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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  Lila’s eyes widened when Hannah brought out a present hidden under the bar sink. Wrapped in garish colors, it stood out against the other discarded wrappings, which were nearly all white or creamy in hue.

  CiCi started laughing and was apparently in on the joke or at least knew what was in the box or perhaps whence it came.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Lila pushed the present back into Hannah’s hands.

  “Now, now,” Hannah chided and shoved the package back at Lila. “You only let us give you this one shower, Lila, so you really should’ve expected something like this. Count yourself lucky that CiCi didn’t get you something as well.”

  “What is it?” Bo asked.

  “Something for both of you,” Hannah said, grinning.

  The rectangular package rested on Lila’s lap, and she gingerly held it by the short edges.

  “I’m not getting out of here until I open it, am I?” Lila asked.

  “Not a chance,” CiCi said before Hannah could answer, causing the whole crowd to chuckle.

  Lila gave in and began to tear at the wrapping paper, a gaudy purple, as Bo helped her pull off the bow, a bright pink satin ribbon.

  Inside was a nest of golden tissue paper which Lila carefully and slowly peeled away until she revealed the item underneath.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  “Take it out and share with the rest of the class, Lila!” yelled one of her teacher friends.

  Bo got a peek at the item, smiled, and turned a little pink.

  Lila removed a shimmering red satin nightgown with spaghetti straps from the box and held it up for the crowd to see. There were appropriate oohs and ahhs from the guests as the delicate item was displayed. CiCi put a hand over her mouth and looked at Hannah and then Walker in turn. Hannah winked at CiCi as Walker gave his fiancée a kiss on the temple.

  “Hannah, I don’t know,” Goose said as he scrunched up his facial features, crossed his arms over his chest, and gazed at the nightgown. “I don’t think that will flatter Bo at all.”

  The room erupted into laughter, and as the merriment started to die down, Hannah thanked everyone for attending. Harriet and Goose immediately rose from their seats to start helping with the cleanup process and escort the other guests from the building. Goose went to the door of the tasting room to herd people out, and Harriet went to Hannah’s side toward the front of the room.

  “Your party’s next here, you know,” Hannah said as she put an arm around Rachel’s shoulders.

  “And not a moment too soon. So ready for this kid to get here,” Rachel said, placing a hand on her belly. “But promise me—no lingerie, okay?”

  “Deal. How about only diapers and burp cloths?” Hannah asked.

  “That’s what we’ll need for the foreseeable future,” Brady said, sounding weary already.

  After the guests were gone and the place locked up, Goose and Harriet hurried to Lucy Davenport’s small farm on the eastern edge of Bourbon Springs. According to Goose, Lucy was making meatloaf, a meal Harriet enjoyed. It would be a nice alternative to the turkey that was ubiquitously offered at that time of year.

  Harriet had been to Lucy’s house, but it had been years ago and only a few times. It looked pretty much the same, a small ranch home sitting back from the road in the middle of several mown and tended acres.

  “So very, very nice to see you again, honey,” Lucy gushed when Harriet arrived and pulled the younger woman into a tight hug. Although Lucy was waiflike in stature, her embrace was surprisingly strong.

  The company was pleasant, and the meal was wonderful.

  “Goose told me you taught him to cook,” Harriet said as she finished the last of her meatloaf. She looked at her plate in shame: she had licked the platter clean.

  “He’s a natural and loves it,” Lucy said as Goose started to clear the plates. Lucy watched as her son retreated to the kitchen, then turned, smiling, to Harriet. “I meant what I said, dear. It is good to see you.”

  Harriet saw how Goose got his quieter, sweeter nature from the woman at the table. She was such a contrast to her late husband, who had been brash and vulgar. Yet somehow they’d fallen in love and managed to stay married for decades.

  Harriet looked over her shoulder, sensing a chance to discover the truth about something that nagged her and about which she didn’t want to ask Goose.

  “How did Goose get his name?”

  “Which one?” Lucy shot back. “His real name or his nickname?”

  Harriet heard the clatter of dishes and running of water in the kitchen and knew she had plenty of time to hear these stories.

  “Both.”

  “Well, as far as his real name—Marvin—that was my daddy’s name,” Lucy said proudly and with a little smile. “I got to name him because Fuzzy didn’t want to name him after his dad.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “Strange, isn’t it? Man not wanting to name his only son after his father. But those two didn’t always get along—Fuzzy and Elijah.” Lucy explained who Elijah was, and Harriet said Goose had mentioned his grandfather to her. “They were very close. I really wish we’d named Goose for the old man. He was such a dear. Oh, well, water under the bridge and all that.”

  So Lucy had been willing to name her son Elijah instead of Marvin. Not the story Fuzzy had told her.

  But Harriet somehow knew Lucy was telling the truth. There was always that sense of regret and loss Goose had when he talked about his grandfather.

  And there was always the sense of dislike and contempt when Goose talked about his father.

