by Meg Benjamin
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a loading dock here, haven’t you?”
She nodded. “You should be able to back your truck in next to it easily enough.”
He leaned back against the counter, watching her scrub the Crock-Pot insert. “Have you ever tasted it?”
She frowned. “Tasted what? The Zoria?”
He nodded.
She shook her head. “Not this batch. I tasted the one before that, and I’m guessing this will taste about the same, although it’ll probably have a few characteristics of its own—it’s been aging longer.” She hoped it tasted at least as good as the last one had, but she was really hoping it tasted better.
Wyatt began wiping out the crockpot insert, the kitchen light bringing out hints of gold in his hair. He was a gorgeous man. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? Was it too late to appreciate him? “Would you like to taste it?”
He stared at her for a moment. “The Zoria? Absolutely.”
She blew out a quick breath. “Okay. Let’s finish up in here and head down to the main floor. I’ll grab a couple of glasses on the way.”
…
Finally. Wyatt had mostly given up hope that he’d get to taste the Zoria before he got it back to Denver. He wanted to taste it with Bec, to see her face when she found out what she had, to let her tell him what she’d been hoping for and how the product measured up to her expectations.
He might even tell her what he’d hoped for in the Zoria, although in reality he wasn’t sure. He wanted a great beer, but he wanted her, too. Somehow the two had become entwined. He was trying to think of ways to spirit her off to Denver with him, but he hadn’t come up with anything definite yet. Particularly since she was focused on creating a new line of beer with the ingredients he’d bought her. That would probably keep her in Antero for the foreseeable future.
Hell, he wasn’t even sure she wanted to spend more time with him anyway. She might grin and wave as he got into his truck, then head back into the brewery to make more beer without a second thought.
Or more cheese. Whichever was closest.
She glanced his way and smiled, and his insides promptly turned to mush. It was always possible that once they were no longer around each other, he’d come down to earth and stop wanting her every minute of the day.
But he doubted it.
“Ready?” She gave him another quick smile that made his temperature spike a few degrees.
“Absolutely.” He followed her through the door that connected the apartment to the brewery floor. The empty brewing tuns stood massive and ghostly near the wall, shadows filling the spaces in between, until Bec switched on the overhead lights.
He followed her across the concrete floor to the far corner, still dim even with the lights on. A single barrel rested on a rack that was meant to hold at least twenty. She placed the glasses on a small table at the end of the row, then pulled a length of plastic tubing from a nearby box.
“We’ll have to siphon some out. You hold the glasses, okay?”
He nodded, picking up the glasses, one in each hand, then watched her work the bung loose from the top of the barrel. After a moment, she set it aside and slid one end of the tubing into the barrel, keeping the other end lifted.
“Ready?”
He held the first glass near the tubing, and she plunged in the end. Almost immediately, dark brown liquid began to flow in. When the glass was half full, she pulled up the tubing again. “Now the other one.”
He pushed the other glass forward and watched her fill it too. She pulled the tubing free, then replaced the cork in the hole. “Come on. Let’s find a more comfortable place to taste this.”
He followed her back through the dim shapes of the brewery floor toward her apartment, resisting the urge to pause for a quick taste of Zoria. Nothing was going to be quick about this—this beer deserved to be sipped and savored carefully.
Bec opened the apartment door cautiously, heading for the small kitchen table where they’d had dinner. Evening sunlight filtered through the window in the living room, the mountains looming blue-black and massive in the distance. She set her glass of Zoria on the table near her chair, waiting until Wyatt had taken his place across from her.
“We do this right,” she said slowly. “First, we look at the color.” She raised her glass until the sunlight caught it. Wyatt did the same. Deep golden highlights danced within the dark brown depths, like molasses or unfiltered honey.
“Nice,” he murmured.
She nodded. “Looks about right.”
He stared down at the beer again. It was time to taste it, but suddenly he felt nervous. What if it didn’t live up to the hype? What if it wasn’t good? Even worse, what if it was…okay? Good, but just good. What would he say to Bec if she expected a religious experience and it was just sort of ordinary?
“Now we sip,” she said flatly, and he realized she was feeling the same fear that he was.
He nodded. “We do.” They picked up their glasses at the same time and sipped.
Wyatt closed his eyes. He tasted chocolate and caramel, the deep toasted notes of the grain, a faint bitterness of hops that kept the ale from being too sweet. He paused, savoring, and the flavor grew—deep, warm, smoky.
Extraordinary.
He swallowed, then took a deep breath, holding himself back from guzzling another gulp. “It’s good,” he said softly. “It’s really good.” It’s outstanding, but you must know that.
Bec nodded slowly, her forehead furrowed. “I think it worked out. The flavor’s a little deeper than the other barrel—that extra year made a difference.” She took another sip, closing her eyes for a moment. “Yeah. It worked out.”
He thought of all the things he wanted to say to her. You’re a wizard. Nobody else makes stuff like this. My God, this is head and shoulders above every other beer I’ve tasted in the last year. But somehow he couldn’t get the words out. She was so good at her craft that all the compliments he could think of sounded like empty flattery.
