Any Luck at All: Asheville Brewing #1

by Denise Grover Swank

  I want to be sure you’re taken care of, Beau had said to him.

  Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if Finn had made his decision a month ago. Would Beau have entrusted his legacy to him?

  A stab of envy and grief made him feel even worse. Beau and Aunt Dottie really had given him far more than he’d ever deserved. It was only right that Beau’s real family should get his inheritance. But damn, he could have done great things with that place. He could have turned it around without tossing out all the things that made it special.

  He’d offered to help often enough, but Beau had been stubborn in his own way. He’d always refused.

  Beau’s cat Jezebel, fondly known as the Creature of Evil by her former owner, wound her way around his legs and back, and he stooped to pet her. She tipped back her head, closing her pale green eyes in pleasure—and then promptly hissed and bit his hand. Any affection was on her terms, and those terms changed at a moment’s notice. Strangely, it had made Beau more fond of the cat. Aunt Dottie had been stopping in to feed her since Beau had died, although she insisted no one should remove Jezebel from the house. Jezebel was tied to the place, she insisted, as if the cat were some sort of wayward spirit. Which might not be too far off. The one time Beau had attempted to board Jezebel at a pet spa, she’d scratched three attendants and a fourth man had quit.

  If the Buchanans had inherited everything in the house, did that mean Jezebel was theirs too? He had to smile at the thought of that Victoria woman attempting to pet the cat. No, she’d never make nice with an animal. She looked like the type who’d adopt a French bulldog after seeing one on some cutesy TV show, only to bring it to the shelter the next day after realizing she’d have to wipe its butt after it pooped—a little known fact all those IG posts neglected to mention with all their cute photos. He had Maisie to thank for keeping him up to speed on strange pet trivia.

  He let himself down into the unfinished basement, shutting the door behind him because the smell of hops made Jezebel as crazy as if she were rolling around in a field of catnip. A few glass carboys were still down here, fermenting from when River, Beau, and Finn had agreed to a competition to determine who could make the best beer incorporating three discordant ingredients. Aunt Dottie was the one who’d chosen them: cinnamon, jalapeño, and watermelon. He wasn’t overly excited to try that one.

  He headed to the back of the basement, to the fridge where Beau had stored beer—a variety of local stuff plus some bottled home brews—and grabbed something at random, cracking it open with the bottle opener magnet.

  Lifting it up, he said, “I miss you, Beau. Things already suck without you.”

  He took a sip of the beer—an amber—and remembered the watch. Maybe he should take it while he was here so he wouldn’t have to bother the Buchanans.

  He started back up the stairs, beer in hand, and was on the third stair from the bottom when he heard the front door creak open. Aunt Dottie. It had to be.

  What was he going to tell her about his confrontation with Finn?

  The truth. She knew how he felt about Bev Corp, and he had no doubt she’d agree with him. Even if it meant he was back to square one.

  He opened the door at the top of the stairs, and a hunk of crystal flew at his head.

  Everything happened at once after that. In dodging the crystal and trying not to fall down the stairs, he dropped the beer, which exploded into glass shards and liquid foam, and Jezebel, who’d been perched in her armchair—literally hers, since no one else was allowed to sit there—shrieked as if she’d been scalded with hot water. She leapt into the air, back arched, and Georgie Buchanan, the person who’d thrown the crystal, screamed and jumped backward.

  Aunt Dottie was nowhere to be seen.

  Jezebel made another leap for Georgie, and when Georgie jumped back again, the cat yowled and scampered away, leaping onto the cabinets in the open kitchen to watch them warily from the wide opening.

  “Dottie gave me the key,” Georgie said in a burst, holding up her hands as if she were the one trespassing. “I’m so sorry. I…I thought you might be a thief or a vagrant. The crystal was the only hard thing I had in my purse. Your aunt gave it to me.”

