Fortunately, he’d met Miranda soon after that and knew she was the one for him. But then Ainsley had called Miranda, warning her away from him. As Miranda told the story, she had been quite amused by the call. Prent had already bared his faults and foibles to his new love, so by that time the revelations had no impact except to entertain her.
“But why call me? Just to let me know?”
“The mother said that Ainsley had a child and that she believes the child is yours.”
Prent felt his entire body enveloped in a coldness and was unable to think or speak.
“You had no idea?” Cord asked, shattering the silence and pulling Prent from his shock.
“I… I never knew. Ainsley never said anything to me… never…”
“Ainsley’s mother thought you should know. And of course she wants support.”
“Of course,” Prent said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on top of his legs. “How old is this kid? Could it even be mine?”
Cord gave Prent the details he knew: it was a boy, almost four years old. The grandmother allegedly had long suspected Prent was the father, but Ainsley had pulled up stakes and left Kentucky. Now that the child was essentially parentless, the grandmother was acting as guardian and looking for the father.
“The grandmother said she only knew to call me because Ainsley had told her that if anything ever happened to her, to call me. Ainsley must have remembered me from your DUI case.”
“So where’s grandma? Last I remember, she lived in Lexington.”
“Still does, and the child is with her.”
The thought of having a child was a terrifying and thrilling thought. As much as Prent was angry—how the hell could he explain this to his family and to Miranda?
How would she react to this? Would this send her running away for good?
“So what’s the next step? I guess I need to start paying support?”
“We don’t acknowledge anything until we get a blood test confirming you as the father. Then we can worry about support—and for that matter, custody.”
“Custody?”
“Grandma may have the kid, but if you’re the father you could have a better claim to custody, especially since grandma has been here in Kentucky and the kid has been out on the west coast. They might have a relationship, but it’s not like she’s raised the boy. I got the distinct impression she only stepped in to help find the father. She might not want the burden of raising a child at her age.”
“So I might be like insta-dad or something?”
“It’s possible,” Cord said. “But nothing’s a done deal until we get that blood test. The grandmother said she understood and confirmed she’d be getting an attorney in the next few days. She wouldn’t even tell me the kid’s name yet until she got some more advice. She was only calling me to honor her daughter’s wishes. Things are going to move fast, Prent. You need to prepare yourself for this.”
“How do I possibly do that on such short notice?”
“First, get your head around it. Get some counseling. But I wouldn’t tell anyone else until we get confirmation that you are the father.”
“No, there’s one person I have to tell,” he said, shaking his head vigorously.
“For God’s sake, Prent, don’t tell your mother!” Cord snapped. “Everyone in town will know your business in less than a day.”
“No, not her.” He stood and moved behind his chair. He gripped the top, stooping to look at the floor, then to Cord. “I have to tell Miranda.”
“Miranda? You mean you two—”
“Yes, at last we finally got back together, and this happens.”
“So that little dinner worked out for you?”
“Yes,” Prent said and smiled. “And she’s coming over tonight for a small dinner with my family. I’ve got to tell her.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” cried Cord. “You just got her back and you don’t even know if you’re the father.”
“Because odds are that I am the father. I was with Ainsley a lot—if you know what I mean. I don’t think she cheated on me. I know what that feels like, how that works on both sides.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t possible, Prent.”
“I’m not going to delude myself into thinking this isn’t my new reality,” Prent said. “I’m not going to pretend like it can’t be true and escape this responsibility.”
“That’s some really levelheaded thinking.”
Prent chuckled, and his shoulders fell. “I’ve been told I’ve matured.”
“And how does it feel?”
“Right now, it sucks,” Prent confessed. “And that’s why I have to tell Miranda—now rather than later.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I’d be crazy not to tell her, Cord. When we got together, it was right after Ainsley left me. I told Miranda everything about me—all the women, the DUI, the stupid lawsuits—everything. That’s the only reason she agreed to go out with me, the only reason she stuck with me. I told her the truth. The only things I haven’t shared with her relate to my money and the business, and that’s because she said she didn’t want to know about that stuff. She fell for me because I was honest, not the crazy-dude persona.”
“Some people still see you that way.”
“I know. I work with at least one of those bastards on a daily basis,” Prent said, stopping and rubbing a hand over his face. “He’ll go nuts. My mother will be disappointed and upset but then absolutely love having a grandson. But my uncle… I’ll never hear the end of this.”
“Will he cut you off?” Cord asked. Although Cord did work for the cooperage and do personal work for Prent and his mother, he was not Kurt’s personal attorney.
“I don’t think he can completely do that under the terms of Dad’s will, but he’ll certainly give me hell. Fortunately, I have my job at the cooperage and it’s not like he can fire me from that without serious repercussions. He knows he needs me to make good timber buys. And I hope he’s smart enough to know I’d fight if he tried to kick me out of the business.”
