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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “That’s a great idea!” he cried. “I’ll put some of the wood aside for the future.”

  “I’ve got news for you, Mr. Oakes. The future is now.”

  He stopped massaging her calves and stared at her.

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” she said, a smile spreading across her face as he slowly put a hand on her lower tummy, which was still quite flat.

  “But I thought you were taking—I mean, I’m thrilled, don’t get me wrong—”

  “I was taking the pill,” she said, interrupting to spare him the awkwardness of the question. “But sometimes these things happen. Nothing is foolproof except abstinence. And we’ve not exactly been abstaining since we got married, have we?”

  “You’re sure?” he asked, looking from her face to his hand, which still rested lightly on her stomach.

  “I haven’t taken a blood test yet, but I did a positive home test last night, and I certainly know all the other signs. I’m that kind of doctor, remember? If all goes to plan, we’ll be parents in January. I decided to wait to tell you until today. It just seemed right on a day we planted a new tree. New life taking root in our midst.” Miranda put her other hand on top of his on her belly.

  “You seem really calm about this,” he cautiously observed.

  “I’m more than a little surprised. But the past several months have been full of happy surprises. I’m more than willing to take what comes along.”

  Prent took her left hand and dropped to his knees at Miranda’s side.

  “How did an idiot like me end up with such a perfect wife and the perfect life?”

  “Because you’re not an idiot. You just took some extra time to grow up, that’s all. You bought into your own version of yourself—as well as your uncle’s—for far too long. And I’m ashamed to say that I did the same as well on our wedding day. But I’m so glad we grew up together so now we have the chance to grow old together.”

  He kissed her hand and rested his head in her lap, where she ran the tips of her fingers through his dark hair. After a few minutes, Prent sighed and then sat up, smiling at her.

  “I can see one more thing in this wonderful future, my dear,” he said.

  “And that would be?”

  He stood and swept Miranda into his arms.

  “A nap but not just yet.”

  Kissing her, he carried his wife to their bed where he buried his head against her shoulder. She felt his tears mingling with kisses to her neck and smelled that familiar spicy char in his hair, the aroma rising from his whole body and enveloping her in the same mélange of earthy scent. With Prent planting light kisses along her neck, Miranda’s head rolled to the side, and she glanced out the bank of windows, spying an oak tree.

  She smiled as she thought of the Old Oak, cut into staves and waiting to be crafted into the crib for their child, a new generation to be nurtured by the fruits of the land as well as the love of two grateful parents who were ready to bear the fruits of their love.

  Also by Jennifer Bramseth

  THE BOURBON SPRINGS SERIES

  SECRET BLEND

  (Bourbon Springs Book 1)

  SECRET SAUCE

  (Bourbon Springs Short Stories #1)

  FILTERED THROUGH BLUE

  (Bourbon Springs Book 2)

  STANDARD EQUIPMENT

  (Bourbon Springs Short Stories #2)

  (available exclusively to newsletter subscribers)

  ANGELS’ SHARE

  (Bourbon Springs Book 3)

  DISTILLER’S CHOICE

  (Bourbon Springs Book 4)

  CEDAR AND CINNAMON

  (Bourbon Springs Book 5)

  DISTILLED HEAT

  (Bourbon Springs Book 6)

  LITTLE TREASURES

  (Bourbon Springs Short Stories #3)

  (available exclusively to newsletter subscribers)

  BOTTLED BLUEGRASS

  (Bourbon Springs Book 7)

  TOAST AND CHAR

  (Bourbon Springs Book 8)

  WATER OF LIFE

  (Bourbon Springs Book 9)

  THE BOURBONLAND SERIES

  SINGLE BARREL

  (Bourbonland Short Stories and Novellas #1)

  (novella; free to newsletter subscribers)

  SHARP PRACTICE

  (Bourbonland Book 1)

  STAVE AND HOOP

  (Bourbonland Short Stories and Novellas #2)

  (novella; free to newsletter subscribers)

  NOTICE OF APPEAL

  (Bourbonland Book 2)

  BACKSET

  (Bourbonland Short Stories and Novellas #3)

  WHERE THE FIRE IS HOTTEST

  (Bourbonland Book 3)

  (late 2017)

  BARREL PROOF

  (Bourbonland Short Stories and Novellas #4)

  (early 2018)

  BOTTLED IN BOND

  (Bourbonland Short Stories and Novellas #5)

  (2018)

  BOURBONLAND BOOK 4

  (title to be announced; 2018)

  WHITE DOG

  (Bourbonland Short Stories and Novellas #6)

  (2018)

  BLISSFUL THINKING

  (Bourbonland Short Stories and Novellas #7)

  (2018)

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading my book!

  Read on for an excerpt from the next (and last!) Bourbon Springs book, Water of Life.

  Cara Forrest is a heartbroken young widow who has taken refuge in her job as a small-town judge and raising her toddler son. She has no time to risk loving again.

  But Drake Mercer is out to change her mind.

