Any Luck at All: Asheville Brewing #1

by Denise Grover Swank

  The assistant didn’t answer, just gestured for her to enter the room where everything had gone down the day before. “He’ll be here in a moment.”

  Jack was standing next to the wall of windows overlooking a parking lot, wearing a pair of khakis and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. He turned when she entered the room, and she gave him a soft smile.

  “Hey,” he said, appearing unsure of his standing with her. Georgie understood. They’d both been drinking last night, which called the decisions they’d made into question. Georgie had no regrets… Did Jack?

  “How was breakfast with your siblings?” he asked, his body tense.

  She stopped herself from saying they were his siblings too. “Good.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Actually, great. Lee’s on board and plans to be hands-off, which means we can run it how we see fit.”

  “And Adalia?”

  She made a face. “Not so eager, but I think she’ll come around once it starts doing well and making a profit.”

  He nodded, then turned back to the view.

  Georgie eyed the table, reluctant to sit down. The emotions of the previous day still hung in the air, but she was also antsy. She wanted to get this done so she could head to the brewery and get down to business, not because she was eager to see River again. Okay, a partial lie. She was eager for both.

  “Ah, Georgie,” Mr. Manning said as he walked into the room, holding a stack of papers. “And Jack. Thank you for coming in.”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “Lee said it was okay for me to sign for him and Adalia.”

  “Only one of you has to sign that you want to keep it,” the attorney said. “So the two of you signing is more of a sign of solidarity and not a legal necessity.” He set the stack of papers on the table and Georgie took a seat. Jack sat next to her, resting both his hands on the table.

  It looked like Mr. Manning had more than one document for them to sign. He flipped the pages until he reached one with two signature tabs.

  “Let’s start with the reason you’re here. This document says that you both agree to keep the brewery. Sign next to the tabs.”

  Georgie grabbed a pen from a cup in the center of the table but stopped with the pen hovering over the signature line. “Lee said you had a buyer lined up for the property?”

  Jack’s body jolted.

  The attorney’s smile wavered. “That’s right. Bev Corp, a national company, is very interested.”

  “How much did they offer?”

  “Four-point-two million for the brand, the recipes, and the facility.”

  Georgie couldn’t help wondering if Adalia needed the money. A quarter of the sale price would be enough to completely change her sister’s life. Was she being selfish? But then she thought of the determination in Jack’s eyes. He deserved to be part of the Buchanan legacy. And Lee believed in her, for once, something she’d always wanted. And then there was River. He’d been important to Beau, and he wanted—needed—to make this work as much as she did.

  Jack shot her a questioning look. Even if Georgie decided at the last minute to sell, she knew he would never agree to it.

  Ultimately, she trusted her gut, and it told her this was the right decision. She leaned over and signed her name, then passed the form to Jack. The attorney produced several other papers for them to sign, one naming Georgie the executor of her grandfather’s trust—which included the brewery and the house—and giving her control over Beau’s business and personal bank accounts. “Grandpa Beau named me as executor? How did he know I’d agree to do this?”

  “As you’ve likely guessed, he changed his will after your visit. Originally, the house went to your father, and the brewery went to someone else.”

  “Who was it supposed to go to?” Jack asked.

  Instead of answering, Mr. Manning pursed his lips and handed Georgie the bank account statements.

  Had Beau originally planned to give the brewery to Dottie? He hadn’t left her anything in the will, although Georgie had assumed that was because he’d passed along everything he’d wanted to her before dying.

  She considered pressing Mr. Manning, but she was more interested in the financial state of the brewery. She slid the papers between her and Jack, and they quickly scanned the business account documents, which proved the business was indeed in trouble.

  When they both finished signing nearly everything in the stack, Mr. Manning gave them an apologetic smile. “Now that you’ve finished most of the official paperwork for keeping the brewery, I need to tell you both about the strings.”

  She gaped at the attorney, sure she’d heard him wrong. “Strings? What strings?”

