At the sound of Bennett’s hushed curses, I decided I’d been listening in long enough and made my presence known by clearing my throat.
Both men had been partially obscured by the shadows farther down the length of the patio, but I saw both their heads whip around in my direction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but Farah’s looking for Bennett.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart,” Bennett said, moving away from Jase. He stopped beside me and gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder before casting a look I couldn’t quite decipher back at Jase. It almost looked like . . . disapproval? “I actually appreciate the interruption. I’m done with this conversation.”
I stood motionless as he passed me, going back into the house and shutting the door firmly behind him.
Quiet rained down on the dimly lit back porch, oppressive and thick with the tension I’d unwittingly walked into.
I’d never done well with awkward silences. I had the nasty habit of rambling in an effort to fill the void any time I found myself in that situation. That compulsion came over me then, spurred on even more by the fact that any time I was in Jase Hyland’s orbit, I turned into a flustered, bumbling disaster.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t lurking, I swear. I honestly didn’t know you guys were out here. Then when I did, I wasn’t sure what to do. I kind of froze.”
The sigh he released before bringing the tumbler in his hands to his full, pouty lips and sucking back some of the amber liquid inside sounded like it carried the weight of the world.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I began to fidget in place, shifting from foot to foot and wringing my fingers together in front of me as the full force of his attention hit me like a wrecking ball.
My heart was at risk of doing a Kool-Aid Man impersonation and busting through my chest at any second.
Even with half of his features still shrouded in darkness, I knew exactly what he looked like. I’d spent enough time watching him during his visits to see his sister that I’d managed to memorize every sinful inch of him. And yes, I realized that made me sound like a psycho creeper. But I couldn’t help myself.
His well-trimmed brown hair had just enough product in it to keep it from flopping over his forehead but wasn’t overly styled. By this time of night, there was bound to be a five-o’clock shadow dusted across a strong, square jawline. The bridge of his nose had a tiny bump, making it slightly imperfect, but still attractive on such a handsome face, and his sharp cheekbones made him look almost regal. He was like a slightly scruffed up Chris Evans. In other words, gorgeous.
He wasn’t like any of the men I’d grown up around. Redemption, Tennessee had its fair share of attractive guys, believe me. But this man was different. Where the men in my town lived in T-shirts, jeans, and flannel, Jase was well-groomed, usually in slacks and a button-down.
From my vantage point, I could see that his shirt was opened casually at the collar, and the cuffs of his sleeves had been rolled up to expose solid, veined forearms. It was arm porn at its finest. The shirt was fine quality, tailored to fit his broad shoulders and thick biceps perfectly.
As usual, his look screamed money, but not in a flashy way that said he was trying to show off. It was how he carried himself. His calm, cool confidence gave off that impression.
God, he’s gorgeous, I thought, as I continued staring, unable to pull my attention away from his perfect, masculine features. I’d never been so thankful for dim lighting. It was the only thing hiding the insane blush that burned through my cheeks and chest—just one of the curses of being a redhead. “I’ll just, uh . . .” I trailed off pathetically, hooking my thumb over my shoulder and taking a step back.
“No, stay.”
Two little words from his gorgeous mouth, and I felt the need to fan myself. Clenching my fists to keep from doing that, I took hesitant steps in his direction, bracing my hands on the railing around the porch once I finally reached his side.
I didn’t have the first clue what he and Bennett had been arguing about, but I couldn’t stand to see the blank, stoic look on a face that was normally so happy. I arched a playful brow and stated, “You look like you’re about two seconds away from making a run for it.”
His head twisted toward me, one corner of his mouth kicking up in a smirk that made my belly flutter like a million hummingbirds had taken flight. Those golden-brown eyes, lined with long, dark lashes, danced with humor in the pale glow of the porch light. “You wouldn’t be too far off the mark, Flower.”
My heart did an Olympic-gymnast style flip at the name he’d christened me with on his very first visit to Redemption. Said in that husky voice of his, I nearly melted into a puddle of goo right then and there.
I twisted to face him full on and sucked in a dramatic gasp. “And risk the wrath of Farah? She’d murder you so dead.”
His smile was still there, but for the first time that night, I noticed just how tired he looked. There were faint purple smudges beneath his eyes. The scruff on his jaw was longer than I’d expected it to be, his hair unrulier.
Don’t get me wrong, he was still hotter than a damn forest fire, but it was evident in the lines on his sexy face that something was weighing on him.
“Hey,” I started, lowering my voice. “You all right?”
He downed more of his drink, bourbon, judging by the smell of it, and used that time to school his features and paste a carefree expression on before responding. “I’m good, Pop.”
With how often Jase had come to town to visit Bennett and his sister, staying at the inn most of those times, I’d gotten to know him well enough to consider us casual friends. More than acquaintances, but not besties by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I cared that something was plaguing him.
