“You have no authority to do that, Georgie!” Victoria snapped.
“No, but I do,” Mr. Manning said. “You have to go.”
“Henry!” Victoria protested, as if a dear friend had betrayed her.
“He’s right, dear,” Dottie said as she leaned over her knitting, concentrating on her next stitch. “You have no reason to be here.”
“But you do?” Victoria asked. “You don’t even know these people.”
Dottie’s face lifted. “I know Georgie, and I’ll be getting to know the rest of them soon enough. Your bad energy is clouding my chi.” She made a waving motion. “Off with you now.”
“Lee!” Victoria protested.
He shrugged. “Sorry, Victoria.”
She got up and slung her Louis Vuitton handbag over her shoulder, then stomped out. Georgie could swear her brother looked relieved as the glass door closed behind her.
“Dottie’s right,” Mr. Manning said. “She is supposed to be here. Beau specifically requested she stay the whole time.”
Lee pushed out a breath, then leaned both arms on the table. “Look…Jack. I don’t know what you’re up to, but none of us know squat about running a brewery. Do you?”
“No, but—”
“The practical thing to do is sell the house and the brewery. We can get an estate company to sell off the furniture, then the four of us will split the profits.” He gestured toward Adalia. “You can use the money to pay off your art school student loans, and maybe have enough to pay for a studio for a few years.” His expression softened. “It’s the smart thing to do, Addy. If you think about it, after our phone call last week, this is a godsend.”
Lee and Adalia had talked last week? Georgie hadn’t talked to either one of them in over a month. Not even after the sale had gone through. Part of her had hoped they’d call to congratulate her, but it hadn’t happened.
Adalia sighed, which Lee must have taken as an agreement because he turned to Georgie next. “Georgie. You can take this money and add it to your pot and do…what are you planning to do now that you sold your business?”
Something bristled in Georgie, and she couldn’t keep herself from snapping, “Now you ask what I’m planning to do?”
Lee groaned. “Georgie…”
She shook her head. “No. We’re not deciding this now.” Her grandfather had asked her to visit for a reason, and there had been so much pride in his eyes when he’d shown her around the brewery. Beau had known Prescott would sell the place, and instead he had willed it to his grandchildren. That meant something. “We need to think about this before we make a decision. Jack doesn’t want to sell, and I’ve got nothing going on right now. Maybe Jack and I can run it.”
Lee’s eyes bugged out of his head. “You can’t be serious. You were the first one to suggest selling it.”
She lifted her chin. “Maybe I am serious. It’s Buchanan Brewery. It has our family name in it, and obviously Grandpa Beau wanted us to take over.”
“What? You have one visit with the old guy and suddenly you want to assume the family mantle?” Adalia asked.
“I don’t know, Addy,” Georgie said, overcome with exhaustion. “But I do know I’m not making this decision right now. We should at least consider it.”
“Be practical, Georgie.” The condescension dripping from her brother’s words made her cringe. He sounded just like their father.
“I am being practical,” she said, getting to her feet. “Just like I was being practical when I started my company ten years ago. The one that started in my kitchen and ended up employing fifty people. The one I just sold for five million dollars. So forgive me if I don’t buy into your idea of practicality, Junior.” She sucked in a breath and turned to Jack. “Obviously, we need to talk, but I’m not in the frame of mind to discuss business right now. Get my cell number from Mr. Manning, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
Surprise filled Jack’s eyes, and there was a one-second delay before he shook his head. “Yeah. Okay.”
She nodded. “Okay, then.” She started to walk out the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, and Jack? Welcome to the family.”
Chapter 4
River didn’t know where he was going at first. He just started walking and didn’t stop. Finn shouted something after him, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t respond when his phone started ringing either. Everything that needed to be said had been said. The path he’d been walking on had ended. Now he needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do next.
After a while, he realized where he was headed: Beau’s house. It felt right, so he kept walking, and when he got to the Victorian in Montford, he let himself in using the key hidden in the hanging planter Aunt Dottie had made for Beau last Christmas.
The house still smelled like Beau. Like Old Spice and hops and a hint of vanilla. Maybe it was because he spent all day thinking about things like flavor profiles, but he always took note of a person’s scent. It saddened him to think it would fade away. Probably the Buchanans would want to sell, and they’d get a realtor to show it to people—someone who’d use that fake cookie scent to lure people in.
“Shit,” he said out loud. He really didn’t like the thought of this place going to strangers. Although the Buchanans were strangers too. Part of him wanted to hate them—they’d ignored Beau, hadn’t they?—but he knew how complicated relationships could be, and from what little he knew, the neglect had gone both ways. He hoped for Beau’s sake they’d give it a chance. The house. The brewery.
I want to be sure you’re taken care of, Beau had said to him.
Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if Finn had made his decision a month ago. Would Beau have entrusted his legacy to him?
A stab of envy and grief made him feel even worse. Beau and Aunt Dottie really had given him far more than he’d ever deserved. It was only right that Beau’s real family should get his inheritance. But damn, he could have done great things with that place. He could have turned it around without tossing out all the things that made it special.
