Love on Tap (Brewing Love)

by Meg Benjamin

“Sure.” He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, I thought maybe after today, and Harlan…” Her voice trailed off as her cheeks flushed a pale shade of pink.

  Very nice. He shook his head. “He wasn’t that bad. And I learned a lot about hops.” Mainly how nasty the stuff was, but he’d keep that to himself when he explained to his customers about the details of beer making.

  “Okay then.” She glanced down at her suddenly empty plate and her suddenly empty beer glass. “I guess I’m done.”

  He thought about offering her another beer, but he wasn’t sure he could stay awake through a second glass. On the other hand, he could definitely stay awake if he got a little crisp mountain air. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “Oh.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I didn’t say I had to. I want to.” He tried a salesman’s smile, but it came out a little more tentative than he’d thought.

  After a moment, she shrugged. “Okay.”

  A few moments later, Wyatt wondered if this walk had been such a good idea. He’d forgotten how tired he was until he got outside on the street. He’d still have to walk back to his hotel after he got Bec safely to her brewery.

  But after he’d smelled the sweet willows by the creek and heard the sound of falling water, his exhaustion seemed to drop away. Well, that and seeing the hint of pink in Bec’s cheeks again. Maybe it was the slight chill in the air. Or maybe it was his presence as he walked along beside her. The lady’s face was an open book once you got to know her.

  He’d like to get to know her even better, now that he’d had a couple of evenings with her. Bec Dempsey made him stop and think, and he couldn’t say that about most of the women he knew. Or the men, either, if it came to that.

  She took a different route to the brewery, a dirt road that headed out of town. Pine and spruce lined both sides, sending their scent into the twilight. Without thinking about it, he took her arm, guiding her around a pothole at the side.

  He was aware suddenly of the warmth of her skin, the slight scent of vanilla in her hair, the delicate line of her lashes against the satin of her cheek.

  She stiffened slightly beneath his hand, holding herself tight until he let her go again.

  You should be thinking about Quaff. Except he was sick of thinking about Quaff. And he was ready to start thinking about the intriguing woman beside him. Thinking about her even more than he had been.

  “Nice night,” he said. Walking with her was sort of like trying to tiptoe across an ice floe. He wasn’t sure where the shakiest parts were yet.

  She nodded. “We’re in the transition period between summer and fall. Not hot, not cold, just letting you know what’s coming. Then again, there’s always the chance of an unexpected snowfall.”

  Somewhere, a dog barked off to the side. Or it might have been a coyote—he’d heard a few howling the night before. “So you grew up here?”

  She nodded. “Born and bred. I went away to college, but I came straight back.”

  “Are your parents still here?”

  “My dad died a few years ago. My mom moved to Grand Junction to be closer to her sister.” She dipped her head a little lower.

  “Has she tried your beer?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking, maybe to keep the conversation going.

  Bec glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “Not that I know of. She knew what we were doing, but she thought we were sort of nuts. On the other hand, my dad was a great home brewer, so you could say she was used to nuts like us.”

  Wyatt gave her a quick grin. “I’ve run into a lot of home brewers over the years. Some of them were terrific. Some of them you wanted to run from if you saw them coming.”

  “The problem is anybody can get into brewing these days. It’s not like making wine, where you need grapes of a certain type from a certain area to make anything decent. And where you have to wait for a few years before you know what you’ve got. With beer you can know within a couple of months, depending on what type you’re making. You get a lot of people thinking it’s easy when it’s anything but.”

  She stepped into an open parking lot at the end of the road, and he realized they were back at the brewery. He hadn’t noticed how picturesque the area was when he’d been there before. The wind whispered through the rattling aspen leaves, and the silhouettes of peaks loomed up in the distance. A tasting room here would be terrific.

  Bec turned back to him again. “Thanks for dinner. And thanks for understanding about the whole Harlan thing.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. Like I say, I learned a lot.”

  She gave him a dry smile. “I hope you still feel that way after the next couple of days.”

  He leaned a shoulder against her doorframe, smiling down at her. “Your other suppliers have something interesting planned?”

  “Could be. You never know.” She took her key from her purse and reached toward the door.

  He took the key from her fingers and unlocked it. “There you go.”

  Bec blinked up at him for a moment, eyes widening. She seemed slightly wary all of a sudden. “Oh. Thanks.”

  For a moment he let himself lean forward, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath upon his cheek. Her lips parted slightly, and she ran the tip of her tongue across the bottom one.

  His lower half turned to granite.

  If seeing her lick her lips turned him into a raging horndog, what might happen if he saw her without the down vest and the wary expression? He didn’t know, but he was suddenly eager to find out.

  Probably not tonight, though. He straightened again. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Dempsey.”

  She gave a quick grin, no more than a lip flex. “Count on it, Mr. Montgomery.” She stepped by him, opening her door. At the last moment, she turned to give him a quick nod. “Good night.”

  He nodded. “Sweet dreams.” But as he walked back up the dirt road, he figured he might have a few problems getting to those sweet dreams himself.

  …

  Bec leaned against the door for a moment, waiting for her pulse rate to slow down again. She wasn’t sure what exactly was going on with Wyatt Montgomery, but she was sure it scared her to death.

