Angels' Share (Bourbon Springs Book 3)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “I know. I heard him make the phone call. After you left that day when you’d overheard our argument, he went straight back to his office and called Jon and told him to give you whatever you wanted. I didn’t say a word to him. And we haven’t talked about it since.”

  “But how—why did he decide to settle? I heard him say that he had what he needed.”

  “He realized he was wrong, Lila. He didn’t have what he needed,” Hannah said, and stared at Lila.

  Lila stood. “Did he put you up to this? Did he leave so I could hear these things from you so I’d believe them?”

  “Why wouldn’t you believe them? You think I’m lying to you?” Hannah cried.

  “Because why would he just suddenly change his mind like that, Hannah? I heard what he said.”

  “How much did you hear?”

  “I heard most of your conversation,” Lila admitted.

  “Then didn’t you hear how he was struggling with the decision? Granted, he was stupid by not immediately deciding to reject the judge’s order—but he was confused, Lila. He was asking me for help.”

  “I heard him say that he had what he needed,” Lila snapped. “And that meant winning the case.”

  “Then you heard what you were expecting—the worst,” Hannah accused, echoing something Bo had once said to her. “Bo’s far from perfect. But he’s trying to work on changing. Don’t kick him to the curb for this—for a little backsliding.”

  “Backsliding? Bo was willing to entertain the idea of taking my land! Not my idea of a little backsliding!” Lila hissed, and picked up her purse.

  “But you’re still good with Bo being chief operating officer?” Hannah asked, showing no irritation at Lila’s outrage.

  “Yes, fine,” Lila agreed. “Let me know when he does something stupid so we can vote him down. I’ll expect your call by tomorrow morning,” she said, and left in a huff with Hannah’s laughter ringing in her ears.

  Why in the world did Emma Davenport do it?

  Lila was home, curled up on her couch with a mug of cocoa and staring out the window on that blustery late February afternoon. Nothing outdoors could tempt her to leave her house, not even the springs. She got back home from the distillery just as a nasty snowstorm hit, and Lila planned to stay inside for the rest of the day, if not the rest of the weekend, if she could get away with it.

  So she was stuck with dealing with the Davenports. Fine. She’d mail it or phone it in if she had to. Because she was done with Bo. No meetings, no more distillery tours or tastings. She would be the silent partner.

  It would have to be that way because it had hurt too damn much to see him. Bo hadn’t even tried to talk to her, and today had been the first time they’d seen each other since their breakup. He’d given in on the land after their confrontation and the matter was finally settled. He’d called her a few times, but Lila wanted none of his excuses, explanations, or anything. She’d never picked up, never returned the voicemails. Simply walking away from the lawsuit wouldn’t erase from her memory the things he’d said to Hannah. Bo had wanted the land more than her—that’s what she heard him say, regardless of the spin Hannah wanted to put on her brother’s words.

  Had Emma seen this coming? This final break with Bo over the land? But Emma had been young—only in her early seventies. What if she’d lived for another twenty years and then Lila had inherited? Because Emma had expected Lila to become family. That was the only logical explanation. Boy, had Emma gotten that one wrong. Instead of leaving an inheritance, the late Mrs. Davenport had left all of them a big fat stinking mess.

  Whether Lila liked it or not, she knew she was still tied to the Davenports by land, business, and love. Lila knew she still loved Bo, and that he loved her. For a while she couldn’t figure out why that wasn’t enough. But she finally realized that it came down to that stupid thing they’d talked about on Christmas night just before they made love for the first time.

  The trust thing. The thing she wasn’t good at, and the thing that he admitted he had problems with as well, at least as far as his own ability to change. Maybe he’d trusted in her good graces too much, that she’d give up under the influence of his affections, and she’d trusted that he’d never be that manipulative. Yet she couldn’t trust herself around the man. She wanted to feel him holding her, kissing her, making love to her. If she got near him again—just like on that Christmas night—she knew she’d fall into his arms again. That’s what always seemed to happen whenever they were alone.

