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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  After Hannah had departed, Prent thanked Miranda.

  “For what?”

  “I saw what you did. You kept holding my hand in front of Hannah. That was as much of an announcement to the entire world that we’re back together as if you’d taken out a full-page ad in the Bourbon Springs Bugle.”

  “And our dinner in Littleham probably served the same purpose for your neck of the woods.”

  “That, along with my mother. After I told her yesterday morning that we were a couple again, I’m sure she wasted no time in getting the word out.”

  By the time they were able to place their order, many of the sandwiches already had sold out. As a result, they had to settle for turkey and cheese on whole wheat, plain chips, and canned drinks.

  They did, however, manage to snag the last two pieces of bourbon pecan pie.

  “I think the trip here will be worth it just for the pie,” Miranda said as they squeezed into a table for two at the far end of the café opposite the register. They were almost in the visitors’ center lobby they were so far away from the interior of the café.

  “Sounds like the kind of thing you say when going to The Windmill.”

  “Well, it’s still no substitute for the ice cream,” Miranda complained. “I can’t believe they took it off the menu until spring. They could be making a fortune off that stuff.”

  He unwrapped his sandwich and looked around the café.

  “They can make a fortune at Old Garnet simply by opening their doors.”

  Miranda again caught that hint of regret or resentment in Prent’s voice as it regarded money or his business. She again wanted to explore his comment since she’d never known him to express worry about the cooperage. She held her tongue and realized that despite knowing knew Prent very well, their time apart had nonetheless changed him.

  Because even though the core of his crazy nature remained, there was no doubt that Prent Oakes had matured.

  His expressions of worry were a consequence of growing up, and she realized she would have to get accustomed to a version of Prent as a businessman. The fact that he had apparently gleaned wisdom from experience made her proud and gave her hope for their future since such resilience showed he had the capacity to change and adapt, something she still doubted in herself.

  The diners thinned as they consumed their sandwiches, and by the time they had started to eat their pieces of pie, they were talking about what to do for New Year’s Eve.

  “Haven’t had a date for New Year’s Eve in a while,” she said. “I’m certain you were the last one.”

  “Well, if you want to spend the evening with me, you’ll have to spend it with some of my family. I’d already invited my mother, Uncle Kurt, and Minerva over for a simple dinner before…” He trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

  “Before we got back together?” she finished for him.

  Mouth slightly open, he stared at her before breaking into a smile.

  “Say it again.”

  “What?”

  “What you just said.”

  “That we’re back together?”

  He sighed and closed his eyes briefly.

  “Strange that you found it hard to say,” she said, amused.

  “I still find it hard to believe.”

  “Believe it. I’m right in front of you. So what’s for dinner?”

  “Planning on keeping it simple. I can’t cook that well, so I was going to get some frozen lasagna, some salad, maybe a pie from The Windmill—”

  “You’d better rethink that last option.”

  They finished the pie, pronounced it wonderful, and Miranda speculated whether she could get the recipe from Hannah or Lila since she’d heard that many of the delicacies offered by the distillery café were the products of recipes from the kitchen of the late Emma Davenport, Bo and Hannah’s mother.

  “But if they’re so stingy about offering Cinnamon Garnet,” Miranda said as she took Prent’s arm as they walked into the lobby, “I doubt I could get any recipes out of them.”

  “You can always ask. The worst they can say is no.”

  “As you know from experience.”

  “And maybe someday they’ll say yes,” he said as he pulled her closer to his side.

  11

  They walked to join several others in the middle of the lobby admiring the bourbon flavor wheel. Prent seemed especially happy to take in the unique feature.

  “Even though I know the ins and outs of wood,” he said, gazing down with wide eyes, “I still find it nothing short of miraculous that all those incredible flavors come from the oak.”

  “And you help all those distillers create them.”

  “I guess I am good at it,” he admitted.

  “Bourbon drinkers everywhere would attest to that.”

  Prent glanced toward the far left of the center where a giant decorated cedar tree reigned over the lobby. He gently tugged her toward the display, and they went to examine the gaudily decorated tree.

  Bungs glued together and stamped on one end with the Old Garnet logo were made to resemble little barrels, and scores of them hung from the tree by dark red grosgrain ribbon. Small minibar-size bottles of Old Garnet were filled with clear liquid and glitter and sequins, and a multitude of paper chains made from Old Garnet labels encircled the tree multiple times. At the very top, a giant angel enrobed in gold, cream, and crimson held out her arms to those below.

  Prent took a deep breath.

  “I love that cedar smell,” he said, “as well as the taste. But you won’t find that taste in a bourbon like Old Garnet.”

  They found a small bench made of old barrel staves next to the tree, and Prent gave Miranda a lesson on the bourbon brands in which the cedar flavor could be detected. She wrinkled her nose, declaring that she preferred a bourbon with a sweeter, smoother flavor.

  “Like Old Garnet, or Woodford Reserve, or Maker’s,” Miranda said as Prent took her hands.