“I’m glad I bought this,” he said quietly. “And I owe you a hell of a lot more than I paid.”
She shook her head. “We agreed on the price. I need the money, but I also need the other things you bought for me if I’m going to start brewing again. You got me everything I needed, everything I wanted. Antero can start over again now.” She raised her glass in his direction. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.”
He took another sip of the Zoria, then reached across the table to touch her cheek. “You’re a star, Bec. This is one of the best beers I’ve ever tasted. If I can help you get back to brewing again, it’s worth it.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she bit her lip. “Thanks. I appreciate the help, but it’s going to be a while before I can get going again. I’m going to need to hire some people before too long—if we want to get the production on-line, I’ll need some experienced brewers to help out. Even if it’s only part time.”
Wyatt frowned. “What about Liam?” Her brother sometimes seemed about as reliable as a king snake, but he owned part of the brewery. Or anyway, Wyatt assumed he did.
Bec grimaced. “When we lost Colin, he took off, and he hasn’t shown much interest in coming back. I don’t know if he’ll want to do any more.”
Wyatt shook his head. “You need to get going again, Bec. You’re too good not to be working.”
“I can now, thanks to you.” She gave him a smile that he felt all the way to his toes. “I’ll probably start with something like an IPA that I can get going quickly. Or maybe a pilsner. Something that doesn’t have to age too long. Once we’ve got some capital coming in, I can do some more aging.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No more Zoria?”
“Not for a while.” She shrugged. “I’ve got the recipe. I can make it again, although it won’t ever be exactly like this one. You’ve always got slight variations in the malt and the hops, even the water.”
He sighed. “You need to make it again. You really do. Even if it�
��s not quite the same, it’ll be close.”
Bec gave him a faint smile. “It might be better. You can never tell.”
“There’s a concept.” He took another sip, savoring. “You’ll need to come down to Denver for the party.”
She frowned, biting her lip. “I do? Why?”
“So everybody can tell you how great your beer is. And so you can talk about it. People love to hear from the brewmaster.” And they’d particularly love to hear from a brewmaster who looked like Bec.
He had a quick twinge of something like jealousy, but he repressed it ruthlessly.
“I’m not too good at stuff like that,” she mumbled. “Talking. I’m better at doing the brewing than explaining it.”
He shrugged. “It’s not too complicated. You tell them what you were looking for when you put the Zoria together, what kind of beer you wanted to make. Maybe a little about other beers you like—other beers you’re making so people can buy those, too.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly. “You’re better at that than I am, talking to people, I mean. Maybe I can just stand there and let you do the selling.”
He leaned forward, taking her hand in his. “As long as you’re there, I’ll say anything you want me to say.”
Bec stared back at him, her gaze taking on a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment. She brushed her fingers through his hair, disarranging it slightly on his forehead, and he felt an answering jolt of heat all his own.
“Works for me,” she whispered.
…
Liam’s phone began to vibrate around ten that evening. He had a pretty good idea of who was calling, and his interest in answering was nil. He ignored the first call, also the second, which came twenty minutes later. After the third call, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and dropped it behind the bar. At least he’d be free of the annoying vibration, although he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get rid of Threadgood that easily.
He wasn’t. At eleven thirty, he looked up to see Threadgood staring at him from the other end of the bar. He looked like he was trying to be threatening, but since he was a good two inches shorter than Liam, he didn’t quite achieve his goal.
Liam finished mixing the pomegranate margarita for the customer who’d ordered it, then strolled down toward the end of the bar where Threadgood sat seething. “Evening.”
“Do you have it?” Threadgood snapped.
“You mean here at the bar?” Liam shook his head. “Nope.”
Threadgood looked like he was gritting his teeth. Painfully. “Do you know where it is?”
After a moment Liam nodded, regretfully. If there were any other way… But there wasn’t. Bec had already said she wasn’t going to consider any other offers after promising the Zoria to Montgomery. Christopher Threadgood was a slimy bastard, but he was a rich slimy bastard. And Liam intended to take him for every penny of that twenty thousand.
Threadgood folded his arms across his chest. “When can I expect delivery? I assume you remember my deadline.”
“Tomorrow morning.” Liam gritted his teeth. “I’ll have it for you before noon.”
Threadgood cocked an eyebrow in a way Liam found particularly annoying. “Why not right now?”
“Because I’m working.” Amazing how he could talk through gritted teeth. Jesus, he hated Threadgood.
Enough to give up on twenty thousand bucks? Unfortunately, no.
Threadgood narrowed his eyes. “When do you get off work?”
“Two in the morning. And there’s no way I’m going to get you a barrel of beer at two a.m.” This time, Liam didn’t bother to conceal his irritation. If Threadgood walked out, it might be best for all concerned. Too bad Liam himself wasn’t principled enough to tell him to take a hike.
Threadgood gave him a sour look, then pushed back from the bar. “I’ll call you at nine tomorrow. And if you don’t answer, I’ll take myself and my money back to the Red Wolf. And I’ll make it my personal crusade to keep Antero Brewing from ever selling another bottle of beer in the greater Denver area.”