  For some reason, that struck him as funny—not the part about the crystal, although really, was Dottie buying them in bulk?—but the word “vagrant.” It was the kind of word someone from a big city might use for a homeless person. In a way he kind of was a vagrant, or rather he’d been one as a teenager.

  “I…I didn’t know Beau had a cat,” she continued. “I never saw it when I visited him here at the house.”

  “Well, you can see why he didn’t brag about her,” he said, sweeping some of the broken glass aside with his shoe. He stepped out of the doorway and shut the door behind him. “She’s an unholy terror. Half the people in the neighborhood are terrified of her. The other half should be.”

  “I really am sorry. Your aunt gave me the key. I wasn’t planning on coming tonight, but…”

  She was flustered, and he felt bad for making her uncomfortable, even though he kind of liked seeing her like this—some of her hair had fallen out of that bun, a couple of wavy pieces, and her cheeks were pink.

  “Hey,” he said, “it’s okay. It’s your house, after all. I shouldn’t be here. I just…”

  Just what? Part of him wanted to unburden himself, but surely she was dealing with enough drama of her own. He didn’t need to add his personal issues to the pile.

  “You came for the watch?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, happy to latch on to the easy excuse.

  Her eyes shot down to the puddle of beer and broken glass on the floor before rising back to meet his gaze.

  He laughed, unable to stop himself. As Aunt Dottie would say: no grass grew under her feet. “Well, okay, and I figured maybe I’d have a beer while I was here. For the watch. I guess I kind of needed a drink after today.”

  Georgie heaved a long sigh that made him wonder what, exactly, had happened at the rest of the will reading. Would she tell him if he asked? He found he wanted to know, and not just because he was concerned about the future of Buchanan Brewery. He wanted to get to know Georgie. Find out if he’d see in her what Beau had seen.

  Speaking before he could talk himself out of it, he suggested, “Why don’t I clean this up, and we can have a drink out on the porch? Maybe Jezebel will stop glaring at us, although I won’t guarantee it. She’s been known to lurk by the screen door.”

  She huffed a laugh. “He named her Jezebel?”

  “You better believe it, and she’s earned it every day of her life.” He paused, and then added, “I’m pretty sure she’s yours now. Comes with the house.”

  Her eyes widened, and even though he shouldn’t have been looking, he found himself noticing the golden specks in them. “Oh, no, I’m not very good with animals. I’ve never had a pet.”

  “Anyone else in the family you can pawn her off on?” he asked, heading into the kitchen to grab some paper towels and cleaner from under the sink. She padded after him, carefully eyeing Jezebel’s perch atop the cabinets. Probably wise. She’d been known to leap down on unsuspecting people.

  “No. Lee’s girlfriend’s allergic to anything with fur, although I think she just says that because she doesn’t like getting the hair on her clothes.” He glanced back at her, and she flushed, as if realizing she’d said something that could be interpreted as disloyal.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I didn’t take her for the animal lover type. How about your sister?”

  “Adalia does like animals,” she said, brightening a little, “but we still have so much to figure out. We’ll have to talk about it. I…I’m Georgie, by the way. I guess you know that, but it felt weird not to introduce myself.”

  She held out her hand, all business-like, and he couldn’t help but smile. Her hand felt soft and small in his grip as he shook it.

  “River Reeves. Nice to make your acquaintance, although I�
�m sure the circumstances aren’t ideal for either of us.”

  “River,” she said, musing. “That’s an interesting name.”

  “Not around here, it isn’t. Half the kids in this town are named things like Arbor and Leaf.”

  “Huh,” she said, as if it were a foreign concept. He supposed it probably was. He knew the Buchanans had been raised in Connecticut, outside of New York City, and likely the guys at their prep schools had all had names like John and Edward III. “So you’re from here, then?”

  “Sort of.” Which was the short answer. He didn’t like giving people the long one.

  She quirked her brow, as if waiting for more, but Jezebel picked that moment to hiss threateningly, swishing her tail, and Georgie wisely flinched.

