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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “Not good. She hung up on me.”

  “So New Year’s lunch is not going to be fun, is it?”

  “It never is,” Miranda said, thinking of the traditional Southern meal her mother always made, which had to include a big bowl of black-eyed peas for good luck into the new year.

  “Maybe she’ll let you invite Prent,” Maisie taunted.

  “Only to yell at him and have the satisfaction of throwing him out of her house. I could see her inviting all Perryville over just to witness the event.”

  “That sounds like fun! We could take pictures and you could be there as the upset girlfriend and—”

  “Shut it!” Miranda said warningly as she noticed she was getting another call.

  Miranda promised to call later in the day after Maisie got off work at the state historic site. She was very proud of her little sister. In just a few short years, Maisie Chaplin had risen to the spot of park superintendent. For someone a few years out of college, the accomplishment was extraordinary, according to what Miranda understood for someone working in the state park system and specifically within the tight-knit community of the Kentucky state park system.

  The call was from her answering service. One of her patients had gone into labor two weeks early, and she also had a frantic call from the Davenports. Lila was having contractions. Miranda called the hospital and told them she was on her way, then she called Lila.

  “Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” Lila said a little breathlessly. “For the longest time I’d convinced myself the baby was just going through another round of hiccups.”

  “But these are contractions?” Miranda asked her, holding her phone to one ear while trying to slip into her coat.

  “Yes, we’ve timed them.”

  Miranda got a little bit more information from her and told her to go to the emergency room at the hospital.

  “I think it’s just a false alarm but better safe than sorry. See you soon.”

  When she made it to her car, she called Prent.

  “Don’t cancel on me for lunch, please?” he begged as he picked up the call. “Don’t change your mind on me.”

  “I didn’t change my mind,” she said, putting the key in the ignition as she watched her garage door go up. “Nothing more that I’d like to do than go to lunch with you at The Windmill today. But a few of my patients changed my plans. You really think I’d stand you up today?”

  “I’m still not sure last night really happened,” he admitted.

  “It did happen. And if babies cooperate, we can move our outing to dinner instead. Deal?”

  “It’s not an outing. It’s a date.”

  “You want me to say the word?”

  “I’d love to hear it.”

  “Very well,” she said. “I’ll call you later and you can pick me up for our date.” She heard him sigh on the other end. “Don’t tell me that made your day.”

  “You make my day, Miranda Chaplin. Call me later. I love you.”

  And he ended the call suddenly, leaving her a little surprised by his abruptness but nonetheless appreciative of it since she needed to get to work. Babies made their own schedules. She was merely their servant.

  In the course of the next hour, Miranda got to the hospital, changed into scrubs, and checked on her patient. Based upon the timing of the contractions, Miranda expected the child to arrive in the middle of the afternoon or the early evening. The patient was calmly knitting as she waited, while her husband sat in a nearby chair, a bundle of nerves and chewing his nails.

  After leaving that patient, Miranda hurried to the emergency room in search of Lila Davenport.

  “Well, I don’t think this is the real thing, thank goodness, but you do have another problem,” Miranda said.

  “Blood pressure?” Lila asked. “I saw the nurse frowning when she took it, and then she asked me a bunch of questions about symptoms.”

  “Yeah, this isn’t good. You’re on the brink of going on bed rest.”

  Lila’s face fell, and Bo gripped his wife’s hand.

  “What can I do?” Lila asked feebly. “I saw what bed rest did to Hannah and Kyle. Drove them nuts.”

  “Drove us all nuts,” Bo said. “Hannah’s still mad because we refused to have any baby showers for her, even though everyone individually delivered all that stuff to her house.”

  “You know her,” Lila said. “Loves the party, the attention, the planning.”

  “But being on bed rest would drive you crazy nonetheless,” Bo said.

  “I’d feel totally useless,” Lila agreed. “And what about my students? I wanted to go over a lot more of the Civil War history before the Battle of Perryville. And now I probably can’t even take them there this year.”

  “You’re not on bed rest yet,” Miranda pointed out. “But did anything happen recently to send your blood pressure through the roof?”

  Lila and Bo exchanged a look, with Lila pursing her lips.

  “Go ahead and tell her,” Lila said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Well,” Bo began with barely suppressed amusement, “I took Lila out to brunch this morning at The Cooperage. She’d once said she always wanted to go to weekend brunch there, and I took her there as a holiday treat.”

  “And they advertise a full Southern brunch buffet—got that? A full Southern brunch,” she repeated, pointing at Miranda and looking angry.

  Bo put a hand on Lila’s leg and continued the story.

  “We got there, had a great table, the food was lovely but—”

  “No grits!” Lila exploded. “How can you say you have a true Southern brunch without grits! I mean, I get that some people don’t like them and some prefer butter to the sweet kind, but come on! So easy and cheap to make, and it was a buffet! Plenty of bacon, sausage, biscuits, gravy! The whole nine yards and then some! They even had fried quail for crying out loud! But no grits!”

  She crossed her arms back over her chest and huffed.

  “Okay…,” Miranda said slowly, shocked and amused by her patient’s outburst.

