Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set

by Grover Swank, Denise

  Beau had set his beer down and turned to look River in the eye. “Son,” he said, “you’re happy, aren’t you? Working with Finn? I didn’t know what to think of a man named after a fish appendage, but he seems like a good enough sort of fellow.”

  A little uneasy about where the conversation was going, River had nonetheless fallen into the joke. “Sure, once I got used to the smell.”

  But Beau’s expression had stayed serious, and so he’d responded in kind.

  “Yeah, Beau, I’m happy there. Who would have thought I’d have all of this after…well, you know.” He tapped the bottle in his hand. It was their Lake Trout Lager. Given their respective names, River and Finn, they’d gone in hard with the whole fishing theme—a joke that probably seemed funnier after a couple of drinks.

  “Good, good,” Beau had said distractedly.

  River sat up straighter. “Are you having trouble with the brewery?”

  Beau swatted the air, although they both knew Buchanan Brewery needed a major overhaul. The equipment was outdated, and it had been at least three years since the brewmaster, Lurch, had come up with anything new. Five years since he’d come up with anything good. Still, Beau was nothing if not loyal, and Lurch had once helped him out of a lurch (hence the nickname). He refused to replace the man, even though they were both far past the normal age of retirement. With as much competition as there was—a new brewery popping up every few months like a mushroom—they couldn’t keep skating by forever.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Beau said. “I was considering some plans for the future, and I want to be sure you’re taken care of.”

  “We’ve talked about this before. You’ve already given me everything I could possibly want. As far as I’m concerned, the only plan you should be making is when you’re getting a haircut, because you’re starting to channel a serious Einstein vibe.”

  “Consider the source,” Beau had said with a smile. “Before long you’ll be able to pull that into a ponytail”—he winced—“and then one of those man buns.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll never let it go that far. Now, will you stop being morbid?”

  “Only once I die,” Beau had said, picking up the beer again. He took a long sip, looking off into the distance, and then said, “I’m thinking of asking my granddaughter to visit. It’s time.”

  Beau’s family had always fallen on the do-not-discuss list, or rather the do-not-discuss-unless-Beau-brings-it-up list. Not because he was the sort of man who kept secrets, or at least not until this whole will disaster, but because it had broken his heart. That was something River understood. He didn’t talk about his mother either.

  So he’d just nodded.

  Now, he wished he’d asked more questions. He wished a lot of things.

  After a stop at his loft on North Lexington—the suit went into the back of his closet until someone else died or got married, and he checked on the fermentation of his new test batch—he walked to Buchanan Brewery, feeling a whole hell of a lot more like himself in jeans and T-shirt. The South Slope location, which had been kind of iffy fifteen years ago when they’d first moved to this spot, was now ideal. They had the street, just not the street appeal. There was a kind of hominess to the tasting room, though, like your grandparents’ somewhat mildewy basement. But maybe he just thought that because Beau had been the owner, and Aunt Dottie was the tasting room manager.

  The place was packed tonight, with so many people standing he couldn’t edge his way to the bar. Annoying from a logistics perspective, but it made him proud of Beau. Everyone wanted to raise a glass to him. A few people waved at River and slapped him on the back, some of them mutual acquaintances with Beau, others locals who patronized Big Catch, and then he caught sight of Finn sitting at a small two-top, chatting with a couple of pretty tourists, a blonde with pigtails and a brunette drinking a hard lemonade. Leave it to Finn to wheedle his way into a seat—and female company.

  “Over here, buddy!” Finn called. “Already got you a beer.”

  He wrestled his way over to the table, nearly tripping over a Chihuahua in an emotional support vest—his friend Maisie was so hearing about that—before he finally grabbed the seat across from his buddy.

  Although River had ditched his suit the first chance he got, Finn was still wearing his. Of course, Finn was the kind of guy who wore suits well, just like Junior from earlier, only not an asshole.