  “You ought to broaden your mind and palate a little and taste some others. Maybe we’ll have a tasting at my house on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Sounds good, as long as there’s not too much tasting. I have to drive home, you know.” She saw a shadow of discontent flicker across his face. “I still need some time before we go there again.”

  “Can you blame me for being a little bit restless?”

  “Not at all.”

  He released her hands and slipped one of his into his coat. Her eyes widened and her breath caught as he produced a small box.

  Was he really proposing again already—and with a ring?

  She swallowed and felt a little dizzy because she knew her resistance to him that evening was very low. She was tired and he was exceedingly charming.

  Bad combination for a woman still getting used to the idea of reconciling with her former fiancé.

  Or was he about to be her current fiancé?

  But the box he produced was not the small, squarish kind which usually contained an engagement ring. In that moment, she remembered that when Prent gave her the first engagement ring, it hadn’t been in the traditional box but a custom-made little round thing with a secret drawer. Constructed to resemble a barrel and engraved with their names and the date of the engagement, she still had that box, tucked into her lingerie drawer, surrounded by the naughty things she’d purchased at Booty-Teke in Lexington to take on their honeymoon.

  “Did you really think I was about to propose again?” he asked her as he put the long box, wrapped in gold paper and with a red bow, into her hands.

  “It crossed my mind.”

  “Not sure how I’ll top the barrel motif. Gotta think about it,” he said and winked. She opened her mouth, and he nudged the box. “No talk right now, just open it.”

  Removing the long lid and the long cottony strip from the interior, she saw a flash of gold and recognized her gift as a charm bracelet, something she had once mentioned to Prent that she would like to have. Smiling broadly at his thoughtfulness,
she exchanged a happy look with him as she extracted the tiny treasure from the box and held it up for inspection.

  As she did so, she noticed that attached at the middle of the bracelet was a single charm: a gold acorn.

  Layered with meaning, she lightly fingered the small bauble, fascinated with the detail and Prent’s consideration.

  “I love it,” she said.

  Taking the bracelet from her, Prent placed it around Miranda’s wrist.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said before kissing her hand. “I wanted to give it to you before Christmas but—”

  Miranda put her hands on the back of his head and pulled him into a powerful kiss. Fueled by an intense and suppressed desire, she found herself eagerly opening her mouth and soul to him, not caring one bit that they were in one of the most public places in Bourbon Springs.

  Prent was a little stiff at first, apparently surprised at her attack, but soon his arms encircled her waist and he was responding to Miranda’s advance with equal fervor. She pressed her body against his, relishing the warmth and his scent—that lovely woody smell.

  She was lost, falling, dreaming, as she tumbled deeper into his kiss and under his spell. She wanted to go home at once to be with him. Her reluctance was gone. Her body was ready to make the journey and damned if she wouldn’t drag her mind along for the fun.

  But the happy visions of them going back to her house and completely reclaiming their love were shattered by a cry.

  On the bourbon flavor wheel in the center of the lobby, a man was flat on his back, his arms in an unnaturally awkward position at his sides.

  Miranda leapt from the bench and ran across the lobby to the helpless figure. After shouting to dial 911, Miranda went into action, kneeling by the man’s side, checking his vital signs and listening to his breathing. Sensing nothing, she began CPR and soon found that Goose Davenport had appeared and scurried to her side to assist her.

  Through the next several minutes, Miranda and Goose performed CPR on the man, bringing him back into the land of the living. When the EMTs arrived, the man was breathing, and the paramedics told her she need not come along in the ambulance. After they left, she collapsed onto a nearby couch.

  “You need a ride home or anything?” asked Goose.

  “She’s got one,” Prent announced, taking a few steps forward and putting his hand on Miranda’s shoulder.

  “Oh, hey, didn’t see you there,” Goose said, looking surprised.

  “How’s Harriet?” Miranda asked, forestalling any questions. She was done with the yes-we’re-back-together explanations for the evening and ready to leave. “Hannah mentioned that she has the flu.”

  Goose grimaced and confirmed his wife’s ailment.

  “She’s bad, at home right now. I don’t know what to do for her except leave her alone to rest and keep her fed as best I can. So there goes this month—I mean, she’ll probably feel bad for the rest of the month.”

  She smiled at his unintentional revelation.

  Three Davenport babies in short succession? Miranda wondered whether the populace of Bourbon Springs was prepared for a new bourbon baby boom.

  “Tell her to call me if she needs anything.”

  Goose thanked her, shook Prent’s hand, and said goodnight.

  “I’m exhausted,” she said as they headed for the front door.

  Prent put his arm around her.

  “I can’t imagine why. All you’ve done is help bring one life into this world and help save another in the past few hours.”

  “Just doing my job,” she said as he opened the door of the visitors’ center for her.

  “And it’s pretty damned amazing,” he whispered.

  Once back at her house, Miranda led Prent to the couch in her sitting room, where she fell sideways onto the couch, letting her head rest against the back. She cast a quick eye to the left. The hearth was dark and cold, and she openly wished for a fire.

