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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  His mind drifted back to that instant when Harriet had stood before him nude for the first time. He had not been looking at that same person he’d driven in the Miss BourbonDaze parade. That person had been a mere girl. But in that moment before the bed and in the light of the lamp, he had seen a woman. Her breasts were full, her hips round, and the curve of her mouth had a certain sultry quality that was not attached to the innocent or naïve.

  He’d wanted to ask her more about this guy who had dumped her so he could go and buy the man a beer before he beat the shit out of him. He’d thank him for setting Harriet free so he could have the pleasure of her company and body that night—and hopefully beyond. Then he’d punch the guy so hard he’d wake up in the next time zone because the fucker had broken Harriet’s heart.

  Damn, when could he see her again? How? Should he text her? Was this how a crush felt? Or just what the hell was he feeling?

  All these things were running through his head as he crossed the street from the sheriff’s office and went to the Craig County Courthouse that morning. He’d been assigned to bailiff duty—again. His dad liked him to do that kind of work, which was actually fun and rather easy. But Goose thought his dad wanted him in the courthouse to keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble, and that plan generally worked. The worst Goose could do was go flirt with some of the deputy circuit court clerks on the second floor and maybe even try his hand from time to time at charming CiCi. She rarely gave him the time of day, and he really wasn’t attracted to her, although that hair of hers was something else. Although younger than him, CiCi knew his background; her favorite thing to throw at him was that he was a “loveable rogue.” It was a phrase he liked. But he hadn’t found a woman yet that had seen him as her loveable rogue.

  Maybe he’d see Harriet in the courthouse that day, Goose thought as he passed through the front doors and made his way upstairs to the third floor courtroom. Would she manage to get over to the courthouse on her first day on the new job?

  * * *

  “Okay, time to go and meet the most important people in the legal system in this county,” Jon declared. He’d knocked on Harriet’s office door, not waited for an answer, and simply entered without permission.

  Harriet hadn’t been doing anything other than looking out the window at the backyard, but she still somehow felt guilty for her daydreaming. She could feel herself redden; for the past five minutes, she’d been thinking about Goose and their night together.

  What had turned out to be their only night together, she was starting to accept with regret.

  It hadn’t helped her mood when Bruce had called her after Fuzzy had left and apologized for dumping the client on her. “I know he’s going to be a lot of work, but you’re so uniquely qualified for this representation, Harriet. But if you need help dealing with him or that crazy son of his, let me know. They’re both going to be hard to handle.” He ended the call, and she’d hung up not knowing whether to laugh or cry at her boss’s assessment.

  She pulled her purse from underneath her desk. “Where are we going?”

  “Can’t you guess?” When she gave him a blank look, he shook his head disgustedly. “The clerk’s office, of course,” he told her as she stood. “If you remember nothing about this day, remember this: rule number one in practicing law is that you always be nice to the clerks. Always. They can be your best friend or your worst enemy, and it all depends on how you treat them.”

  “Be nice to them, got it.”

  “Well, by treat them, I meant that in more than one way,” Jon said. “Time to go make a great first impression.”

  “Sounds like you have something in mind.” They exited her office and descended to the first floor on the back stairs.

  “I do, something I wish I’d done when I first came to work here. But you can be the beneficiary of my experience.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were in the clerk’s office, and Harriet was everyone’s new best friend.

  “Oooh!” CiCi cried as Harriet handed her a plump white bag filled with bourbon balls from Over a Barrel.

  Jon looked at Harriet, grinned and nodded, the message unmistakably clear. Told you so.

  All the other clerks had congregated with CiCi Summers, the elected Craig County Circuit Court Clerk, at the filing counter to grab one of the treats. In the process, Harriet got introduced to every one of them, and they got to see the newest attorney in town.

  The lovely new attorney who’d been smart and nice enough to bring them the best bourbon balls in Bourbon Springs (well, except for Emma Davenport’s confections, but those were hard to come by). They would remember this moment and that she’d been nice to them.

  That was the best first impression she could have ever made.

  “Come back any time!” CiCi cried as Jon and Harriet left the clerk’s office for the third-floor courtroom.

  “You’ve just made friends for life,” Jon told her.

  “Thanks to you. What a clever idea! How’d you think of that?”

  “Heard them once talking about how much they love those bourbon balls. Just filed the idea away.”

  “I have a feeling you’ve done that before,” she said as Jon put his hand on the courtroom door.

  “Christmas. Gave them each a little stash. They love me. Donuts work well too.”

  They entered the courtroom to observe Judge McDowell on the bench. Harriet knew him; her family and the McDowells had been friends forever. But she hadn’t seen him since her Bourbon Springs return, and she’d never seen him on the bench.

  Jon had told her on the walk to the courthouse that it would be a good idea for her to simply sit and observe court, see how things were run, and eyeball the various attorneys and court staff.

  It was criminal motion hour, and prisoners were being brought in and out of the courtroom in their lovely orange jumpsuits, nattily accessorized by handcuffs and leg chains. They shuffled into the room and stood with their attorney at the front before the judge. Harriet recognized the lawyers, as they were locals she knew from growing up in Bourbon Springs: Brady Craft was the assistant prosecutor, and Rachel Richards was the public defender working that day. They were a little older than her, so she hadn’t gone to school with them, but she still recalled Rachel from some volunteer work she’d done around town, and she knew Brady because he’d lived in her neighborhood when she’d been growing up.

