Tennessee's Whiskey (The Whiskey Collection Book 1)

by L. Loren

  Tennessee’s Whiskey

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2020 by L. LOREN

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the expressed permission of the author or publisher.

  All Rights Reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBO and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Excerpt from M’Renee Allen

  Taming of LaRue

  About The Author

  Social Follow

  Also By L. Loren

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you so much to my mentor, Sierra London for your listening ear. Your talks and advice are invaluable. I appreciate you more than you know.

  To my wonderful husband, Doug. We celebrated 20 years of marriage just after I completed this book. I thank you for allowing me the time I needed to complete this project. The way you support me is amazing. I especially love the way you listen to my completed chapters after a long hard day. It means the world to me.

  The readers– Thank you for your continued support of my work. You allow me to live my dream each and every day. Thank you for loving my characters and for the great feedback.

  A very special thanks to Creative Design Concepts2 for the sexy cover and formatting, and to Pam Gonzales of Love2Read Romance for her proofreading skills. I really made you work on this one Pam.

  SUMMARY

  Grad student, Patricia Woods finds herself on the brink of homelessness. Needing a job that pays immediately, she reluctantly sets her sights on the local redneck bar where the bikers are notorious, and the tips are flowing.

  All she wants is to make a little cash to pay her way through school, but what she finds is so much more. Her dream of finally having a family to call her own is just beyond her reach.

  Single father, Weston Daniels, has built a nice life for him and his five-year old son. After escaping the “family business” all he wants is the peace and quiet of the south, and an occasional romp with a nameless woman.

  He has a change of heart, when a beautiful African American woman dressed in orange bombards his bar. When his past catches up with him, he is faced with choosing between her life and the happiness he desires.

  Whiskey

  “Daddy! Daddy wake up. I wants eats.”

  My little man woke me up way before any soul should be awake. He was hungry. The boy was always hungry. I guess that’s what normal growing five-year old boys do. They eat. However, they don’t speak like babies, which is what my son does anytime he knows he is going to see his mother. I need to find a way of breaking this bad habit. In the meantime, I rolled out of bed and downed the bottle of water that I keep on my nightstand. Sleeping is thirsty business.

  “Hey, is that the way you greet your dad? Can I get a hug, a kiss or something?”

  “No daddy, I wants eats. Hugs later.”

  “Alright man. What would you like to eat this morning?”

  “Cereals.”

  “The right word is cereal, Wes.”

  I corrected his grammar, happy not to have an argument when he nodded his head. I snagged a bowl from the sink, rinsed it out and poured my boy’s favorite cereal in it. There is just enough to get him through breakfast, but only if he didn’t want seconds. Retrieving the milk from the refrigerator confirmed I needed to go shopping. There was barely enough milk to cover the boy’s cereal. I guessed it’s a good thing I took my coffee black. Wiping a spoon on my t shirt, I started to feed my son when his lips clamp shut. He looked at me with his big eyes that mirrored mine and shook his head from side to side. What did I forget?

  “No Daddy. I’m a big boy, I can do it myself.”

  I glared at the green numbers on the microwave and realized I slept late again. I only had about fifteen minutes to get this kid fed, cleaned up and packed for school. I knew he liked to feed himself, but that would take twenty minutes that we didn’t have.

  “Listen, Wes, how about you let Daddy feed you this time and next time you can go at it on your own?”

  “Nooooo! I’m a big boy. I eats by myself.”

  Wails! Screaming and a fit I have never seen the likes of ensued. What the hell was wrong with this boy? You would think I told him Mickey Mouse™ died. It was too early for this shit and I needed my caffeine.

  “You’ve got five minutes!”

  I dropped the spoon next to his bowl and headed to his room to pack a quick overnight bag. His egg donor was picking him up from school today and keeping him for the weekend. Luckily, there was a load of clean clothes in his closet courtesy of my nanny. She usually tried to wash a load or two of Wes’ clothes to help me out. I packed his bag, making sure to include his favorite Wolverine™ pajamas. The boy was obsessed with steel claws coming from his hands. I had to buy him a fake pair to keep him from tearing up the toy store one day. I really needed to put my foot down with the boy, but I couldn’t bear to see him cry. His mother caused enough pain in his young life without me adding to it.

  I made my way back into the kitchen just in time to see my sweet little demon dump his bowl of leftover milk over his head and start laughing. It was not what I needed to happen this morning. I snagged him from his chair and dragged him to the bathroom.

  “Wes, what have I told you about playing with your food? You do not do that son. What has gotten into you?”

