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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “Advising? You’re blackmailing and bullying me!”

  “It’s not bullying, boy. It’s me taking responsibility for you and this business. I’m in charge and—”

  “Like hell you’re in charge. Repeat after me: I am a co-owner.”

  “You don’t know how to run this place,” Kurt sneered. “You’re out making buys, out glad-handing at the distilleries, out with your girl!”

  “When was the last time you went out and talked to anyone on the line?” Prent challenged. “When was the last time you raised a barrel? Can you even remember? Do you know the names of any of the guys on the line, any of the supervisors? I bet you can’t name one!”

  “Why the hell does that make any fucking difference?”

  “Because it shows you’re out of touch. That you don’t know your business as well as you think. That you don’t know that the guys out there are busting their asses for us twenty hours a day on two shifts, trying to keep up with the demand from the distilleries you haven’t pissed off.”

  “Are you really saying that I don’t know this business? I’ve worked here longer than anyone—”

  “Name one guy on the line, just one,” Prent challenged again and held up a forefinger. “If you can’t do that, tell me the last time you raised a barrel.”

  “I’m not playing games with you.” Kurt turned his back on Prent and moved toward the door.

  “And I’m not either,” Prent said. “If you reduce my salary, we’re gonna have a problem.”

  Kurt laughed. “You’ll have to delay getting that nice ring for your woman, right?”

  “If you try to reduce my salary or do anything to jeopardize my position in this company, you’ll find yourself on the other end of a lawsuit,” Prent said calmly as he narrowed his eyes at Kurt.

  Instead of the expletive-filled outburst Prent expected as a response to his statement, Kurt laughed in Prent’s face.

  “You sue me? Like you’d have a legal leg to stand on!”

  Prent moved until his face was inches from Kurt’s.

  “I’m your equal in this company whether you like it or not. And if it takes a judge to tell you that, so be it. You can laugh at me all you want, but the days of your treating me like I’m that kid who just barely graduated from college are over.”

  “And if you sue me, then what happens? You gonna get some judge to tell me to be nice to you?”

  Prent shook his head.

  “No. I’d ask the judge to dissolve the company, and we’d have to sell it or one of us buy the other out.”

  Prent felt a small shiver of satisfaction when he saw his uncle’s eyes bulge a little at his statement. Stunned into silence, Kurt gaped at Prent.

  For the first time in his life, Prent saw his uncle was terrified.

  “You wouldn’t walk away from this, Prent.” Kurt’s tone was now solicitous and fake, the classic abuser trying to woo back a victim. “This is our family, this is our heritage. An Oakes has been making barrels here for over a century. You’d destroy this business just for yourself?”

  Prent shook his head, amazed at how his uncle had turned everything back to him and his supposed selfishness.

  “If you continue to shut me out, if you continue to treat me less than what I am, there is nothing here for me. I could take my part of this business, start a small cooperage, or do just about anything I wanted, including not working for the rest of my life. Do I want to do those things? No. I want to keep working here because I love this business. I love seeing the trucks come in with the lumber. I love going out on buys, into the forests and seeing those cathedrals of oak. I love smelling that char and how that smoky scent clings to me and reminds me of a great meal. I love raising a barrel. Did you know that I try to do that every week, just to make sure I don’t forget the craft of what we do here? And to get out there on the line and talk to our workers?”

  “Well—”

  “When was the last time you did any of those things unless you were taking some master distiller and his entourage from some big distillery around to look at our product?”

  “I—I don’t know, all right?” Kurt snapped. “And what the hell difference does it make?”

  “Because my business partner just admitted to me that he’s out of touch.”

  “You think I don’t know this business? You think that I’m an idiot or an addled old codger or some asshole who sits in his office on his ass and barks orders at everyone?”

  “You know the business but not as well as you used to,” Prent said, “and I’d never call you addled or an idiot. But as far as that asshole part, I totally agree with your self-assessment there. Nailed it.”

  “So you know how to raise a barrel and you’re buddies with some of the workers. Big fucking deal. I’m not into stunts like you are. I don’t need to make a spectacle of myself to run this place.”

  “It’s really sad you think you don’t need to get your hands dirty a little or get to know people. You’d be better at your job if you did. But it’s even worse that you didn’t know I did those things. We hardly ever talk unless you’re bitching at me or in one of those horrible weekly staff meetings. We don’t do anything together, personal or business. We’re practically strangers.”

  “I don’t think that knowing you all your life makes me a stranger. We’re family, and family doesn’t walk away from family.”

  “But being family allows you be abusive? No. It doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to pull on my heartstrings and tell me I have an obligation to save this place when you’re doing damned little to give me any incentive to stick around.”

  “You wouldn’t do it,” Kurt said, looking Prent up and down with nothing but contempt. “You don’t have the balls to sue me.”

  “You don’t think I’d sue? Just try me. Keep pushing. See what happens. Because I’ll guarantee you won’t like it.”

  Kurt’s mouth twitched, and Prent knew his uncle was biting back more nasty words and threats.