  “Elijah was such a wonderful man!” Lucy continued. “Had his faults, that was for sure, but a good, good man. He had a huge heart. I used to love to listen to the stories he told about his father and his uncle. How they’d worked together but ended up fighting like cats and dogs after the distillery sale. Told me one story about how old Parker went to George and asked for a job, and George said he’d think about it. Well, that didn’t sit right with Parker. Thought his brother should help him out, of course. They got into a fight about it in a rickhouse! Elijah saw the whole thing. Parker had taken him along that day.”

  Goose hadn’t related this story to her. He’d made it sound as though Parker had been too proud to ask. But pride apparently had gone both ways: George didn’t want to help his brother other than giving him a remote spot to make moonshine. Out of sight, out of mind.

  “Now, as to the nickname, that’s easy enough,” Lucy continued without prompting. “Goose had a pet gosling when he was a little boy. Raised the thing, played with it. Was crushed when it died.” Lucy saw confusion on Harriet’s face. “Heard a different explanation, I take it?” she asked.

  But Harriet couldn’t answer. Because she’d heard Fuzzy’s explanation, and he’d been a client. And the duty of confidentiality survived the grave.

  “That man,” Lucy hissed, and shook her head. “Fuzzy did love to tell tales about Goose chasing the ducks and geese all the time. But what kid on a farm wouldn’t do that?” she asked in exasperated amusement. “Saw Bo and Hannah do it a few times, but you never hear tales about that, do you? They were out here sometimes—not a lot—when they were kids, and they chased all kinds of critters everywhere, including ducks and geese.”

  So Fuzzy had not been the most reliable informant when it came to his own son. Harriet shouldn’t have been surprised, considering what she had learned about the man during her representation of him. But to know he would make misrepresentations about his own child—such mean little lies—was disturbing. There had been a rift between father and son—just as there had been a rift between Elijah and Fuzzy. Harriet was not prepared to believe the same dynamics were at work in the disruption of both relationships, except for one thing: the common factor of Fuzzy.

  He had been unable to have a decent relationship with his father or his son, although he’d managed to find himself a very patient woman. His nastiness had eventually caught up with him when the voters kicked him
out of office, but he had gone around blaming others (namely, Kyle Sammons) for his plight.

  “Now, your name, dear,” Lucy said, bringing Harriet out of her thoughts. “So lovely and old fashioned. One never hears it anymore.”

  “I was the only Harriet in my class, that’s for sure,” she said with a smile. “Although I’ll have to admit that sometimes I think it’s a little boring.”

  “And I happen to know you’re nothing of the sort,” Goose announced as he returned from the kitchen with a tray laden with plates and a cake.

  Harriet bit her lip, hoping Goose’s mother didn’t read too much into his comment, and avoided looking at her.

  “Exactly!” Lucy agreed and patted Harriet on the shoulder. “You’re a charmer, girl. Where have you been keeping her, Goose?”

  Goose explained that they’d only recently started seeing each other and that they were working on the history project together.

  “You’ll love this,” Goose promised as he placed a piece of cake in front of Harriet. “Garnet jam cake.”

  “Family recipe?” she asked and looked directly at him.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  It was very good, very heavy on the bourbon. Spicy, thick with nuts and fruits, but sweeter than traditional fruitcake, and covered in a generous layer of hard caramel frosting. Harriet wondered how many family recipes they had that they hadn’t shared with the wider world. These people should open a restaurant or at least consider going into partnership with Over a Barrel or sell their wares at the café at the distillery.

  As they ate, Harriet felt her phone in her pocket vibrate but ignored the invitation to pull it out and check the identity of the caller. She wasn’t about to whip out her phone at the table during her first trip to Lucy’s house as the object of Goose’s affections. She doubted it was anyone important since her parents were still giving her the cold shoulder and any client matter could wait.

  Harriet offered to help clean up, but both Lucy and Goose would hear none of it. She was briefly left alone at the table while Goose went to the kitchen and Lucy excused herself to the restroom. Harriet stood, walked to a corner of the room, and pulled out her phone, mildly curious about the call.

  When she saw the number, she was shocked.

  It had been her parents.

  And when she heard the message, she was livid.

  “Harriet, not sure why you won’t answer, but thought we’d tell you that since you hadn’t mentioned anything lately about Thanksgiving we assumed you’d gone ahead and made other plans,” her mother said. “Just wanted to say we got tired of waiting to hear from you and have decided to go out of town tomorrow for the holiday. We’ll be back early next week. Take care and call when you can spare the time.”

  Harriet dropped the phone from her ear and looked at it, stunned and angry.

  It was the most passive-aggressive thing she’d ever heard in her life.

  The subtle blaming for lack of communication, the martyrdom thing, the we’re-going-to-do-what-we-want ending.

  It reminded her a lot of how Mark had treated her.

  Harriet slipped the phone into her pocket and went to the kitchen.

  “Can we call Hannah?” she asked Goose.

  “Why?” he asked as he closed the refrigerator door.

  “Because if the invitation is still open, she’s going to have one more guest for Thanksgiving dinner.” She explained the call from her parents.

  Goose assured her Hannah would love to have another guest, and especially her.

  After coffee and conversation with Lucy, Goose took Harriet home.

  “Can you stay for a bit?” she asked as they entered her condo.

  “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

  For the next several minutes, Harriet cried into Goose’s chest as they cuddled together on the couch. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back, trying to comfort her as she wept out her frustrations onto his shirt.