  She still wanted him, and still loved him.

  But could she trust him enough to forgive him?

  Chapter 26

  Spring was coming.

  Although the March air was still raw and cold, there were signs of the oncoming brightness and warmth of the new season. Daffodils and croci popped through the bare earth, the grass looked a smidgen greener in ever-widening patches, and in the trees there was the faintest hint of leaves, like a hazy green smoke.

  Lila hadn’t talked to or seen Bo or Hannah for about three weeks. Hannah had emailed her some information about the estate, but it was routine and not personal. Lila was afraid that she’d made Hannah mad when she’d stormed out of the last meeting, and Hannah was a friend she did want to keep. But to keep her as a friend, Lila would have to deal with Bo, now a business partner and once a lover. How complicated was this going to get?

  Lila had been lonely for some basic female companionship and was happy when CiCi had called her one evening with the suggestion they go to lunch at The Rickhouse on Saturday afternoon. CiCi said she had some new ideas about programs for Lila’s students and wanted to get more involved in volunteering at the high school. It sounded great and Lila readily agreed to meet.

  Lila rarely went to The Rickhouse and couldn’t remember the last time she’d been there. If she happened to be in town for some reason during lunch, which was a super-rare thing, she’d stop at Over a Barrel since it was more reasonably-priced and she truly enjoyed the food, especially that roast beef sandwich. But The Rickhouse was more expensive and a total sit-down kind of restaurant. Over a Barrel at least had the take-out option. Nonetheless, she found herself looking forward to going there if for no other reason than to break up the monotony of the late winter days that blended together without distinction. Her life was in a school-home pattern since she’d broken up with Bo, with the routine only being disrupted by the occasional visit to the grocery store or other routine errands.

  CiCi had arrived first and had secured a table for them in a booth along the far right wall of the restaurant. It was in a window and afforded a nice view of the older homes along Main Street. CiCi happened to live in one of those houses, which was about a block away and just out of view. The Craig Circuit Court Clerk was her usual ebullient self and wore a bright royal blue cardigan sweater and black pants. It was, after all, March in central Kentucky and that meant one thing: basketball. As usual, the regional favorite, the University of Kentucky Wildcats men’s team (colors: blue and white), was in the tournament and already a few games in deep. As a UK grad, Lila was naturally a fan, and from the looks of CiCi, there was no doubting her loyalty. By comparison, Lila felt a little traitorous to her alma mater when she realized that she had inadvertently worn white and green—the colors of the team the Cats would play later that day.

  The server arrived quickly and the women gave her their orders.

  “Mmm,” CiCi moaned in anticipation when the server had gone. “They have the best fettuccine alfredo here. Have to go to Lexington or Louisville to get anything close.”

  “I hope the hot brown is good,” Lila said, referring to the casserole-like sandwich consisting of bread, turkey, ham, bacon and an ocean of cheese.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever had a bad hot brown anywhere, come to think of it,” CiCi observed. “But enough of food! How are you?”

  “Interested in what you had to say about volunteering some more at the school,” Lila said, expertly deflecting personal questions f
or the moment. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to completely shut down CiCi’s Bo-related inquiries.

  “Yes! I do want to get more involved. It was fun to go on that field trip a few months ago, and I have some ideas for some other trips or projects.”

  “I’m all ears,” Lila said, and tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. She’d neglected to get a haircut for too long, and her pixie cut was beginning to look downright messy.

  “What if you took a trip to the courthouse?” CiCi suggested.

  She then outlined a program where the kids could come to her office and see what the clerks do; maybe meet the sheriff or deputies down at the sheriff’s station on the first floor. “And I’m sure that Rachel and Brady—I mean Judges Richards and Craft—would love to have the kids observe court. And I know your cousin the sheriff would be on board with the plan. What do you think?”