  “Beau wanted to make sure that you and your siblings didn’t make this a side project. He was worried the others might be uninterested.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she waited for what she was sure would be terrible news. “Excuse my language, Mr. Manning, but I have no intention of half-assing this.”

  “And neither do I,” Jack said with a firm resolve.

  Perspiration began to dot the attorney’s forehead. “They aren’t my rules. Trust me, I tried to talk Beau out of it.”

  Her stomach turned to a dead weight. “What did Grandpa Beau do?”

  Mr. Manning handed her an envelope. “Perhaps you should read this first.”

  She broke the seal, pulled out the page, and read the shaky handwriting.

  Dear Georgie,

  You have no idea how much I loved your visit. You have your father’s drive for success, but you also have something he never possessed. Sure, he has ambition, but he doesn’t have heart. You, my girl, have it in spades.

  I knew after our visit that you wouldn’t sell Buchanan Brewery. I could see the fire in your eyes—the same fire that led me to found my business so many years ago. I’m ashamed to admit that I got tired. I lost my drive and I let things slide. I considered passing BB on several years ago, but the successor I’d named wasn’t ready. He had to pay his dues, just like you and your siblings will have to pay yours if you fail to meet the challenge I’ve set for you.

  I know this will seem harsh, my dear, but I assure you that I would never ask this of you if I didn’t think you were up to it. We all need a little fire under our britches. Remember I do this out of love.

  If anyone can turn Buchanan Brewery around, my dear, it’s you. My love, Dottie, is there to help you. Now go make me proud.

  Love,

  Grandpa Beau

  Georgie stared up at the now-drenched attorney in horror. “What challenge?”

  “What does it say?” Jack asked.

  She handed him the paper and his head moved slightly from side to side as he read. Mr. Manning pulled yet another paper out of his stack. “I could read the legalese, or I could get to the heart of it.”

  “I’d rather just hear the bad part,” Jack said, setting the paper on the table in front of Georgie.

  “Yes, please cut to the chase,” she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

  “Well, there are two stipulations. The first is that Dottie Hendrickson cannot be fired. She can only retire of her own volition.”

  “Well, that’s no problem,” Georgie said, puzzled. Why would her grandfather have thought it was even necessary to put that in writing?

  “Like I said, let’s hear the bad part,” Jack said.

  The perspiration on Mr. Manning’s brow confirmed he’d told them the easy part first. He cleared his throat, then said, “Buchanan Brewery has to place in the top five of the Brewfest Competition.”

  She shook her head. “Brewfest Competition… River told me about it last night. It’s a beer contest.”

  He nodded, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his forehead. “It’s usually held at the beginning of March.”

  March…it was early June, so they’d only have ten months.

  Her mouth gaped. “River told me that Buchanan Brewery hasn’t placed in years.”

&
nbsp; “Let me get this straight,” Jack said, leaning over the table while his eyes bored into the attorney’s. “We have less than a year to take a below-average brewery and make it nationally competitive?”

  Grimacing, Mr. Manning wiped his handkerchief over his forehead. “I’m sorry. I really did try to talk him out of it.”

  Georgie’s head swam and she sat back in her seat as she tried to soak this in. Was it even possible to create a winning beer by then? From what River had told her about brewing, it took weeks just to create one batch. Trying not to panic, she said, “What if we realize we’ll never win and we want to sell it instead?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Georgie. By signing those papers, you agreed not to sell.”

  She’d been a fool not to read the fine print. She knew better than that, but she’d been caught up in the moment, thinking about the future. About the look on her father’s face when he learned his children had chosen Beau over him.

  “And what happens if we lose?” Because Georgie’s father had taught her at a very young age that there was no point of a challenge if a dastardly threat wasn’t dangling over her head.

  Now she wondered if her father had learned his tactics from Beau. That sweet old man she’d met had had some bite left in him.

  “The brewery goes to the person originally named in the will.”

