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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “I’m telling you to be careful and keep your eyes open. I reinterviewed Bo about what had happened, but that wasn’t particularly helpful. I thought that you might have something new to add.”

  “I got nothing. He’s not contacted me or anything, and other than the tire slashing itself, I don’t know of anything to be concerned about—except for this mailbox incident.”

  “You ever heard Sims mention any other grudges against people at Old Garnet, like anyone in the rickhouses?”

  Mack shook his head. He remembered that the tires on other cars had been slashed, but had never heard of any bad blood between Sims and anyone else at the distillery.

  “Your granddad knows what happened, I take it?” Kyle asked.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t tell him it had also happened to Jorrie.”

  “You’d better,” Kyle advised. “And you’re going to have to tell him about Boyce and to keep his eyes open.”

  Mack ran a hand over his face.

  “Worried about your granddad?” Kyle asked.

  “Yeah, but Sims too. Because if Albert McCowan thinks there’s gonna be any trouble, he’ll get his shotgun and shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Maybe you’d better secure that thing before you talk to Albert,” Kyle advised.

  “I can’t,” Mack said. “It’s his gun, in his gun safe. I don’t have the key.”

  “Then I’ll have to leave it to you to best discuss this with Albert, unless you think I could be of some help.”

  “Let me think about that and get back to you,” Mack said and slipped his backpack on.

  “Don’t think too long,” Kyle said.

  The two men walked out of the school together, with Kyle turning the topic to the happier subject of music. Mack listened as Kyle talked about his favorite Bluegrass tunes, and Mack nodded politely. For once, his mind wasn’t on music but on his grandpa and Jorrie.

  He drove home in a distracted, worried silence and didn’t even bother to turn on the radio in his truck.

  If Sims was really out there crossing the line from being his jerk of a boss to criminal asshole, why hadn’t Sims targeted him directly? Why these incidents of vandalism where the damage was done and then the jerk flees?

  Sims had always been an in-your-face kind of guy, and Mack had trouble squaring the sneaky yet harmful attacks with Sims’s known confrontational nature.

  But then Mack had a terrifying thought. What if Sims’s conduct escalated?

  Upon pulling off the road and into his driveway, Mack’s attention was immediately drawn to the front of the house where he saw his grandfather was examining some of the siding.

  “Pa, why aren’t you inside?” Mack said, concerned that his grandfather would be out in the heat of an early evening in July.

  Albert dipped his head to the house. “Take a look at this.”

  Mack approached the house and followed Albert’s pointing hand to a spot between two bushes.

  It was a bullet hole.

  “Don’t recall this being here a few days ago,” Albert said, and put a finger over the hole. “That was the last time I got out here.”

  Mack immediately pulled out his phone and called the sheriff’s office as Albert protested.

  “Probably just some crazy hunter,” Albert reasoned.

  “I’d like to think so,” Mack said.

  “What’s that mean?” Albert demanded. “You don’t think—”

  Mack was immediately put through to Kyle.

  “I’m on my way,” Kyle said. “And get both of yourselves inside that house right now.”

  Mack ushered Albert back into the house, with the latter complaining all the way back inside.

  “Why call the sheriff over a stray shot?” Albert asked as he dropped into his favorite chair in the sitting room at the front of the house.

  Mack went to the windows and closed the blinds as he answered. “What if it wasn’t a stray shot?”

  When Albert turned a confused face to him, Mack explained what happed to Boyce Johnston’s mailbox.

  “Bah! Just a coincidence!” Albert huffed.

  “But I don’t think it was a coincidence that Jorrie’s tires got slashed too, Pa,” Mack said as he sat next to his grandfather on the nearby couch.

  “What? You didn’t tell me about that!”

  “Didn’t want to worry you.”

  His grandfather berated him for several minutes as he realized he was going to have to tell Jorrie about this incident. At least her condo development had security cameras, although it wasn’t gated. People were free to come and go through the large parking lot around the condos, and that caused him a great deal of worry.