  “Why are they like that, Harriet?” he finally asked.

  “I’ve asked myself the same question a million times,” she replied, her head still on his chest. “I don’t know. I think some of it has to be that I’m their only child. They have certain expectations of me—expectations which I’ve failed to meet.”

  Goose tilted her face up and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “What more could anyone want? You’re a successful, beautiful woman.”

  “I think they’re disappointed I’m not married. They weren’t even happy for me when I made partner at the firm. Said it should’ve happened years ago. Also, when I was with Mark, they were always making snide comments about him, even though now my breakup with him is the worst thing ever in their book. It’s like nothing I do is the right thing. Everything, all my life, second-guessed. From the color of my Miss BourbonDaze dress to my major in college.”

  “So I’m just the next wrong thing?” he asked, half jokingly.

  Harriet moved closer to him. “To them, but definitely not to me.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He responded immediately and gently pushed Harriet onto her back on the couch.

  Goose slowly slipped his hands under Harriet’s sweater, and she sensed he was waiting for her to tell him to stop or pull away.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she wrapped her free leg around him and pushed him into her crotch. Harriet felt need at that moment like she’d rarely known and knew the source of her comfort and relief was in her arms.

  “I thought we weren’t going to go down this road again at your condo,” he whispered against her temple. His hands had moved to the front of her bra, where he found the clasp ready to pop open.

  She was breathing in quick, shallow breaths, almost like she was crying. “I need this,” she whispered and moved until her lips were barely touching his. “I need you.”

  The clasp seemed to open of its own free will beneath the slightest touch of his fingers. Her bra fell away from her breasts, and his hands were there, strong and soothing, cradling and caressing. Harriet’s head fell back against the seat of the couch as he worshipped her, and she lost herself to his touch, to him.

  Then suddenly his hands were gone and his arms were underneath her.

  “Not here.” He easily scooped her up from the couch. “You need more than a bang on the couch.”

  Harriet snuggled against him during the short trip from her sitting room to her bedroom, relishing the feel of being captured and cared for by him just in that small span of time.

  24

  Harriet had never thought of Thanksgiving as a particularly fun holiday. To her, it had always been a day of unavoidable familial obligation and was best soon forgotten. Her parents’ meals were adequate, their company stiff. Sometimes a cousin or aunt and uncle from Louisville would join them for dinner, but that was the exception. Usually, it was only the three of them. It was miserably tedious, and she usually ended the boredom by falling asleep in her room for an extended nap rather than watch football or anything else on TV.

  Not knowing what to expect, Harriet originally had dressed in khakis and a nice red sweatshirt. She seemed to be wearing more deep red lately, a subconscious nod to her client’s favorite color, garnet.

  When Goose arrived to pick her up, he disapproved of her attire.

  “What the hell’s that?” he said when he saw Harriet standing in front of him, coat on, holding a pan of corn pudding. Harriet thought she should bring a dish, and looked at the rectangular pan in front of her.

  “What’s wrong with bringing a dish?” she protested.

  “No, not that—although you didn’t need to do it. I’m talking about your clothes. Go put on some jeans.”

  “You’re telling me khakis are too dressy?”

  “Exactly. Go change.”

  “What? I’m ready to go!”

  “Hannah gave me specific instructions about not dressing up. And I’m not going to run afoul of her.”

  They argued, but Harriet relented an
d changed into jeans. She was put out the entire trip to pick up Lucy and all the way to Hannah and Kyle’s, but soon after they arrived she understood the necessity for less-dressy garb.

  Hannah greeted them at the door in jeans and a very old University of Kentucky sweatshirt. She looked like she was ready to go tailgating rather than for a big Thanksgiving meal.

  Hannah ushered them in, chided Harriet for bringing a dish, and told them to get outside with the other guests. After greeting Hannah, who eschewed offers of kitchen assistance, Lucy took a seat on the couch next to Kyle’s father.

  Goose and Harriet made their way outside, where they found Bo, Lila, Kyle, CiCi, and Walker all playing various games. Lila and Kyle were playing horseshoes, Bo and Walker were tossing a football between them, and CiCi was playing what was arguably the worst game of cornhole in the history of the universe. She missed every time, by a wide margin, even though standing ridiculously close to the board.

  “Where do we fit in?” Harriet asked as they descended from the porch into the wide backyard, which sloped down to Old Crow Creek. The day was perfect for almost any outdoor activity in late fall: clear, windless, and unseasonably warm.

  “Anywhere we want,” he said and headed toward Bo and Walker.

  Seeing CiCi alone, Harriet went over and played cornhole with her. She tried to give CiCi some pointers, but to no avail. Girl had no game, admitted as much, and gave up despite Harriet urging her on. The two women retreated indoors while the others continued to toss the football. They stopped briefly on the screened-in porch overlooking the backyard to watch the others below.

  “Glad you’re here,” Harriet said. “Thought you’d be off to Walker’s family, from what Goose mentioned.”

  “We’re going later today, not eating here,” said CiCi. “Walker and I don’t have any family in town except the people here, so we didn’t want to skip this today.”