  My attempt to chastise him fell on deaf ears. The boy looked at me with big expressive eyes and shrugged his shoulders. Gone were the crocodile tears he gave me when he wanted to be independent. Now only mischief and mirth filled his orbs. I was getting played by a kindergartener. I felt like the men from the Home Alone™ movie. Shaking my head, I scrubbed my son from head to toe, got him dressed and out the door in record time. As we drove to school, he recounted his vocabulary lesson from the previous day and informed me he had a spelling test today. They’re testing five-year-olds these days? Talk about overachieving.

  I pulled up to the curb and put the car in park to help little man unbuckle his seat belt. He pushed my hand away and smirked.

  “I can do it.”

  I looked up to see his teacher, Miss. Gardner staring at me through the passenger window. I never should have fucked her in the back of the classroom during our parent-teacher conference. Now she kept hoping for round two. Not happening. After that mess with Wes’ mom, I made it a rule never to double dip. On the plus side, as long as I continued to flirt with her, she would treat Wes like a king. I flashed a quick smile and gave her a sexy wink. Just like I th
ought, her cheeks sprouted the color red. That should hold her over for now.

  “Good Morning Miss Gardner. Wes’ mother will be picking him up from school today. Please let me know if any problems arise.”

  “Will do, Mr. Daniels. If there is anything else I can do for you, anything at all, you be sure and let me know.”

  The non-subtle hint did not compute. I wanted nothing more from her than to teach my son. Whatever delusions of grandeur she had were all her own. I couldn’t help her. Once Wes was safely at school, I went back home and crashed back into bed. I needed more sleep before heading back to my bar to do some paperwork and see about hiring a new waitress. The girl I had was good, but she needed help. Thursdays were big and the growing crowd had gotten too much for Holly to handle alone. I also needed to hire another bartender while I was at it.

  Tennessee

  “I don’t care what you have to do to get it, but your rent is due by close of business tonight.”

  “Come on Mr. Jacobs, at least give me until the morning.”

  “Fine. You have until 10 AM to get me my rent money or your ass is gonna be out on the streets, no matter how cute it is. I’m not joking this time, Patricia. 10 o’clock!”

  I knew he wasn’t playing. He had already given me several extensions. I was a college student and waiting on my financial aid check to come in was hit or miss. It got here when it got here and there was no rushing it. In the meantime, I needed to keep my roof over my head. My landlord didn’t care that I was waiting on a check. He wanted his money.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs. I promise I’ll have it for you by then.”

  Now, where the hell was I going to get $200 by tomorrow morning? Well one thing was for sure, I wasn’t selling ass to get it. Needing to find a job that paid the same day left me with few options. I could run up to the big box store and wait with the day laborers, but it was a little too late in the day for that. Plus, that wasn’t exactly safe for a female out here. I could find a waitressing job at a restaurant, but it would need to be a high-end place with cloth napkins and they usually don’t hire on the spot. That left me with one option. Working in a bar. I might have to show a little cleavage and flirt my ass off, but I think I could do this.

  I needed to go to a bar that was packed on a weeknight. The only one in town I could think of was this redneck joint called Whiskey’s. Their parking lot was always overflowing with motorcycles and big trucks with expensive upgrades on Thursday nights. I had, of course never been in there, and I am sure I would not be met with open arms, but I was desperate. Plus, those bikers and rednecks had cash. I needed cash. A girl had to do what she had to do. Pretty sure I would be the only black person to ever cross the threshold of their establishment, I steeled my shoulders before walking up to the front door. I gave myself a little pep talk along the way.

  Expect rejection, but don’t accept it.

  Ignore the stares.

  Don’t react to the rude comments.

  Get this schmoney, baby or be homeless.

  That last one was the one that did it. I strutted up to the oversized wooden door wearing a pair of black pants that showed off my ample ass and a Tennessee Lady Vols t-shirt that I modified with a pair of scissors to show plenty of cleavage. My orange, blue and white Adidas carried me into the dark room where they skidded to a halt, checking my backpack for the pen and pad I brought with me.

  I expected rebel flags and white hoods to adorn the walls, but what I got instead was a whole ‘saloon in the wild west’ vibe. I could work with this. All eyes in the joint shot to me as I stood there shaking in my shelltoes.

  Bitch, get it together before they eat you alive.

  I reached down into the depths of my essence and pulled from the eternal supply of courage my ancestors gifted me. Lifting my head high, I walked past all the cold stares, ignored the cat calls, and headed straight to the bar. The place was packed, but there wasn’t a waitress to be found. People at the tables barely had any drinks or snacks and the line at the bar was crazy long.

  Oh, they definitely need me!

  I decided to take things into my own hands. Instead of going to the bar, which was my original plan, I plucked the notebook and pen from my backpack and approached the closest table of bikers. I was going to get this job, even if they didn’t have an opening. I stopped in front of the table where the rowdy men were talking loudly and laughing. They were the only ones in the place that didn’t notice me when I came in. Time to take their order.