  “I promise to have a blazing fire on New Year’s Eve at my place,” he said, smiling. “The forecast for the next few days looks to have plenty of cold days ahead, so we’ll probably need one.”

  “Sounds lovely. I hardly ever build a fire here at home.”

  “That actually kind of makes me feel good,” he admitted. “Nice to know you haven’t been cuddling up with anyone else here.”

  “You know there’s been no one else. And what about you, Mr. Oakes? Any girlfriends since—”

  “You know there’s been no one,” he said in an insulted tone.

  “I think Drake Mercer wanted to ask me out once,” she continued, trying to keep it light and fun.

  His eyes narrowed, and he paused.

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “No, really. He kept bumping into me during a trip to Minnick’s last spring. I think he was following me through the store. When I finally got to the freezer area, there he was again, smiling and flashing that surfer-dude grin at me.”

  “You like the surfer-dude look?” Prent asked, eyebrows lowered.

  “I don’t know. Jealous?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, nothing came of it because do you remember what happened?”

  He blinked and shrugged.

  “You told him no?”

  “Nope, poor man never had a chance to ask me, if that was even his intention. He got spooked.”

  “Spooked?”

  “Yep. By you,” she said, giving him a gentle poke to the chest.

  “Me?”

  “You showed up. I’ve always wondered whether you were watching us.”

  “No, but I often stopped by Minnick’s in hopes of bumping into you. I remember it worked a few times, but I don’t remember specifically the time you’re talking about. Nice to know that I killed two birds with one stone.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I got to see you and scare off a rival,” he said. “But I will admit going to the Mack Blanton concerts to see you.”

  “It was obvious what you were doing at those concerts. And it worked since I went with you a few times. But why do I feel like I need to say I’m sorry?” she asked. “I’m sorry I treated you like that.”

  “You had every right. I had to earn my way back. But let’s stop talking about the past and start living in the present.”

  12

  In that next second, Prent tipped her head back and his lips found hers. The kisses were soft, and she sensed a hesitancy in his affection. His words during dinner came back to her.

  I still find it hard to believe.

  It was time to come clean.

  She pulled away for breath and felt herself struggling with her guilt. How had he been able to bear the weight of his own over the past two and a half years?

  She saw the face of his regret and held him tighter out of a mingled sense of her own shame and the fact that she did not want to let him go. Yet she still didn’t have the courage to confess as she basked in his adoring gaze.

  “You want to know what I meant out at the distillery about the business, don’t you?” he asked.

  Relieved by his misapprehension, she nodded and urged him to continue.

  “I know you once told me that you don’t need to know about my money or whatever,” Prent said, “but this goes beyond that.”

  “That’s still true about the money,” she said, kicking off her shoes and pulling her legs underneath her body. Prent’s arm rested along the top of the couch, and she put her arm atop his. “I don’t need to know, don’t want to know. But you’re saying there’s more?”

  “More than money,” Prent said with an edge in his voice. “It’s about control. Control of the company, control of me.”

  “Kurt’s not playing well with others?”

  “Did he ever?”

  “That’s not news.”

  “The problem is that he’s hurting the business,” Prent snapped. “He tries to keep me on a tight leash as far as buys go, wants me to cut corners, but I refuse. Some of the other buyers we h
ave go along to appease him. But the result has been crappy wood, crappy staves, and crappy barrels.”

  “So quality has suffered?”

  “Yes. It’s starting to show in some of our barrel deliveries.”

  “Kurt’s a jerk, but I never thought that he’d do anything to harm the cooperage’s reputation.”

  “Neither did I. But since the economic downturn a few years ago, he’s been all about trying to save a buck. The problem is that it’s hurt us a hell of a lot more than helped. We weren’t suffering. Bourbon was starting to get big again a few years ago, no real problems. But Kurt saw ghosts where there weren’t any. Now quality has gone down, even though we’re making more barrels than ever.”

  “That’s great, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you’re making a product that doesn’t live up to expected standards. Considering the increase in production at the distilleries we service, we should be getting more orders. We’re still breaking production records, but statewide distillery output tells me we should be doing better. I suspect some distilleries have been testing the waters with smaller cooperages. Don’t tell anyone that, by the way.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Kurt thinks we’re the best game in town, but he’s wrong. We’re the oldest and the biggest, but there are other cooperages in this state, cooperages that can provide an excellent product at a reasonable price and have people who love to work with master distillers on special projects. That’s where we’re really seeing a drop-off. Not much right now but enough to put a ding in our reputation. I’ve heard a rumor that Walker Cain wanted to try another cooperage when they started barreling Garnet Reserve, but Bo talked him out of it.”

  “Is the cooperage in trouble?”

  Prent took a very deep breath and looked away.

  “I don’t think so, at least from what I can understand of the business.”

  “From what you can understand? But you’re part owner. Can’t you tell?”

  “Sometimes I think Kurt shows me only what he wants or—”

  “Or what?”

  “It’s like he’s scared of something.”

  “Of you?”