He’d offered to help often enough, but Beau had been stubborn in his own way. He’d always refused.
Beau’s cat Jezebel, fondly known as the Creature of Evil by her former owner, wound her way around his legs and back, and he stooped to pet her. She tipped back her head, closing her pale green eyes in pleasure—and then promptly hissed and bit his hand. Any affection was on her terms, and those terms changed at a moment’s notice. Strangely, it had made Beau more fond of the cat. Aunt Dottie had been stopping in to feed her since Beau had died, although she insisted no one should remove Jezebel from the house. Jezebel was tied to the place, she insisted, as if the cat were some sort of wayward spirit. Which might not be too far off. The one time Beau had attempted to board Jezebel at a pet spa, she’d scratched three attendants and a fourth man had quit.
If the Buchanans had inherited everything in the house, did that mean Jezebel was theirs too? He had to smile at the thought of that Victoria woman attempting to pet the cat. No, she’d never make nice with an animal. She looked like the type who’d adopt a French bulldog after seeing one on some cutesy TV show, only to bring it to the shelter the next day after realizing she’d have to wipe its butt after it pooped—a little known fact all those IG posts neglected to mention with all their cute photos. He had Maisie to thank for keeping him up to speed on strange pet trivia.
He let himself down into the unfinished basement, shutting the door behind him because the smell of hops made Jezebel as crazy as if she were rolling around in a field of catnip. A few glass carboys were still down here, fermenting from when River, Beau, and Finn had agreed to a competition to determine who could make the best beer incorporating three discordant ingredients. Aunt Dottie was the one who’d chosen them: cinnamon, jalapeño, and watermelon. He wasn’t overly excited to try that one.
He headed to the back of the basement, to the fridge where Beau had stored beer—a variety of local
stuff plus some bottled home brews—and grabbed something at random, cracking it open with the bottle opener magnet.
Lifting it up, he said, “I miss you, Beau. Things already suck without you.”
He took a sip of the beer—an amber—and remembered the watch. Maybe he should take it while he was here so he wouldn’t have to bother the Buchanans.
He started back up the stairs, beer in hand, and was on the third stair from the bottom when he heard the front door creak open. Aunt Dottie. It had to be.
What was he going to tell her about his confrontation with Finn?
The truth. She knew how he felt about Bev Corp, and he had no doubt she’d agree with him. Even if it meant he was back to square one.
He opened the door at the top of the stairs, and a hunk of crystal flew at his head.
Everything happened at once after that. In dodging the crystal and trying not to fall down the stairs, he dropped the beer, which exploded into glass shards and liquid foam, and Jezebel, who’d been perched in her armchair—literally hers, since no one else was allowed to sit there—shrieked as if she’d been scalded with hot water. She leapt into the air, back arched, and Georgie Buchanan, the person who’d thrown the crystal, screamed and jumped backward.
Aunt Dottie was nowhere to be seen.
Jezebel made another leap for Georgie, and when Georgie jumped back again, the cat yowled and scampered away, leaping onto the cabinets in the open kitchen to watch them warily from the wide opening.
“Dottie gave me the key,” Georgie said in a burst, holding up her hands as if she were the one trespassing. “I’m so sorry. I…I thought you might be a thief or a vagrant. The crystal was the only hard thing I had in my purse. Your aunt gave it to me.”
For some reason, that struck him as funny—not the part about the crystal, although really, was Dottie buying them in bulk?—but the word “vagrant.” It was the kind of word someone from a big city might use for a homeless person. In a way he kind of was a vagrant, or rather he’d been one as a teenager.
“I…I didn’t know Beau had a cat,” she continued. “I never saw it when I visited him here at the house.”
“Well, you can see why he didn’t brag about her,” he said, sweeping some of the broken glass aside with his shoe. He stepped out of the doorway and shut the door behind him. “She’s an unholy terror. Half the people in the neighborhood are terrified of her. The other half should be.”
“I really am sorry. Your aunt gave me the key. I wasn’t planning on coming tonight, but…”
She was flustered, and he felt bad for making her uncomfortable, even though he kind of liked seeing her like this—some of her hair had fallen out of that bun, a couple of wavy pieces, and her cheeks were pink.
“Hey,” he said, “it’s okay. It’s your house, after all. I shouldn’t be here. I just…”
Just what? Part of him wanted to unburden himself, but surely she was dealing with enough drama of her own. He didn’t need to add his personal issues to the pile.
“You came for the watch?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, happy to latch on to the easy excuse.
Her eyes shot down to the puddle of beer and broken glass on the floor before rising back to meet his gaze.
He laughed, unable to stop himself. As Aunt Dottie would say: no grass grew under her feet. “Well, okay, and I figured maybe I’d have a beer while I was here. For the watch. I guess I kind of needed a drink after today.”
Georgie heaved a long sigh that made him wonder what, exactly, had happened at the rest of the will reading. Would she tell him if he asked? He found he wanted to know, and not just because he was concerned about the future of Buchanan Brewery. He wanted to get to know Georgie. Find out if he’d see in her what Beau had seen.