  “That’s a great idea. And I have another one. What if the kids had a booth at BourbonDaze? The festival is right at the end of the school year and it could be sort of a year-end treat in a way. They could do a booth on the history of bourbon or the science of distilling. Do you think the committee would let the kids have a booth somewhere during the festival?”

  “Why not include a lot of the history of Old Garnet, too? Not everyone around here knows the history of the distillery. And since you’re an owner now—”

  “I’ve got a very small share, CiCi,” Lila corrected her.

  Everyone in town knew about Emma’s will and the disposition of her shares in Old Garnet. Jon had filed a petition for probate of the will, with a copy of the will attached, and now it was a public document.

  “But you have access to a lot of that information,” CiCi said.

  “I suppose so,” Lila said, and picked up her glass of water.

  CiCi twisted her lips into a look of stark disapproval. “Still not talking to Bo?”

  “How do you know—”

  CiCi shrugged. “I know stuff,” she said.

  “No, why would I talk to him?” Lila replied, realizing that CiCi had probably gotten the entire story of the breakup from Hannah.

  “Well, because you still have a thing for him and you also happen to own a part of the distillery—not to mention his heart. You two went around here for the past several months like you were headed to the altar and now—”

  “Like I said, we don’t talk,” Lila told her, hoping to put the issue aside. “But I can mention the idea to Hannah. There is that museum on the distillery grounds with a lot of information there, and several of the kids have seen it. Maybe the kids could go back to the museum and spend more time there. They could do some research there to make posters or—”

  “Will you go with the kids to the distillery?” CiCi asked. She raised an eyebrow while Lila hesitated. “Lila, you’re miserable,” CiCi said, and gestured at her companion. “And from what Hannah’s said, Bo’s even worse. He’s even talking about leaving Old Garnet.”

  “What?”

  CiCi nodded. “True story,” she claimed. “Hannah says that Bo’s actually said that he might step down as chief operating officer.”

  “And do what?” Lila asked. “That distillery is all he knows.”

  “Hannah says that he’s mentioned just handing the reins over to her,” said CiCi, as she picked at some fuzz on her sweater. “And maybe going to work for some other distillery.”

  Lila looked at her blankly. “You’re kidding me, right? This is a joke. Did they put you up to this?”

  “No, they didn’t,” CiCi said, looking shocked at the accusation. “It’s true. Bo’s miserable and wants to leave. And you’re miserable, too.”

  “OK, fine, I’ll give you that, but the solution to our misery is not getting back together,” Lila said.

  “Why not?” CiCi asked. Her complete countenance had changed from perky to sad.

  Lila sighed, and put her hands in her lap, where she found a napkin she didn’t remember placing there. “After the lawsuit, I just don’t think I can get beyond everything, that I can forgive him—” she whispered, shaking her head and unable to finish her thoughts.

  “Again, why not?” CiCi asked. “Why can’t you forgive him?”

  Lila opened her mouth to say something. But she couldn’t.

  She didn’t know the answer.

  “CiCi, I really don’t want to talk about it,” Lila said.

  CiCi nodded and swallowed, and looked a little embarrassed. “Sure, sorry. Guess I’m always looking for that happy ending.”

  “Um—why don’t we talk to Walker?” suggested Lila, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Walker?” CiCi said, brows knit together and looking baffled.

  “Yes, why don’t you mention the booth idea to Walker since he’s already on the BourbonDaze committee with you? Maybe he’ll help with some information about the history of bourbon in Kentucky. He might not know that much about Old Garnet yet since he’s new.”

  “Oh, I’d say he does know quite a bit, actually. He rattles on about that stuff sometimes at our committee meetings.”

  “Then ask him if he’d be interested in helping.” Lila noticed that CiCi had gotten suddenly fidgety when Walker’s name was brought up. “Something wrong?” Lila asked.

  “No, it’s just that Walker has asked me out a few times—just for coffee and pie or lunch—and I’ve sort of put him off. But if I bring something like this to him, well…”

  “He’s going to ask you out again?” Lila asked, amused. “Since when are you afraid of someone asking you out?”

