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

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “Later, much later today,” Cara said, now distressed by her son’s distress.

  She hadn’t given a second thought to going to the wedding in the afternoon and then to the conference in the evening. If she’d had her preference, she’d rather spend the afternoon with Nate before leaving on a trip, but she’d told Drake she would be his date. And the truth was she had been looking forward to the event since the invitation.

  Drake came to the side of the couch where Cara sat holding Nate. He squatted, put his hand on Nate’s leg, and addressed the boy.

  “Your mommy and I are going to a wedding near a creek,” he said.

  Nate’s head came up. “A creek?”

  “Yes, and I’ve been there before. I’ve taken my boat down to this place before, and I really like it.”

  “You go there in your boat?”

  “No, not today. But I have taken my boat there before. It’s a very pretty place. We can’t take you today, but maybe we could someday?” Drake asked, looking to Cara. She nodded. “It’s not a place to swim, but you can see the creek. I’ll go today with your mommy, and we’ll make sure the creek is clean and not blocked by a bunch of trees. And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll be able to get in the boat there.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Cara said cautiously although she noted that Drake’s words had gone a long way in calming Nate.

  She slid her child off her lap, and Nate stood, looking up at Drake. The child again threw his arms around Drake’s legs but then ran to his grandmother, who was standing to the side and had been watching.

  “I think you have his permission to go,” Vera announced, putting her hands on Nate’s shoulders.

  9

  “I should’ve expected him to be like that.”

  They were in her car and driving north on Ashbrooke Pike toward the distillery. She had insisted on taking her sedan rather than his Jeep because she didn’t feel like climbing in and out of it in a short dress.

  “But you still weren’t prepared for it,” he observed.

  “No.”

  “Does he ever act that way when you go to work? Get clingy?”

  “Once in a while.”

  “No little boy likes to see his mommy go or share her with another boy.”

  “When did you gain so much insight on little boys?”

  “When I dated Selena Carmack. She has a son but older than Nate. He was six or seven when we dated. He hated me.”

  “Hate is a mighty strong word.”

  “It’s true,” Drake said. “Told his mother to her face with me standing right next to her that he didn’t want her to go out with me.”

  “That’s nerve.”

  “Well, thing is, his instincts were on target. He was just jealous, of course. But looking back at it now, I should’ve seen that as a sign the relationship just wasn’t going to work out.”

  “Because the kid had a problem with you?”

  “Just one problem amongst many.”

  “How long did you date her?” she asked.

  Since he’d mentioned her name a week ago, Cara had been dying to know more but hadn’t had the guts to ask him more pointed questions. She’d sensed that he had been marked by the experience since she had been the one to break it off with him.

  And Drake Mercer just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who got dumped.

  “Better part of a year. Is that important to you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Do you know her?” he asked as her cell phone rang.

  “Yes, but just from being around the Van Winkle County Courthouse,” Cara said, looking distractedly at her purse.

  “Want me to check that for you?” She nodded and Drake pulled the phone from her purse. He read the number out to her.

  “No idea who that is,” she said with relief. “Just glad it wasn’t my mother telling me Nate had a complete meltdown and I had to come back home.”

  “And what if it had been?”

  “Not sure I know the answer to that question,” she said, turning left onto the distillery grounds.

  They were promptly met by a security guard at a makeshift checkpoint composed of a chair and a tiny tent. Cara rolled down the window, whereupon they were identified as wedding guests and not tourists.

  “You’ve got specially marked parking in the lot,” the guard said. “Look for the cones.”

  Cara nodded and drove on, parking in front of the visitors’ center. Wedding guest spots had been roped off and marked with orange cones, and there were two workers directing traffic.

  “Wonder where the tourists will go,” Cara said.

  “Jorrie said the tours would start at the distillery museum, the Old House,” Drake said, pointing to the right.

  She took his arm as they stood before her car, watching tourists wandering toward the main building only to be directed by a worker to the Old House.

  “You know a lot about this place,” she said.

  “One of the perks of being a native of Bourbon Springs,” he explained as they began walking toward the front doors. “And I’ve learned a lot more about Old Garnet since I’ve started working with them on the Old Crow Creek tours. It’s a special place.”

  “Because it has a creek?” she teased him.

  They reached the door, and he opened it for her.

  “That is admittedly the main attraction from my point of view. Although the bourbon is my favorite.”

  Once inside, they signed a guestbook and an usher offered Cara his arm.

  “Looks like they have seating for this one, unlike Goose and Harriet’s wedding,” remarked Drake as they walked down the aisle.

  In the middle of the visitors’ center, a small collection of white folding chairs was arranged, five-deep on each side and in no more than ten rows. The end chairs were atop the bourbon flavor wheel, with the end of the short aisle at the wheel’s hub.

  Cara spotted a small collection of who’s who in Bourbon Springs: Hannah and Kyle; Bo and Lila; Goose and Harriet; Walker and CiCi; Rachel and Brady; Jon and Pepper. She also saw a few local officials, including the recently elected mayor of Bourbon Springs, Randolph Carr, the town’s first African-American mayor.