  You’re not ready for this. He’s another Colin.

  Maybe. But she was getting perilously close to finding out for herself.

  Her phone buzzed against her hip, bringing her back to reality again. Liam. She grimaced. Had he been keeping tabs on her again? If so, she was going to tell him where to go and what to do when he got there.

  She clicked Connect. “What?”

  “Well, hello to you, too. Did you see Montgomery today?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “Did you get a call from some guy named Threadgood?”

  Bec frowned. “No. Why?”

  “He left a message on my voicemail. He’s interested in talking about the Zoria.”

  “I don’t want to talk about the Zoria. I already have a deal with Montgomery.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, you don’t even know how much this Threadgood might be offering.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I made a deal with Wyatt, and I’m not backing down.” Particularly when he’d already brought her the hops they needed.

  She could almost hear Liam steaming on the other end of the phone. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  “Talk away. But I won’t change my mind.”

  “You might if the offer was big enough. If we could move beyond paying off the bills and making a few small brewing runs.”

  Bec closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this. I’m tired.”

  He sighed. “You can ignore this for now, but it’s not going away. We need to get the best possible price for the Zoria, particularly if we’re going to start up again.”

  “Good night, Liam.” She disconnected before he could harass her anymore.

  She hated it when her brother was the voice of reason. Especially since
reason was so far away from where she wanted to be right then.

  Chapter Six

  Bec studied the instructions she’d written out for Wyatt’s next task, then took a deep breath. Abe Parsons. She’d gone through school with Abe Parsons, although he was a couple of grades ahead of her. He’d played ball with Liam. His dad had taken deliveries from her dad. From her seat in the clarinet section of the band, she’d watched him walk across the stage to get his diploma. They were friends.

  Once upon a time they had been, anyway.

  Now, he probably wasn’t speaking to her. God only knew what he’d put Wyatt through when he got to the mill. She didn’t think Abe would make him crack the grain himself, but she wouldn’t entirely put it past him.

  She dropped the sheets back onto her desk, wishing there was a way to do this that would make everybody feel good again. That would make them all friends again. But it was too late for that, thanks to Colin, thanks to Liam, thanks—oh yes, thanks indeed—to her.

  Damn you, Colin Brooks. You and your lying heart.

  She barely heard the knock on the brewery door—she really needed to install a bell if she was going to keep the place locked up. Wyatt stood on her front step, just as he had the day before. At least he was persistent. Also cute, if she was being honest.

  Do not think about his cuteness or hotness or anything along those lines. Do not be an idiot. You’ve learned your lesson, remember?

  She headed back inside, motioning for him to follow, then stopped at the desk.

  He raised a golden eyebrow, smiling faintly. “What’s up for today? More on-the-job training?”

  “I hope not.” She picked up the sheet of instructions again, handing it to him. “Today you order the grain. It may not be on hand, but Abe will be able to get the varieties we need.”

  Assuming Abe was willing to sell him anything. “Abe Parsons does the malting and the cracking.”

  Wyatt frowned down at the instructions in his hand. “More than one variety again?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Shouldn’t be a problem.” She felt like crossing her fingers, but that might be a little obvious.

  Wyatt folded the instructions and tucked them into the pocket of his jeans. “Am I still supposed to keep quiet about your involvement here?”

  She blew out a breath. “Hopefully, yeah.”

  He shook his head. “You know that’s probably not going to fly, right? I mean, Cooper figured out within five minutes that you were behind this. Isn’t this guy Parsons likely to do the same thing?”

  Why yes, now that you mention it. She gritted her teeth. “It may not come to that.”

  “What if it does?” He folded his arms across his chest, frowning again. His golden hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d walked over.

  Focus, damn it.

  “I don’t know. Tell him…” She paused, trying to think what she’d say to Abe if she had it to do over again. “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I’ll pay him the rest of the money we owe him when we sell this batch of beer.” She bit her lip. “Tell him I’m an asshole.”

  Although he probably already knew that much.

  Wyatt gave her a slightly dry smile, brown eyes surprisingly warm. “You might want to give yourself a break eventually.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But you might actually get a lot further with Abe if you level with him. He’s a pretty straightforward guy. I guess if you want to tell him you’re working with me, go ahead.”

  “I’ll play it by ear.” He gave her a questioning look. “Will this stuff fit in my pickup?”

  “Not a chance. Tell Abe I’ll take delivery whenever it’s ready.” And maybe, with any luck, she could talk Liam into finding her a delivery truck. Surely he owed her that much.

  “I’ll see what we can work out. Maybe he’d take some free tickets for the next Broncos game—or front row center at Quaff for Monday Night Football.”

  Bec stared at him. “What the hell is Quaff?”

  “My place. My gastropub.” He looked slightly offended.

  “Quaff.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t know what you called it.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t like it?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” She just hoped he didn’t mention the name to anybody in Antero. They might be inclined to snicker. Antero bars were usually called bars.

  “Right.” He looked like he wanted to argue about the name but thought better of it. “I should get going. See you this evening?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  She scowled as she watched him head toward the parking lot. Quaff.