  But for two people who allegedly knew each other, Rachel and Brady were fighting like cats and dogs over what seemed to be some minor point of criminal law. The judge eventually agreed with Rachel, and Harriet got to see the smug reaction on Rachel’s face as she turned from the bench. Harriet also saw Brady trying to hide his frustration with Rachel—and he was doing a poor job, considering he returned to counsel table and threw down a pen in apparent exasperation.

  Harriet was enjoying this little soap operaish spectacle when her viewing pleasure was interrupted by Goose striding into the room alongside a prisoner.

  He didn’t see her at first—he was making sure the prisoner was secured—and she watched him as he crossed the courtroom and in front of Judge McDowell to deliver his orange-clad and restrained charge. He then returned to a door at the far left and took up his post, gripping his belt and looking straight ahead.

  Goose looked hot in that brown-and-tan uniform. His well-developed arms were bare under short sleeves, and his waist was tapered above powerful legs. He projected an image of muscle and calm as he stood by the courtroom door.

  It was the first time she’d seen him since they’d parted on Sunday morning.

  And at that time, they’d shared expectations of what would happen next between them. Happy and hopeful expectations.

  All that had changed over the course of that Monday morning.

  But Goose didn’t know that yet.

  Harriet dropped her eyes to her lap, unable to look at him, knowing if she locked eyes with him it would be difficult to look away. She wanted to leave, but she also knew that
eventually she was going to have to tell him she couldn’t see him again.

  And she couldn’t even tell him why.

  Her ethical obligations prevented her from telling Goose that she was representing her father. Although that would eventually become public and Goose would know with the rest of the world, the fact that Fuzzy had hired her firm was not yet known. And the ethics rules said she couldn’t tell.

  She certainly could never tell Goose what his father had said about him wanting the sheriff’s position and the fear she had seen in Fuzzy when he’d been talking about that sensitive subject.

  And she couldn’t tell Goose what his father had revealed about the number of women Goose had been with.

  It was the worst-case scenario for the demise of their incipient relationship. She was dumping him and couldn’t give any reasons.

  So he’d be left to assume she thought the worst of him, that she’d had second thoughts, and that she’d regretted making love to him.

  But while his father’s information had rattled her, Harriet still did not regret that night.

  She never would.

  * * *

  Why wouldn’t she look at him?

  Goose spotted Harriet sitting next to Jon Buckler in the courtroom and wondered what the hell was going on.

  He guessed she was there getting shown the ropes by Jon; nothing unusual in that since he knew it was Harriet’s first day at the new job. Goose had seen other new attorneys—granted, those were few and far between in Bourbon Springs—come and watch court proceedings when they were newbie lawyers.

  He kept glancing at her, trying to catch her eye, but Harriet’s gaze remained on the proceedings before her. Not a sideways glance or quick look as her eyes roamed around the entire courtroom. It was like he was invisible to her.

  Maybe she was just being professional. That’s what he hoped.

  But not to even throw a little look his way? To acknowledge his existence?

  His ego wanted to believe she just couldn’t handle looking at him, knowing what they’d been up to in those hot, steamy hours of early Sunday morning.

  But he told his ego to shut the fuck up.

  Because he knew something wasn’t right.

  Then the knowledge hit him so hard it made his chest hurt.

  She was going to break his heart.

  * * *

  “I’m supposed to take you out to lunch on your first day,” Jon said as they left the courtroom after motion hour. “Bruce and Joe have an afternoon tee time at The Cooperage,” he explained, referencing the other partner, Joe Borden. Harriet had been introduced to him during her interview and understood he was semi-retired.

  Criminal motion hour was over and the courtroom was disgorging its human occupants. The prisoners were gone, and the crowd pushed out of the space and into the hallway on the third floor. Instead of waiting on the elevator, Jon and Harriet took the stairs down.

  “Where to?” she asked. “Back to Over a Barrel? I love that place.”

  Over a Barrel had been a fixture on Main Street for well over twenty years and had entered legendary territory as far as residents and tourists were concerned.

  “No, let’s really live it up and go to The Rickhouse.”

  “But that place is a lot more expensive and will take longer too.”

  “The firm’s paying for it, and the partners are away. Perfect opportunity to enjoy ourselves,” Jon reasoned.

  If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought Jon was trying to make a move on her. But Jon had just come off a divorce which, according to what her mother had told her, had not been particularly amicable. There hadn’t been a lot of assets or even kids to fight over, but Jon’s one-year marriage to his wife, Leigh, had apparently dissolved in a spate of accusations and denials that he was really in love with Pepper Montrose, his best friend since middle school. The rumor had shocked Harriet; she’d never seen or suspected anything other than a platonic relationship between those two when they’d all been growing up together in Bourbon Springs.

  They had almost gotten outside when Jon uttered a mild curse and stopped just outside the sheriff’s station at the front doors. Harriet looked around nervously, wondering whether Goose happened to be nearby, but he wasn’t.

