Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  That definitely wouldn’t do in little old Bourbon Springs. She wanted no gossip, no chatter. Hard to survive that kind of thing in a small town, especially when you’re supposed to be Little Miss Perfect.

  But perfection was going to go out the window for at least one night—if she could get away with it.

  * * *

  Why the fuck did I ever agree to do this?

  He was not accustomed to wearing a tux. Hell, he only had one good suit—for church and funerals, as he told his mother who repeatedly nagged him to get a decent wardrobe. But he didn’t need to dress up. He already did, every day, by proudly wearing a uniform. He was a Craig County Deputy Sheriff, serving along with his father, the elected sheriff-for-life himself, Fuzzy Davenport.

  But his buddy Rob Gordon was getting married to his girl, Linsey Steele, and Goose couldn’t turn him down. So he was a groomsman. He vowed it would be the first and last time he ever got hooked into such a ridiculous situation.

  Although he had to admit that the bachelor party had been pretty fun. Goose smiled as he remembered when those two girls had taken off their—

  The music changed suddenly, and he snapped out of his naughty recollection, although he wondered whether he still had that one girl’s number. Where had he put it?

  He was standing in a line with the other groomsmen, waiting for Linsey to appear in all her glowing, bridal glory.

  Then he saw her.

  But not Linsey.

  Down the aisle came Harriet Hensley, the maid of honor, on the arm of another groomsman Goose barely knew.

  Why the hell did Linsey have to pick that color for her attendants?

  Harriet was wearing an eerie replica of the dress she’d worn when she’d been Miss BourbonDaze and he’d had the honor of driving her in the big parade in a huge old black convertible. Harriet had only been eighteen, right out of high school. At the time, he’d just dropped out of college and had been a newly minted sheriff’s deputy, thanks to his dad bailing out his ass and giving him a job after his grades dropped too low to continue at the University of Kentucky.

  He had never forgotten how hot Harriet had looked in that strapless bright turquoise gown when she’d been the local beauty queen. The color had been perfect for her: the cool hue against her pale skin and jet-black hair. He’d almost wrecked the car twice trying to ogle her fine assets.

  That summer, he’d asked her out repeatedly but she’d turned him down every time. She’d always been with her friends—her own little popular posse—and she’d laughed him off. No doubt Harriet had thought him ridiculous for thinking she’d want to date Mr. Bad Reputation himself. And he’d wanted Little Miss Perfect.

  He’d even asked her out a few times when she had returned home in the summers after college and law school. It had become a joke between them, of sorts. He’d ask, she’d say no, and they’d walk away laughing.

  Except he’d always walked away a bit brokenhearted and into the arms of almost any pliant, willing woman who’d have him. And there were a lot of those of women.

  Now Harriet was walking down the aisle in another turquoise dress, a weird, freakish reminder of the past.

  Harriet’s hair was in a loose bun, with delicate dark tendrils curling around her oval-shaped face. Her lips were painted a bright pink, and she looked lovely. In coloring and demeanor, she resembled a latter-day Snow White.

  Except for one thing.

  No smile.

  And every time Goose had seen her, Harriet Hensley had been smiling or ready with one. Even when she’d been rejecting his requests for a date.

  But there she was, standing at the altar at a wedding and looking like she was at a funeral instead.

  That wasn’t right.

  * * *

  Booking a room at The Cooperage, the restaurant-and-resort site of Linsey and Rob’s reception, had at first seemed to her a bit of an unnecessary extravagance. She lived in Bourbon Springs and wasn’t an out-of-town guest in need of overnight accommodations. But Linsey had suggested getting a room and offered to pay, so Harriet had accepted her friend’s generosity. She thought it would be fun to party into the night with her newly married friends and others from town. But that had sounded fun when Cameron had still been in the picture.

  Now Harriet had come to see the room as an excuse to get rip-roaringly drunk and have a place to crash should she manage to hook up with a guy.