  The local attorney can’t get the lovely blond judge out of his thoughts since a fateful day in Littleham where they shared a few stolen and very hot kisses.

  Cara takes a chance on Drake and also a chance on her political future by seeking higher office. But her ambitions could end up costing them the love of a lifetime.

  Interested in more? Sign up for my mailing list to get some free reads!

  WATER OF LIFE: Chapter 1 Excerpt

  Bourbon Springs Book 9

  The July dawn was dry and hot, just as every other had been for the past several weeks, the days blending into a seamless sea of sameness. As she lazed alone atop cool cotton sheets after her shower, Cara sensed the heat on the other side of her bedroom window, the warmth pressing against the glass.

  She rolled onto her back, gazing at the ceiling. Snatches of memories floated through her groggy mind.

  She was transported back to a time when she was still married. Her child had not come along, and she was in bed with her husband on a Saturday morning, making love, laughing, and arguing about how to spend the ceaseless bright summer days ahead…

  Her son cried in the adjoining room.

  Back to reality.

  She bolted upright and swung into Mom Mode.

  She pulled on clothes, put up her hair, and grabbed a bite to eat while Nate ate his breakfast.

  Above all, she tried to focus on her child, not herself. Not the memories. Not the pain.

  Cara had promised Nate a Saturday morning outing, hoping she could think of somewhere cool and indoors to take her toddler, but no nearby spot had come to mind. Thus it was off to the state nature preserve at the western edge of town. She packed snacks, toys, and extra clothes for her little monster, unable to deny him the simple treat of spending a morning playing in the countryside. She called her mother and asked whether she’d like to join them.

  Her mother declined the invitation and exhorted Cara to return as soon as possible.

  “It’s supposed to be another record high today,” her mother warned. “Don’t stay out too long.”

  “I’ll stay out long enough to tire him out for a good nap. And then perhaps I can get one too.”

  The morning was humid and foggy, the day presenting a deceptively mild façade and giving no hints to presage the later scorching temperatures. There was little traffic leaving Bourbon Springs so early on a Saturday
, and they were at the nature preserve in less than ten minutes. The only thing that slowed them down was when they got behind a tractor on Brush Grove Pike, a development that delighted Nate but frustrated Cara as the sun rose behind them, bringing the heat.

  She expected the only other people to be at the preserve would be walkers and hikers, along with a few kayakers and canoers who liked to take Brush Grove Creek into Old Crow Creek. The preserve was becoming increasingly popular with those who loved the outdoors.

  Her destination was a small playground in a meadow overlooking Old Crow Creek. Although the land gently sloped to the water, the area was flat enough to host the small playground and a great place to throw a ball around or fly a kite. She recalled her conversations with her late husband and their grand plans of bringing Nate to the preserve to fish, play baseball, and fly model airplanes. Cara had delighted in the ideas, but now she would have to be the one to execute them.

  Nate bolted for the playground as soon as she extricated him from his car seat. Even though she knew where he was headed, the sight of her child running from her always sent a shard of terror into her heart. That maternal instinct to run after him was hard to resist.

  Cara found a nearby bench where she read and snacked while keeping a close eye on Nate. He looked incredibly like Todd, his father, except he had Cara’s eyes and fair hair. It was sometimes hard for Cara to look at her son and see her deceased husband reflected there upon his little face. Her grief blended with anger, and Cara would have to turn away before her child became confused by Mommy’s sudden tears.

  Nate came to her for a drink of water from his canteen.

  “I wanna go to the creek.” Nate pouted after quenching his thirst.

  Nate had a favorite spot where he loved to play along the banks of Old Crow Creek near some large boulders and the remains of an old bridge. During the dry months of summer, the water formed a shallow pool perfect for wading and exploring.

  Yet further out the current was dangerously swift, according to a preserve ranger Cara had once encountered during one of their trips to the site. She had advised caution and to never get out along the rocks and the rotting pieces of the bridge. One could cross the creek farther downstream at a shallow ford except when the creek was high.

  Cara tried to coax Nate into going home and playing in his splash pool, but he was unmoved.

  Realizing there was no way to change a toddler’s mind about the attraction of a creek on a hot summer’s day, Cara relented. Toting the omnipresent bag of necessary kid stuff and holding Nate’s hand, they descended toward the stream across the broad expanse of a mown area.

  In the far distance through the thickening haze of the midsummer morning, the little town of Bourbon Springs shimmered in the heat, and Cara glimpsed the top of the courthouse cupola before it disappeared behind the tree line.

  Nate broke from her a few yards away from the trees, and Cara had to carefully pick through the thickening brush to keep her child in sight. Panic knifed at her gut as she saw her child running toward the water, and she cried out several times to no avail to get him to stop. Dropping the bag, she quickened her pace to catch him, fearing that he would fall against a rough outcropping of limestone, or a tree, or into the creek itself. But Nate stopped once he reached the shallow pool at the edge of the water.

  After chastising Nate for running away, Cara watched as he did all the things a boy of his age should do.

