Angels' Share (Bourbon Springs Book 3)

by Jennifer Bramseth

“Bo, if you need anything—I know it’s not easy to lose a parent,” Goose said, and pointed the four-wheeler in the direction of the visitors’ center.

  “Thanks, Goose,” Bo said, relieved to have the subject be about his mother’s demise rather than his love life. That day, the simplicity of death seemed easier to handle than the craziness of his romance with Lila.

  As they kicked the mud off their boots before entering the visitors’ center, Bo got a text from Hannah. She said she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in that day, or probably the next.

  Stomach thing the text ended.

  Bo was happy to have the solitude that morning, and he certainly didn’t want to catch a stomach bug from his sister, so he couldn’t resent her absence. He made a fresh pot of coffee and sat at his desk to review emails. That took all of five minutes and he then found himself staring vacantly out the window, wondering whether he should go pester Walker for some reason he had yet to invent. In the distance, Bo heard the distinct sounds of a large truck backing up with that familiar, faint beeping and guessed there was a grain or barrel delivery in progress. Edgy and full of thoughts, Bo rose and walked out of the building, needing the solitude of his special spot.

  All his recent meditating and sitting in the rickhouse on the old barrel had taken its toll on his backside. Fed up with being uncomfortable, he’d replaced the barrel with a stool taken from Emma’s house. Made from old barrel staves that had been cleaned and polished to a high gloss and coated with a clear lacquer, it was wider than a typical stool and more comfortable, and the Old Garnet logo was branded on the seat. His mother had had a few of the items handcrafted from old barrels a few years back and had sold them in the gift shop. They had become a popular item, and Bo thought that whenever they got someone new on board to run the gift shop, he’d request that they re-stock the unique item.

  It was chilly in the rickhouse, but Bo didn’t care. He had his parka and a cup of coffee, so he was good for the cold weather. If he’d been sitting in that corner during a stretch of the coldest winter months, he probably would have considered keeping a blanket with the stool so he could cover up and keep warm, since having a space heater in the rickhouse was out of the question.

  Bo drank the rest of his coffee, sat back against the bare, rough limestone wall, and looked up. He knew exactly how many barrels were in that rickhouse, and he knew exactly how many he could see from where he sat. Between the angels and the barrels, Bo had lots of companions in his solitude, just not human ones. Nonetheless, he welcomed and craved their comforting presence as much as an old friend.

  Most of the guys who worked at the distillery were aware he liked to retreat to his special spot, and no one bothered him, except to call him on his cell phone should he be needed. But those times were rare. As a result, Bo remained undisturbed in his little corner of the world. Even Hannah wouldn’t pester him here, and Bo suspected she had told Walker to stay away when he was alone with the barrels and angels. The only person he could recall seeking him in the rickhouse had been his mother.

  So although he noticed the outline of a passing figure through the small gap in the closed shutters, Bo thought nothing of the possibility of an intrusion until he heard the weathered rickhouse door creak open on its old hinges and scrape the battered wooden floor. Not wanting to be discovered and more than a little angry, he remained silent, although he somehow knew that whoever had just entered deliberately sought his presence.

  Footsteps, soft and familiar, echoed on the plank flooring. Bo held his breath, waiting for the visitor to reveal herself.

  First he saw that delicate hand—those impossibly small fingers—as they clutched at the side of the last rick, and he blinked as the vision appeared. He dared not say a word, and dared not ask why she was there, lest she really be an angel and his words scare her away.

  Lila dropped her hand from the rick and stood at the end. She was dressed in her parka, worn jeans, and black leather boots which bore traces of mud on the toes. Lila removed her hood and gloves, and took a few small steps toward him. Her hair frizzed a little—giving her that little halo look—and Bo heard the snap of static electricity as the hood slid off her head.

  Lila looked to her left, scanned the wall of barrels, and then cast her eyes even higher to the ceiling.

  “Counting angels?” she asked.

  “I’m pretty sure there are at least two in here today.”