  “And we sure let them know of our displeasure,” Bo said, scratching his ear and looking down to hide his grin.

  “I think I’d better take your blood pressure again.” Miranda pulled out the blood pressure cuff.

  “Oh, dear. Lost it again. What’s wrong with me?” Lila put a hand on her forehead, looking like she’d just awakened from some fever dream.

  “Well, you’re seven months pregnant for starters,” Miranda said, wrapping the cuff around Lila’s arm. “I’m not saying it’s the hormones or that sort of crap. People sometimes overlook the very basic fact that being pregnant can be an extremely stressful time even if a baby is wanted and the mother is otherwise healthy and happy. It’s a big change, physically, mentally—everything. Having only nine months to get your head around such changes can produce stress. What a surprise.”

  Miranda wasn’t happy with the results of the check.

  “I want you in my office on Monday morning so we can examine you again. And if you have any of these symptoms, you call me tonight, tomorrow, whenever. I think this is just a temporary thing, but I want to watch it.” She handed Lila a pamphlet on preeclampsia, the high blood pressure conditions suffered by many pregnant women.

  Lila took the pamphlet and began to read it. In the small lull, Miranda caught Bo’s eye and glanced toward the door. Bo nodded and announced that he needed to go to the bathroom, and Miranda said that she would leave for a few minutes to allow Lila to get her clothes on and come back in to get a little more information.

  “Not like her at all, was it?” Miranda asked Bo once they were safely out of the room and in the hall.

  “No,” he said and shook his head. “She has a bit of a temper, but when she gets mad, it’s not over trivial things like the offerings on a buffet. I knew something was wrong. Then she started getting those contractions. We were both really scared.”

  “I think the contractions were just coincidental,” M
iranda told him. “But we do need to watch her blood pressure. She needs to take it easy.”

  “Then that means we’ll probably have to cancel the New Year’s event we were trying to throw together at the distillery.”

  “I think you should reconsider that event and have a quiet evening in.”

  “Maybe we should take advantage of the time we have before Gigi gets here.”

  “Gigi? I thought you were calling the baby Angelica.”

  “We are,” Bo confirmed. They reached the end of the hall, and Miranda turned to a nurse’s station. “I call her that as a little nickname. But Lila hates it. Says it makes her think of GarnetGirl, the famous filly from GarnetBrooke years ago. Says she will not have her child burdened with a nickname that makes everyone think of a horse.”

  “Well, that was the first thing that came to my mind,” Miranda admitted and handed a nurse some papers. “I’d not use that name around Lila if I were you.”

  Bo laughed. “You don’t need to tell me that. Already had myself set straight by my wife on what my daughter will be called. And I’m more than happy with it.”

  10

  After seeing the Davenports on their way and trying to give them some comfort that bed rest wasn’t a sure thing, Miranda returned to check on her patient in labor. She found her asleep, with the husband sitting in the corner, looking mad that he couldn’t enjoy the same slumbers.

  “She is the one doing the heavy lifting here today,” Miranda reminded him with a frown before she left the room to make sure there were sufficient nurses on duty for the impending delivery.

  After assuring herself of adequate support, Miranda went to the doctors’ lounge and texted Prent to let him know dinner was possible but not a sure thing. To her pleasant surprise, he immediately texted back.

  Let me know when, and I’ll be there whatever the time

  I’ll drive if you want

  I love you

  His swift response revealed he had been waiting for her to contact him. The thought filled her with that sweet giddiness she recalled from their early dating days. Prent had always been an attentive boyfriend and lover, and the passage of time apparently had not diminished his romantic side.

  The remainder of the day into afternoon proceeded as expected, with her patient delivering a baby boy in late afternoon. She didn’t call Prent until after she had ditched her scrubs and changed clothes.

  “I can be there in fifteen,” Prent declared when she called. “I’m at my house now. Where do you want to go? The Rickhouse? The Cooperage? Lexington? Ramsey’s has a great new menu and—”

  “Actually, The Windmill is more my speed tonight. I’m tired.”

  “Whatever you want,” he said. “I’ll meet you at your house.”

  “Don’t beat me there!” she cried before he hung up. It would only take ten minutes for her to get to her house from the hospital, but Prent could be a rather reckless driver, especially when in a hurry.

  She’d only been home long enough to go to the bathroom when she heard the doorbell ring. Upon opening the front door, she found Prent standing before her, grinning and hiding his hands behind his back.

  “More roses?”

  “Of course,” he said and pulled one arm to the front.

  Instead of red roses, the bouquet was yellow. She looked at the flowers with some confusion, as Prent had consistently given her red roses during the time he’d been wooing her back.

  “Minnick’s run out of red ones?” she ventured.

  “Nope, this was intentional.” He handed her the flowers as she allowed him entry. “Everyone knows what red roses mean: I love you, intense passion, all that. I’ve been telling you that for years now and thought another message would be in order. So I checked into what the other colors meant. In addition to the traditional welcome back message, I discovered that yellow roses also signify new beginnings.”

  “Very appropriate,” she agreed as he bent his head to kiss her, placing his still-gloved hands aside her face.