  Nate found sticks and rocks and tossed them into the creek, squealing with abandon as the items splashed. He loved seeing the sticks get carried away on the current, saying good-bye and waving to each item as it disappeared. Nate was upset when he couldn’t find any frogs, but Cara suggested that if he were quiet that they might come out since his noise likely had frightened them away.

  “But I won’t hurt them,” Nate implored her as he sat on a rock and put his head on his hands.

  Cara took the brief respite as an opportunity to turn back to retrieve the bag she had dropped. After telling him where Mommy was going and that he needed to stay put, she clambered back up the bank, keeping an eye on him over her shoulder as best she could.

  To the boy’s credit, he sat on the rock, poking at the soft earth and mud with a stick. Cara reached the bag at last and began to descend, but within the next second Nate was on his feet, pointing and yelling.

  “Look! Deer!”

  A doe’s head jerked up from the water, and she bolted downstream on the opposite bank.

  Nate screamed in protest upon the deer’s departure and ran along the bank, immune to his mother’s cries. He crossed the creek at the narrow and shallow point, the water coming well up his chest, then scrambled up the opposite bank.

  Cara splashed into the creek in pursuit, crying, sweating, and yelling. Once across, she struggled to keep him in sight and lost her footing on some rocks, causing her to fall into the water.

  By the time she recovered, her boy was gone.

  “NATE!” she roared.

  She heard nothing but the rush of water and the rustling of leaves as they were nudged by a barely discernible breeze.

  Crazed and in full panic mode, she climbed onto dry land and headed in the direction she last saw Nate. Cara patted her pockets, but her phone was gone, probably at the bottom of the creek. Continuing to call his name as she sobbed, Cara stumbled along the bank, becoming despondent and sick.

  Ahead the stream widened and curved. The water here was deep, swift, and clear, but Cara was so desperate that she decided to get back into the creek just to get a good view of both banks.

  As she edged toward the water to fulfill her desperate plan, a lone man toting a kayak appeared on the opposite bank.

  Drake Mercer.

  BUY LINKS FOR WATER OF LIFE

  Bits About Bourbon

  Prent’s name

  Prent’s name, Prentice, comes from one of the old names for what is now known as Four Roses Distillery. At one point around a hundred years ago, the distillery was known as Old Prentice.

  I conjured up a snowstorm

  The New Year’s Eve Ice Storm in this book was inspired by a few horrible ice and snowstorms central Kentucky suffered over the past several years. I was well into writing the scenes when we got hit by not one but two massive snowstorms here in Kentucky within the span of only three weeks.

  Independent Stave

  Commonwealth Cooperage is based in large part on Independent Stave in Lebanon, Kentucky. My trip to the Cooperage is recounted in the back matter of Secret Sauce (Bourbon Springs Short Story #1), so I don’t want to repeat myself here too much. I will say that it is better to go on a cold day (the place is hot from steaming and charring barrels), and the smell is indeed exquisite. The tour doesn’t last long (about twenty minutes), but last time I checked it was free and first come, first served.

  Perryville

  References to Perryville and Perryville Battlefield State Historic Site have been sprinkled in the series up to this book, but this is the first time we actually go there.

  The wall where Miranda finds Prent at the beginning and end of the book really does exist as does the picnic area described through her memories.

  Perryville is one of the most untouched Civil War battlefields. The shape of the land looks much the same as it did on October 8, 1862, the date of the battle.

  About the Author

  Jennifer Bramseth is the pen name of a practicing attorney in Kentucky. She lives within minutes of several legendary bourbon distilleries and her house is next to a major horse farm. She enjoys her Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey with water and ice.

  Goodreads

  Find my Pinterest board for this book—see the series logo, logos for Over a Barrel, Old Garnet, and lots more

  For more information

  greetings.jenniferbramseth.com

  jennifer@jenniferbramseth.com

  Copyright © 2016 Jennifer Bramseth

  All rights reserved

  No part of the book may be repro
duced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotation in a book review.

  For my Father

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Victory Editing

  Cover design by Kim Killion

  1

  The July dawn was dry and hot, just as every other had been for the past several weeks, the days blending into a seamless sea of sameness. As she lazed alone atop cool cotton sheets after her shower, Cara sensed the heat on the other side of her bedroom window, the warmth pressing against the glass.

  She rolled onto her back, gazing at the ceiling. Snatches of memories floated through her groggy mind.

  She was transported back to a time when she was still married. Her child had not come along, and she was in bed with her husband on a Saturday morning, making love, laughing, and arguing about how to spend the ceaseless bright summer days ahead…

  Her son cried in the adjoining room.

  Back to reality.

  She bolted upright and swung into Mom Mode.

  She pulled on clothes, put up her hair, and grabbed a bite to eat while Nate ate his breakfast.

  Above all, she tried to focus on her child, not herself. Not the memories. Not the pain.

  Cara had promised Nate a Saturday-morning outing, hoping she could think of somewhere cool and indoors to take her toddler, but no nearby spot had come to mind. Thus it was off to the state nature preserve at the western edge of town.