  “Two?” she asked.

  “Yes. One up there,” he said, and pointed upwards, “and one down here,” he finished, and pointed to Lila. Bo closed his eyes and put his head back against the wall again. He heard her approaching but kept his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “When I come out here now and smell the bourbon and the wood and the dust and dirt of this old building, I think of Mom. I can feel her in here, always. I know she’s up there enjoying the feast with the rest.”

  “Making bourbon balls in heaven?” Lila asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

  His eyes flew open and he laughed—when had he last laughed like that?

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but of course that’s what she’s doing up there,” Bo chuckled.

  Lila was only a few feet away from him. She was out of arm’s reach, but he sensed that would soon change.

  “No school today?” he asked.

  Lila shook her head. “Took the day off.”

  “Any special reason?” he said, and tried not to look too eager for her answer as he put his empty coffee cup on the head of a nearby barrel.

  “Yep,” she said, but didn’t elaborate. She moved closer to him, still out of reach. “I’ve heard some rumors that you’re going to leave. Is that true?”

  “No, no,” he said. “That was me just venting,” Bo claimed, and looked down at the ground. He was embarrassed that she’d heard about his little fits of self-pity.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he said, and looked directly at her.

  “Good to know,” Lila said, and took her coat off to reveal a deep red sweater he’d never seen her wear. She tossed the coat on top of a nearby barrel. “Because I have a few more questions for you now that I’m a part owner of this place,” Lila said, and gestured to the barrels.

  “Shoot,” he said. He still had no idea why Lila had chosen to appear to him that morning, and couldn’t grasp the reason for her change in mood. But he was just going to go with it.

  “How many rickhouses can you build out on the site of the burned one?” she asked.

  Not at all what he was expecting, but he had an answer for her. “Just the one,” he said. “There might be land for two, but after the fire, I’d be an idiot to try to put more than one out there, and it would be hell to try to get insurance on them.”

  “And I know that you just made a deal to resolve that little boundary dispute at the southern end of the property,” she said. “So that’s not an option.”

  “Right,” Bo said, completely confused as to where Lila was heading.

  “And, according to you, all Old Garnet has to be made and aged on the distillery grounds.”

  “Absolutely,” he confirmed.

  Lila nodded, and he could see a little grin starting to form on her lips. She walked over to the barrels and ran her hand over several of the barrelheads.

  “So you’re stuck,” she said, with her back to him.

  “It would certainly seem so.”

  Lila spun around and leaned back against a barrel. “Well, if you think I’ve come here to tell you that I’ve changed my mind about building a rickhouse there between the springs and your property, just think again.”

  “Oh—well, OK,” Bo said, confused. “I really didn’t think that but—”

  “But what about the other end of the property?” Lila asked.

  “The other end? There’s no room up there on the northern part of the distillery grounds. It’s not even, and rocky and—”

  “No, Bo,” Lila said, and finally moved close enough to him that i
f he wanted, he could reach out and touch her. “The other end of my property.”

  “You mean the southern part of your land?”

  “Sure,” Lila said. “I looked at my surveys. I think it would be plenty flat out there for them, and more than enough room. Room for several, I think. Far away from the springs, and building there probably wouldn’t damage the aquifer underneath the properties from what I know of this land.”

  “But—that’s not distillery land, Lila,” Bo said, and he slipped back into his sure, safe view of the world. “That’s yours. And even if I bought part of it from you, your land would be between the rickhouses and the distillery. I don’t see how you’d want that.”

  Lila drew closer until she was not more than a foot away from Bo. He swallowed as he could feel the heat of her body as she came into his orbit.

  “What if there wasn’t really much of a distinction between your land and mine?” she asked in a very soft voice. Her slightly taunting demeanor had turned into something much more intense.

  “But—I thought you said—I would never try to buy your land, Lila,” Bo said. “We’ve kind of been through all this before, haven’t we?”

  He wondered whether she was trying to lead him into some trap. But she wouldn’t seek him out in this special spot just to play mind games, would she?