  “Hi fellas, my name is Pat and I’ll be taking care if you tonight. What can I get you to drink?”

  The man with the longest legs I have ever seen and even longer beard barely looked up demanding a bottle of Jack for the table. He wore jeans, a white tee and a leather vest with Lords of Death patched onto it. He never even flinched at the fact that a black woman was standing in his favorite watering hole taking his drink request. I could work with this. Bikers usually had good money to spend. Making sure to note there were five guys at the table, I pushed through the crowd at the bar and yelled at the bartender for a bottle of Jack and five shot glasses. Avoiding eye contact with the man behind the bar for fear he would recognize I didn’t belong, I looked anywhere but at him. I noticed a serving tray at the end of the bar and snagged it along with some napkins and a bowl of peanuts.

  The bartender reacted on instinct grabbing the bottle and glasses and placing them on my tray. Giggling to myself as I walked away, I made my way back to the bikers and served their first round.

  “Thanks darlin’. That’s for you. Run us a tab and keep the drinks flowing.”

  Long legs tossed a twenty on the tray for my trouble. Alright! $20 down, $180 to go. I could really make a killing tonight if I didn’t get caught by the owner. Stuffing the twenty in my bra, I moved over to the next few tables, collected orders and sauntered to the bar to fill them. After a couple of hours, I had made my way through the tables a couple of times. The customers were happy, my pockets were fatter, and I was swinging and swaying my hips to the tunes that were playing on the juke box. It may be Country music, but I was a Southern girl. I cut my teeth on Dolly, Willie, Johnny and Waylon courtesy of the lady who ran the foster home I was in for most of my youth. I loved old school country, but I was feeling the new stuff too. Doing a little shimmy shake to the sexy ass Tim McGraw as he sang about having a southern voice, I began cleaning off the recently vacated table in front of me. As I wiped away the peanut shells, the sexy as fuck bartender who had been watching me closely from behind the bar approached me.

  “Hey, Sugar Tits, it’s time we had a talk.”

  Sugar Tits, Really?

  Scowling at his choice of words, I turned my frown into a plastered-on smile before facing him. I needed fifty more dollars and I sure as hell wasn’t leaving this place until I made my quota for the night. If he was the manager, then I needed him to hire me. I had to be on my best behavior. Acting a fool in this man’s place was out of the question.

  His intoxicating scent seduced my nose before I even turned around. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the strong stench of booze, body odor, and cigarette smoke I had been inhaling all night. Looking into the steely orbs that danced with mischief, I felt my body shudder. They were the same color as the liquor I had been serving. My breathing became labored and I’m pretty sure my nipples would break off if touched.

  I had been working with him back and forth, but I never took the time to really look at him. Damn! This man was what wet dreams were made of. His slightly shaggy dirty blonde hair fell over his left eye, making me resist the urge to move it back to its proper place. The semi-permanent smirk on his face made his eyes dance as he smiled at me. They were beautiful, but there was a hint of something dangerous hidden deep within them. That smile put me in mind of a jack-o-lantern I carved when I was twelve. The goatee was calling to be drenched in my honey. I looked forward to wiping up my mess after a face sitting session. Oh this man was something special and he knew it. He was much sex
ier now that he wasn’t overwhelmed with serving drinks and barking orders. Taking a deep breath, I acted as normal as possible.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I think I should be asking you that question. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  The man barked at me. Well, maybe not a literal bark, but let’s just say Hound Dog should be his favorite Elvis song. Down Boy. I swallowed my fear and looked him in the eyes trying to distract him with my charm.

  “What do you mean? I’m the new waitress. I was supposed to start tonight after putting in the paperwork, but I figured I could do that later since you were so busy when I arrived.”

  “Who the hell said you were the new waitress?”

  “The owner?”

  It squeaked out like a question. Damn it. I told on myself. I turned to continue cleaning off the table, trying to dismiss him. Nope. Not happening. This man was up on game. I would need to bring out the big guns with him. He grabbed my arm and turned me back around to face him again. I looked down at his hand on my arm. My eyes lingered for a moment and looked back at him with my best Claire Huxtable stare. He immediately dropped his hand from my body, but the scowl remained on his face.

  “Well, I know that’s a lie. You wanna know why I know that’s a lie?”

  No, not really. He glared down at me trying to intimidate me, but I wasn’t moved. I knew by the question that I had fucked up. Reading between the lines I figured he was the owner and I just shot myself in the foot. However, I wasn’t leaving this place until I had Mr. Jacob’s rent. Old Whiskey Eyes would physically have to pick me up and toss me out if he wanted me to leave. I was on a mission.

  “Because you’re the owner?”

  “Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! At least you’re smarter than you look.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  I didn’t mean to curse but nobody called me stupid. It was a trigger for me. One I never learned to ignore.