Page 31 of Bourbon and Lies

“I think that story needs to come from her,” Griz says.

Ace comes in from his office and looks between our grandfather and me. “What am I walking into right now?”

“I don’t like being in the dark about this. What’s going on with a woman being dropped on our front porch in the middle of the night by Bea fucking Harper?”

He ignores the tone in my voice as he walks toward the bar on the other side of the room, pulls out three glasses, and then chips out three rocks from the block of ice that’s kept in the bar freezer. Each with a couple of fingers high, he gives one to Griz, and then to me. “You are left out of certain things because you like to play above the line, baby brother. Your moral compass doesn’t have any fault points. You know that when you were PD, we didn’t want to make any lines muddled.”

“No shit, Ace. But I haven’t been a cop in years.” I take a swig of the bourbon and I can tell right away it’s higher proof than the typical year he likes.

“You sure about that? You’ve been grilling Laney like you still are.”

I hold up my glass to the light and then take a smell as I flip him off with my free hand.

With a laugh, he shakes his head. “I don’t know all that much more than you. Laney isn’t exactly an open book, despite the word vomit at dinner. But yeah, Bea Harper dropped her here in the middle of the night. You’re right about that. Told her she could start fresh here, and now I have a favor to cash in whenever I might need it.” With his hand slung in his pocket, my brother looks like a businessman. Buttoned up and always ready to negotiate.

“Why go to you and not me?”

He sips his bourbon. “You’re really asking why someone would come to me and not the cop in the family? Wouldn’t that be self-explanatory?”

“So she’s off the books, then?”

The stoic expression that my brother has mastered gives away nothing. “I don’t think she’s here to cause any trouble.” He looks over at Griz. They have a silent exchange that pisses me off, like they used to have when Lincoln and I were younger. “I know that you know what it feels like to want to start over. And to do it without having to answer a bunch of questions.”

My gut sinks, and I immediately feel like he just put me in my place. My brother has a way of doing that. It’s a talent. When an entire town wanted to be in my business, more than anything, I didn’t want to have to explain why making barrels instead of being a cop anymore was the only thing that got me out of bed.

I finish the bourbon in my glass and walk it into the kitchen. I don’t need to tell him he’s right. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this kind of life out of you, Grant,” Griz says as he crosses the threshold.

“It hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen me annoyed, Griz. Happened last week when you decided to tell my guys to keep the barrels burning for longer than they should.”

Swatting at the air in front of him, he pulls a bottle from one of the lower cabinets. “You want to play dumb? That’s fine.” He uncorks the unmarked bottle. “Maybe you don’t see it because you’re trying to fight it, but I can see when one of my boys sees something they want.”

I’m not interested in Griz telling me all the ways he’s reading a situation so I leave my glass on the counter, clap my hand on his shoulder, and lean in when I tell him, “Might want to switch to water, old man.”

I’m halfway out the door when I hear him say, “Might want to stop being such a tight ass, Grant.” Then he shouts afterme, “Pretty things like that don’t just show up and then stick around.”

And all I can do is worry about what would happen if she does.

Julep’s waiting for me on my front porch, and I bend over to scratch the top of her head. “You behave while I was gone?”

She gives me a little growl and leans into me. I could spend hours scratching the spot on the back of her neck where the chestnut brown meets the gray and white speckles of her neck, and it still wouldn’t be enough. “What are you doing out here in the heat anyway?”

I look over my shoulder and seehersinging to herself in the window, moving around the cottage like she’s tidying up. There’s a lightness to Laney in this moment, and I can’t stop myself from studying the way she rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck while she pulls her long hair up into a messy bun.

“What’s your story, Laney Young?” I say out loud, knowing full well she’s not going to tell me. I shouldn’t be so interested. I should chalk it all up to what it is: a new person in town. But she’s got my attention. In too many ways that I’ll never admit.

Chapter 16

Laney

Bourbon was morethan just a profession here, it was a lifestyle. Artwork and memorabilia that paid tribute to its evolution lined the hallways leading to every section inside Foxx distillery. From bourbon when it was sold in the prohibition era as medicine, to the way it was portrayed in movies and cultivated a subculture. It’s inspiring to see it all laid out and honored. But I also know that if I don’t watch how much of that “lifestyle” I consume, I’ll end up screwing myself and confessing too many truths to Grant Foxx.

“Where you heading, Laney?” His ears must have been ringing. Hearing his voice behind me, that smooth, deep drawl that lingers when he’s not busy trying to figure me out, makes my stomach flip.

“Exactly where everyone who works here should be heading.”

He catches up in a couple of strides. “What are you eating?”

“The last of my sour gummy worms,” I answer as I glance at his handsome profile. “Wait, are you actually coming? Hey!” I slap his hand away as he reaches into the bag. “Get your own.”

---