Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  During dessert, Mack suffered his grandfather’s insults about the “boughten” pie (his grandfather’s peculiar term for store-bought rather than homemade food). He also had to endure the mortification of his grandfather retelling several stories about him as a child.

  He should’ve expected this little performance—his grandfather loved to tell stories about him.

  But he hadn’t expected the number of stories that came tumbling out.

  “And so there I am to pick him up from kindergarten,” Albert said, pointing at Mack, “and his pants are full of modeling clay—like he thought no one would notice! It was bulging out of his pockets! And when I got him home, we found that he’d stuffed it down his underwear too!”

  As Jorrie laughed hysterically and wiped tears away with the tips of her fingers, Mack rested his elbow on the table and put his hand over his face.

  “You’ll never get tired of telling that story, will you?” Mack asked.

  “Not a chance,” Albert said.

  Mack began to clear away the plates. Jorrie offered to help, but both Albert and Mack talked her down. Mack cleaned up and let Jorrie and Albert continue to talk about him, with Albert eventually recounting his memory of the day Mack won The Big Sing Thing.

  “I was so proud of him. Wished his momma could’ve lived to see it,” Mack heard his grandfather say. “He looked so happy.”

  Mack was standing at the kitchen sink rinsing plates when Albert’s words made him freeze.

  Had he really been that happy?

  He did remember being happy at that moment he was announced as the winner. So much applause! Just like at the fair and the distillery concert. He’d been performing, enjoying himself, and making people happy. He’d been sharing his gift.

  But whenever he thought about that winning moment, the rest of the memories flooded over him.

  Because when Mack looked back on that time, the main thing he saw was the path to disappointment, to failure, to hopelessness. His hubris—where had it gotten him?

  He had reaped the fruits of his pride in a bumper crop of broken promises. From his agent, his record company, his fiancée.

  Yet his failure—if he could still call it that—had led him back to Craig County. Back home, to his grandfather.

  And to Jorrie.

  He turned to see his grandfather and Jorrie still talking animatedly and realized that what was before him wasn’t some kind of silver lining or consolation prize.

  Not some crazy dream, wild promise, or insane fairy tale. That had been Nashville.

  This was life. His life.

  He was in Bourbon Springs—with his feet on the ground.

  If everything he wanted was right here, why would he ever leave again?

  Mack looked at Jorrie as she took his grandfather’s hand in hers and laughed at another of the old man’s silly tales.

  His past, present, and future were all before him.

  He didn’t need another dream.

  Jorrie couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard for so long.

  Albert McCowan was a hoot, and she’d nearly peed her pants at the stories he kept telling her about Mack. She’d thought at first that the tales had been complete fabrications (especially the one about the modeling clay).

  But when she saw Mack’s consistently embarrassed reactions at his grandfather’s yarns, the truth was out that Pa Blanton wasn’t a liar.

  She was on her way to Frankfort to visit her parents. It was a trip she was overdue to take with Mack, especially now that he’d introduced her to his grandpa.

  And because she was falling in love with the guy.

  She’d mentioned Mack several times to her mom and dad. It had rather been a necessity since he’d been the guy who’d saved her from getting run over by the side of the road. Her battered car had required some explanation, and the story of Mack and his blown out tire had been part of that puzzle.

  What a crazy few weeks it had been.

  The visit with the ’rents went fine and involved her mother going through closets and giving Jorrie old clothes and books she no longer wanted. Jorrie accepted these gifts with alacrity, all the while knowing that most of the bestowed items would be going directly to charity. It was simply easier to take the old stuff rather than argue with her mother. After two hours of such activity, her mother declared they should all go out to eat.

  Although she’d expected to share a meal with her family, the thought made Jorrie a wee sick; the fried chicken, cornbread, and apple pie from her lovely lunch were all still sitting in her tummy like a lump of lead, making her feel sluggish and tired. And she was still worn out from her nocturnal weekend activities with Mack.

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t turn down her parents’ offer to buy her dinner and spend more time with them. They took separate cars to a popular chain restaurant south of the interstate on the western side of town. From there, Jorrie could speed down US 27 to catch the Bluegrass Parkway and be back in Bourbon Springs in half an hour.

  And she needed to get back early. Jorrie was tired and had court first thing in the morning before Judge Craft. She had a few motions on his civil docket in two complicated cases and needed to be firing on all cylinders come the morning.

  That’s why she’d reluctantly resisted Mack’s plea to come over to her place that evening. He’d said he understood (and had cited that he had an early day on Monday as well), but she had sensed the disappointment in his voice.

  They’d already made plans for the Fourth of July weekend. They were going to attend the Bourbon Springs Independence Day parade, go to the small festival in the city park south of downtown, and cook out at Mack’s house that evening.

  And he’d promised that after eating with Albert, the two of them would go up Springfield Knob and watch the fireworks set off from the city park.

  “Aren’t you going to eat anything else?” her mother asked as Jorrie picked at her salad.

  “Not that hungry.” She told them about her lunch.

  “Now tell us when are we going to meet the famous Mr. Blanton?” her father asked.