  “And who is that?” she forced out past the lump in her throat.

  “River Reeves.”

  Chapter Twelve

  River stood outside of the brewery, tapping his foot while he waited for Georgie and Jack. The whole nervous energy thing wasn’t usually his jam, but he’d left Hops at home in his crate, so he didn’t have a puppy to fuss over. Maybe he was overthinking it, but it felt like a lot was riding on this moment.

  What if the walk-through didn’t go well, and Georgie and Jack changed their minds? Sure, Georgie had seen the brewery before, but she probably hadn’t been looking at things critically—like she would be today—and he was well aware most of the equipment was old. If Bev Corp was waiting in the wings with an attractive offer, it might be hard for them to say no.

  He didn’t think they’d cop out, he really didn’t, but so much of his life had changed in a blink. So much of what he’d counted on had slipped away.

  He’d expected them to take a car—although it wasn’t a long walk, it wasn’t terribly short either—so it took him a moment to notice them across the street. His heart thumped faster in his chest at the sight of Georgie, her hair bouncing around her face. Jack strolled beside her, and they were deep in conversation.

  He’d been thinking of seeing her again too—wondering if it would feel the same, or if the magic of the previous night would slip away.

  But it hadn’t, or at least not for him. And she’d worn her hair down. Was that a message?

  It wasn’t until they came closer that he realized they were arguing, and Georgie had a stricken look on her face. Jack’s expression veered closer to pissed.

  Well, shit, that couldn’t be good. If breakfast had gone well, what could have happened since? Had something happened with the father, maybe?

  Except…hadn’t he already left?

  Georgie made a shut up gesture to Jack, and they crossed the street in silence.

  “Hey,” River said, stepping toward Georgie. He went in for a hug, because that’s how they’d said goodnight, but she flinched away.

  Definitely not good. Although maybe she was being a consummate professional, just like he’d told Dottie she would be. It was one instance in which he did not relish being right.

  Georgie nodded to him—nodded—and then Jack did the same, although he looked like he’d rather punch him instead.

  “Um. Okay,” he said. “Everything go all right at the lawyer’s office?”

  Georgie opened her mouth to answer, but her gaze shot to Jack, and something like regret passed through her eyes.

  “Yes. Fine,” she said, her tone not matching her words. But one look at Jack told River he’d do best not to press. If he was going to get her to talk, he’d have to do it alone. He’d gotten along with Jack last night—hell, he liked the guy—but now Jack was looking at him like they were blood-sworn enemies.

  “Ooookayyy,” he said. “They gave most people the day off after yesterday, but Aunt Dottie said Josie, kind of a jack-of-all-trades assistant, would be able to show us around.” Jack-of-all-trades was a nice way of saying she didn’t really do anything but was still on the payroll, but he wouldn’t be the one to point it out. Nor was he about to mention the fact that Aunt Dottie had once described her as a bit peculiar. They’d soon figure both things out for themselves. “Did Henry give you the key?” When he was greeted with blank looks, he added, “Henry Manning. Beau’s attorney.”

  Jack pulled it out of his pocket. “Yeah, we have it.”

  He pushed his way past River and opened the door. The tasting room, a madhouse last night, had been restored to immaculate order. Knowing Aunt Dottie, she’d stayed late into the night, stacking chairs and rinsing glasses right along with all of the other employees—and reading their energy and commenting on their love lives while she was at it. Her work ethic had always impressed him. When he was younger she’d run a little business on the side, making energetic necklaces and selling them at fairs. He’d even helped her a time or two, although that wasn’t something he’d advertised to his friends. If he hadn’t had her as an example, he wasn’t sure where he would have ended up.

  So he was smiling a little as he led the Buchanans into the other half of the building. He knocked on the door, then knocked again when Josie didn’t answer. She should have been expecting them, but then again, she had the mistaken belief that she had a deeply ingrained sense of time—one that required no watch or alarm.