  “Let’s see about getting that mess cleaned up before Jezebel gets any ideas,” he said.

  He stooped down to grab the supplies, plus a bag for the glass, and she reached out a hand for them.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “My mess.”

  She balked a little, as if she wasn’t used to people disagreeing with her, or maybe she was thrown by the whole situation. Which was understandable. But she didn’t say anything, just followed him back to the mess and helped by picking up the larger pieces and putting them in the bag while he scrubbed. Before he threw the broken glass and soaked towels away, he handed the crystal back to Georgie.

  “Better put it back in your purse,” he said. “Apparently it’s a good thief-repellent device.”

  She grinned. “Your aunt sure likes these, huh?”

  “Whatever you do, don’t ask her about them. You’ll never leave that conversation. Seriously. Never.”

  “Well, I don’t think I’d mind so much. She seems like a really special person. She has a way of making people listen to her that isn’t rude or demeaning.”

  His throat felt a little thick again, and he forced himself to swallow.

  She has a way of seeing to the heart of things, Beau had said about Georgie. And didn’t she ever. He’d figured the Buchanans would write his aunt off as an old eccentric.

  “So about that drink,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, still smiling. “I’d like that.”

  So would he. Which made him worry. He should not be letting Georgie Buchanan affect him like this. There was exactly zero chance a woman like her would stick around in Asheville for any longer than it took to dispense with the inheritance she’d been given by the only man who’d cared enough to mentor him. Best-case scenario was they’d sell it to someone local, although he wouldn’t be in the running. He’d saved up some money but nothing like what Buchanan Brewery would need to become competitive again. In the meantime, he needed to focus on what, exactly, he was going to do with his life now that he was suddenly jobless. Maisie always needed more help at the animal shelter, but that wasn’t going to pay his bills.

  “Me too,” he admitted. “What’s your poison?”

  She pursed her lips, then asked, “Do you think Beau had any wine?”

  Good lord.

  Chapter Five

  River stared at Georgie like she had grown horns.

  “I take that as a no?”

  His mouth lifted into an amused grin. “There might be a bottle in the basement, although I can’t guarantee it won’t be dusty. I can go check.”

  She eyed the door he’d emerged from when he’d scared the bejesus out of her.

  She’d been a championship-winning softball player in the sixth grade. River was lucky the cat had messed with her aim.

  After the reading, Dottie had followed her out of the room, knitting still in hand. Close up, the hot pink sweater was obviously intended for an animal, not a baby. Jezebel? No, not even Dottie would attempt to dress up that cat, let alone in something like that. The cat would surely think it beneath her dignity.

  “Here, dear,” Dottie had said, handing over a key ring boasting a single key and a tarot card keychain. The Wheel of Fortune. “You’ll need that. I imagine you’ll want to see the house before you make up your mind.”

  Before she could even get out a thank you, Dottie had pulled out the big hunk of pink crystal from her bag. “Something tells me you’ll be needing this too.”

  The power of suggestion being what it was, her thoughts had jumped to that crystal and the “something” Dottie had warned her about the moment the door creaked. Hence her leap to violence.

  While she’d hoped to be alone, to have some time to think everything over before she met her siblings for the breakfast she’d arranged by text after storming out of the lawyer’s office, she’d been surprisingly glad to see River, and not just because he looked better in worn jeans and a T-shirt than he had in his ill-fitting suit. She wanted to know the man who’d inspired her grandfather to give him that watch.

  “I can go down with you. I might as well take a look. Beau invited me to stay with him when I came to town a few weeks ago, but I didn’t want to be any trouble. I’ve only seen a bit of the house.”

  He started to say something, then stopped. “Yeah. It might be a good idea to introduce you to Beau’s world.”

  She was about to ask what he meant by that, but he’d already turned around and started down the dimly lit stairs. She followed him, and he called over his shoulder, “Be sure to close the door or Jezebel might come down.”

  “And that would be a bad thing?” What was she thinking? If she left it open, the cat might descend into the basement, looking for her portal to hell.