  “I’ll call you later,” Finn said to the blonde with the pigtails, and the two women took off, Finn’s date looking over her shoulder.

  “Let me guess,” River said, waiting for them to be out of hearing, “you told her you’re a big catch.”

  “Ha. Ha,” Finn said. “Very funny. You’re lucky that, loss of Beau aside, I’m in a very good mood.” He slid a pint across the table to him. “Beau Brown. I thought it only appropriate.” He picked up his own drink, a pint of the same, and they clinked glasses.

  “To Beau.”

  River’s throat felt a little thick at that, but he took a swig. Beau had been eighty-seven, for God’s sake. They didn’t have much reason to complain, did they?

  Somehow that didn’t matter like it should.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Finn said, some of his good humor deflating. “He was one of a kind.”

  River’s mind shot to the will reading again, to the spectacle of it. Part of him wanted to tell Finn, who would surely laugh at the Buchanans. Joking around was what he did best. But he didn’t want to talk about it yet, and in a weird way, he didn’t want to laugh about it either. Which was why he changed the subject instead. “So the meeting went well, I take it?”

  Finn’s grin would have been answer enough. “Better than well.”

  “What was it about, anyway? Wider product placement? I know you’ve been chasing that down lately.”

  “No, man. It was a rep from Bev Corp.”

  Bev Corp, as in the largest multinational beer company in the world.

  Bev Corp, as in where creativity went to die.

  “Why the hell did you meet with them?” he asked, already bristling.

  “Now, River, I know how you and Dottie feel about big corporations and all that noise, but wait until you hear what they offered me. Us. They want you too. They’re going to give you a huge bonus once I sign.”

  Once I sign. He’d already made the decision.

  This meant Big Catch wasn’t theirs anymore, except the fact that Finn had made this decision without even talking to him first—hell, he’d accepted the meeting without telling him—meant it had never been his at all. This likely wasn’t the work of one meeting either. How long had Finn been talking to them?

  All of the emotions River had been trying not to feel since Beau died seemed to pour into him at once, only he felt pissed off instead of sad.

  “Was I the last one to know about this?” he asked, not caring that his voice had risen. Hadn’t Tom acted weird earlier? As if he knew something River didn’t?

  “It’s not like that,” Finn said. “I wouldn’t agree to anything that wasn’t in your best interest too. You know me better than to think that. Come on, just hear me—”

  River stood up then, pushing his chair back a little harder than he’d intended. The emotional support Chihuahua yelped and jumped into the arms of its owner—a huge tattooed man with a bald head.

  “Hey, back off!” the man shouted. “You scared Princess Leia!”

  “Dude,” he said, staring the guy down, “we all know that’s not an emotional support dog. The little vest isn’t fooling anyone.”

  The guy took a step toward him, a threat that was somewhat undermined by the Chihuahua cuddled in his arms. She was wearing a pink tutu beneath the vest.

  River burst out laughing at the absurdity of it, at the absurdity of life, which apparently offended the guy because he came barreling toward him. At first he thought the dude would try to punch him, which he’d maybe even welcome, but Princess Leia was still cradled in his arms. Instead, Baldy tried to
kick him in the shins, and River jumped over his huge feet as if he were a girl playing double Dutch, which was when Finn intervened.

  “Leia’s not much of an emotional support dog if you’re kicking my friend while you’re holding her, now is she? Why don’t you sit down before I find Dottie. I have a feeling she won’t be too pleased with your behavior. You do know River’s her great-nephew, don’t you?”

  The fear on the guy’s face indicated he was a local because he obviously knew better than to piss off Aunt Dottie. Not that she’d rage at him or bonk him over the head or anything like that—violence wasn’t her style. But he might find himself suckered into an hour-long meditation session in the back room, which smelled like dank hops and stale bread. Her cleansing tonics were also infamous. Although not on the menu, she offered them to guests who seemed unduly upset or angry. No one made that mistake twice.