  “I’m not afraid!” CiCi claimed. “It’s just that he might expect something in return. Like a yes.”

  “You haven’t accepted a date from him?” Lila asked, and leaned forward onto the table a little. “What’s wrong with him? I’ve met the man—seems like a nice guy.”

  “He is, he really is,” CiCi said.

  “Oh, I get it,” Lila said, and sat back in her seat. “That’s the I-just-wanna-be friends tone coming through loud and clear.”

  “Well, yeah,” CiCi admitted. “I do like him. But we’re on the committee so it makes things a little awkward.”

  “So why not just go to The Windmill and have that coffee and pie?”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a date to me.”

  “Probably would to him. You’d finally say yes, and get him off your back, if that’s what you really want.”

  “But what if he asks me again?”

  Lila rolled her eyes. “What if you want to go out again? Ever considered that possibility? You could end up really liking the guy.”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  “Then you can at least tell yourself and him that you gave it a chance.”

  CiCi frowned. “Not sure I need to be taking relationship advice from the likes of you, Lila McNee,” CiCi quipped.

  At that moment, their food arrived, preventing any further discussion of the subject for a few seconds.

  “You forget that I did give it a chance, CiCi,” Lila said as the server left their table.

  CiCi had already popped a bit of bread into her mouth and couldn’t say anything. But her look indicated that she wasn’t convinced that Lila had given a good faith effort to salvage her relationship.

  They spoke no more of Bo or Walker that day and lapsed into a discussion about basketball, BourbonDaze, and CiCi’s annoying neighbor. But in the back of Lila’s mind CiCi’s question kept nipping at her conscience.

  Why can’t I forgive Bo?

  He’d stopped the lawsuit as soon as she left him. But wasn’t that the problem? He only did that once she’d cut him out of her life. But that would be the crux of forgiveness, wouldn’t it? To pardon that and any other perceived wrongs?

  Bo had asked nothing of her since that day, and quickly had given up trying to contact her. He’d said little to her the day at the distillery when Emma’s will was discussed and had even left the room. Had he decided to endure his suffering or did he e
xpect her to come to him?

  Lunch ended, and CiCi and Lila parted outside the restaurant, with CiCi heading north in the direction of her house. Lila was about to head back to her truck, parked in a small lot adjacent to the restaurant, when the sign for Over a Barrel, about a block down Main Street, caught her eye. She suddenly had a craving for bourbon balls and, realizing that she hardly ever had this kind of opportunity, she headed toward the deli.

  Since it was Saturday afternoon instead of a weekday, Over a Barrel wasn’t very crowded although there was a short line at the register to order food. While standing in line, Lila studied the images of the painted barrels all over the floor and noticed something she hadn’t seen before. Although the barrels upon first look were all the same, several of them were painted with the various names of different distilleries: Woodford Reserve, Wild Turkey, Four Roses, Limestone Branch, Maker’s Mark, Jim Beam, Barton’s, Town Branch, and Wilderness Trace were all represented in small lettering across the middle of the barrels—and those were only the barrels Lila could see from where she was standing. She puzzled why she hadn’t seen an Old Garnet barrel, but when she got to the register, she realized that she was standing on the largest painted barrel. It bore no lettering, but in the middle of the barrel was a large painted oval garnet, as large as a big serving platter. It looked exactly like the faceted image of the garnet on the label of Old Garnet.

  At the register, she ordered half a dozen bourbon balls, but changed her mind.

  “Make it a full dozen,” she said impulsively, and smiled to herself, as though she were doing something naughty and getting away with it.

  The clerk went to fetch the treats and returned with a large bag, which he handed to Lila and then rang up her order.

  “Had a hankering for them? Or having a party?” the clerk asked.

  “Just a craving,” Lila admitted. “I wish I had a good recipe for them. I’d love to try to make them.”

  “I can give you my mother’s recipe,” said a familiar voice from behind.

  Lila spun around and saw Bo.