“You’d better stop talking right now,” Cord said and stood. “I represent the business as well as you personally occasionally, so if it comes to something bad between you and Kurt—”
“I know, I know,” Prent said, “you gotta look out for the cooperage. So I’ll shut up about that.”
“And you’d better shut up to everyone, Miranda included, until you have some confirmation of parenthood.”
“No,” Prent said, shaking his head. “I’ll tell her, and only her, tonight. I trust Miranda not to tell anyone else.”
“But do you trust her not to walk away?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t blame her if she did leave me after she learns this. I don’t know if our relationship can handle this kind of blow right now.”
“Then don’t tell her!” Cord exclaimed, moving his head into Prent’s line of vision to plead with him.
Prent looked Cord directly in the eye.
“The one thing I’ve always given Miranda is complete honesty. She deserves and expects me to be totally open with her. And that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
14
Until this year, Miranda had never cared for New Year’s Eve or Day as a holiday. She had always seen it as a celebration where one was expected to have fun, to do certain things (drink, stay up late or eat those damned black-eyed peas), and she hated it.
It was the day the Christmas tree always had to come down and get stowed away, so that meant work at home and no chance to play with the new toys or admire the new clothes or trinkets she’d acquired the week before. And as a grownup, she couldn’t even count on New Year’s Day to give her the day off since she had to be on call in case a baby decided to drop into the world.
This holiday would be different.
Miranda knew what was going to happen that night, and she was excited. Her grownup talk with Prent on her couch a few nights earlier presaged a new period i
n their relationship. Their bond had deepened.
And she had missed making love to Prent. Although the public mortification of being left at the altar had hit her like a physical blow, the pain had been compounded by no longer having a wonderful sexual partner on a regular basis.
Because Prentice Oakes was a very good lover.
Miranda didn’t like to think about how he’d gotten to be so skilled; she knew he’d been with a lot of women. But because Prent had been so honest with her about himself, their connection, while always intensely sexual, had always been more profound than any other she’d had.
It was the reason she loved him and the reason she had been prepared—almost—to marry him.
As Miranda drove the short distance out of Bourbon Springs to Prent’s house in the country, thoughts of the upcoming year raced through her mind as the landscape whizzed by. She knew that she wanted a future with Prent. But to get that future, she was going to have to be candid with him and herself.
She’d resolved to tell him what she had been prepared to do on their wedding day. She only prayed that her openness would be met with acceptance.
In addition to navigating the painful confessions portion of her evening, Miranda was also nervous because to get to the fun bits later that night she would have to pass the time with Kurt, Davina, and Minerva. She didn’t mind being around the women (except that it would delay playtime), but she definitely was not looking forward to being around not-so-dear Uncle Kurt.
Her plan to deal with him that evening was to avoid him, which meant lots of talking to Davina and Minerva. Fortunately, Miranda knew that she could count on both ladies to crank it up in the conversation department.
Pulling off the main road, Miranda drove between the two tall brick pillars that marked the entrance to Prent’s house. Actually, it wasn’t so much of a house as an estate, and she’d jokingly called the place Prent’s version of Twelve Oaks (never Tara because of the oak-and-bourbon connection).
Judging from the lack of other vehicles, Miranda realized she was the first to arrive. Checking her watch again to confirm she hadn’t gotten the time wrong, she walked up the short steps to the front doors. She shivered as the wind whipped around the porch, and before she rang the doorbell, she turned to face the west. In the dying light of the day, she saw thick, dark clouds on the horizon and wondered whether she’d missed the forecast for nasty weather.
As she turned and raised her hand to ring the doorbell, Prent opened the door.
“How—”
“I got one of those alert systems that tells me when someone is coming up the driveway. Checked the security camera and saw it was you.” He waved her into the warmth of the house and closed the door behind her.
Prent was dressed in black pants, a long-sleeved plaid shirt, and what appeared to be new black loafers. As she smiled appreciatively, Prent returned the compliment.
“Show me what’s under that coat,” he whispered and moved to take her less-than-sexy parka.
She slipped out of it to reveal a bright, V-necked red angora sweater over dark grey pants. The sweater was a little thin, and in a nod to practicality as well as sexiness, she was wearing a satin and lace camisole underneath although the piece of lingerie could not be seen under the sweater. That was her little surprise for Prent later.
“Gorgeous,” Prent said as his eyes raked over her.
After hanging her coat on a rack of Shaker pegs behind the front door, he turned to take her in his arms.
“Are we alone for now?” she asked.
“Yes, and we will be for the entire evening.”
“But what about the others?” she asked as she enjoyed the sensation of Prent running his hands across her back.
“My mother and Minerva both have the flu.”
“Oh no. But what about Kurt?”
“He found out from my mother that she wasn’t coming and bailed on us. I wasn’t exactly distraught at the loss of that dining companion. And I can’t imagine you are either.”
“So it’s just you and me?”
“And that big roaring fire I promised you,” he said. “But no frozen lasagna for us. When I realized it would just be the two of us, I scrapped those plans.”