  With his grandfather still bitching at him and already talking about getting his gun out of the safe, Mack retreated to the kitchen to see what he could rustle up for supper.

  On the kitchen table was a small pile of mail, and Mack picked through it before checking the pantry and fridge.

  The first surprise—he wasn’t sure whether it was a welcome one—was a letter from Webb, his old agent.

  He was on the brink of tossing it, unopened, and not looking back. He’d gotten a few more e-mails and calls from Webb in the past few days, all of which he’d ignored.

  Yet he was more curious than annoyed, so he ripped open the envelope and took a peek.

  Dear Mack,

  I’m writing this letter in the vain hope that you might actually open it and read it. I’ve been trying to call and e-mail you and you haven’t returned those messages.

  I can’t really say that I blame you after everything that happened.

  The truth is that I have heard you played a local county fair and have some kind of summer concert gig lined up at that famous distillery in your hometown, Old Garnet. A few people in Lexington told me they’d gone down to Bourbon Springs for your first concert a few days ago and that you totally rocked it—and that you played almost all Bluegrass music.

  I know now that it was a mistake to try to pigeonhole you so much into playing country. That was my fault because that’s where I saw the big bucks for you—for us both. But I know that wasn’t your first love. You’re great at it—excellent, really, and a hell of a lot better than a lot of the so-called stars out there at the top of the charts that just seem to grunt, whine, and twang their way through some stupid song. But I get it.

  You love Bluegrass.

  What I’m asking you to do is talk to me. I want to see what I can do for you as far as building your Bluegrass career. Maybe that’s why the whole country music thing didn’t work out for you. Your heart wasn’t in it, was it?

  Well, I’ve said what I needed to say. I hope you’ll call me at least to talk, even if you end up walking away from music again.

  Best,

  Webb

  Walking away from music?

  When the fuck had he ever done that?

  The whole music industry might have kicked him to the curb, but Mack knew that he most certainly hadn’t walked away from music.

  Mack held the letter in his hand and shook his head. Webb’s words had made a lot of sense until Mack had gotten to that last sentence.

  Had his agent ever had half a clue as to what made Mack tick? All that begging to do a Bluegrass album had fallen on deaf ears. To Mack, it looked like Webb finally realized his mistake and was hoping to cash in on Mack’s passion.

  He threw the letter on top of the table and checked the other mail. A few bills, junk mail, but then there was a piece that made Mack’s stomach turn. A certified letter. The kind of thing you get when you’re getting sued, or about to get sued.

  He turned it over and saw that his grandfather had signed for it, even though Mack had told Albert repeatedly not to do that. Mack ripped it open, his heart beating fast and anger beginning to burn in his gut.

  The boilerplate letter stated in threatening all caps at the top FINAL NOTICE.

  Damn. He thought he’d paid this bill months ago. He couldn’t remember getti
ng any other notices—had Albert hidden them, forgotten them? Mack read the letter, knowing he couldn’t pay the balance, which had been jacked up with a ton of fees and interest.

  The debt stemmed from a car he’d bought in Nashville but had returned rather than have the thing repossessed just before he’d left town. But that hadn’t prevented the car company from coming after him for what they claimed they were owed. The amount he allegedly owed had ballooned to twice what he remembered.

  He put the notice on the table next to the letter from Webb and felt sick. Maybe he would have to contact Webb.

  Not because he had a strong urge to catch up on old times and rebuild bridges.

  But because Mack needed money. Again.

  His new job at the distillery would help, but this bill was big. Mack picked up the letter from Webb, replaced it in the envelope and took it, along with the notice, to his room and put it on his dresser.

  “Mack, the sheriff’s here,” Albert announced as Mack left his room.

  Mack went to the front door of the house where Albert was already standing and ready to go outside.

  “You stay in here, Pa,” Mack admonished. “Too damned hot out there today for you.”

