by Meg Benjamin
Wyatt nodded slowly. A legendary beer, whispered about from beer nut to beer nut. He could serve up a beer dinner for the ages, and the Red Wolf couldn’t come close to anything like it. People would be signing up weeks in advance. And talking about it for weeks afterward. And mentioning Quaff when they did.
It looked like he had a trip to Antero in his future. He nodded at Dudley. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll look into it.”
Dudley gave him another of those dry smiles. “Happy hunting.”
Yes, indeed. A-hunting we will go.
Chapter Two
Wyatt took a good look around the Black Mountain Tavern. If this was the center of the craft beer scene in Antero, he wasn’t impressed. But Dudley had said this was where the beer dinner with the Zoria had been held, so somebody here might have some information about Antero Brewing. He had to start somewhere.
A waitress plopped down a coaster in front of him. “What’ll you have?”
He peered at the beer list on the wall behind the bar. “You have anything from Antero Brewing?”
The waitress raised an eyebrow. “Antero Brewing? Never heard of them.”
Of course not. That would have been way too easy. “I’ll have the Avery White Rascal, then.”
He watched her head back toward the bar to give his order to the bartender. After a moment, they both glanced in his direction. Wyatt tried his most innocuous smile.
The bartender poured a beer, then headed in his direction.
“Hi. Waitress said you wanted to know about Antero Brewing?” He stuck out his hand. “Liam Dempsey. I’m the barkeep.”
Wyatt gave him a quick shake. “Wyatt Montgomery. Yeah, I’m interested in the brewery. Are they still in business?”
Dempsey shook his head. “No. It closed down around a year ago. Difference of opinion among the owners.”
Wyatt frowned. “Are any of the owners still here in town? I’d like to talk to them.”
Dempsey gave him a blank look. “Some of them are around. Do you mind my asking what you want to talk to them about?”
Wyatt paused, wondering just why Dempsey would be interested. But if he had any information, Wyatt needed it. “I’ve heard they made a legendary beer. I run a gastropub in Denver. I’m interested in tracking down some of their product, if it’s available.”
“They made several beers. Which one are you interested in?”
“The Zoria.” Wyatt took a swallow of his White Rascal. “People are still talking about it.”
Dempsey raised his eyebrows. “You want to serve Zoria at your pub?”
Wyatt nodded. “I’d like to make it the centerpiece for a beer dinner. Invite the brewers down to talk about it. It might help them get the capital to reopen. If they’re interested in reopening, that is.”
Dempsey’s eyebrows stayed up, but then he shrugged. “I can tell you how to reach one of the owners. What happens after that is up to you.”
Wyatt nodded. “I understand. How do I find him?”
“Just head up Main until you reach the Salty Goat deli. Ask for Bec.”
“Much obliged. Can I tell him you sent me?”
Dempsey nodded, breaking into a thoroughly untrustworthy grin. “Oh, yeah. You should definitely do that.”
Wyatt had the distinct feeling he was being set up, although he wasn’t sure of the details yet. Something about Dempsey’s smile made him think of seniors sending freshmen out on snipe hunts. Still, if Bec, whoever he was, could help him find the barrel of Zoria, Wyatt was willing to forgive a certain amount of hazing.
He strolled along Main Street, glancing at the shop windows. A few brightly colored miners’ cabins lined the side streets, remnants of Antero’s boom time as a silver town in the early twentieth century. Now the town mainly existed to service tourists and adventure sports enthusiasts.
Not that he had anything against that. Tourists and people interested in sports had helped bring a lot of mountain towns like Antero back to life, and those same people frequently stopped at Quaff either coming or going to their vacations. Tucked into a mountain valley with stunning views everywhere you looked, Antero was a winner. Even if it was located somewhere near the back of beyond with a Main Street that dead-ended in the slopes of Black Mountain. Made it that much easier to walk to the lifts in winter.
He found the Salty Goat midway up the street, a couple of blocks from the Black Mountain Tavern. From what Wyatt could see as he stepped through the door, it was mainly a delicatessen, although it seemed to have a special goat cheese section. When he got closer to the display case, he realized the goat cheese section actually featured the Salty Goat’s own products. The place was a cheese factory, at least in part.
He told himself it wasn’t that surprising that a brewery owner could shift to cheese. Cheese-making and beer-making weren’t that far removed from each other. They both involved bacteria and fermentation, after all.
“Can I help you?” The girl behind the counter looked around ten. A Salty Goat apron was wrapped around her thin shoulders.
“I’m looking for Bec.” He gave her the smile he used on secretaries and receptionists when he needed to see the boss. “Is he available?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Bec? You mean our Bec?”
Wyatt nodded. “Right. I understand he works here.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed even more. “Bec works here. That is, we have a Bec working here. I’m not sure it’s the right Bec, though.”
A door behind the counter opened with a muted swish as a woman carried a tray of cheese to one of the display cases. She wore a white jacket over black slacks. Her hair was pulled back beneath a white beanie, with a few wisps along the sides of her face. One of the cheese-makers, he decided as he watched her pile the logs of goat cheese into white pyramids.