  But Prent had achieved his objective. He’d finally managed to get Kurt to respect him although that respect had to originate in fear rather than the mutual regard that should flow between families and business partners.

  After Kurt left, slamming the door behind him, Prent returned to his desk and collapsed into his chair with a long breath. The fight with Kurt, while successful on some level, had left him physically and emotionally drained. Looking down at the surface of his desk, he saw some of the notes he’d made on his desk calendar after his conversation earlier with Cord.

  Get a counselor.

  Prent sat straight up, pulled out his phone, and called the psychologist Miranda had recommended. He needed to discuss his anxieties about Peter, but he also needed help dealing with his uncle.

  Kurt Oakes might have backed down a little that day, but Prent needed to prepare himself for further conflict. He didn’t want the feud to spill over into the business, but that’s where it had finally gone.

  It was then he realized that he had a broader duty than merely to the cooperage. He had to think about his future—his future with Peter and Miranda.

  He looked out the window at the Old Oak, wondering whether leaving the cooperage behind was the responsible thing to do.

  22

  After a long Friday night, Miranda was not exactly excited about going to Littleham Saturday morning for her duties at the cooperage clinic. She’d anticipated being tired but had expected—or rather hoped—that her fatigue would be the product of another long, sexy night with Prent.

  They had already planned to spend Friday night together when he had called that afternoon, offering to take her to dinner after his first counseling session with the therapist she had recommended. Pleasantly surprised he was in town, she met him at The Rickhouse. But then Prent had revealed the argument he’d had with his uncle. It was the first time Miranda understood the depth of the problem between the two men.

  After a tasty meal but sad conversation, they had been about to leave
for her house, but she was called to the hospital for a delivery. They parted at the restaurant with plans to spend Saturday afternoon and night together at Prent’s house after the clinic closed.

  Once at the cooperage on Saturday morning, Miranda headed straight down the hall and to the clinic room, happy to not encounter anyone, even Prent, lest his presence attract Kurt’s appearance. Although she’d seen vehicles in the parking lot, no one seemed to be around. It was eerily quiet, as though after a terrible storm.

  “Hey, girl,” Minerva said from behind, causing Miranda to jump. “Didn’t mean to startle you there.”

  “Sorry. A little on edge today. Up all night delivering a baby and just worried about things.”

  “Like that argument the boys had yesterday?”

  “You know about that?”

  “I heard it,” Minerva said. “Couldn’t make out what they were saying, but all the yelling told me that it wasn’t a happy conversation. Prent even apologized to me as he left for the day yesterday. Poor thing. He was as rattled as I’d ever seen him after getting into it with Kurt. He didn’t say what it was about, and I didn’t ask, but he did say it was the worst argument they’d ever had. I was worried about him when he left. He said he was on his way to see you.”

  “We had dinner last night together in Bourbon Springs, but I had to leave before dessert because I had a patient go into labor. I’m beat.”

  “Well, I can’t tell it,” Minerva said and moved to the door. “You look great. I guess being in love has that effect.” She winked and left before Miranda could respond.

  Alone and jittery, Miranda checked the time and saw that there were still a few more minutes until the clinic officially opened. If Kurt was going to show up, now would be the time. Not willing to simply wait for him to appear, she busied herself with checking the supplies in the cabinets and thinking about the afternoon and evening with Prent.

  He’d told her that after the clinic closed he would take her to lunch at Maggioli’s and then off for a surprise afternoon outing before they headed back to his place for the night. Since Prent was leaving again in a few days for his last buying trip of the season, she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before he left again.

  Miranda closed one of the cabinet doors above the sink and put her left hand to her mouth, yawning widely.

  “Late night?” asked someone in a nasty, knowing tone.

  Miranda turned to see Kurt standing in the door to the clinic, smirking at her.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling and holding her head high. She enjoyed the brief shock on Kurt’s face in light of her admission although he had misunderstood her meaning. “I was up very late delivering a baby.”

  “Oh, I thought you might have seen Prent last night.”

  “He did take me out for a very nice dinner.”

  “His place or yours?”

  Miranda paused and glared at Kurt. He’d only darkened her door to taunt her.

  “He took me to The Rickhouse,” Miranda said.

  “Haven’t been there in a while. If I get up to Bourbon Springs, it’s usually to play golf, and I eat at The Cooperage. But I have to say, seems like last time I went to The Rickhouse I seem to remember that it wasn’t that good. Hope you two didn’t waste your money and time there.”

  “We did neither of those things,” Prent said, appearing in the door and putting his hand on his uncle’s shoulder.

  Kurt moved aside as Prent passed into the clinic room, went to Miranda’s side, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I think I’d better get out of here before I see something I don’t want to see,” Kurt said. “I suggest you two behave. This is a business.”

  “You don’t need to remind me of that,” snapped Miranda. She felt Prent give her a light squeeze on her elbow, whether in warning or support she knew not.

  “Maybe I do,” he muttered before he disappeared.

  They stood in silence for several seconds until it they were assured they were alone.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “I should’ve expected it.”