  She shut the door, making the staircase even darker. The smell of yeast hit her nose, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for hours.

  “I think the light bulb’s burnt out,” River said. “I’ll change it before I go.”

  “And here I was about to ask if you were a serial killer luring me down to your killing room, but the light bulb offer has me second-guessing.”

  “No self-respecting serial killer would offer to change a light bulb,” River joked. “Not very intimidating.”

  Georgie reached the bottom of the steps and came to a halt when she saw a worktable covered with multiple glass bottles the size of watercooler jugs filled halfway full with pinkish liquid. It looked like a homegrown science experiment.

  “Grandpa Beau wasn’t making meth down here, was he?”

  River chuckled. “No, it was a beer competition.”

  “Really? I thought he made beer at the brewery. He showed me the tanks and everything.”

  “This was a competition between me, Beau, and Finn.”

  “Who’s Finn?”

  His smile faltered, making her regret asking. “My partner.” He shook his head, and when he spoke again his tone was darker, angrier. “My boss. Or used to be.”

  He walked past the table toward a fridge so old it looked like it had come from the set of a period piece, but he didn’t open it, instead looking in a cabinet above it.

  “No wine, dusty or otherwise. I take it you’re not a beer drinker?” He closed the door and turned to face her.

  She scrunched up her nose. “I haven’t had beer since I went to a kegger in high school. I suppose I should be ashamed to admit to that, my situation being what it is. Beau did offer when I visited, but he didn’t seem to mind too much when I declined.”

  He snorted, but his eyes lit up with mischievousness. “Then I guess tonight’s your lucky night.”

  Georgie couldn’t help laughing. It sounded like a pickup line, but she could tell that it wasn’t. River really was that excited about beer.

  “What kind of wine do you like?”

  “Whites—Pinot Grigio, Riesling.”

  He opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles. He popped off the metal tops and handed one to her. “Try this. It’s an amber. It’s what I was drinking before. A good entry-level beer.”

  When she took the bottle, her fingers brushed his, and she tried to ignore the flutters in her stomach. She remembered what it had felt like shaking hands with him earlier, his grip so strong aroun
d hers. What did he do to get those muscles? Something told her he didn’t belong to a CrossFit gym. River’s gaze held hers, and even though his face didn’t give much away, she thought she saw something in his eyes. Like maybe he felt that spark of attraction too.

  She lifted the bottle to her lips, but her attention was still on River and that little spark between them, and when the beer filled her mouth, the taste caught her by surprise. She started to cough, spewing a mouthful of the brew on his chest and face.

  He instinctively leaned backward, and she reached for him in horror. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

  A grin spread over his face. “If you didn’t like it, you could have just said so.”

  Even though she was still horrified, laughter burst from her throat. When was the last time she’d had a good laugh, let alone with a man she found attractive? Her last boyfriend had been far too serious. He never would have teased her, and he would have had a heart attack if he’d gone longer than six weeks without a haircut, let alone allowed it to grow as long as River’s.

  He grabbed a kitchen towel from the worktable and wiped his face.

  “River, I’m so sorry.”

  He laughed again. “Try it again, only this time sip it slowly.” He took a couple of steps toward the refrigerator. “And I’ll stand back here.”

  Georgie laughed despite her mortification, then took a sip of the beer.

  “What do you taste?” he asked, the task of cleaning himself up seemingly forgotten as he watched her.

  “It’s sweeter than I expected. And a bit citrusy.” She took another sip, a bigger one this time. “And maybe a hint of caramel?”

  “Come on,” River said, gesturing toward the stairs. “It’s a nice night. Let’s go sit on the porch.”

  She cast a glance at the glass jugs. “You said that was a competition?”

  “And an experiment,” he said, tossing the towel on the workbench. “Beau and I used to come up with new flavors in small batches like this, but you’ll never see this particular one on a line,” he said with a chuckle. “I doubt the special ingredients would fly.”