“Thanks. But I’m the lucky one.”
“I’d better find Hannah,” Jana said, pointing over her shoulder toward the visitors’ center.
As she left, Walker was sure he saw unshed tears filling his ex-wife’s eyes.
18
“You really want to go back to The Windmill?”
It was Friday night and CiCi hadn’t seen Walker all week except for a brief hello in the courthouse on Friday morning when he’d reported for jury duty. He hadn’t gotten seated and had left for work after being excused, and the extent of their communication had been to wave to each other in the courtroom. Knowing he would be there that morning, CiCi had volunteered to be the bench clerk that day for Rachel, and the good Judge Richards had seemed a little perplexed as to why the elected clerk herself was bothering to act as the bench clerk since CiCi could’ve saddled any of her staff with the tiresome job.
“Yes,” CiCi confirmed.
“I thought I might take you to The Rickhouse.”
“That’s sweet,” CiCi said. She was curled up on her bed at home, having just ditched her work clothes after getting home from work. “But I’ve already changed, and I would like to see what kind of pie they have tonight at the diner. Besides, it would be quick.”
“Quick? Want to get rid of me that fast tonight?”
“No, silly,” she chided him. “I meant it would be quick so we could get back to my place sooner.”
He laughed. “I see.”
“Unless you planned on just dropping me off on my front porch and we say a chaste good-night.”
“That doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time. And I don’t think that after last weekend anything we do will be chaste, Catherine.”
She sighed, thinking about the times he had used that name during the night they had spent together. There was something about the way he called her by that name that was a promise and a threat at the same time. It set all her senses on high alert, and CiCi instantaneously felt a little tenseness between her legs
“Let’s do something a little different,” he said.
“Like what?”
“What if we went to The Windmill and got takeout? We could go on a picnic. You’d get your Windmill fix, but I’d get you alone somewhere.”
“Best of both worlds. I like it.”
“I’ll go get the food and pick you up.”
“But where are we going to picnic?”
“The distillery, of course.”
“Ah, your happy place?” she teased.
“Not the spot I have in mind,” he told her. “But I think you’ll like it.”
* * *
Walker left work and went straight to The Windmill. The journey took him all of five minutes, and he spent only ten minutes getting his order together. He left with three large white paper bags full of turkey and cheese sandwiches on large homemade sesame seed roll buns, chips, and four slices of pie, all different flavors: bourbon pecan, cherry, peach, and chocolate. CiCi loved every one of those flavors—and he’d love watching her eat them as well as getting tastes from her lips later that evening.
As he drove to her house, he kept thinking about those pie flavors. He was able to recognize every one of them in good bourbon, and in his mind’s eye could see them in their respective locations on the bourbon flavor wheel.
Maybe that had been what had been so damned hot all the times he’d sat in The Windmill, unable to hide his growing attraction to CiCi, watching her eat a myriad of pie flavors. He had instinctively entwined his two passions: CiCi and bourbon. It had certainly been enjoyable watching her lips, mouth, and tongue as she devoured the treats, but he’d also sat there with his knowledge of bourbon, hoping he’d someday have the chance to teach her to detect those very flavors in the bourbon he crafted.
After arriving at CiCi’s house and being greeted with the kind of kisses that promised so much more that evening, they were soon in his car and back at the distillery.
“You’re sure everyone’s gone for the day?” she asked as they pulled into the nearly deserted visitors’ center parking lot.
“Nobody’s here except the skeleton crew in the distillery and the night watchman.”
Walker popped the trunk and helped CiCi out of the car. After extracting the recognizable white paper bags from The Windmill along with some blankets and a cooler, they headed into the visitors’ center. When CiCi asked why they were going indoors, Walker said he needed to get the key to the four-wheeler from Goose’s office.
“Didn’t want to ask him for it lest I invited questions.”
“So I guess it’s fair to say where we’re going is off the beaten path?”
“Yes,” Walker said. “Bo showed me the spot where we’re going when I first started working at the distillery. Told me that it’s part of the Old Garnet legend.”
“A legend? Now you’ve got me curious,” she said as Walker opened the door to Goose’s office.
* * *
CiCi could tell that they were very far north on the distillery grounds. Hannah’s house, which was on an adjoining piece of land directly to the north, would occasionally come into view through a gap in the thickening trees, its large porticoed front growing larger as they drew closer. Finally Walker turned the vehicle toward the creek and into a broad, flat area ringed by cedars. He parked close to the bank, helped CiCi from her seat, and they walked toward the creek hand in hand.
A few yards below them was the creek, rushing over a high, wide ledge of rock, creating a waterfall about half a yard high and twenty-five yards across. The flow was more abundant on the opposite bank, where it gushed over the falls in a frothy white cloud. Nearer where they stood, the water was more of a trickle or a drip and nearly still. In the pool below them, the water was quite clear, and she could glimpse the bottom of the creek.
Walker put his arm around her waist and pointed to a spot on the far bank. “This could be hard to spot, but do you see that tree and large boulder?”
Squinting in the twilight, CiCi spied what he indicated and nodded.