“Bec?” the girl behind the counter said.
The cheese-maker looked up, eyebrows raised. “What’s up, Carol?”
“This guy wants to talk to you.” The girl’s forehead furrowed as she glanced at him. “Or maybe not, I don’t know. He’s looking for a guy named Bec.”
Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment. Had Dempsey actually said Bec was a man? Nope. He’d just made the assumption. The blatantly stupid and sexist assumption. Of course, Dempsey had allowed that assumption to stand unchallenged. Dempsey was obviously an asshole.
“No,” Wyatt said quickly, “I’m sorry. That was a misunderstanding.”
The cheese-maker—Bec—turned toward him, hands on her hips. Now that he got a good look, he saw sky blue eyes and skin the color of warm cream. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m Wyatt Montgomery.” He extended his hand.
After a moment, she took it. Smooth warm skin slid against his palm, like a brush of silk. Focus, Montgomery.
Her blue eyes were still wary. “Bec Dempsey. What can I do for you?”
Dempsey. What the hell? Was she married to the bartender? “Liam Dempsey told me to talk to you.”
Bec snorted. “Liam? Why would my idiot brother send you here to talk to me? What about?”
Wyatt took a breath. Brother and sister. Okay.
At least that explained the way Dempsey had jerked him around. Wyatt himself had two sisters whom he regularly pranked as a kid. “I’m trying to get some information about Antero Brewing.”
And just like that, Bec’s bright blue eyes turned glacial. “What about it?”
He had the feeling he was suddenly treading on unstable ground, possibly quicksand. “I’m interested in a particular beer they brewed a couple of years ago. Zoria.”
After a moment, she nodded slowly. “I know about it. What’s your interest?”
Time to spell things out a little. “I own a gastropub in Denver. I’m interested in buying some Zoria to serve at a beer dinner at my place.”
She folded her arms across her white-jacketed chest, her chin raising at a challenging angle. “We’ve been out of business for several months. Why are you interested?”
Her glacial blue eyes narrowed. “Even if there were some Zoria in existence, why exactly should we sell it to you?”
Why shouldn’t you? He frowned, trying to understand what was happening here. “Because I want to buy it? For a price you set? I mean, does there have to be another reason beyond that?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. As a matter of fact, there does.”
He frowned. Something nagged at him. Something beyond the current tricky conversation. “You said we.”
She raised an eyebrow. “When?”
“When you talked about the Zoria. You said, ‘We’ve been out of business for several months.’ Are you the owner of Antero Brewing?”
She shrugged. “One of them.”
Of course, Dempsey had implied as much. But then, Dempsey was an asshole. “Who else was there?”
She counted off on her fingers. “Me, Liam, and Colin Brooks. Only Colin’s not here anymore. He took off last year.” Her expression soured again.
“The bartender at Black Mountain Tavern is one of the owners?” Now that he heard it, it made perfect sense. More jerking around. Somebody needed to punch Liam Dempsey, probably Wyatt, although his sister might possibly be willing to help.
“My brother and me. And Colin.” Her voice seemed to turn even frostier on that name.
“Do you still own the brewery?” And the contents, assuming the contents included a barrel of Zoria.
“I own a third of the brewery. Liam and Colin own the other two-thirds. But I’m the only one who still has anything to do with it.”
Almost in spite of himself, he was curious. “What’s your connection?”
“I live there,” she said tartly.
His eyes widened as he tried to picture her in a sleeping bag among the fermenting tanks. “Yeah? Isn’t that…uncomfortable?”
“I live in an apartment at the back. Where we had the offices.”
Which made a lot more sense. He nodded. “I see. About the Zoria…”
She was instantly wary again. “What about it?”
Wyatt took hold of his patience with both hands. “Is there any left, and can I buy it?”
Her jaw became a stubborn line. “I can’t talk about this now. I need to go back to work. I’ve got cheese waiting.”
Wyatt recognized evasion when he saw it, but he wasn’t willing to back off just yet. Not when he was this close. “Could we talk about it after you finish work? How about if I take you to dinner? We could discuss it then.”
If anything, she looked even more wary. Hey, lady, I’m not hitting on you. Honest. Although, come to think of it, the idea of hitting on her wasn’t all that outlandish. The little he could see of her behind her uniform looked promising.
Focus!
After a moment, she shrugged. “Okay. I’ll meet you at Selig’s, over on Evans. Say six o’clock.”
He almost told her he’d pick her up at her place but thought better of it. While he did want to see what was left of Antero Brewing, he had a feeling she wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about showing it to him. And he should probably try not to come across as a stalker. “Okay, I’ll find it. Thanks.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t thank me yet. It’s just dinner. And I’m not making any promises.”
She was right. But Wyatt hoped he’d at least have a chance to turn dinner into a negotiation. And of course there was the whole hitting on her thing, which he was pushing firmly from his mind. All he was interested in here was the Zoria. And he knew he’d find a way to get it.
With any luck.
…
Bec watched the Denver slick walk out the door. He was a good-looking guy in a practiced kind of way. Dull gold hair, eyes the color of Guinness stout. He filled out his flannel shirt nicely, and his hiking boots looked like they’d seen some use. He wasn’t an idiot, in other words. Just an annoyance.
