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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “They got along well enough for the next ten years or so. With his money from the sale, Parker opened a dry goods store in downtown Bourbon Springs and prospered. I think there might have been some lingering resentment between the brothers because Parker hadn’t expected George to be able to get that medicinal license. But he’d made his bargain and had to live with it.”

  “But problems developed?”

  “Yeah, for everyone. The Great Depression. Parker’s store failed, and what little money he’d invested in the stock market he lost in the crash. Suddenly, he was nearly destitute. Parker had to move in with his son, Elijah—he was my granddaddy—because Parker lost his home. It was hard times.”

  “But how did they make ends meet?”

  “You saw how. The still on the island. They were moonshiners. That’s the only way they had to survive—because a Davenport knows how to make it. It’s in our blood.”

  That’s why the still site was so important to Goose. It was part of his own family, his side of the family, a sacred tether between the past and the present that proclaimed survival and endurance even in the harshest and worst of times.

  “Elijah told me that Parker had to go begging to George for a site. George refused, saying that if the government found out, he’d be ruined too. But George finally relented because Parker had nothing and his family was essentially starving. Elijah only made a little money working odd jobs on farms, and Parker couldn’t do manual labor at his age. So the brothers both went out on the property and chose that site together. Do you know why they picked it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you notice that large stand of pines and cedars we had to go around to get to the creek?”

  Harriet thought for a moment. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Know what’s so special about that?”

  “No idea.”

  “They don’t lose their needles or leaves.”

  “So you’re saying it provided a good screen from prying eyes?”

  “Yes, but not just in the way you’re thinking. The needles don’t drop, so that’s good if you’re trying to hide something. But since the needles don’t drop, you also don’t see the bare branches on trees like that, like you do on a deciduous tree in the cold weather. So you don’t see the mold. And the feds look for that when they go out looking for illegal stills. They look for those black spots, the blackened tree trunks and branches and limbs. Helps them pinpoint those stills when they’re out in the middle of nowhere following up on a hunch or a lead.”

  She finally clued in to what he was talking about and realized the brilliance in the choice of site.

  With all the warmth and moisture in the air around a distillery, a common mold tended to flourish and blacken the sides of buildings. She knew that was why a lot of rickhouses, including some on the Old Garnet grounds, were painted black, to hide the somewhat unsightly spots and streaks.

  “They had to pick a site far away from the distillery itself so that if they did get discovered, George could be in a position of plausible deniability. He insisted on that. But putting the site at such a distance from the distillery itself made it less explainable as to why the mold was all over a certain area of the woods.”

  “Clever men.”

  “They did what they had to do.”

  “When did the still shut down?”

  “When Elijah got elected to the state legislature,” Goose said and laughed. “Suddenly he was all respectable, and it wouldn’t do if a state lawmaker got caught making shine. By that time, Parker was dead. Didn’t get to see his son elected,” he said a little wistfully. “This was years before I was born, of course. Heard all this through Elijah. My dad never told me these stories, but I’ve never been sure that Elijah told him about this stuff.”

  She reached for Goose’s hand. “You were close to your grandfather?”

  “Yes, closer to him than I ever was to my dad.”

  “He eventually stopped making shine?”

  “Hell, no. He just stopped using the site on the distillery grounds, so the business stopped.” Goose said. “Elijah had a still out at our farm—he moved in with us in his later years. Mom loved him but hated that still. My dad tolerated it and said not to breathe a word about it to anyone. Elijah used to make some shine for himself and friends. Kept him happy and busy and put a little money in his pocket. It was really small, nothing like his operation on the island, from what he told me.”

  “I don’t understand why Parker and Elijah didn’t go to work at the distillery,” Harriet said.

  “Pride,” Goose said. “Parker was mad at the whole world when he lost his shirt in the stock market and saw George doing well. I’m not sure whether George even offered him a job, to tell you the truth. But there was decent money in shine. How do you think Elijah got elected? Had some money to grease hands, line the pockets of the law, keep the judges happy, and make connections all over this county and beyond. I mean, he didn’t make money like George and that side of the family, but he did all right for himself, eventually. That’s how he got elected. And then my dad sort of followed in his footsteps—into politics.”

  “Have you made shine?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah, with the old man—Elijah, that is,” Goose clarified. “Great memories. Had his still along that little creek on our farm. I wasn’t even eighteen when he finally asked me to help him and gave me my first taste. He was past ninety by then, but still had the touch. I can still remember that day. It was cold, really cold for December, and close to Christmas. Elijah was making a batch for the holidays, he said. Said people liked it a hell of a lot better than fruitcake!”

  “What did it taste like? Do you remember?”

  Goose nodded and smiled. “I remember everything. The fire on my tongue. The sharp cold of a cloudless December sky. My grandfather’s wheezy belly laugh and the bright stiffness of his new denim overalls. The tangy aroma of ash and fire, mash and sweat. It’s one of the most vivid, important memories of my life.”