  “I ain’t sick,” Albert grumbled, “and I want to talk to that Sheriff Sammons. I voted for the man and want to shake his hand.”

  Mack promised him he’d get that chance, made him stay inside, and went to greet Kyle as the sheriff exited his cruiser.

  “Show me the spot,” Kyle said.

  Mack did so, and Kyle examined the hole, questioned Mack, and scouted the general vicinity.

  “That farm over there,” Kyle said, pointing to the land across the road, “you know of any problems over there with hunters, poachers?”

  “Nope, and not on our land, for that matter.”

  “I want to meet your grandfather,” Kyle said.

  “And he wants to meet you.” Mack led Kyle into the house.

  Kyle and Albert had a nice, polite chat in the front room of the house in Mack’s presence. Albert was most pleased to tell Kyle that he’d supported him in the sheriff’s race (“Fuzzy Davenport was an idiot,” had been Albert’s assessment of Kyle’s former political opponent), and the two men began to talk about mutual acquaintances as Mack excused himself to the kitchen to get some refreshments.

  “You seen anything suspicious out here, Mr. Blanton?” Kyle asked as he took a glass of water from a tray offered by Mack, who did the same for his grandfather and then returned to the kitchen to start supper.

  “No, and call me Albert. Didn’t hear that shot that went into the house, but I know enough that it has to be recent. And let me tell you that if we got trouble out here, I’m more than ready for it. I got me a shotgun and a pistol and know how to use them both.”

  “Mack told me you have a gun safe. Very smart.”

  “I ain’t no hothead, if that’s what you’re getting at, Sheriff.”

  Mack heard this comment and, fearing an incipient argument, stood in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen and waited for his grandfather’s irritability to continue to reveal itself.

  “Said nothing of the kind.” Kyle took a sip from his glass and locked eyes for a moment with Mack.

  “I will defend myself in my own home,” Albert continued.

  “Of course,” Kyle said, “but shouldn’t you be prepared? When was the last time you fired a weapon? When was the last time you went to a firing range?”

  “Well… I can’t rightly say, I suppose.”

  “I know of a place north of Springfield,” Kyle said. “Firing range, training place. Maybe we could go there sometime together. I go there a lot just to practice since there isn’t a facility like that here in the county. And I’d be glad to take you sometime soon,” Kyle added as Mack was about to intervene.

  Mack watched his grandfather’s reaction closely, fully expecting him to see the sheriff’s very generous offer as charity or insulting.

  But instead, Albert started to laugh.

  “That sounds like a wonderful day to me!” Albert exploded. “When can we go?”

  “Well, maybe Mack could come along as well,” Kyle said, nodding to Mack.

  “Of course,” Mack said.

  “Let’s try to get out there soon,” Kyle said. Mack heard the meaning in his words.

  Kyle rose to leave, shook Albert’s hand, and asked Mack to come outside with him. Mack figured that Kyle wanted to talk about a trip to the shooting range.

  “Sheriff, I gotta be honest with you, I don’t know if I can afford going to the gun range and—”

  “Forget it,” Kyle said and waved a hand as they arrived at the front of Kyle’s cruiser. “You two will be my guests. And they love to have seniors out there.”

  “Thanks,” Mack said. “And thanks for coming out here.”

  Mack was about to offer Kyle his hand, but Kyle opened the passenger side of his vehicle, reached into the seat, and pulled out a thick stack of papers.

  “I’m sorry to do this,” Kyle said as he slammed the cruiser door, “but since I was coming out here I thought I’d bring it. I saw this in a deputy’s basket to be served and picked it up.”

  Kyle handed Mack the papers.

  It was a lawsuit by the same corporation from which he’d received the notice that same day.

  “I didn’t want to give this to you inside, since your grandpa was in there,” Kyle said. “And I won’t have to charge for it either. I’ll mark it as you picked it up at the sheriff’s station. Not fair for that company to charge it as costs against you since I had to come out here anyway.”