  Baldy set down Princess Leia with an affectionate pat, then lifted his hands palm up. “Sorry, man. I had no idea you were related to Dottie. Only good energy here. Namaste.”

  As he turned away, looking over his shoulder as if he feared Aunt Dottie might be onto him, Finn gave River a tentative smile. Normally, he would have smiled back and they would have laughed about all of this later. But the trust they’d had was broken, and for River, trust was everything.

  He shook his head and said the one thing he’d never imagined saying. “I quit.”

  Chapter 3

  Georgie watched as the cute guy—River—got up and made his escape. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so envious. He cast her a sympathetic glance on the way out, but she looked away, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

  Talk about a train wreck.

  She was half tempted to jump up and run after him, and not just because she found him attractive.

  Instead, she was left with her over-the-top family and Dottie, who was pulling even more crystals out of her purse and stacking them on the table as if creating her own miniature Stonehenge. Apparently desperate times called for desperate measures. It was probably no accident that the stack appeared to be pointed toward her father, who was seething. “What the hell is going on, Manning?”

  Mr. Manning’s face looked like he’d just stepped out of the shower.

  Georgie had never realized one person could produce that much sweat, but then Prescott Buchanan could make the most confident of men shake in their boots. How many of her boyfriends had taken off running after meeting him?

  Okay, only two had made it to that stage—one in high school and the other in college. Maybe that was why she was single now. She’d yet to date a man who could stand toe to toe with her father. She also knew it was an impossible bar to hold men to.

  Terror filled the attorney’s eyes. “Uh…”

  The legal assistant, who’d been standing behind him, stepped forward and handed him a napkin.

  Mr. Manning started to dab his face, but he must have realized it was a lost cause, because he gave up halfway through and tossed the soaked napkin onto the table with a sickening splat.

  Adalia turned and gave Georgie a theatrical look of disgust. At least she was willing to put her anger away for a moment, even if it was over their mutual disgust for the attorney’s overactive sweat glands.

  Dottie seemed oblivious to it all and pulled out a skein of yarn and some knitting needles from her apparently bottomless purse. Georgie couldn’t tell what she was working on, but it looked like it had tiny armholes.

  “Perhaps I should just get to the reading of the trust,” Mr. Manning said.

  “Yes,” Georgie’s father sneered. “I think you should.”

  Mr. Manning’s voice wavered as he started reading the thick document produced by his assistant. It was all dry legalese at the beginning, but when he got to the part saying everything Beau Buchanan owned would be passed on to his grandchildren, Adalia put her hand on the table and leaned forward. “In English, please.”

  “It means you four children own it all,” Dottie said, her needles clicking. “Every last bit of it.”

  “So we sell it,” Lee said. “Dad has to leave tonight, but I’ll stay a few days and find a commercial real estate agent.”

  Adalia turned to her brother. “Who says I want to sell?”

  His mouth dropped open. “What the hell would you do with a brewery?”

  “I don’t know, Lee, but you can’t just decide to sell it. We should all be part of that decision.”

  “With all due respect, Addy,” Lee said, softening his tone. “Stick to what you know.”

  Adalia jolted in her seat. “Stick to what I know?”

  “It has to be a unanimous decision to sell,” Mr. Manning said, then winced as he snuck a glance at Prescott. “One person refuses and you keep it. All of you. But you have to decide to sell or keep it by noon tomorrow, or it will be sold to the highest bidder, with the profits going to an animal shelter called Dog is Love.”

  Prescott leveled a glare at his youngest daughter. “Agree to sell, Adalia.”

  She flinched and sat back in her seat. Georgie resisted the urge to reach over and give her a pat of reassurance. Or her father a swat.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Prescott said, getting to his feet. “Lee, clean this mess up.” He cast one final withering glance at all of them and strode out of the room.