  Harriet studied Goose’s face as he was lost in his memories of family, time, and place. It was the face of a man who loved and honored his past. That was why he was so keen to preserve the Old Garnet grounds. Because even though the land hadn’t legally been part of his side of the family for decades, his roots and love were still firmly affixed in that sacred Kentucky soil.

  “So did Fuzzy and Cass get along?” she asked.

  Goose shrugged. “I guess so. I never saw them argue, get angry at each other. I did hear stories that Elijah and Booker didn’t like each other—Booker was Bo and Hannah’s grandfather and George’s son. But as far as my dad and Cass, I was around them a lot and never saw anything bad between them. Cass was good enough to throw fundraisers and events for my dad at the distillery when he was running for office. But there was always a tension there. I did hear my dad say from time to time that it was the least Cass could do for him, considering the history of the family. And I also heard Dad grumble that he never got much Garnet from Cass. I guess he meant Garnet of the free variety.”

  “You’ve never shared any of this with Hannah or Bo, have you?”

  “No.” He brushed her hair from her shoulders and face. “Hannah never believed in the still until we came back with proof.”

  “Why did you finally go to work for them?”

  “Tired of being a cop, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “I knew I’d never be sheriff, and I knew I’d never make police chief in Bourbon Springs. So I looked at my options when Bo made me an offer. And he had balls to do it too. I wasn’t exactly on the best of terms with Hannah back then—and that was all my fault. I was still mad at Kyle for winning the election. But I apologized to her, and now it’s great. We’re closer than we ever were.”

  Yet he wasn’t close enough to tell them about these family memories and tales. That bothered her because she could sense that at the core of these stories was something that should be shared.

  Pain.

  There was a hug
e sense of loss—not just money—at the heart of this account. Two brothers, two families, parted by money, luck, and pride. She knew the pain was still there, even though Goose was happy working with Bo and Hannah.

  She knew it from how he sneered just a little when he talked about Hannah being dubious of the old still’s existence.

  And because Goose was hesitant to share something as simple as a family ice cream recipe. While perhaps in more recent years the treat had been flavored with Old Garnet, Harriet had no doubt that the ice cream had originally been flavored with moonshine.

  “I’m sorry for such a long explanation, he said, “but I wanted you to understand where I come from. Where my family comes from.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said and kissed him. “But I really think you should tell your cousins. I’m sure they’d love to know more about this family history.”

  “Maybe,” he said, but she could tell he had just rejected her suggestion.

  Then that little voice of her lawyerly conscience started to nag her: shouldn’t your clients know about all this? What will you do?

  She had no answer.

  * * *

  Up until approximately three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, Harriet’s weekend had been nothing short of perfect. She’d even gotten over the whole tire-slashing thing.

  She and Goose had enjoyed another wonderful night together on Saturday, again at his place because it was more private. Their lovemaking was still passionate and a little crazy (the boots had made an encore appearance), but that night was also more tender than the previous encounters. A little slower, more relaxed and comfortable. The need was still there, but desperation had been replaced by trust and hope.

  Harriet fell asleep on Goose’s chest in the middle of the night and did not stir until she smelled bacon frying. He had cooked breakfast for her. Waffles with bourbon maple syrup and a big pile of bacon.

  She could definitely get used to that kind of treatment.

  When she had gone home in the early morning hours, she was about as happy as she could ever remember in her entire life.

  But then that afternoon she told her parents she was dating Goose Davenport.

  Her mother started crying, almost accusing Harriet of cheating on Mark since she’d started a relationship with Goose so quickly, despite her strong suspicions of Mark’s infidelity, not to mention how poorly he’d treated her toward the end of their relationship.

  Her father told her he couldn’t believe how such a smart woman could be so stupid.

  Stung and enraged by their reaction, Harriet stormed out of their home, unwilling to stay and be subjected to emotional and verbal abuse. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell them anything about Goose—what he did at the distillery, his cooking skills, and how he was involved in working on the projects to expand the historic site and get National Historic Landmark status.

  They just didn’t care.

  She called him after the debacle to report the bad news.

  “I guess I might as well keep those flasks of Center Cut,” he’d joked, but she could tell he was hurt.

  “You got Walker to get you some?”

  “I did. The flasks are locked in a small safe in my office as we speak. I wanted to keep them secure. I wanted your parents to have that bourbon.”

  “Oh, well. More for us,” she said, trying to make the situation a little better.

  “I’m sorry they treated you like that because of me, Harriet.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize. They chose their reaction. And this is how they are, I’m afraid to say. I should’ve expected the worst.”

  He invited Harriet over for dinner and whatever else might tickle her fancy, but she declined, telling him she had a hard week ahead.

  “And to tell you the truth, I think you’ve worn me out,” she admitted. “Not that I’m complaining,” she hastened to add.

  “Then rest up. We still have a lot of time to make up for, remember?”

  * * *

  The next week Harriet did find herself busy at work.

  And nervous.