  “Thanks again,” Mack said and ran a hand over his head. He was hot, tired, hungry, and now officially served.

  “How’s Jorrie?”

  “Great,” he said, immediately feeling better. “Hannah doing well?”

  “Worried about her,” Kyle admitted. “Her high blood pressure may put her in bed before this pregnancy is over.”

  “Give her my best. I owe her a lot,” Mack said as Kyle walked to the driver’s side of the car. “And Pepper too. I’m really looking forward to the rest of the summer.”

  “Me too,” Kyle said, smiling broadly. “I get to be a dad by the time it’s over.”

  Kyle promised to call and set up a date for the three of them to head to the firing range. He then left, kicking up a cloud of dust on the gravel-and-dirt driveway as he pulled out onto the road and sped back toward Bourbon Springs.

  Mack walked back toward the house with the lawsuit in his hand and gave a cursory glance at the bullet hole as he passed. He lingered on the front steps for a few seconds, his anger rising as he realized that his plans and dreams were shifting under him yet again.

  Maybe that was the trick—not to plan, not to have any expectations.

  Because if you didn’t have hopes, they couldn’t be dashed.

  16

  Unlike the scale of the multiday BourbonDaze festival in late May, the Fourth of July festival in downtown Bourbon Springs was not a big affair. Nonetheless, it was still a major community event and shut down most of the downtown area for the entire day.

  Jorrie went out to Mack’s place and picked him up early in the morning that day rather than have him go through the trouble of trying to find a parking place in town. She knew that if he tried to park in her condo lot that day, he’d probably get towed.

  And going out early to get him had its benefits.

  When they returned to her condo, it was too early to go out and about on the streets—no vendors or booths were open at that time—so they retreated to the cool confines of her home. They had a quick breakfast of toast and coffee, and as Jorrie was putting a few dishes into the sink, Mack crept up behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and planted kisses on her neck, with his hands eventually moving underneath her shorts and undies.

  He splayed his hands flat against her tummy, and she found herself wishing he’d move those hands lower.

&nbs
p; “Care to spend some time with me on your couch?” he whispered.

  She turned off the water and tilted her neck to encourage Mack to continue his attentions.

  “I’d rather spend time with you in my bed.”

  They stole away to her bedroom for a sweet but intense lovemaking encounter. Jorrie hadn’t expected to start her day in such a haze of desire but was surprised by her own want and was very happy to discover Mack was just as aroused—if not more so.

  And even though she had been the one to suggest moving directly to the bedroom, once there, his aggressive need took over.

  After peeling off his own clothes, he did the same to her, and she was naked and under him in what had to be less than a minute. Mack dispensed with a lot of foreplay, except to check her wetness, and after securing the condom on himself, slid into her. She could tell he was holding back until she hit her peak, which she quickly did.

  But once she’d moved past her edge, Mack’s primal urges took over; he thrust deeply into her a few times before he came, whispering her name against her neck.

  Sated and happy, they slept in each other’s arms until the late morning. The sound of a marching band warming up somewhere nearby roused her, and they hurried out of bed, dressed, and prepared to leave.

  After she retrieved a few baseball hats for them from her foyer closet, Jorrie turned to see Mack staring at her, and his expression was unsettling.

  He wasn’t sad, but—what was it? Worried? Anxious?

  She offered him a hat as she continued to examine his tense features, but he didn’t take the hat from her. Instead, Mack pulled her into a tight, needy hug so quickly that he knocked the breath out of her. With no time to react, Jorrie’s arms stuck awkwardly at her sides, with each hand still clutching a hat.

  “What’s wrong? Worried about that lawsuit? I told you Drake would deal with it and you’ll work something out.”

  Two nights earlier at The Windmill, Mack had revealed the lawsuit to her, but hadn’t asked for help or advice. He said he was telling her about the case because if he started to act odd or upset, he wanted her to know the reason for his bad mood, and he didn’t want her to discover it by accident one day in the courthouse.