  As soon as he left, half the tension in Georgie’s shoulders faded. Adalia’s body seemed to relax too. The only one who still looked on edge was Georgie’s secret half-brother, who eyed them all as though they were an alien species, and it hit her how awkward this had to be for him. While she wasn’t thrilled her father had carried on an affair with the man’s mother, it wasn’t his fault. In fact, she suspected he wasn’t thrilled either.

  “I’m Georgie,” she said, offering him a tentative smile. “You must be Jack.”

  Adalia turned to her in outrage. “You knew his name too?”

  “Not now, Addy,” Georgie said, keeping her gaze on Jack.

  He nodded slightly. “Guilty as charged.”

  “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Georgie turned back to her other siblings. “Obviously, we need to figure out how to sell the brewery and the house.”

  “Agreed,” Lee said in relief.

  Now that their father had left, it was natural for Georgie to fall back into the take-charge mode she’d assumed when their mother had become sick her sophomore year of high school. Their father had never been around and their mother had quickly become too ill to run the house. That responsibility had fallen on Georgie’s shoulders, and her siblings still let her jump back into that familiar role in times of crisis.

  “I don’t want to sell,” Jack said in a firm tone.

  Georgie turned back to face him, sure she’d heard wrong. “What?”

  His dark eyes held hers. “I don’t want to sell.”

  “Now, look here,” Lee said, his face turning red. “If you think you can just waltz in here and start pilfering from my grandfather’s carcass—”

  “Our grandfather,” Jack said in a calm voice. “He’s our grandfather. And I’m only here because I was told to be here. I’ve known about all of you for years and never once tried to make contact.”

  Lee sat back in his chair, the fight draining out of him.

  “Because you were biding your time,” Victoria said in an icy tone.

  Jack cracked a slight smile, neither a denial nor confirmation.

  “Why are you here?” Adalia asked, turning her wrath on Lee’s girlfriend. “You aren’t any part of this.”

  Shock covered Victoria’s perfectly chiseled face. (Georgie would bet money she’d had work done. Surely, no one was so lacking in emotion naturally.) “I’m here to support Lee.”

  “You’re his girlfriend,” Adalia said. “You have no business here.”

  Georgie was inclined to agree. The two had only been dating eight months. “She’s right.”
/>   “Georgie…” Lee cringed as he snuck a glance at his girlfriend.

  “I have every right to be here,” Victoria said, her gaze pinned on Georgie. “How dare you suggest I don’t.”

  “You’re not married,” Adalia said. “You’re not even engaged, which means this has nothing to do with you.”

  Victoria squared her shoulders as though preparing for a fight. “We are eight months into our three-year plan.”

  Dottie, who’d been steadfastly focused on her project, lifted her gaze. “What’s that, dear?”

  Lee’s girlfriend scrunched up her nose as if she smelled something disgusting, giving the older woman a look that suggested it was none of her business, so Georgie was surprised when she said, “Our three-year plan. First year is a committed relationship, the second year we get engaged, and the third we get married and buy a house. We’ll have our first baby at the end of year three.”

  “Let me guess,” Adalia said in a dry tone. “You’ve not only got the wedding venue booked, but you’ve already picked out your first child’s name and commissioned monogrammed bibs.”

  Victoria let out a huff. “You have no idea how far ahead you need to plan to book the Brookside Country Club for a reception, but I have not had bibs monogrammed.”

  “No, but you did commission that tapestry,” Lee said, his mouth twitching a little.

  Victoria shot him a look so cold Georgie couldn’t believe he hadn’t turned into a block of ice. Why did Lee always go for women like that? Their own mother had been nurturing and sweet—funny too—an odd fit for Prescott, or so everyone used to say. But Lee’s girlfriends always looked like they’d just as soon stab you with a stiletto heel as look at you.

  “Nevertheless,” Georgie said in the motherly tone she took on when bossing her siblings around. “You can’t stay for this discussion. We can vote on it if you insist, but I suspect that’s a waste of time.”