  Everyone seemed to know she was seeing Goose. Word had gotten out, which wasn’t surprising. The secretaries chattered around her, and one finally asked whether it was true. When she confirmed the rumor, they grinned. She couldn’t tell whether it was pity or envy she saw on their faces.

  Jon was definitely avoiding her. She hoped he had replayed his “village idiot” comment in his head so many times that he wanted to turn in his law license and apply for the job of village idiot himself in Bourbon Springs. Harriet decided he would be perfect for the opening. He hadn’t bothered to come to her and apologize for his nastiness, and she had definitely taken note of that oversight.

  Bruce spoke to her, but in grunts and short sentences. At least he acknowledged her existence and stayed out of her way so she could get some work done. No lectures or tirades, which she had expected. But apparently the storm had passed that Saturday when Harriet had revealed the relationship.

  Although without a lot of distraction she was able to get a lot accomplished, one thing Harriet couldn’t seem to cross off her to-do list was to get the boundary issue settled. The property wonks at the state would not return her calls. She called every day through the week but kept getting someone’s voice mail. By the time she actually got to talk to a real person (she assumed it wasn’t a robot or a zombie, but that could’ve been a mistake on her part since the person’s voice sounded really creepy and unnatural) it was late Friday afternoon.

  “We’re still doing some research,” the man said in an unnaturally scratchy warble of a voice. “Sorry for not getting back to you. Been sick.”

  “That’s fine,” Harriet fibbed. “But do you know when you’ll be able to give us an answer? We really need to resolve this because the distillery has a pending application with the state to—”

  “Not sure when we’ll be able to tell you, but hopefully in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks?”

  “Sorry, best I can do.”

  She thanked him and ended the call, wondering how long it would take to get an answer.

  As much as she enjoyed the work on the history project, she also wanted it to be over so the cloud of a possible conflict of interest could be lifted. Harriet hadn’t forgotten Bruce’s words, and Goose’s story about the struggles within the Davenport family made her uneasy.

  She was barely on speaking terms with her parents. She called a few times during the week, playing the dutiful daughter, but her parents’ reticence produced short, tense phone calls which ended within a few minutes. Harriet was dreading Thanksgiving and hadn’t brought up the issue whether to invite Goose, expecting she’d get the call from her mother any day, just like every year, demanding Harriet bring a dish but making it abundantly clear Goose was not welcome at the Hensley family table. Harriet fantasized about skipping her parents’ meal altogether, knowing she’d much prefer Goose’s company—and she bet that any Thanksgiving meal he whipped up would put her mother’s cooking to shame.

  Goose had already mentioned that he and his mother had been invited to Hannah and Kyle’s for dinner on Thanksgiving, along with Bo and Lila. Harriet was well aware that this was the first Thanksgiving and holiday season Bo and Hannah would pass without their mother, Emma, who had died earlier in the year. So while Goose had promised he was sure Hannah and the others would love to have her at the dinner, she felt awkward about intruding. The day was likely to be tinged with the palpable edge of grief that was present when a loved one had recently passed. Apparently understanding her reluctance, Goose mentioned that Hannah had also invited CiCi and Walker, but they had declined, citing plans to pass the day with Walker’s family.

  Although work and dealing with her parents had been frustrating that week, Harriet’s evenings were wonderful. She’d never been much of a clock-watcher—no one waiting at home for her—but she noticed she was increasingly anxious to get out of the office and home. And as soon as
possible into Goose’s arms.

  They saw each other at least three times that week during the evening, and every time they ended up in bed together. He finally spent most of one night at her place, but they weren’t exactly the quiet, loving couple. The next morning as she was leaving to go to work, and long after Goose had left, one of her neighbors gave her a sly smile, which horrified her. So no more nights at her place, she decided as she strode north on Main Street to her office.

  Maybe it was time to start looking for a new place—or bestow ear plugs upon her neighbors.

  23

  Lila’s shower that Saturday was scheduled late, at five in the afternoon after all the tours and tastings were over. Harriet went early with CiCi and Walker to help set up the decorations and the food in the tasting room, and Goose arrived early as well to move the tables against the wall and out of their usual U-shaped formation.

  After the event, Goose was taking her over for dinner with his mother, Lucy. Harriet had become acquainted with Lucy during Fuzzy’s audit, but it had been a few years since they had spoken. Harriet was looking forward to seeing her again and a little nervous. She would be going to Lucy’s home as The Girlfriend, and not as someone’s attorney.

  There were more shower guests than Harriet had anticipated; Hannah had invited many of Lila’s friends and coworkers from the high school where Lila worked. As a result, they had to bring in more chairs to accommodate guests, including Rachel and Brady. Rachel was not quite eight months pregnant, but from the back one couldn’t even tell she was expecting.

  It was a happy and casual affair, with almost everyone dressed in jeans and sweaters. It was also quick. There weren’t many presents to open since the couple hadn’t requested much; Bo and Lila were merging two established households and needed very little in the way of worldly goods. Harriet sat with Goose and watched as the presents were opened, the best moment being when Lila received the last gift.