  One more knock, and Jack shook his head impatiently.

  “Let’s just open it. It’s ours now. No sense in waiting.” He sent a look of gloom Georgie’s way as he said it, and she bit her lip. Part of River wanted to tell Jack to back off, but he didn’t want to interfere.

  So he stepped aside, falling in next to Georgie—close enough that he could feel the heat of her—and Jack blasted the door open.

  Letting out several bubbles. A sea of them, a few inches deep, covered the usually immaculate floor. The equipment might not be new anymore, but everything was usually clean.

  “What the hell?” Jack said, stealing the words from his mouth.

  Josie stood to one side of the door, her eyes huge behind her oversized wire-framed glasses.

  One look at Georgie told River all he needed to know—she was horrified—and without overthinking it, he reached over and squeezed her hand.

  She squeezed back, and instead of letting him go immediately, like he’d thought she would, she held on.

  He would have enjoyed it more if only her brother hadn’t been giving him the look of death. Because he’d done nothing to deserve it, he gave that look right back to him. Georgie released his hand and took a few steps toward Josie, her feet forming a path through the bubbles.

  “You’re Josie, right?” she asked, her tone kind but direct.

  Josie just nodded mutely.

  “I’m Georgie Buchanan, and this is my brother, Jack,” Georgie said. “We’re taking over for our grandfather, so we need to know what happened here.”

  “I was hoping no one would notice,” Josie said, biting her lip.

  Georgie glanced back at River, their eyes meeting, and he could have sworn she was on the verge of hysteria-induced laughter. Instead, she turned back to Josie, remarkably cool and collected. “Well, I’m afraid that ship has sailed. Can you please tell us?”

  “Yes,” Jack said sarcastically, “I’m dying for more bad news.”

  More bad news?

  Josie flinched from him, reaching for her energetic necklace, and went to sit on her stool.

  Since no good could come of them standing in the middle of this mess for what had every hallmark of a difficu
lt conversation, River said, “Come on, let’s sit at one of the tables in the tasting room while we talk. I’ll grab a pitcher of water from behind the bar.”

  “Like aunt, like nephew,” Georgie said softly, giving him a little smile even though she still looked shell-shocked, both from whatever had clearly happened before their meeting and from the mess.

  “Sure, fine, whatever,” Jack said, stalking off and claiming a seat at the nearest picnic-style table. Josie followed, bubbles sticking to her clogs, and took the farthest possible seat from his position. Georgie closed the door on the mess and went to sit beside Josie, probably trying to make her more comfortable, while River filled up a pitcher behind the bar (one of two in the space) and grabbed a stack of pint glasses.

  He took a quick gauge of the situation, and after setting down the water and glasses—he wouldn’t pull a full Aunt Dottie; anyone who wanted one could take one—sat down across from Georgie.

  “…I thought they’d all pop by the time you got here,” Josie was saying. “I danced around and tried to pop them, but there were just too many.”

  “And how’d there come to be so many bubbles?” Georgie spoke with an understanding tone, although he could see the strain on her face. Jack wasn’t attempting to hide his poor mood.

  “Sounds a lot like sabotage,” he sneered, looking right at River as he said it.

  “No,” Josie said. “Or not intentionally. He was just really, really drunk. He’s actually still in the back. I let him lie down on my shawl in the corner. I managed to clear that much space, at least.” She fingered her necklace again, still seemingly unaware that she had yet to name who “he” was. “You see, he found the bubble machine out on the street, and he thought he was paying tribute to Beau. It’s beautiful, really—he filled the brewery with bubbles because Beau had made so many bubbles in life.”

  Georgie’s face drained of color as she looked first at River, then Jack.

  “Lurch,” River said.

  Josie nodded sadly. “He’s upset Beau’s ungrateful grandchildren are taking over the brewery. Never wrote to him or called him. Only one of them paid him a visit—and even then, he had to ask her. Can you imagine? Such a nice man.”