“You know, it’s none of my business if you don’t want to talk, and I’m certainly not gonna push, but if you ever need someone to listen, Jase, I’m never more than a phone call away.”
His glass came down on the iron banister with a clank. The intensity in his gaze as he stared down at me—like he was seeing something deep inside me at that very moment, something I didn’t understand— stole my breath and caused my lungs to deflate.
“You’re something else, Poppy. You know that?”
My blush grew so furious I thought I might actually catch fire at any second. “I’m just me,” I said quietly, looking up at him through the fan of my lashes. “Nothing special.”
His voice took on an even huskier timbre as he said, “That’s where you’re wrong, Flower. So very wrong.”
With that he downed the last of his bourbon, placed the glass on the railing, and shocked the hell out of me by leaning down and placing a kiss on my forehead. “And I’ll keep your offer in mind.” The he turned and headed back into the house, leaving me reeling.
** End Sneak Peek**
Crazy Beautiful is Available Now!
On the Rocks
Kandi Steiner
Bestselling Author Kandi Steiner delivers a gripping small town country romance about a whiskey barrel raiser and the Mayor's daughter he can't resist.
Noah Becker is nothing but trouble.
That’s what Mama told me when I was a kid, kicking his pew in church and giggling at the games we’d play. It’s what the town said when his father died and the Becker brothers went wild. And it’s on repeat in my mind the day I walk into the whiskey distillery where he works to buy a wedding gift for my fiancé.
He’s trouble.
Dirty, sweaty, rude trouble.
No matter how many times I repeat it, I can’t escape Noah in our small Tennessee town. And the more I run into him, the more he infuriates me.
Because he sees what no one else does.
He sees me—the real me.
The me I’m not sure I’m allowed to be.
I’m Ruby Grace Barnett, the mayor’s daughter. Soon to be a politician’s wife, just like Mama and Daddy always wanted. Soon to f
ulfill my family’s legacy, just like I always knew I would.
Until the boy everyone warned me about makes me question everything, like whether the wedding I’m planning is one I even want.
Everyone says Noah Becker is nothing but trouble.
If only I had listened.
Copyright (C) 2019 Kandi Steiner
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.
The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Kandi Steiner
Edited by Elaine York/Allusion Publishing (http://www.allusionpublishing.com)
Cover Photography by Perrywinkle Photography
Cover Design by Kandi Steiner
Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Publishing (http://www.allusionpublishing.com)
To those who love whiskey and sunshine,
long summer days and front porch sittin’,
dips in the river and never taking life too seriously –
this one’s for you.
Chapter 1
Noah
When you hear the word Tennessee, what do you think of?
Maybe your first thought is country music. Maybe you can even see those bright lights of Nashville, hear the different bands as their sounds pour out of the bars and mingle in a symphony in the streets. Maybe you think of Elvis, of Graceland, of Dollywood and countless other musical landmarks. Maybe you feel the prestige of the Grand Ole Opry, or the wonder of the Country Music Hall of Fame. Maybe you feel the history radiating off Beale Street in Memphis.
Or maybe you think of the Great Smoky Mountains, of fresh air and hiking, of majestic sights and long weekends in cabins. Maybe you can close your eyes and see the tips of those mountains capped in white, can hear the call of the Tennessee Warbler, can smell the fresh pine and oak.
Maybe, when you think of Tennessee, all of this and more comes to mind.
But for me, it only conjured up one, two-syllable word.
Whiskey.
I saw the amber liquid gold every time I closed my eyes. I smelled its oaky finish with each breath I took. My taste buds were trained at a young age to detect every slight note within the bottle, and my heart was trained to love whiskey long before it ever learned how to love a woman.
Tennessee whiskey was a part of me. It was in my blood. I was born and raised on it, and at twenty-eight, it was no surprise to me that I was now part of the team that bred and raised the most famous Tennessee whiskey in the world.
It was always in the cards for me. And it was all I ever wanted.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Until the day Ruby Grace came back into town.
My ears were plugged with bright, neon orange sponges, but I could still hear Chris Stapleton’s raspy voice crooning behind the loud clamor of machines. I wiped sweat from my brow as I clamped the metal ring down on another whiskey barrel, sending it on down the line before beginning on the next one. Summer was just weeks away, and the distillery swelled with the Tennessee heat.
Being a barrel raiser at the Scooter Whiskey Distillery was a privilege. There were only four of us, a close-knit team, and we were paid well for doing a job they hadn’t figured out how to train machines to do yet. Each barrel was hand-crafted, and I raised hundreds of them every single day. Our barrels were part of what made our whiskey so recognizable, part of what made our process so unique, and part of what made Scooter a household name.
My grandfather had started as a barrel raiser, too, when he was just fourteen years old. He’d been the one to set the standard, to hammer down the process and make it what it is today. It was how the founder, Robert J. Scooter, first noticed him. It was the beginning of their friendship, of their partnership, of their legacy.
