Page 4 of Sweet Like Whiskey

I nod, deflating. “You’re right. It’s just… I don’t have a job, a place to live, a workingcar.”

“You’re staying with me for now, and we’ll figure out the rest,” she says calmly. “In fact, I’ve got some leads on the job front. For tonight, just take a load off. Tomorrow, we’ll get you sorted.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, rubbing my temple. With a huff, I joke, “I don’t suppose there are any men here? That would certainly help me take a load off.”

Virginia’s lips curve into a smirk as she reaches across the bar to grab my chin. She redirects my gaze out the window, where a couple guys our age are passing by. I nearly choke on my spit. From the big leather hats to the boots and belt buckles, they look every bit like real-life cowboys.

“Damn,” I mutter. “They sure don’t come like that in Maine.”

Virginia chuckles, turning and plucking a bottle off the shelf behind the bar. She places two shot glasses down in front of me before twisting the cap off the bottle and pouring the deep amber-brown liquid with a flourish. “Darling Whiskey,” she says with a wink, sliding the shot glasses closer. “Welcome to Montana, Ash.”

With that, my friend walks off to tend to her customers, and I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror at the back of the bar. My hair is windblown, the blonde waves a mess, and my cheeks are still a little red from walking. But it’s the smile on my face—the one that reaches my eyes—that has me doing a double take.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that smile.

Giving myself a mental salute, I pick up a shot glass and bring it to my lips. The whiskey goes down smooth, pleasant oaky fire warming a path to my stomach. At the tail end is a hint of something that tastes almost like caramel.

With a happy hum, I exchange my empty glass for the full one.

Yeah. I think Darling and me are going to get along just fine.

Chapter 2

Jackson

Loud, incessant knocking is the first thing to rouse me. The voice that follows has me sitting up with a groan.

“Jackson Darling! I know you’re in there. Get your butt outta bed and answer this door.”

“Jesus, Ma,” I call, rubbing my eyes. “Hold your horses.”

The knocking starts up again, and I swing out of bed, practically stumbling to my dresser. I pull on a well-worn plaid work shirt, step into jeans, and make my way toward the front of the house.

My mother’s face greets me when I swing open the door, her fist held up in knocking position. It drops to her side as she gives me a sweet smile I don’t much trust. “Morning, Jackson. We’ve got some things to discuss.”

“It couldn’t wait?” I ask, heading toward the kitchen.

My mom follows, not bothering to take off her boots. “It couldn’t. You remember how I said it was time we found some help for the ranch house?”

I sigh, starting a pot of coffee and grabbing a thermos. “Mhm. I haven’t had a chance to look.”

“I know you haven’t,” she says, plopping down at the kitchen table. When I hold a mug up in question, she shakes her head. “Which is why I hired somebody myself.”

I pause. “You what now?”

“Hired somebody,” she says slowly. “Really, Jackson, it’s like you’re not listening.”

I scrub a hand over my eyes. It’s too early for my mother’s antics.

“Name’s Ashley,” she goes on. “Arrived ten minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t think to consult with me first?” I ask, slamming the cupboard door a little harder than necessary.

“And why would I do that?” she snipes back. “Have you forgotten I still own part of this business?”

“No,” I grumble, running my hands through my hair when I catch my reflection in the microwave.Christ, I look like a rumpled mess.

“What was that?” my mom asks loudly.

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