  “Soon. Probably not this weekend, but soon,” she promised, explaining Mack’s weekend job and their holiday plans. “And he’s not famous.”

  “He is according to the Lexington paper,” her mother said. “There was an article in there today about the concert on Friday night at the distillery. Not a big article, but he did make the news. And the paper printed the entire concert schedule for the rest of the season. He’s got quite the summer ahead of him.”

  “And that means you do too, I should think,” her father added. “I suppose we can completely write off seeing you on any given Friday night until those concerts come to an end?”

  “Probably,” Jorrie said, mildly embarrassed.

  Her mother dipped her head and smiled. “You look really happy, Jorrie.”

  “I am.” She sat up straight to look her parents in the eye. “Mack is nice—very nice.”

  “Then bring him to see us!” her father cried. “I need to see him—and get his autograph!”

  Jorrie didn’t mind her father teasing her about Mack’s semi-celebrity status but decided that before she brought him home that she might need to talk to her parents about that somewhat touchy subject. She hadn’t seen Mack’s sensitivity on that point come to light lately, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding his feelings about his recent past.

  The meal proceeded with Jorrie eating very little of her salad and getting more fatigued by the minute. Mercifully, the meal ended, and the trio paid and parted in the parking lot with Jorrie promising she’d be up to Frankfort soon with Mack.

  But once Jorrie was almost to her car, she realized that she needed to make a that all-important trip to the ladies’ room before hitting the road.

  She turned around and headed back into the restaurant and through the crazy gift shop area with all its knickknacks and food items. After leaving the restroom, Jorrie was momentarily distracted by a larg
e display of candles with strangely stated scents (her favorite was bourbon-chocolate sundae).

  As she was considering the wide variety of scents, she heard someone from behind her call her name.

  “Jorrie?”

  Jorrie turned to find her law school friend Nina Cain standing behind her.

  “Nina!” Jorrie cried, and the two women embraced.

  They had been fast friends all through law school and kept in touch, but Jorrie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Nina. It had probably been sometime in the spring at a continuing legal education class in Lexington. They’d sat together, gossiped, and shared lunch.

  “You arriving or leaving?” Nina asked her.

  “Leaving,” Jorrie said. “Need to get back to Bourbon Springs. Court in the morning.”

  “I’m about to leave too,” Nina confided. “Not sure how we missed each other in that dining room.”

  They began to chat about work and life, and Nina told Jorrie she was going to Bourbon Springs over the holiday weekend to visit her brother, Walker, the Old Garnet master distiller.

  “Look, I know you probably want to get on the road,” Nina said, “but would you come outside for a minute and talk for a bit? There’s something I want to tell you about. Been meaning to call you, but talking in person is even better.”

  Jorrie agreed, and they went to the front porch of the restaurant, which was lined with a number of large rocking chairs, all of which were for sale. The long line of seating reminded Jorrie of the porch at Woodford Reserve, which was just a few miles away from where they were.

  “I heard that you’d started a law practice down in Bourbon Springs,” Nina said as they fell into the large rockers.

  “Walker told you?”

  “No,” Nina said, running a hand through her bobbed blond hair. When they’d been in law school, the two women had occasionally been mistaken for sisters since their coloring and physical statures had been so similar. “CiCi told me,” Nina said, referring to her sister-in-law, the Craig Circuit Court Clerk.

  “Should’ve figured that out.”

  “Do you miss prosecuting?”

  “A little bit,” Jorrie said, “although it’s been a while now since I left the Craig Commonwealth Attorney’s office. I don’t think I’d go back. I make better money in private practice. Not much, but enough.”

  Nina leaned on the arm of her rocker and indicated Jorrie should move closer.

  “My office is going to have an opening for an assistant ethics prosecutor very soon,” she revealed. “One of the more experienced attorneys is leaving for a job at the U.S. Attorney’s office in Lexington, so it won’t be an entry-level position. I was going to call you and tell you about it.”

  Jorrie fell back into the chair, surprised by Nina’s news. Only a month ago she would’ve jumped at this opportunity.

  Nina looked askance at her friend.

  “I thought you’d be a little bit more excited,” Nina said. “Aren’t your parents still living here in Frankfort?”

  Jorrie assured her they were and that Nina had just missed seeing them. “But I’m doing fine in Bourbon Springs.”

  “I think Walker did mention that you did a lot of work for Pepper Buckler?” Nina asked. “I know her. That must be a great gig.”

  “It is. But it’s not just that,” Jorrie said. “I recently met someone in Bourbon Springs.”

  “I see.” Nina sat back in her rocker and stared out into the parking lot. “So does that mean you wouldn’t be interested in the job?”

  This opportunity was not like the possible job at Rissa’s firm. Jorrie had completely abandoned any interest in going to work at that large law firm, especially after her encounters with Rissa and Elliot. Her friendship with Rissa was still tense (they’d e-mailed and texted a few times since the blind date at Woodford Reserve, but that had been it), and Elliot was simply too aggressive for her tastes.

  But working as an ethics prosecutor sounded really interesting, challenging, and different than any other legal work she’d ever done. It was not the kind of chance that came knocking very often either. The number of disciplinary prosecutors in the state was small, and from what Nina had mentioned to her at the educational class, turnover was low in the office.