  The problem, she had soon realized upon arriving at the reception, was that nonlocal guys were in decidedly short supply. So no private after-party for her.

  She supposed it was the universe’s way of telling her to be the good girl she was supposed to be, that everyone expected her to be.

  Fine.

  But she wasn’t going to be happy about it.

  At least she could still drink.

  After the champagne, Harriet went to the open bar and ordered three Pitted Garnets: a shot of Old Garnet with a cherry in the bottom of the glass.

  After tossing them back in pretty quick order to the amusement of the bride, groom, and several groomsmen, Harriet soon felt giddy and good and danced with a lot of the local boys. Most of the guys her age she hadn’t seen in years, some since high school. She also wound up dancing with Josh Cassidy, Hannah Davenport’s relatively new husband. Josh was polite and good-looking, but a little creepy. He was too eager to talk to her—and other women, she had noticed—and had left his wife sitting alone for several periods of time. Harriet was thrilled she briefly got to talk to Lila McNee and her husband, Colin Bell, before they hit the road back to Lexington. Lila was one of Harriet’s friends in high school, although they had fallen out of touch since graduation.

  The only local guy not to ask her to dance had been that batshit crazy Goose Davenport.

  Stocky, ruddy-faced, and with a head full of thick black hair that he hadn’t bothered to get cut for the occasion, Goose was well built and ruggedly handsome in the dangerous kind of way. He’d been watching her through the evening, and as she’d left the dance floor for the last time that night she had noticed his long stare as she found a seat.

  At that moment, Harriet decided it was probably for the best that she stop drinking for the evening.

  She ended up sitting alone a few tables away from Goose, who was also sitting alone and drinking something on the rocks (it had to be Garnet). He hadn’t looked at her since she’d stopped dancing, thank goodness.

  Harriet sat there watching others have fun and feeling sorry for herself. She turned down several invitations to dance again, and the guys in the room finally got the message that she just wasn’t interested. When the bride and groom finally left in a gigantic limo (where’d that thing come from? All the way from Lexington?) and Harriet’s maid of honor duties had officially been discharged, she decided it was time to head for her room.

  Friends tried to tempt her to join them in The Cooperage’s bourbon bar, which was not that far from the reception room, a large space at the northern end of the main facility which overlooked the golf course and had a decent view of Old Crow Creek. Harriet had been there often enough to know that on a clear day when the leaves were off the trees, one could see all the way to the distillery itself, several miles to the north and across the McNee property.

  Harriet relented long enough to go into the bar and get a glass of white wine, thus violating her policy of no more drinking for that evening and risking sickness by mixing up her booze. But she was a big girl, and a Bourbon Springs girl at that, and a spot of wine wasn’t going to send her into a stupor; that night she craved the taste and relaxation. She sipped awhile, then excused herself, physically tired and tired of being around a lot of people, and decided to call it a night.

  Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to her room.

  It was warm and the night air was sweet and light. It would be a shame to abandon the beauty of a perfect spring evening in Craig County. So with wineglass in hand, Harriet headed toward the hotel part of the complex and through a bre
ezeway connecting the main building which housed the restaurant, bar, and meeting rooms with the lodge.

  Off to the right of this area, which was covered with a narrow awning, was a sprawling patio that overlooked Old Crow Creek. There was no bar here and thus no people. It was simply a nice place to sit, which was exactly what she needed.

  She sat as close as possible to the edge of the patio, so close that she could hear the rushing waters of the creek below, the soft sound soothing and relaxing. Harriet put her wineglass on the table next to her, twisted a large pink paisley silk scarf around herself that she’d been using as a wrap, and let her head fall back against the chair. Dozing, she heard people walking back and forth in noisy groupings, but no one came to the patio as the itinerant visitors passed between the buildings. Even though it began to get a little cool by the creek and the fog was starting to form and creep up around the buildings, Harriet continued to nod off until she was properly asleep in the open night air.