  Lila moved even closer and he saw that she was shaking—with fear or excitement he didn’t know. But her anxiety had infected him as well and she moved within inches of his face.

  “A few more questions,” she whispered.

  “Yes, teacher?” he asked, and finally felt assured enough to take her hands in his.

  Her blue eyes wide and sparkling, Lila paused and slowly exhaled, and then smiled.

  “What if you were married to the woman who owned all that land, Bo Davenport? Would that be good enough for Old Garnet?” she asked.

  Bo stood and swept her into his arms.

  “To hell with whether it would be good enough for Old Garnet. It’s perfect for me.”

  “And that was the correct answer,” she said, and smiled before he smothered her with a kiss. Overcome with wild exuberance, Bo lifted Lila into the air, causing her to shriek in delight. He dropped her back to her feet and kissed her again.

  “Nice to know I passed your test,” Bo said when they came up for air. “And if you need another answer, it most certainly is yes—yes—yes,” he said, punctuating each acceptance with another kiss to her sweet, soft lips, “I will marry you. Not that there should be a drop of doubt in your mind about that. Any other questions?” he asked, and held her tightly to him.

  “Well, a request,” Lila acknowledged. “I want you to live up to your promise and give me those tasting lessons.”

  “When do you want to get started?”

  “No time like the present,” she said, and broke away to pick up her coat.

  Getting Lila—his fiancée!—alone again in the tasting room made Bo wonder whether he’d fallen asleep in the rickhouse and this was all some cruel dream. If it were a dream, he sure as hell was going to act fast and enjoy it while it lasted.

  “I’ll have to go find the key. And I think Hannah last had it,” he lamented. “No telling where that thing is, and I think there’s only the one since I—” Lila fished the key out of her parka pocket and dangled it in front of him. “How did you—?”

  “I asked Goose where it was. He didn’t know, so he called Hannah. No questions asked, since I am an owner, after all.”

  He snatched the key and grabbed Lila’s hand. “Let’s go,” he said, and started to pull her out of the rickhouse.

  “But—damn—the tasting room isn’t that private is it?” she said rather hesitantly.

  They stopped at the door, and Bo smiled at her.

  “It can be—if we lock it from the inside.”

  She threw back her head and laughed, and it echoed through the rickhouse. “If we’d only done that the first time we were in there alone!”

  “Well, we didn’t exactly go into the room that first time thinking we’d need to lock the door, did we?” he asked, and held her to him.

  “No, we didn’t,” she said, and giggled.

  “Actually, the door couldn’t be locked from the inside that day. I only had the lock changed later,” Bo admitted.

  “You did what?”

  “After you couldn’t tell me in the parking lot that I shouldn’t try to change your mind about us, I knew there was some small bit of hope we could be together. So I was going to make damn sure that if I ever got the chance to get you back into that tasting room alone again, we were not going to be interrupted. And now I finally have that chance,” he said, and stroked her cheek with a forefinger. “The chance of a lifetime.”

  “Bo Davenport, you’re going to have plenty of chances to get me alone—and not just in the tasting room—for the rest of your life.”

  He brought his mouth down on hers and they stood in front of the door kissing for several minutes. As the temperature outside slowly rose, the wood inside the building began to crack, hiss, and pop as it slowly expanded with the increasing warmth. But Bo knew that the increasing temperature was not the sole cause of the intermittent noises. He had no doubt he heard the soft but rapid swishing of wings high in the ricks above them as the angels delighted in the spectacle below.

  Epilogue

  CiCi pulled into the distillery parking lot and wondered how in the world Lila had gotten her to come out to Old Garnet on a perfect Saturday spring morning. She could be walking, on her way to Lexington for a shopping trip, headed to the races at Keeneland, or out in front of her house doing a little bit of yard work in the sweet Kentucky sunshine.