Then again, she could have said that about Colin once. Not an idiot. Good-looking guy. Stand-up partner. Dependable, reliable, asshole Colin, who’d run for the hills and taken her dreams with him.
Damn him to hell.
She definitely wasn’t falling for another smooth-talking con man. Actually, she wasn’t going to be falling for anybody.
Been there, done that.
She tried to remember the name the slick had given her. Wyatt something. She was terrible with names, except when it came to the names of beers. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to remember him. It wasn’t like she’d be trying to find his website. He could come to her.
On the other hand, she did need to call her brother. Except she was afraid that once she had him on the line, she’d end up screeching like a banshee. Which was happening a lot when she talked to Liam lately.
“What was that all about?” Carol stood behind the counter, hands on her hips. Bec had forgotten she was there. Carol only worked in the summers and sometimes after school. Her mother owned the Salty Goat. Still, Carol was pretty sharp for an eleven year old.
She shrugged. “That guy wants to buy some stuff from the old brewery.”
“Are you going to sell it to him? I mean, can you do that?”
Good question. Technically everything at Antero Brewing belonged to the three of them. But once Colin had taken off without leaving a forwarding address, Bec had stopped worrying about his rights. He’d given up any right to Antero Brewing or its brewmaster. He certainly had no right to the Zoria. As far as she was concerned, nobody had any rights to the Zoria except her.
Liam would disagree. Of course he would. But, in a way, Liam had taken off too, throwing up his hands and heading over to tend bar at Black Mountain Tavern just when she needed him most. She was the only one who still believed in Antero Brewing, and by God, she’d sworn she’d defend it no matter what.
“Bec?” Carol looked a little nervous, and Bec realized she’d been staring into space for a while.
“I could sell it, but I’m not sure I will. At least not to him,” she said slowly. She glanced at the cheese case. “How are we doing on brie?”
Carol shrugged. “Okay. It’s been slow today.”
“It’s the end of the summer. We’ll probably get one more good round of tourists for the Labor Day weekend, but then we’ll go into the dry spell until the skiers start coming.”
“Won’t matter to me—I’ll be back at school.” Carol tightened the plastic wrap on the salads in the serving case then started transferring them to the cooler in the back.
Bec picked up the tray she’d left on the counter when she’d brought in the goat cheese. She had time to make her call before she checked on the curds she had draining. She headed back toward the cheese room, pulling out her cell phone.
Liam picked up on the second ring. “Hi, there. How’s it going at All Things Goat?”
“You could have at least warned me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“About Mr. Gastropub? Yeah, I probably could have, but then you’d have had time to figure out a way to tell him no before he even got a chance to give you his proposition.”
She leaned against the wall, clutching her cell phone in a death grip. “What makes you think I didn’t tell him no, anyway?”
“Because you’re too smart to do that. You know you need to think about it.”
She sighed, closing her eyes. Unfortunately, he was right. “You want me to sell the Zoria.”
“Of course I want you to sell the Zoria. We’ve already been over this. It’s either sell the Zoria or sell the equipment, and if you’re serious about ever brewing again, we can’t sell the equipment.”
Her chest felt tight as a lump formed in her throat. But I hate selling the Zoria to a stranger. Even though I have to. “Y
eah, the last time we went into business with some outside money guy, it ended so well.”
“He’s not Colin.”
Suddenly, she felt weary, tired of the whole business. “Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t know that for sure.”
“Goddamn it, Bec.” Liam’s voice sounded weary, too. “There aren’t any good choices here. We need to make the least bad one. And selling the Zoria to somebody like Montgomery is the least bad.”
She licked her lips. “I’ll think about it.”
“Jesus.”
“I said I’ll think about it. But don’t pull anything like this on me again. I mean it.” She hit the disconnect button, wishing she had an old-fashioned phone she could slam down in his ear.
The timer dinged in the cheese room, and she turned back toward the door. Time to get to work on something that would produce some cash. But as she headed toward the vat of curds, she found herself thinking about Wyatt whoever-he-was. What did you wear to a dinner that was likely to turn into a tap dance?
Chapter Three
Selig’s turned out to be mostly a tavern with some tables scattered around the sides of the bar. Wyatt wondered briefly if there were any places to eat in Antero that weren’t taverns. Between skiers and other serious beer drinkers, the town might not need any.
He took a seat at a table along the wall, checking out the chalkboard menu above the bar. The place seemed to have a dozen or so beers on tap, with another dozen or so available by the bottle. About average for a bar this size in a state where beer was close to a sacrament.
He wondered if any of the beers Selig’s had for sale were from Antero Brewing. According to the brewery website, they’d shut down production several months ago, but some beers could age that long without any damage. Like their Zoria, for instance. Imperial stout could take a couple of years or longer to ripen.
A waitress arrived at his table, looking harassed. As far as he could tell, she was the only waitress in the place at the moment, handling at least seven tables full of beer drinkers.
He squinted at the chalkboard again. “I’ll have an Old Chubb.”
She nodded. “Any food?”