  As long as he gets you the ingredients, he can call the place anything he likes, including Just Another Pretentious Bar.

  At the moment, Wyatt seemed to be her best chance for resurrection.

  For the first time in at least a month, she was whistling as she headed off to work.

  …

  At least Abe Parsons’s grain mill wasn’t thirty miles away like Harlan Cooper’s farm had been. In fact, it seemed to be inside the Antero city limits—or close to it. Wyatt pulled into the parking lot. He could see a lot of pickup trucks parked around the building, along with some delivery vans and one or two farm trailers. Parsons’s business seemed a lot more active currently than Cooper’s.

  Wyatt headed for the door that appeared to lead into a suite of offices rather than the side where the malting business was being carried out, based on the noise. He’d seen large-scale malting mills before. This place was a little smaller. Still, it was doing a lot of business as far as he could tell.

  A woman in a flowered blouse and black knit slacks glanced up from the front desk as he walked in. “Can I help you?”

  Wyatt gave her his salesman’s smile. “I wanted to speak with Mr. Parsons. Is he available?”

  The woman gave him a tentative smile of her own. “I think so. Let me check.” She pushed back from the desk and walked toward an open door at the back of the room. “Abel,” she called. “Somebody here to see you.”

  A moment later a tall man in jeans and a plaid shirt emerged from the back office and walked toward the front. His brown hair looked a little shaggy around the ears, and like Cooper, his face was lined by the sun. But his grin reminded Wyatt of old western movies.

  “I’m Abe Parsons,” he said. “You wanted to see me?”

  Wyatt guessed Parsons was around his own age or maybe a little older. He slid back into salesman mode again. “I’m Wyatt Montgomery, Mr. Parsons. I’d like to talk to you about a potential order.”

  And just like that, the temperature in the office dropped fifteen degrees. Parsons no longer looked like a friendly cowboy. In fact, he didn’t look like a friendly anything.

  “You’re the one Harlan Cooper called me about. The one working with Bec Dempsey.” His jaw firmed in disapproval.

  Well, hell. He should have known Cooper would spread the word. “Yes, sir. I’m helping Bec with a project.”

  Parsons folded his arms across his chest. “Like that asshat Colin Brooks? You going to take off too and leave her holding the bag? You another one of these fly-by-night, love ’em and leave ’em types?”

  “Abel Parsons, you stop that. Right now.”

  Wyatt realized he and Parsons had both forgotten about the woman in the flowered blouse. She, however, definitely hadn’t forgotten them.

  Parsons’s ears turned bright pink. “Sorry, Ma,” he muttered.

  Wyatt glanced toward Mrs. Parsons, giving her a more tentative smile.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Clearly, she might not be happy with her son for swearing, but she wasn’t ready to join Wyatt’s fan club, either. “Is Bec going to start that brewery going again?”

  Wyatt sighed. “I don’t know exactly what her long-term plans are, ma’am. I’m just helping her with brewing one particular beer.”

  Mrs. Parsons turned back to her son. “You might as well talk to him, Abel. Maybe he can answer some of your questions.”


  I doubt it. But Wyatt managed to keep his expression bland.

  Parsons gave him another exasperated look, but he clearly wasn’t going to go against his mother’s orders. Which struck Wyatt as a wise decision. “Come on. We can talk in my office.”

  Parsons’s office was a small room filled with a desk, two chairs, a ridiculous amount of paper given the laptop he was apparently using, and a glass container of some kind of grain that Wyatt should probably have recognized but didn’t.

  “I’m not giving you any malt,” Parsons said flatly.

  “I don’t expect you to give it to me. I’m willing to pay whatever you’re asking.” Wyatt kept his expression bland. Pushing it to pleasant would be a stretch, but he figured he could stay inoffensive.

  “I won’t sell you any, either.” Parsons looked like his jaw had been transformed to granite.

  Wyatt sighed. “Look, Mr. Parsons. I know you and Bec have had problems in the past. She told me she’s very sorry about the way things worked out between you. She wants to make amends, and she wants to pay off the rest of her debt.” Wyatt figured telling him she wanted to make things right would be more helpful than telling him she was an asshole.

  “And how does she figure on making amends?” Parsons raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “She got me to order grain I wouldn’t have ordered without her. She had big plans—putting Antero on the craft brewery fast track. And here we are a couple of years later with a closed brewery and nothing to show for it.”

  Except a barrel of legendary imperial stout. Wyatt frowned. He’d thought Bec had said she’d taken care of some of the debt. “Didn’t she pay some of the outstanding bills?”

  Parsons shrugged impatiently. “About half, and I was able to cancel some of the orders and pass some of the malt on to other breweries. It’s just…” He paused, grimacing. “She should have let us know what was going on. I know it wasn’t her fault that Brooks took off and left her, but she didn’t mend any fences herself.”

  “She’s trying to get started again now,” Wyatt said slowly. “Maybe she can still make the whole Antero craft brewing thing work.”

  Parsons looked like he’d sucked on something sour. “Too little, too late. I’m not getting pulled into that mess again. She can find someplace else to get her malt.”