“Right at the base of the tree and rock is a small spring feeding into the creek—see the rippling on the surface of the water over there?”
CiCi drew her line of sight along the direction in which Walker pointed and looked toward the far bank. Sure enough, there was a small, consistent disturbance bubbling out into the creek.
“This is quite the secret place,” CiCi said.
“And historic. If the legend is true, this is the spot where Jacob met Lucy and proposed.”
CiCi knew the story went that the founder and builder of the distillery, Jacob Davenport, ancestor of Bo, Hannah, and Goose, became enamored of a local belle, Lucy Dant, allegedly the most beautiful woman not just in town but the entire state. The night before a big summertime ball, Jacob met Lucy at a bridge over Old Crow Creek and proposed marriage, but the belle demurred and gave no answer at that time. Jacob begged her to give him an answer at the ball by wearing his favorite color—deep red. She gave no affirmative response that she would play his little game, but he was certain she would be at the ball. The night of the gala, Jacob was crushed to see Lucy was wearing a bright blue dress instead of his beloved deep red. But when she approached him, she was smiling and pointing to something on her shoulder: a garnet brooch she had borrowed from her mother. The proposal was accepted, they were married, and the distillery and the brand got its name.
Or at least that was how the story went. Most people in town, like CiCi, knew the story but took it with a very large grain of salt. But since it was such a great tale, the fable was retold with pride on the tours at Old Garnet.
“This is the place? Really?”
“According to one account,” Walker said. “Lila dug out some of the distillery records recently at the Old House and started researching the legend. Some stories say the meeting took place on a bridge by a waterfall. But there are a few more falls along the creek, and Lila reports that there are at least two on her property.”
“But Lila thinks this could be a likely spot?”
“As likely as any other place—and who cares? Makes a great story, just like the legend itself.”
CiCi feigned shock. “Are you questioning the truth behind the legend of Old Garnet?” She gasped and put a hand on her chest.
“No comment,” he said, holding up his hands in an affected gesture of surrender.
They went back to the four-wheeler and prepared to set up the picnic.
“You really went overboard,” CiCi said as they sat on the blanket they had spread on the ground for their picnic site. She surveyed all the food Walker had brought as he opened the paper bags and the cooler. “And four kinds of pie? Really?”
“I know you like it. And I have a surprise in here,” he said, digging around in the cooler.
He pulled out two small flasks and held them up.
“No need to guess what’s in there,” she said. “I hope you brought some water. I don’t think I want to drink Garnet straight tonight.”
“You might change your mind when I tell you what’s in these little lovelies.” Smiling, Walker reached across the blanket and handed her one of the flasks.
“Not Garnet?”
“Oh, it’s Garnet all right. Very, very special Garnet. I chose this from some of the best barrels in the middle of the best rickhouse.”
She blinked and paused, digesting his words. “You pulled this from the center cut?”
“You do know your bourbon, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m looking forward to learning more from the master distiller himself,” she said, glancing at the flask. “This is special, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “What you’re holding in your hands right now is what we’re going to call Garnet Center Cut or Distiller’s Choice. We haven’t decided on a brand name yet.”
“I like Distiller’s Choice better,” she pronounced. “Most people aren’t going to understand what a term like ‘center cut’ means. But they’ll understand that Distiller’s Choice means something special.”
He grinned. “Indeed it does.”
Flattered, she blushed and examined the flask, which was engraved with the Old Garnet logo on one side—and her name on the other.
When she saw it was a gift, CiCi was stunned. “This is for me?”
“Well, I was out in the rickhouse getting some of the bourbon to test it, and I happened to get a little extra, that’s all. I don’t really think Bo, Hannah, or Lila would mind. And I thought you’d like your own special place to keep something that special.”
CiCi was speechless. The gift was unique, thoughtful, perfect. Nothing she had ever asked for but now would treasure forever.
Forever…
Oh, God. I’m in love with him.
She almost dropped the flask.
“You okay?” he asked and reached for her hand over the blanket.
“Yes, yes,” she assured him and squeezed his hand. “I’m just… this is a really nice gift, Walker.” She leaned to kiss him on the cheek.
“I did bring some water along if you really must mix it.” Walker dropped her hand and pulled two bottles of water out of the cooler.
“But we don’t have any…”
And as she said the words, Walker pulled two highball glasses from the cooler.
“I’ve got plenty of ice if you want it on the rocks,” he said, handing her one of the glasses. “But you really should sip it straight, at least at first.”
She took the proffered glass and examined the logo, which she had expected would be related to Old Garnet. Instead, the glass bore a retro-style logo and admonished KEEP CALM AND DRINK BOURBON.
“Where did you get these glasses?” CiCi asked through her laughter. Walker was continuing to put out the food and placed a wrapped sandwich and bag of chips on the blanket in front of CiCi.
“Had a meeting in Louisville a few weeks ago and found them in a shop downtown,” he said. “I told Hannah about them, and she thinks they would be a great addition to the gift shop here.”
They unwrapped their sandwiches, began to eat, and fell into conversation about BourbonDaze. Walker, in his role as master distiller of Old Garnet, was expected to make a few appearances at events and conduct some tastings but promised that on Saturday he’d be around the booth.