But that legacy had been cut short for my grandfather, for my family. Even if I had moved away from this town, from the distillery that was as much a blessing to my family as it was a curse, I’d never forget that.
“Hey, Noah,” Marty called over the sharp cutting of another barrel top. Sparks flew up around his protective goggles, his eyes on me instead of the wood, but his hands moved in a steady, knowledgeable rhythm. “Heard you made the walk of shame into work this morning.”
The rest of the crew snickered, a few cat calls and whistles ringing out as I suppressed a grin.
“What’s it to ya?”
Marty shrugged, running a hand over his burly beard. It was thick and dark, the tips peppered with gray just like his long hair that framed his large face. “I’m just saying, maybe you could at least shower next time. It’s smelled like sex since five a.m.”
“That’s what that is?” PJ asked, pausing to adjust his real glasses underneath the protective ones. His face screwed up, thick black frames rising on his crinkled nose as he shook his head. “I thought they were serving us fish sticks again in the cafeteria.”
That earned a guffaw from the guys, and I slugged our youngest crew member on the arm. At twenty-one, PJ was the rookie, the young buck, and he was the smallest of us by far, too. His arms weren’t toned from raising barrels day in and day out for years, though his hands were finally starting to callous under his work gloves.
“Nah, that’s just your mama’s panties, PJ. She gave them to me as a souvenir. Here,” I said, right hand diving into my pocket. I pulled out my handkerchief, flinging it up under his nose before he could pull away. “Get a better whiff.”
“Fuck you, Noah.” He shoved me away with a grimace as the guys burst into another fit of laughter.
I shook the handkerchief over his head again before tucking it away, hands moving for more staves of wood to build the next barrel. It took anywhere from thirty-one to thirty-three planks of wood to bring one to life, and I had it down to a science — mixing and matching the sizes, the width, until the perfect barrel was built. I hadn’t had a barrel with a leak in more than seven years, since I first started making them when I was twenty-one. It only took me six months to get my process down, and by my twenty-second birthday, I was the fastest raiser on our team, even though I was the youngest at the time.
Mom always said Dad would have been proud, but I’d never know for sure.
“Seriously, though,” Marty continued. “That’s three times now you’ve creeped out of Daphne Swan’s house with the cocks waking up the sun behind you. Gotta be a record for you.”
“He’ll be buying a ring soon,” the last member of our team piped in. Eli was just a few years older than me, and he knew better than anyone that I didn’t do relationships. But that was where his knowledge of me ended, because just like everyone else, he assumed it was because I was a playboy.
They all assumed I’d be single until the end of time, jumping from bed to bed, not caring whose heart was broken in the process.
But I wanted to settle down, to give a girl the Becker name and have a few kids to chase after — maybe more than anyone else in Stratford. Only, unlike all my friends, I wouldn’t just do it with the first girl who baked me a pie. There were plenty of beautiful girls in our small town, but I was looking for more, for a love like the one my mom and dad had.
Anyone who knew my parents knew I would likely be looking for a while.
“Daphne and I are friends,” I explained, stacking up the next barrel. “And we have an understanding. She wants to be held at night, and I want to be ridden like a rodeo bull.” I shrugged. “Think of it as modern-day bartering.”
“I need a friend like that,” PJ murmured, and we all laughed just as the shop door swung open.
“Tour coming through,” our manager, Gus, called. He kept his eyes on the papers he was shuffling through as his feet carried him toward his office. “Noah, come see m
e after they’re gone.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, and while the guys all made ominous oooh’s at my expense, I wasn’t nervous. Gus had nothing but respect for me, just as I had for him, and I knew maybe too confidently that I wasn’t in trouble. He had a job that needed handling, and I was always his go-to.
The door swung open again, and the teasing died instantly, all of us focusing on the task at hand as my brother led a group of tourists inside.
“Alright, remember now, this is another area where no pictures are allowed. Please put your phones away until we venture back outside. Since we’re one of the last breweries that still makes its own barrels, we don’t want our secrets getting out. We know at least half of you were sent from Kentucky down here to spy on us.”
The group laughed softly, all of their eyes wide as they filtered in to get a better look at us. Marty hated tours, and I could already hear his grunts of disapproval, like the group was sent with the sole purpose of ruining his day. But me? I loved them, not only because it meant Scooter Whiskey was still a household name, and therefore — job security — but also because it meant a chance to rag on my little brother.
I had three brothers — Logan, Michael, and Jordan.
Jordan was the oldest — my senior by four years. Mom and Dad had adopted him before I was born, and though he might not have looked like the rest of the Becker clan, he was one of us, through and through.
Michael was the youngest of us at just seventeen, only one summer standing between him and his senior year of high school.
And Logan, who just walked through the door with the tour, was the second youngest. He was two years younger than me, which meant he was my favorite to pick on.
Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set Page 278
