. Her lips brushed his cheek, just a friendly peck. But somehow, he felt better. Her cool fingers touched his cheeks. He leaned into her ever so slightly. When he met her gaze, the compulsion to kiss her, hard, to take her upstairs and lose himself in her, very nearly overwhelmed him.

  “There.” She gave him two extra-sharp smacks on the face. “That’s better. No reason to get uptight. Go on and make it right with your folks. They deserve at least to know you’re all right.” She turned without another word and began chopping tomatoes with a vengeance.

  Dom spotted his Harley in the gravel driveway. His brother had driven it here once he’d figured out Dom’s hidey-hole, trading for the car Dom had appropriated from the church parking lot.

  The sun sent a prism of light across the living room floor through one of the leaded glass windows. He focused on it, his pulse racing at the concept he had to confront it—the demon that had chased him, tormented him almost his entire life, at least since he could give it a name. “You don’t know…. It’s not what you think.”

  “What I think is you owe Mama and Daddy an explanation for your behavior. Period,” Mister Perfect Brother stated.

  Dom glanced over at the woman he’d loved and left at least twice out of pure terror at the force of his feelings for her. She kept her back to him, working away in her ratty shorts and a ripped T-shirt, as devastating as ever.

  He gulped. “I’m…um, bi.”

  She blew out a breath, turned to face him and smiled. Then laughed. “Oh, honey,” she managed after a few seconds. “Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me. Remember, I’ve known you a long time.”

  Dom frowned, wondering what she could mean. Until he’d med Kent, he’d never actually been with a man, and that had been on some kind of self-destructive personal bet. “Well, anyway….”

  She wiped her palms on her shorts. “You need to talk to your folks. At least clue them in, let them know you’re not suicidal. You’re just….” She stopped. Her eyes darkened. “In love, I guess.” She bit her lip. “Lucky guy,” she whispered, not dropping her gaze from his.

  Kieran cleared his throat. Dominic opened his mouth to answer, but the words he wanted to say simply would not materialize. He and Diana gazed at each other across the kitchen a few seconds until Dom gave a mental shake. The Diana Brantley mix of perfection-and-frustration ship had sailed away from him long ago. He’d christened the maiden voyage, damn him to hell and back anyway. “I’ll take the bike,” he muttered, shouldering past Kieran and out into the bright sunlight.

  Then

  Diana stretched under the covers and relished the extra few minutes dozing before her alarm clock sounded. The winter-weak sun lit her high-ceilinged bedroom with its light-blue walls and curtains enough to remind her she’d lain about way longer than she should have. One of the two dogs that had adopted her bed as its own lifted his head as she sat, taking inventory of her various sore muscles from the previous day.

  Rising early for a winter morning hunt always excited her. The fact that she’d finally convinced Dominic to come with her had been a bonus, but not as much as dropping that huge buck. She rolled her shoulders with a groan, realizing that the five hours of sleep she’d managed would have to do. The venison had to be readied for curing. She wanted to try a new recipe for the jerky, something a lot spicier.

  Head full of ideas, she barely noticed the strange sound floating down the hall from her sister’s room. She took a fast shower, wrapped up in a towel and brushed her teeth. As she padded to her room, already planning the work ahead on the various parts of the deer, she heard it again. She froze in her tracks, about a foot past Jen’s closed door.

  “Oh…oh…oh….” her sister’s voice floated out to her, as if she were in some kind of pain. “Yesssss….” she hissed right after that, putting
Diana’s concern about pain to rest. “That’s right. That’s it. There…no, not there, there…ahhhhh.” A whispery sound, like fabric, covered up the next words.

  Diana’s cheeks flushed and her pulse raced when she heard Dom’s voice next. She’d know that sound anywhere. It populated her fevered, sixteen-year-old fantasies in ways she barely understood, especially since the boy causing them had been her friend since they’d met in Sunday school. She’d been four, he, five. It had been her first time away from her mama and she’d been bone-deep terrified, even though it was in church. He’d taken one look at Diana’s tear-streaked face and shoved her down on her butt before running away, leaving her no choice but to take off after him and subsequently forget being afraid in favor of the chase.

  Dominic’s words floated out to her again. “Holy shit. Holy…oh…Christ.” He let out a low moan and the sound she’d heard earlier and ignored, thinking it was something coming from outside, started up again—and the rhythmic thump-thump of her sister’s headboard against the wall covered up the various groaning noises, thank the Lord.

  Diana pressed against the hallway’s cool plaster, willing one of her parents to get wind of it, to storm up the steps, throw open the door and catch them—her sister and Dominic Love—fucking. She bit her lip, unable to move past the door, in spite of her fury.

  How had Dominic gotten in? Had he snuck back after they’d spent the hours in the blood and guts of her kill? It had been fun, she thought. They’d laughed, worked together, lightly flirted, the usual. Claiming he had to get up and work for his daddy the next day at the brewery, Dom had gotten in his pickup and driven down her drive, arm hanging out the window. Jen had only shown her pretty face once during the evening, wrinkled up her nose at the gore-fest and left.

  They were a couple, Diana thought, clenching her fists. She and Dominic. Dominic was hers. They were….

  “Oh yes!” her sister whisper-shrieked, making Diana nearly leap out of her skin. The pounding noises ceased. She could hear the fabric whoosh-whoosh again and a low moan of satisfaction coming from Dominic’s mouth.