  “I need to go back up to the clerk’s office to check a record before we leave. Meant to do that earlier when we were up there. Sorry I forgot,” Jon said.

  Harriet told him that she’d wait for him around the side of the courthouse at the doughboy statue. He urged her to go on to the restaurant, but she declined.

  “Too pretty today to go back inside,” she insisted.

  Harriet found the bench she had expected, remembering the site from the day she had come to interview with the firm. She had seen the spot as she and Cameron had driven around the courthouse square, checking out the lay of the land. After their interviews, Harriet had wanted to get takeout from Over a Barrel and eat on the benches, but Cameron had claimed his allergies were bothering him and insisted on eating indoors.

  Dutch irises around the statue’s base were in full, lush bloom, and there were several terra-cotta pots filled with spicy-smelling white and purple petunias. She sat on one of the benches in front of a tall cedar and enjoyed a strong whiff of the tree’s spicy aroma.

  Harriet took out her phone and checked her personal e-mail and looked up the weather for the next few days. She didn’t hear Goose until he spoke.

  “Hey there.”

  His voice was so startling she dropped her phone, and it hit the brick-paved patio with a sick clattering.

  “Oh, sorry.” He at once moved to retrieve her phone. “No harm done on the outside,” he said, turning the device over in his hands before handing it to her.

  “Thanks.” She took the phone without looking at him and remained seated.

  He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “First day going well?”

  “Yes, yes, fine,” she nodded.

  Didn’t he have anywhere else to be? Wasn’t he on duty?

  “So,” he said, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “When would you like that home-cooked meal I promised you?”

  She swallowed. “I—um—I’m not sure,” she hedged, eyes on the ground.

  After a long pause followed by a sigh, he spoke.

  “We’re not gonna have a next, are we, Harriet?”

  She turned to him. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. She looked down at her lap and the phone she was clutching in one hand.

  “Do I get a reason?”

  She couldn’t say anything, not even wait and see or you’ll understand.

  Trust—the trust between client and attorney—was part of the price of keeping her law license. And trust meant keeping her mouth shut.

  And as much as she was hurting for herself and for Goose, she would not give that up, put her law license within the parameters of professional peril just to make Goose feel better at that moment by offering some lame explanation.

  Goose turned and walked back to the courthouse without saying another word to her. Harriet was near tears.

  For the next five minutes, she sat alone, wondering whether she should go after him. But what to say? I can’t tell you anything, and I’m sorry? I hate this, but it’s for the best?

  She’d almost convinced herself to do such a foolish thing when she saw Jon exiting the front doors of the courthouse with another man. They were happily chatting and heading straight for her.

  “I found a friend,” Jon explained and slapped the guy on the back.

  She was introduced to Mark Childers, another attorney and college buddy of Jon.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Mark said.

  They shook hands, and Jon suggested they all go to lunch together.

  “So,” Mark began as he turned to her as they began to walk north on Main Street, “are you from Bourbon Springs?”

  7

  The present day…

  It was a good thing Harriet had come to love Hannah and Lila lik
e sisters, because if anyone else had asked her to work with Goose Davenport, she would have laughed in her face. Or maybe cursed.

  But their request for help in getting Old Garnet designated as a National Historic Landmark was not something she could refuse, nor did she really want to. The project was important not only to the distillery but to the entire town and region. While tourism in the area was already great, having that extra designation for Old Garnet could only make a good situation even better.

  It was the part about working with Goose that was going to be the problem.

  No one knew about that problem except for Goose and herself.

  Because in the past five years, he hadn’t breathed a word of what had passed between them that hot spring night in her room at The Cooperage. The only two people in Bourbon Springs who knew they’d been lovers were the lovers themselves.

  Harriet had been terrified Goose would brag and her reputation ruined right as she returned home to practice law. But she figured he’d kept his mouth shut because he discovered shortly after she’d broken it off (whatever “it” had been between them—they’d only had one night together) that his father was being audited and she was one of the attorneys representing not-so-dear-old-dad. Not wanting to make a bad situation worse (and it was bad, the deeper she’d gotten into that case), Goose had kept his silence. He had even kept his silence after the audit and after Fuzzy had lost the election to Kyle Sammons.

  That was something Harriet still couldn’t understand. Saying nary a peep during the audit made sense because of his father’s precarious legal situation—but not after, knowing Goose’s reputation and penchant for braggadocio.

  But she wasn’t going to look a gift horse (or goose) in the mouth and ask him outright. Not going to go there. Ever. That was the past, and not going to drag it up.

  She was on her way to Old Garnet on an exquisitely gorgeous mid-October Friday morning. The sky was a solid robin’s-egg blue, and the sun’s warmth and light were completely unobscured by even the slightest trace of a high cloud. It was nearing the peak of fall color, and Harriet felt honored to witness the explosion of hues in the trees lining the roads and trailing over hills and embankments. The wind kicked up, and Harriet drove through a tunnel of golden, glittering leaves as they were roughly plucked from the trees and cascaded onto Ashbrooke Pike at the distillery entrance.