  But Lila had called yesterday and said that Walker was available that morning to work on the bourbon history project for the BourbonDaze booth. Before setting her students loose in the small museum on the distillery grounds, Lila wanted CiCi and Walker to go through the museum, take some notes, and make sure they had a good idea of the history of Old Garnet before helping the kids with the project. The idea was to have a portion of the booth dedicated to Old Garnet history, with a detailed timeline.

  Although a Bourbon Springs native, CiCi only had a smattering of knowledge about Old Garnet’s past, and as a member of the BourbonDaze planning committee she figured it was high time that she learned more about the town’s signature industry. She just hadn’t counted on learning about it with Walker. Why she couldn’t shake off her nerves about the man she couldn’t tell. He was unfailingly polite, good looking, smart, and had a pretty cool job as master distiller at a legendary distillery. While a little on the nerdy side, he certainly wasn’t offensive and was a dependable member of the BourbonDaze committee. Maybe he just seemed too damned perfect, and that always sent CiCi’s senses on alert. No guy was perfect, and if he looked like it, there usually was some big, horrible hidden flaw to the man. CiCi would be the first to admit that this bit of shallow pop psychology applied to herself. She certainly had her own issues, but ably camouflaged them behind her goofy yet competent demeanor.

  As she parked, she noticed only one other car in the lot—Hannah’s gray sedan. She double-checked the time; she had five more minutes before she was supposed to meet Lila and Walker inside. CiCi pursed her lips and scanned the area once more, but Lila’s truck was nowhere to be seen.

  CiCi exited her Mini Cooper, stood, and stretched. She’d worn comfy yet flattering jeans and a bright turquoise crewneck sweater. Expecting that she would be doing a lot of standing and walking during the course of the day, she had worn her comfort clogs, which were marked with a riotously gaudy pattern of abstract flowers in bright colors. The clogs matched almost anything CiCi might have a notion with which to pair them, but she loved the shoes mostly because they reminded her of the warm growing seasons of spring and summer. They were unsexy, but she didn’t care. Besides, if she needed a dash of sexy, the tight sweater across her full breasts could get that job done. If Walker wanted a little thrill
that day, he could always check out her rack—like he usually did when he thought she wasn’t looking. But he was nice enough to keep his eyes on her face when she was talking to him, unlike a lot of guys.

  CiCi took one last look around the parking lot before grabbing her purse from her car and heading inside, taking her time on the short walk to admire the abundant red tulips blanketing many of the growing beds along the front path. When she reached the door of the visitors’ center, she heard a vehicle behind her and turned around expecting to see Lila pulling in. Instead, she saw a small tour bus arriving in the parking lot, full of tourists gawking out the windows at the distillery grounds. CiCi hurried inside to get ahead of the crowd, and immediately spotted Hannah sitting on one of the large couches in the middle of the lobby, reading a magazine.

  “Morning,” Hannah greeted her, and threw the magazine on a nearby coffee table.

  “Where’s Lila?” CiCi asked as she scanned the lobby and Hannah stood. “I thought she’d be here by now.”

  “I didn’t realize she was supposed to be here,” Hannah said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure she won’t be here.”

  “Say what?”

  “She and Bo went off on a picnic together today,” Hannah said.

  “But doing this today was her idea!”

  “Did she tell you she’d be here?” Hannah asked.

  CiCi’s mouth made little movements as if she were about to answer, but no words issued forth. “I—I thought she did.”

  “Sounds like you misinterpreted what she meant,” Hannah said, and looked beyond CiCi to the front doors, where the tourists were about to enter the building. “Lila and Bo came over here about half an hour ago to raid the café and pack a picnic basket. Lila didn’t mention anything about being here for you and Walker.”

  At that moment, Walker came ambling into the lobby from the side hallway where several offices were located.

  “Hello, ladies,” he said and waved as he approached CiCi and Hannah. He wore khakis and an old blue polo shirt that was a little bit too tight. CiCi noticed that it still looked nice on him because it accentuated the well-formed muscles along his arms and torso. She also saw that he’d had a haircut since the last BourbonDaze committee meeting.