  “I’d be interested,” Jorrie said.

  “Want me to mention your name to my boss?”

  Jorrie agreed, feeling strangely guilty about her interest in the job.

  “The position won’t be advertised for at least another month, so interviews are probably not in the cards until late summer or early fall. I’m sure we’ll have a lot of interest in the spot.” Nina leaned over to whisper to her. “I’d love to work with you. And I bet you’d love to come home to Frankfort.”

  “It would be hard to pass up the chance.”

  Nina said she’d pass on her name and stood.

  At that moment, Jorrie noticed a bandage on Nina’s left hand and what appeared to be a still-healing scratch along the left side of her face. Before Jorrie could ask, Nina’s face darkened and she explained that she’d been in a biking accident a few weeks earlier. As Jorrie expressed sympathy, Nina then dropped the bomb that she’d broken up with her longtime boyfriend shortly after the accident.

  No wonder Nina wanted her to come to work in Frankfort, Jorrie thought as they hugged and then departed. The woman looked like she really needed a friend.

  By the time Jorrie was in her car and heading out of the parking lot, a little bubble of anxiety had formed in her tummy.

  This was the kind of job that could really tempt her to leave Bourbon Springs: interesting, unique, and rarely available. She and Mack had told each other a few weeks ago they weren’t making any promises, but after hearing the songs he’d written for her, after discovering he’d written more, and after making love with him… had things started to change?

  They hadn’t discussed the future beyond the summer concerts, but she slowly had started reframing her life by coming to the conclusion she just might have a future in Bourbon Springs with Mack.

  Was it time for a talk?

  Should she tell Mack about her interest in the job now or later—or if ever? It wasn’t like she was guaranteed anything, and Jorrie was certain that there would be scores of applicants much more qualified than herself. The chances of being asked to Nina’s office even for an interview seemed impossibly high.

  Her nerves quieted when she decided not to bring up the subject with Mack. They were in a special, sweet place in their relationship, and she was happier than she’d been in years.

  She wanted nothing to disturb what she was starting to believe was the blossoming of the most important relationship of her life.

  15

  Monday was a long, crappy day.

  Mack had gotten little sleep—not because he’d been with Jorrie, but because he’d wanted to be.

  He’d had another restless night thinking about her and had finally roused himself from bed around four in the morning. Rather than fight the sleeplessness, he’d given in and gotten up to write more songs and make his grandfather’s favorite breakfast, pancakes, grits, and a pot of extra-strong coffee.

  By the time the early morning darkness had faded into dawn, Mack had availed himself so much of the coffee to help fight off his fatigue that he had to make another pot for Albert before heading to school. Once there, in addition to caffeine jitters and drowsiness, he had to deal with his snarky students and the particularly recalcitrant and angry Gary, who was even more agitated than usual. Judging from Gary’s demeanor, Mack figured Gary knew about the firing and had sided with Sims when it came to where to place blame.

  Mack managed to survive the school day and was looking forward to getting home and getting a nap, if his grandfather would leave him alone. After Jorrie had left on Sunday, the man had asked him a thousand questions about her and used a certain word for the first time.

  “When you think your girlfriend will be back to the house?” Albert had asked expect
antly. “She promised me that she’d play cards with me, and I’m gonna take her up on that offer.”

  Girlfriend.

  He had a girlfriend. After swearing up and down to himself he wouldn’t let that happen again.

  He was smiling to himself, thinking of Jorrie, and packing his backpack when Kyle Sammons, in uniform, appeared in his classroom doorway.

  Kyle greeted Mack warmly, shook his hand, and asked if they could talk for a minute. Mack offered Kyle a seat, but he chose to remain standing and closed the classroom door before he started to speak.

  “Sorry to barge in like this, but I was out this way and knew you’d be here at the school. I’m here about what happened with the slashed tires,” Kyle said, walking back to where Mack stood next to his desk at the front of the classroom. “I wanted to talk some more.”

  “Sure. Something up?”

  “Not sure. Has Sims contacted you in any way since he was fired?”

  “No.”

  “What about Jorrie?”

  “No,” Mack repeated, concern growing. “Is there something I should know?”

  “We got a report from a neighbor of yours about his mailbox being destroyed.”

  “Which neighbor?” Mack asked. “Not like I have a lot of them out where I live.”

  “Boyce Johnston,” Kyle said. “On your side of the road, about a quarter mile east, right?”

  “Yeah. And you think that his mailbox getting wiped out or whatever had something to do with Sims?”

  “Boyce and his wife told us that they saw a car pass by the house several times in the hours before they noticed the mailbox had been run over. I know that’s not much to go on, but it might match the description of a certain someone’s car.”

  “You think a certain someone mistook Boyce’s mailbox for mine?”

  “Possibly. One of my deputies went out to visit this certain someone, check out his vehicle. Problem was that it already had a lot of damage on the front. No way to really tell if it had recently come into contact with a certain mailbox.”

  “Are you telling me I should be worried?” Mack asked.