Speaking before he could talk himself out of it, he suggested, “Why don’t I clean this up, and we can have a drink out on the porch? Maybe Jezebel will stop glaring at us, although I won’t guarantee it. She’s been known to lurk by the screen door.”
She huffed a laugh. “He named her Jezebel?”
“You better believe it, and she’s earned it every day of her life.” He paused, and then added, “I’m pretty sure she’s yours now. Comes with the house.”
Her eyes widened, and even though he shouldn’t have been looking, he found himself noticing the golden specks in them. “Oh, no, I’m not very good with animals. I’ve never had a pet.”
“Anyone else in the family you can pawn her off on?” he asked, heading into the kitchen to grab some paper towels and cleaner from under the sink. She padded after him, carefully eyeing Jezebel’s perch atop the cabinets. Probably wise. She’d been known to leap down on unsuspecting people.
“No. Lee’s girlfriend’s allergic to anything with fur, although I think she just says that because she doesn’t like getting the hair on her clothes.” He glanced back at her, and she flushed, as if realizing she’d said something that could be interpreted as disloyal.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I didn’t take her for the animal lover type. How about your sister?”
“Adalia does like animals,” she said, brightening a little, “but we still have so much to figure out. We’ll have to talk about it. I…I’m Georgie, by the way. I guess you know that, but it felt weird not to introduce myself.”
She held out her hand, all business-like, and he couldn’t help but smile. Her hand felt soft and small in his grip as he shook it.
“River Reeves. Nice to make your acquaintance, although I’m sure the circumstances aren’t ideal for either of us.”
“River,” she said, musing. “That’s an interesting name.”
“Not around here, it isn’t. Half the kids in this town are named things like Arbor and Leaf.”
“Huh,” she said, as if it were a foreign concept. He supposed it probably was. He knew the Buchanans had been raised in Connecticut, outside of New York City, and likely the guys at their prep schools had all had names like John and Edward III. “So you’re from here, then?”
“Sort of.” Which was the short answer. He didn’t like giving people the long one.
She quirked her brow, as if waiting for more, but Jezebel picked that moment to hiss threateningly, swishing her tail, and Georgie wisely flinched.
“Let’s see about getting that mess cleaned up before Jezebel gets any ideas,” he said.
He stooped down to grab the supplies, plus a bag for the glass, and she reached out a hand for them.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “My mess.”
She balked a little, as if she wasn’t used to people disagreeing with her, or maybe she was thrown by the whole situation. Which was understandable. But she didn’t say anything, just followed him back to the mess and helped by picking up the larger pieces and putting them in the bag while he scrubbed. Before he threw the broken glass and soaked towels away, he handed the crystal back to Georgie.
“Better put it back in your purse,” he said. “Apparently it’s a good thief-repellent device.”
She grinned. “Your aunt sure likes these, huh?”
“Whatever you do, don’t ask her about them. You’ll never leave that conversation. Seriously. Never.”
“Well, I don’t think I’d mind so much. She seems like a really special person. She has a way of making people listen to her that isn’t rude or demeaning.”
His throat felt a little thick again, and he forced himself to swallow.
She has a way of seeing to the heart of things, Beau had said about Georgie. And didn’t she ever. He’d figured the Buchanans would write his aunt off as an old eccentric.
“So about that drink,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, still smiling. “I’d like that.”
So would he. Which made him worry. He should not be letting Georgie Buchanan affect him like this. There was exactly zero chance a woman like her would stick around in Asheville for any longer than it took to dispense with the inheritance she’d been given by the only man who�
�d cared enough to mentor him. Best-case scenario was they’d sell it to someone local, although he wouldn’t be in the running. He’d saved up some money but nothing like what Buchanan Brewery would need to become competitive again. In the meantime, he needed to focus on what, exactly, he was going to do with his life now that he was suddenly jobless. Maisie always needed more help at the animal shelter, but that wasn’t going to pay his bills.
“Me too,” he admitted. “What’s your poison?”
She pursed her lips, then asked, “Do you think Beau had any wine?”
Good lord.
Chapter 5
River stared at Georgie like she had grown horns.
“I take that as a no?”
His mouth lifted into an amused grin. “There might be a bottle in the basement, although I can’t guarantee it won’t be dusty. I can go check.”
She eyed the door he’d emerged from when he’d scared the bejesus out of her.
She’d been a championship-winning softball player in the sixth grade. River was lucky the cat had messed with her aim.
After the reading, Dottie had followed her out of the room, knitting still in hand. Close up, the hot pink sweater was obviously intended for an animal, not a baby. Jezebel? No, not even Dottie would attempt to dress up that cat, let alone in something like that. The cat would surely think it beneath her dignity.
“Here, dear,” Dottie had said, handing over a key ring boasting a single key and a tarot card keychain. The Wheel of Fortune. “You’ll need that. I imagine you’ll want to see the house before you make up your mind.”
Before she could even get out a thank you, Dottie had pulled out the big hunk of pink crystal from her bag. “Something tells me you’ll be needing this too.”
The power of suggestion being what it was, her thoughts had jumped to that crystal and the “something” Dottie had warned her about the moment the door creaked. Hence her leap to violence.
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