  Prent held out his hand, and she took it, and he gently pulled her toward the window. The day was bright and sunny, with the cloudless sky a perfect robin’s-egg blue. Outside, the small courtyard where the Old Oak loomed over the property seemed to beckon. Miranda hoped that as the weather warmed, she and Prent might be able to steal away out there after one of her clinic visits and they could have lunch at one of the picnic tables.

  Yet her daydream was rattled by the idea of Kurt watching them from the windows of his office.

  “I’d hold you, but I’m afraid that someone might come in and find us,” Prent said.

  “I’m hoping we’ll have plenty of chances for hugs later.”

  “Did you pack that overnight bag—and with everything you need in case of another ice storm?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She dropped Prent’s hands when a door at the end of the hall opened; a few seconds later, a worker appeared at the clinic entrance. Prent greeted the employee by name and walked across the room, where he shook the man’s hand. As the worker moved into the room and Prent exited, Prent turned and blew Miranda a good-bye kiss from behind her new patient’s back.

  Miranda had several patients, which helped the morning move quickly, and despite her lingering tiredness, she was grateful for the activity and the opportunity to help people.

  No patient presented with anything more serious than the common cold, and she only wrote one prescription, a syrup for one worker with a particularly nasty cough. Remembering the one tour of the facilities Prent had given her years ago, Miranda realized that working in a cooperage could be hard on the respiratory system.

  As noon arrived and the clinic hours officially came to an end, Miranda found herself alone and staring at the Old Oak, happily remembering Prent’s proposal from three years earlier and idly wondering whether he’d propose there again or choose a new site.

  As though her thoughts had conjured him up, Prent reappeared in the clinic, looking happy and eager.

  “Ready for Maggioli’s?” he asked, rubbing his hands together. “I called, and they have the bourbon cheesecake today.”

  “Could you take me on a quick tour of the cooperage?” she asked. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, and now that I’m here tending to workers, I think I ought to take another look.”

  “Absolutely. I’d love to give you a tour.”

  They grabbed coats and headed to the cooperage facility behind the main offices. Upon entering the building, they were in an empty reception area where tour groups gathered. Prent grabbed a set of headphones for Miranda, along with a wireless mic for himself.

  “I’ll give you the standard tour,” he said. “I might be a little rusty, but I know the basics. You’ll need the headphones to hear anything I say because of all the noise.”

  Aside from the considerable clamor, the main thing Miranda noticed as they entered the factory was the smoky smell of the char. In the first portion of the tour, they were in the part of the facility where the barrels were raised and then steamed, making the wood expand so the staves would tightly knit together.

  Prent even gave her a personal demonstration on how to raise a barrel, which involved lining up the staves along a specially-made metal frame, then throwing a temporary metal ring around the staves called a head spring. From there, the barrel-to-be was steamed and taken to be charred.

  Miranda watched in wonder as five barrels, all on their sides in an oven, were blasted with jets of fire. The interiors ignited, producing an intense heat and noise. Prent explained that every day they produced a barrel for a different distillery, and upon asking one of the nearby coopers, learned that they were charring that day for Old Garnet. After a brief walk-through of the finishing and inspection areas where Prent greeted every worker and often by first name, they left.

  “That satisfy your curiosity?” Prent asked as they walked back into the main of
fices.

  “Almost. What happens to all the leftover wood?”

  “Nothing goes to waste. We use it to heat the boilers for steaming the barrels or fire the charring operation. Employees get some to use as kindling in the winter or for grilling in the summer. The smaller bits we sell off to a particleboard company.”

  “Being a cooper’s a tough job, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and our guys are the best. We have three hundred employees here, every one of them a craftsman.”

  “And you’re included in that mix. You did a great job raising that barrel. I saw that one guy—you borrowed his gloves—watching you with admiration.”

  “I don’t know about the quality of the job,” Prent said as they walked through to the front door, “but I can appreciate the work it takes to do those jobs.”

  “And those guys know it,” she said as he opened the door for her.

  They walked the short distance to Maggioli’s, and Miranda put her arm in Prent’s as they headed into downtown Littleham. Upon arrival, Prent gave his name; he had a reservation.

  “I didn’t know they took reservations for lunch,” Miranda said after they’d been seated and handed menus.

  “I learned my lesson last time.”

  After a large lunch of shared spaghetti, she passed on dessert when she learned that the bourbon cheesecake had already sold out and because Prent revealed that as an afternoon treat, he wanted to take her to the movies. She was delighted, and within the hour they were sitting together in a dark theater in Littleham, sharing boxes of candy and enjoying a comedy.

  As they left the theater holding hands, Miranda yawned widely.

  “Sorry,” she said as Prent held the passenger door of his car for her, “lack of sleep is catching up with me.”

  “Then let’s get you back to my place for a little nap,” he said as he closed the door.

  “You have a real nap in mind or something else?” she asked as they drove back to the cooperage so she could pick up her car.

  “A real nap for you so you can be properly rested for the festivities later this evening,” he confirmed.