“So our date next Saturday will have to happen at BourbonDaze,” he declared after swallowing a bite of his sandwich. “An all-day date sounds nice.”
“I’m not so sure,” CiCi said. She had been sitting on her side but then kicked off her sandals and crossed her legs. “I think an all-night date sounds better.”
“Plenty of time for both, I hope.”
They ate and chatted more about the festival, and CiCi talked about the audit. The process was causing her more stress than she cared to admit; she’d been having intermittent cramping, headaches, and was more tired than usual. Perhaps sensing her anxiety, he steered the conversation away from her work.
“Maybe we could go somewhere together over Memorial Day weekend,” he suggested. “Just an overnight somewhere close.”
“That sounds nice,” CiCi said. “But I might have to wait and see what’s going on with the audit.”
After taking their time eating the sandwiches, they eagerly opened the containers of pie. CiCi quickly claimed the bourbon pecan, and Walker took the peach, which was one of his favorites.
“As much as I love this, I really should learn how to make it,” she said, taking a bite.
“That’s the fun part about being a master distiller,” he said. “I know how to make what I love.”
“You’re like a chef, aren’t you?” CiCi licked the prongs of her plastic fork.
He nodded. “Chef, chemist, factory worker. I wear a lot of different hats.”
For once, CiCi didn’t finish her pie. She snatched her flask from the blanket. “And I want to taste your wares. Let’s get into this bourbon.”
19
Walker poured from his flask into one of the glasses and handed it to CiCi. “I trust you know how to taste.”
“Yes, but I’ve never had bourbon-tasting lessons from a master distiller.”
“Just tell me how many flavors you can detect,” he said as he poured for himself.
“Is this some kind of quiz or secret initiation rite to see if I’m bourbon savvy enough to be the girlfriend of a master distiller?”
He laughed. “No, but humor me. I love talking bourbon with someone who knows the language.”
Appeased, CiCi swirled the liquid in the glass, held it under her nose, and inhaled through her nose and mouth. She caught the spicy scent of the oak as well as the sweeter aromas associated with Old Garnet. “Which rickhouse?”
“Old one, the one nearest the distillery.”
“Supposedly Bo’s favorite, according to Hannah.”
“It does produce some of the finest bourbon I’ve ever had the privilege of tasting. There’s something special about that old limestone building.” He glanced at her glass. “Smell it, taste it,” he urged.
CiCi brought the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a generous sip. The bourbon pooled in her mouth and coated her tongue before she moved the liquid to the back of her throat and swallowed. “Caramel, vanilla, an oaky, smoky taste,” she said in rapid succession, opening her eyes but not looking at her companion. “Spicy though. It was wonderful, Walker. Thank you for this.”
He raised his glass to her. “My pleasure.”
“Now it’s your turn. Taste.” She nodded to his glass.
Walker moved the glass to his mouth and nose, but did not close his eyes, which were focused on the liquid within. He gently swirled the bourbon, held it up, and studied it.
“I don’t know anything about the legs, other than it’s a thing that real bourbon lovers think is important.”
“Legs is just another term for how it moves in the glass, but I’ll teach you about it sometime, maybe in the tasting room at the visitors’ center.�
��
“I’d rather have private lessons,” she said.
“That can be arranged,” Walker promised as he moved his glass aside to glance at her.
Walker took the bourbon and drank. As the bourbon hit the back of his throat, he closed his eyes, smiled, and sighed. “All the flavors you mentioned, plus chocolate.”
CiCi finished the remainder of her bourbon and handed him her empty glass. When she adjusted her sitting position on the blanket, her leg brushed the flask at her side, and she picked it up and held it in both hands. “This is one of the most thoughtful presents I’ve ever received, Walker. I don’t know if I can ever drink this bourbon knowing how damned good it is.”
“But I gave it to you so you can enjoy it. I can always get you more, and I’m sure Bo, Hannah, and Lila wouldn’t mind.”
“You’re quite confident I can get this refilled anytime I want,” she said, the flask still in her hands.
“As long as I’m around, that’s a promise. And I plan on sticking around.”
“I know,” she said. “You’ve told me how much you love Old Garnet and—”
“I wasn’t only talking about the job, CiCi. I plan to be around a long time to keep filling that flask for you.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How can you say that? We’ve only been going out a handful of weeks.”
“Well, how can you be so sad at the prospect of never getting that thing refilled?” he challenged her and pointed to the flask as he moved closer to her on the blanket. “Live a little. Enjoy yourself. Stop being afraid to risk a little regret. I know I like where we are and where I hope we’re going. But tonight let’s just enjoy it, okay?”
He picked up her flask, unscrewed the top, and reached for both of their glasses. Walker generously poured for them both.
“Drink up,” he said and threw back most of the bourbon he’d just dispensed.
She reached for the flask, grabbed it, and assessed the volume. “That was about a third of it,” she grumbled. “And since when do you drink bourbon like that? Show some respect for your craft.”
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2) Page 17