  Cara waved to the judges as well as CiCi and remembered that she needed to speak with Rachel. She was planning to carpool to Fort Shelby with the two judges and needed to confirm a departure time.

  In light of Nate’s upset, she thought that a change in plan might be in order. They’d originally arranged for the judges to pick her up at her house, but now she wondered whether she shouldn’t go to theirs.

  Cara had indicated they were with the bride, so they were seated in the fifth row on the left side. Soft classical music wafted in through an invisible sound system and provided a light and comforting atmosphere. Sitting to Drake’s left, she looked across him to the opposite side of the aisle as he claimed her right hand.

  Across the aisle, CiCi had her head on her husband’s shoulder. He had his left arm around his wife and held her right hand in his. The scene was sweet until she glimpsed Walker’s face. He looked tired and sad, and CiCi’s cuddle wasn’t that of a happily contented wife. Those two were clinging to each other.

  Her attention was diverted by the appearance of the minister, the groom, and an elderly man from the tasting room at the far side of the lobby.

  “That’s Mack’s grandfather, Albert,” Drake whispered in her ear. “He’s Mack’s best man.”

  Unsurprisingly, the groom, dressed in a dark suit, was holding his guitar. Mack placed it carefully on a stand behind the minister, clasped his hands in front of his body, and took a deep breath.

  Cara wondered what kind of music there would be. Surely Jorrie wouldn’t walk down the aisle from piped-in music, would she?

  Her question was answered in the next second, when the members of Mack’s band, The Foolcatchers, exited the tasting room and stood behind the groom and best man. They readied their instruments and, with one man’s signal, began to play a soft
, familiar processional piece.

  Heads turned to the right and down a hall, where Pepper Buckler, apparently the matron of honor, appeared as the passage opened to the lobby. She was greeted by a waiting groomsman who offered her his arm and led her down the aisle, where they parted. The groomsman nodded to Mack and then went to stand next to Albert. Another groomsman then met the mother of the bride at the end of the hall and escorted her to her seat.

  As soon as Mrs. Jones had been seated, the familiar notes of the Wedding March rose from the band, and all stood, and look to the right once more.

  Jorrie emerged in a haze of tulle and glistening white satin as she held on to the arm of her father. Her massive veil obscured her face, giving her the appearance of walking in a cloud. A long train trailed behind her, and her dress almost caught on the edge of the chairs as she made the turn down the aisle.

  Once bride and father had reached the minister, Jorrie’s dad kissed his daughter on the cheek through the veil, turned to shake Mack’s hand, and then backed away and took his seat next to his sobbing wife, along with the guests.

  From where she sat, Cara could see the side of Mack’s face. Although the couple was supposed to be facing the minister, who was running through the preliminaries of the ceremony, Mack could not keep his eyes off his almost-wife. He was smiling, shivering, and taking very deep breaths. He was as excited as a man in love could be. At least in public and in decent company.

  At the moment Cara thought the bride would hand her bouquet to the maid of honor and join hands with the groom, Mack took one of Jorrie’s hands, kissed it without taking his eyes from her, and walked to his guitar. He picked it up and, with one quick glance at his band, began to play that simple Shaker tune so familiar to residents of the Bluegrass.

  ’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free

  ’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

  And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

  ’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

  When true simplicity is gained,

  To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,

  To turn, turn will be our delight,

  Till by turning, turning we come ’round right…

  Jorrie was crying, as were many in the crowd, especially Hannah and Kyle.

  “Sorry, folks,” Mack said. “But you know I had to sing that one today.” Mack put his guitar on the stand again, trotted to his bride’s side, kneeled and, with a flourish, pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket and presented it to her on bended knee. “Knew someone would need that.”

  Jorrie took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes, her face still veiled as Mack retook his position in front of the minister.

  “Join hands,” the minister directed, and Jorrie returned the handkerchief to Mack.

  After completing their vows and being pronounced husband and wife, Mack reached for Jorrie’s veil to reveal his bride. The couple kissed, their faces images of joy.

  The band played a happy Bluegrass refrain as Jorrie took Mack’s arm and the guests clapped. Hannah then stood to announce that after Jorrie and Mack were finished with the photographer, the reception would begin in the café.

  “And we need everyone to get up out of their seats,” Hannah said, “because we need to clear this area. The newlyweds want some photos on top of the wheel.”

  Drake suggested they go outside briefly until the reception began, and Cara agreed, despite the heat. The flowers around the visitors’ center were lush and gorgeous, and she wanted another chance to enjoy them. She also wanted to check her phone to see if her mother had called with any updates about Nate.

  Once outside and after admiring the plantings—there was an herb garden she’d neglected to notice when she’d been there for the meeting about her judicial campaign—Cara pulled out the phone but only found the one message from the mystery caller who’d called during the drive to the distillery.

  With a little time to spare, she decided to check it.

  “Judge Forrest, this is Garner Robson,” the message began. “I’m calling because I understand we’re both interested in that Court of Appeals seat, and I’d just like to get together and talk. If you’re going to the Judicial College this week, I’d love to meet for lunch or dinner while we’re there. I’m not sure I’ve ever met you, and I’d like to have the chance. Give me a call if you have the time. Thanks.”