Prent took Miranda’s hand and walked her into his cavernous kitchen. Situated on the southern side of his house, a long bank of windows looked out into the blackness of the night.
It had been a long time since she’d gazed out at the lush green fields beyond that glass. She eagerly anticipated the frosty winter landscape she expected to see come the dawn. The views from the house were wonderful during any season.
In the middle of the kitchen was a long cooking island where Prent had two steaks on a platter, ready to cook on the built-in grill.
“I have potatoes baking in the oven, and the pie I got at Minnick’s is in the fridge. Oh, I also have salad.”
“This is wonderful.” Miranda put an arm around Prent’s trim waist as she looked at the steaks. She slipped the tips of her fingers under his waistband and let her hand nestle at the top of his hipbone.
He reacted at once, scooping her back into his arms so quickly that her arms were caught between their bodies. Prent’s face was a mask of tenseness; she expected him to ditch dinner and go straight to the dessert he wanted—which wasn’t a piece of pie.
Yet as his gaze lingered on her, she saw him struggle between desire and something she could not describe.
As she was about to ask him what was wrong, he kissed her hard, the tenseness of his face moving to hers through his lips and cheeks. The kiss lengthened and deepened, and Miranda moved her hands to his back, slowly sliding them up to his shoulder blades. Under her touch, some of the tenseness in his body ebbed, and the kisses became more tender and not as desperate.
With a long breath, Prent pulled away first and put his forehead against hers.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes closed.
“Just a little overcome by the moment.”
Prent turned his attention to the steaks, and she pulled up a stool from the nearby eating bar.
“These stools are nice,” she said as she admired them.
“Take a good look,” Prent said as he placed the steaks on the grill, producing a satisfying sizzle.
The Old Garnet logo was engraved on the seat.
“Do they all have Old Garnet on them?”
“No. All are different. They each represent the major distilleries we serve. Check them out.”
Miranda counted eight more stools for the major bourbon distilleries in the state.
“How did you get these?”
“Had them made, of course,” Prent said. “We presented them to the distilleries a few years ago as business gifts. Everyone loved them, even Hannah and Bo Davenport, and we’d originally stolen the idea from Old Garnet. I’d seen some in their gift shop a few years ago, took a picture, and had some made by our coopers. Now all the distillery gift shops sell something like those.”
“You ought to have one made for Commonwealth Cooperage,” Miranda said. “After all, you’re the people who make the barrels.”
“That’s exactly what Minerva suggested. I plan to look into that as soon as I get back from my buying trips.”
The kitchen filled with the wonderful smell of seasoned meat cooking. Instead of keeping her seat on one of the stools and watching Prent as he cooked her meal, Miranda migrated back to his side.
“So where’s the damn bourbon?” she asked, a fist on her hip and feigning impatience.
“Same place it always was.” He smiled and turned over the steaks. “Glasses are over by the sink.”
Miranda found the stash in a corner cabinet where she spied bottles of Garnet, Maker’s Mark, and Four Roses Single Barrel.
“Do I need to ask which one?” she asked.
“Nope, and you know how I like it.”
Laughing, she took the bottle of Garnet and moved to the sink to retrieve the glasses, where she found a full ice buck
et.
“You were ready, weren’t you?”
“Of course. Which makes me wonder whether you’re ready.”
She dropped the ice into the glasses and poured the bourbon, giving a little more to Prent. She then added some water to her own glass. She enjoyed how the water opened the flavor of the bourbon although some drinkers were staunchly opposed to adding anything.
Miranda brought Prent his glass and stood nearby while he continued cooking.
“Ready for what?”
Prent grinned. “Did you bring an overnight bag?”
Miranda smiled into her drink. “In the trunk of my car.”
He disappeared for a short time while Miranda cooked the steaks. Nostalgia mixed with an innate sense of belonging washed over her. She loved this kitchen and had dreamed of cooking many a wonderful meal in it after they were married. It felt just like she’d imagined—except the being married part.
She knew that’s what Prent wanted. And she was starting to believe that she wanted that too.
But when was she going to make her confession about their botched wedding day?
She suspected the best time would be after dinner and just before they headed to the bedroom—if they got that far. She wouldn’t blame Prent if he sent her away after her revelation. Yet instinct told her that she would be in that house through the night and into the morning.
Prent entered the kitchen looking a little worse for wear after his brief outdoor excursion, his shirt and hair damp.
“Good thing you brought a bag,” he said a little breathlessly.
“It’s snowing out there?”
Prent took the tongs and fork from her as she moved to the windows where she heard a sharp, shifting sound, like pebbles or sand being thrown against the glass.
“Is that—”
“Yep, ice mixed with snow. I didn’t see that on the forecast, only that we might get a dusting overnight. You might want to check the weather.”
There was a small flat-screen TV in the kitchen suspended over the double ovens across from the cooking island. Miranda found the remote and switched to a channel spouting meteorological gloom and doom.
“Up to two inches of ice is possible?” she cried.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3) Page 40