Given that Antero Brewing had no bottles of beer to sell—and might never have any, no matter what kind of ambitions Bec might harbor—that threat wasn’t particularly chilling as far as Liam was concerned. He shrugged. “I’ll get you the Zoria. What happens after that is up to you.”
“That’s always been up to me. Nine o’clock, Dempsey. Don’t fuck around with me.” Threadgood gave him one more simmering look, then turned and stalked back through the door.
For the hundredth time, Liam reflected on how good it would feel to tell Threadgood to go fuck himself. The man was an arrogant bastard. There was no way he’d give Bec’s legendary imperial stout the kind of respect it deserved.
Unlike Montgomery, who would probably treat it like liquid gold, given that Montgomery might well be in love with Bec.
Liam sighed. If only he were the noble type, he’d go with true love and let Threadgood head back to Denver and his imaginary vendetta. But twenty thousand bucks would buy a lot of love. And it would allow both Liam and Bec to pursue their separate agendas. Given those options, Liam figured he was going to have to dance with the devil.
But he wouldn’t have to enjoy it.
Chapter Eighteen
At eight the next morning, Wyatt maneuvered his truck toward the loading dock at Antero Brewing, or what had been the loading dock in better days. Now there was only a stack of weathered pallets and a couple of dusty cardboard boxes to show that anything had ever been loaded there at all.
Somewhere inside, Bec was driving her forklift toward the rack with the barrel of Zoria. He’d offered to help her, but she’d declined politely. Maybe she thought he’d take the forklift for a spin around the brewery floor before he picked up the barrel. Maybe she was right.
He tried to ignore the slightly hollow feeling in his chest. She’d said she’d come to Denver for the Zoria party, so they’d see each other again in a few weeks. That ought to be enough. He could always come back to Antero to see how she was getting along, check the progress on the next production round. Maybe try to buy up a few exclusives. He had a feeling Bec would give him a fair price.
Right. And you’re really thinking about the beer she’ll be producing.
He was thinking about it. But it wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about.
Unbidden, an image of Bec in bed that morning, all ivory skin and silken red hair, drifted through his mind. He had a feeling he’d be thinking about that a lot more than the barrel of Zoria he’d be loading in the bed of his truck.
Someone waved to him from the side of the dock, and he recognized Carol. He stepped out of the truck and waved back. “Morning. What are you doing here?”
She raised a small camera. “Pictures. This is a big moment for the brewery. Or anyway, that’s what my mom says. I figured Bec would want a few snaps for the newsletter.”
Wyatt frowned. “What newsletter? I didn’t know the brewery had one.” Considering that the brewery currently existed more as a concept than a reality.
Carol shrugged. “They don’t. Yet. But I figure they need one. I’ll see what I can put together over the next couple of weeks. MailChimp’s not that hard. I already do the one for the Salty Goat.”
“Sign me up. I’ll give you my email.” With Carol running it, the newsletter should at least be interesting.
She nodded absently. “Are you leaving right away after you get the beer?”
He blew out a breath, his good mood souring. “Yeah. I need to get back to Denver, and I don’t want the barrel sitting around in the back of the truck any longer than it has to.” He and Bec had worked out a way to wedge it carefully in the back so that it wouldn’t be bounced much, and he’d cover it with a tarp, but he still didn’t like agitating the barrel any more than necessary.
The metal door to the brewery interior rolled up with a clatter that made Carol jump. Bec looked a little surprised to see her there. “Hi. What’s up?”
Carol lifted her camera again. “Pictures. For the newsletter.”
Bec narrowed her eyes, then sighed. “Fine by me.” She turned to Wyatt. “Are you ready to load?”
He nodded. “Any time.” It might have been his imagination, but she seemed a little down too. Of course she might be sadder to see her Zoria headed out the door than to see Wyatt go, but he could at least hope she’d miss him a little.
“Okay. Back your truck up to the edge of the dock, and I’ll get the forklift with the barrel.” She headed back inside.
The loading dock was slightly above his truck bed. He could only hope that the forklift could slide the barrel into it without a problem. He hated to jostle the beer too much, and they needed to keep the bung facing up as much as possible.
A moment later, he heard the sound of a motor from inside the brewery. The forklift emerged through the door with Bec in the driver’s seat, moving very, very slowly. She put on the brakes a few feet from the edge, turning the forklift slightly so that the barrel wasn’t hanging into space. “Let’s check out this set-up first to see how it’s going to work.”
She climbed out of the forklift just as her brother walked around the corner of the building. His smile reminded Wyatt of the Wicked Witch of the West closing in on Dorothy. “Selling some Zoria?”
Bec paused to look at him. “I told you I sold the Zoria to Wyatt. He’s here to pick it up.”
Liam turned toward Wyatt. “Might I ask how much you plan to pay for this barrel of magic?”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes. He could smell a fight heading his way. “That’s between me and your sister. You can ask her.”
“I could. I have, in fact. She hasn’t seen fit to tell me. I’m asking you.” Liam rested his hands on his hips, his head back slightly. Classic challenge pose.