  “You don’t know how happy I am to be here tonight,” he whispered against her lips after they simultaneously broke the kiss.

  “Maybe I do,” she laughed as he brushed his growing hardness against her hip.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  He looked so embarrassed that Miranda laughed and gave him another quick kiss out of pity. She hurried to the kitchen to get the flowers into water, and Prent followed, helping her retrieve a vase from a high shelf. After arranging the roses, she placed them on her kitchen table.

  “Yellow is a nice change,” she remarked. “Brightens it up.”

  Prent put his arm around her, and they looked at the roses together. He made no further move on her, and she put her head against his shoulder.

  How easily they had fallen back into a level of mutual understanding and comfort. It was almost like nothing had happened—a dangerous illusion and one she needed to shatter.

  She turned to him, lips pressed together and face tense.

  “Wait—that’s the we-need-to-talk face. Please don’t tell me that you’re about to kick me out,” he said in all earnestness.

  She had terrified him with a mere glance.

  “No, but—”

  “Can’t it wait?” he begged. “Can’t we just go out first and then talk about what’s bothering you?”

  He was right. If she dumped her secret on him, it would taint the entire evening. Better that they go out and enjoy themselves a little bit before retreating to her home for the discussion she knew they needed to have.

  “Sure.” She moved to get her coat from the foyer closet, relieved that she didn’t have to spill her secret just yet.

  In the next five minutes they were on the road north out of Bourbon Springs in Prent’s car to The Windmill. Miranda was looking forward to the simple dining the establishment offered, and was preoccupied with whether she wanted a vanilla or chocolate milkshake when she heard Prent groan.

  “How could they be closed?” he asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

  The diner’s interior was darkened although a large blue-and-white neon sign with a windmill motif glowed warmly in the night. Prent parked at the side of the rectangular building and went to the door. He soon returned with a frustrated look.

  “Closed due to flu!” he said, grabbing the steering wheel. “Two cooks, a server, and the owner are all down with it!”

  “Did you get your shot?” Miranda asked.

  He confirmed he had and paused at the driveway just before pulling out onto Ashbrooke Pike.

  “You won’t let me take you somewhere fancy?” he asked.

  “You did that last night. And you’ll have other opportunities if you so wish on nights when I’m not so wiped out.”

  He sighed and pursed his lips but after a few moments brightened.

  “The distillery café,” he said. “Maybe that’s still open.”

  “But it’s after five, and the last tour at this time of year is at four. Saw it on a sign at the distillery when we were there for the meeting.”

  “You didn’t notice the café hours?”

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe the café is open after the last tour to accommodate the last tour group of the day,” he suggested. “Worth a trip over there since we’re just a mile or so away.”

  Miranda agreed, and they soon arrived at the parking lot for the Old Garnet visitors’ center, where there were several cars and a tour bus at the curb. Lights were ablaze in the building, so much so that the small glass dome on top glowed like a lighthouse in an ocean of darkness.

  Upon entering the oval-shaped visitors’ center hand in hand, they found the place unusually busy for a Saturday evening.

  “Looks like we weren’t the only disappointed would-be Windmill diners to have this idea,” Miranda said.

  “We’d better try to get a table.”

  Prent nodded in the direction of the café slightly to the right and in front of them. There was a line to be s
eated, and every table appeared taken.

  “We might have to get this to go,” she said.

  Diners were a mixture of a few locals she recognized along with the tourists who were likely to depart on the small bus parked in front of the visitors’ center.

  “The Davenports should like this business,” Prent said. “Of course, no distillery with a decent visitors’ center these days is hurting.”

  “Bourbon is big. And I guess that makes it the perfect time to be in the barrel business.”

  “Yeah,” Prent said without any level of enthusiasm as he stared vacantly into the crowd.

  Taken aback by his tone, Miranda squeezed his hand, causing him to look down at her.

  “I’ll tell you later,” he said, fixing his gaze on some point behind her. “Besides, even if I wanted to talk about it now, we wouldn’t have the chance.”

  Miranda turned to see Hannah Davenport standing a few feet away from them.

  “Well, well, well,” she said. “I see we’re out on the town tonight?”

  “Yes, we are,” Miranda said, keeping Prent close and still holding his hand. “We wanted to go to The Windmill but—”

  “Yeah, I know, flu!” Hannah said. “Harriet has it, and Bo is terrified Lila will get it, even though she had the shot. They even decided to cancel the New Year’s party we were going to have at the distillery. Although from what I hear, that might have been on doctor’s orders.”

  Miranda smiled and said nothing since she was constrained from saying anything due to patient confidentiality. Instead, she mentioned the possibility that the shot that year might not reach the more active strains of the virus.

  “Great,” Hannah said. “I should get home and away from all these people if that’s the case—no offense,” she added hastily.

  “As the mother of a child under six months old, that’s only sound thinking,” Miranda said.

  “I am sorry that we won’t have the party. It would’ve been fun to have you—the two of you,” Hannah added.

  A grinning Hannah wished them a happy evening and holiday then left them, saying she needed to find Goose to discuss whether the distillery should open on New Year’s Day, which was not the norm.