  2

  Goose hoped he still had the number of that girl in his wallet. He was anxious to get back to his buddy’s room, get out of the stupid tux, and put on some real clothes. Then he’d call the girl and see if he could get the chance to get out of his clothes again that night.

  He was passing between the buildings with a keycard in one hand and trying to untie his tie when he noticed something out of place. His eyes were drawn to the right where he saw a flash of pink. And that bright shade of blue that always made him think of—

  He froze.

  What the hell was Harriet Hensley doing over there all alone? Was she sick?

  Goose wound his way through the unoccupied tables until he reached her.

  She was fast asleep.

  Probably too much Garnet—and wine, he saw. The glass on the table was nearly empty. And she’d had a big day too. Being maid of honor couldn’t be easy, even though he didn’t know all the things that role entailed.

  He looked around, wondering whether she was alone. Not another soul was there, and he noted the absence of a second glass indicating she had a companion.

  Goose couldn’t exactly enjoy the view; she was wrapped in some pink girly thing that covered her shoulders and the tops of her breasts.

  So instead he sat and took the time to study her features.

  He’d always considered her a very good-looking woman; he’d asked her out plenty of times to have his opinion known on that point. But as he sat there with her in the silence of the warm evening, Goose realized he was looking at a rare beauty.

  There was a certain serenity about her that he’d not seen in a woman before; not that he’d taken much time to consider such things. Usually when he looked at a sleeping woman, it was right before he left her after they’d had sex—if he bothered to give a backward glance at all, which was not how he operated. He got in, got out. Goose Davenport definitely wasn’t the cuddle-and-kiss-in-the-afterglow type.

  But here he was, watching the slow rise and fall of Harriet’s chest and shoulders under that pink wrap, mesmerized by the little twitches her lips were making and nearly having to sit on his hands so he wouldn’t reach out for a long strand of shiny black hair that had fallen into her face.

  He was transfixed, enchanted. This was something beyond the basic low-level lust he’d always directed toward Harriet Hensley.

  But the lust was definitely still there, considering how he’d gotten hard in just the few seconds he’d been gazing at her. Harriet looked ripe for the picking: sweet, supple, and sultry.

  A breeze washed over them, stirring Harriet awake in a tiny shudder. Goose didn’t have time to look away before she was suddenly wide awake and looking right at him.

  * * *

  Harriet gave a little yelp, surprised to be awake, but more surprised to see Goose Davenport in front of her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, scared and confused—and cold. She shivered and looked around her, mildly alarmed to see that they were alone.

  “And good evening to you too,” Goose sniped and sat back in his seat. “I saw you sitting over here alone and thought something could be wrong.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I saw you drinking Pitted Garnets, Harriet. And it looks like you’ve polished off most of that.” He pointed to the wineglass.

  Harriet wrapped the scarf around her a little tighter. “Again, I’m fine,” she repeated, although she did feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. How fair was that? She hadn’t even gotten to bed yet, and her hangover was already starting.

  Goose nodded and glanced at his watch. “Nearly midnight now. You need a ride anywhere?”

  She gave him a wary look. Harriet knew this man’s reputation. “I’ve got a room here.”

  He rose. “Well, good to see you again,” he said and sounded like he meant it. “By the way, where are you now? You work out of town, right?”

  “Nope,” she said, her body tensing at the question. Harriet picked up her wineglass and finished it, quaffing the scant remaining drops. “Came back a few weeks ago. I’m going to be working at Colyard and Borden come bright and early Monday morning.”

  “Congratulations. But you don’t sound too happy about it,” Goose observed and sat down again.

  “I am—or will be, I guess.” She knew that required an explanation, because he just sat there awkwardly. “My boyfriend was supposed to move back here with me and practice at the firm together. But he ditched me,” she said in a rush. Saying it faster made it seem like she was ripping off a bandage. Do it quick and get it over with. That’s how she’d been explaining Cameron’s absence when nosy people asked.

  “What an asshole.”