  Cara pulled the phone away from her ear, looking at it as though someone had left her a message in another language.

  Drake noticed her confusion.

  “Something wrong?” he asked. She handed him the phone to allow him to listen to the message, which he did. “Guess he wants to size up the competition?” Drake surmised.

  “I suppose,” Cara said, stowing the phone back into her small white leather clutch. “But something about that call has alarms going off in my head.”

  “Don’t you trust him?”

  “No,” she said, “after what I’ve learned about him.” She had shared with Drake the information about CiCi’s sister-in-law as well as Jon Buckler’s comments.

  “But that stuff is personal,” Drake protested.

  “So? Still reveals a lot about his character.”

  “If it’s true,” Drake added.

  “You don’t believe CiCi?”

  He took her hands. “Just saying that the story you’ve heard has gone through several filters. Consider that.”

  “You’re right. But now I have my own filter. Hard to just turn it off.”

  They began to walk back into the visitors’ center, and Drake took Cara’s hand.

  “So tell him you don’t want to meet.”

  “I can’t do that. It would be rude. I have to meet with him and most likely alone since he’ll want to talk about the open seat and the subsequent race. Bet that’s what he really wants to know—whether I’m going to run if I don’t get the appointment. He wants to size me up.”

  “So let him do it,” Drake said, opening the door for her. “Let him see the competition and the trouble he’ll let himself in for if he decides to go up against you.”

  She laughed and as they reentered the lobby, Drake kissed her on the cheek. The newlyweds were finishing up with the photographer—the matron of honor and best man were beside them, with Albert telling jokes to keep Pepper in giggles. Seeing that the photographs were completed, Hannah pulled the group into the café, and Cara and Drake followed.

  The cake was an absolute delight.

  It was the traditional tiered white wedding cake, with the couple on top, but decorated with hand-iced musical notes and guitars (first layer), law books and a gavel (second layer), and bourbon bottles (third layer).

  And unlike any other wedding Cara had attended, ice cream was offered along with the cake: Blackberry Garnet, soon to be available in stores in the area, along with Cinnamon Garnet, according to Hannah’s announcement.

  After a toast to the couple with Bluegrass Bubbly, a cider-bourbon-cherry concoction that Cara had never experienced, additional toasts were offered using straight Garnet. Albert Blanton was in particularly fine form, toasting his grandson for his “superb taste” in finding a “decent woman.”

  He then handed Mack a shot of bourbon, which Mack threw back after raising the shot in agreement with his grandfather’s toast.

  “Don’t know why it took you so damned long to find her,” Albert said, pointing to a smiling Jorrie, who was standing beside her new husband near the cake table. “Right under your nose, just like my Lucy.”

  Albert turned and raised his shot glass in the direction of his wife, Lucy Davenport Blanton, who was sitting at a table with her son and daughter-in-law, Goose and Harriet.

  Before Jorrie and Mack left to change clothes, the bride grabbed Drake and insisted that the photographer get some shots of the two of them, as well as some pictures with Mack. With an apologetic look, Drake was pulled into the lobby and away from Cara.

  She waved good-
bye to him, then turned back to the cake table, hoping to score a little more ice cream before she left. That Blackberry Garnet was so good she would actually consider stealing the treat, provided she had a long coat or big purse to stuff the small paper pints into. As it was, wearing a simple sheath and toting a tiny bag, she’d have to stuff her face instead.

  Cara crept back to the cake table, where she found the nearly empty containers at the far end away from the cake and could not understand why more people weren’t standing in line or arm wrestling to get at them.

  Four sad little containers remained, each with approximately the same amount of ice cream dregs remaining. Cara took one look at the quartet of abandoned pints and realized that a decent-sized serving was there for the taking if the contents of all four were combined.

  There were no more bowls although there were plastic spoons aplenty. Taking one, Cara scooped the bottoms of three pints into the last until she had consolidated the remaining Blackberry Garnet.

  She felt like she was doing something wrong, a feeling that was confirmed when she heard a voice at her side, nearly scaring the fritters out of her.

  “I can get you some to take home, you know.”

  A very amused Hannah had appeared at her side.

  “Oh! Yes, well—” Cara stammered, feeling ridiculously embarrassed. She looked down into the container. “It’s just so good. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Hannah leaned over and glanced into the paper pint. “I’m surprised any was left.”

  Cara pressed her lips together, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and stole a look at the ice cream. Since it had been out of the freezer for a good amount of time, the consistency of it was somewhere between toothpaste and mushy cereal.

  But she still desperately wanted it.

  “Go on,” Hannah said, noting her hesitation. “Eat it now, or you’ll have to drink it.”

  “I bet it makes an excellent milkshake.”

  “Especially if you could spike it with even more bourbon,” Hannah said.

  “You’ve got to get Cinnamon Garnet and Blackberry Garnet milkshakes on the menu here at the café soon, or Over a Barrel will corner the market on boozy milkshakes in this town.”