  “Yeah,” Harriet said in a choked voice, swallowing hard. “You could say that.”

  Harriet turned her face and bit her lip as Goose nudged her arm. “Hey, sorry. Wanna go get something to eat? Go over to The Windmill?”

  “In this getup?” Harriet turned back to him and gestured toward her dress. “Sounds like something I did after prom with half the senior class.”

  “Not what I did after prom,” Goose said, joining her laughter. “Not quite.”

  Harriet squinted at him, thinking he was crudely alluding to some sexual conquest, but then she remembered the incident. Only because it had nearly given her father, Charlton Hensley, the Craig County Schools Superintendent, a stroke.

  “Ah,” Goose said, pointing at her. “You remember, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.” She started giggling in spite of herself.

  Why was she hanging out with Goose? And how had he gotten her to laugh?

  “I swear on my granny’s grave,” he said, holding up one hand and placing the other squarely in the middle of his chest, “that I did not know that thing was a skunk.”

  She laughed but quickly became serious and skeptical. “You got a dead grandma?”

  He blinked a few times. “Well, yeah. Why would l lie about that?”

  “Sorry. My trust reserves are running rather catastrophically low, as you can imagine,” she said, returning to her snarky-sad demeanor.

  “Fair enough,” he allowed. “But it’s true. I thought it was a groundhog.”

  “Just how drunk were you?”

  Goose’s antics had become the stuff of high school legend. He and a couple of friends had nabbed a few buses from the county bus lot, parked them in front of the high school, toilet papered them, and put a dog in one of them, a cat in another, and a skunk in the last. And while the dog and the cat buses suffered considerable damage from the trapped animals’ excretions, clawings, and chewings, the bus with the skunk was declared unsalvageable. The stench was just too great; students refused to board it, and drivers hated it. Two drivers had reportedly gotten into a fistfight over who was supposed to drive the bus one school morning, making a number of students late and a lot of parents unhappy. Harriet remembered her father cursing and yelling over the phone about the debacle. During a lunch break one day in junior high, she’
d gone to see him in his office (on the large high school campus), and he’d been shouting words such as “coverage” and “deductibles” and the like. She had been a smart kid and thought it had something to do with one of their family cars, and had actually started to cry, thinking that someone had been in an accident.

  “Probably the drunkest I ever was in my life,” Goose admitted with nostalgic admiration in his voice, “and that’s saying something. I still don’t understand how we got those buses there.”

  “I don’t understand how the skunk didn’t spray you—or did it?”

  “Nope. I escaped unscathed.”

  “My dad wanted your head on a plate, you know.”

  But there was no way her father would’ve ever received that prize. Not when the delinquent you loved to hate’s father was Fuzzy Davenport, the Craig County Sheriff.

  “My dad nearly got it, but for himself,” Goose admitted and ran a hand through his unkempt black hair. “You have any idea how long it took me to pay that restitution?”

  Harriet sat up. The silk scarf slipped from her shoulders, and she saw him take a peek at her cleavage.

  “I never knew you got prosecuted.”

  “I didn’t get prosecuted,” Goose said a little angrily. “But I still paid restitution.”

  “Oh, I see,” Harriet said, embarrassed at her presumption that Goose had suffered no serious consequences for his conduct.

  “Well, if you don’t want to go to The Windmill, why not get something here?” he suggested. “I’m starving. All that finger food at the reception did nothing for me. I need some real grub.”

  Harriet shifted in her seat, uncomfortable but not because she was cold. Goose Davenport had the worst reputation in Craig County. And they were alone, and he was being awfully nice to her. She was pretty sure she knew what he wanted.

  “Look, I won’t bite,” he said, clearly sensing her wariness. “Unless you want me to,” he added with a leer.

  He was far from harmless. But she wasn’t scared of him either. It was just too bad that he wasn’t from out of town. If he had been, and had been more or less a stranger to her, she’d be taking him back to her room right now for the very adult playtime her body, mind, and soul desperately needed.