Page 90 of Bourbon and Lies

“Natural talent,” she jokes back.

I pull out my phone, looking at the time, then grab her hand. Still plenty of time to show her what I’ve spent so much of my time doing over the past handful of years. “C’mon.”

“Is the water going to be freezing without any sun right now?”

I keep us moving alongside the falls. “We’re not going in. We’re going behind.”

She laughs, but then her brow furrows. “What?”

I keep pulling her forward and Julep runs ahead. The pathway is graded, lined with tracks, and a simple climb. It’s just not the easiest to find. I wanted it that way. When we come up along the falling water, the mist dances around us as if it were a wall of its own and not moisture in motion. She peers over the side. “How deep is that?”

I pull her shoulder back. “Ace and Lincoln used to run and dive in closer to where Tawney is tied up. So deep enough for that.”

“You didn’t go in with them?”

I swallow and look back out at the water falling into the deep pool below. I love it here, the sound of roaring water, the way the field turns into something completely else around this corner. “I tried once. Ended up belly flopping because I didn’t like how it felt to fall.”

She looks out over the rushing water. “How did it feel?”

“Like I didn’t have control of what was going to happen to me.”

“There.” And with one flick, the string lights that have been placed along the crevices of the rock wall, inside the waterfall's cave, kick on and illuminate.

Her eyes dance around the space as she slowly walks in. A small workbench with just a few of the tools I need when I’m out here—gloves, oak spires, bungs, and a whiskey thief. But it's when she steps in a few feet farther, she looks back at me.

“Your bourbon?”

I smile at how that sounds. “My bourbon.”

Her lips part as she takes in the racks of barrels stacked on either side, four barrels high and deep enough that she needs to walk a bit farther to see where it ends.

“I came out here when I was about thirteen or fourteen with Griz. Told me if I was smart that I’d do well to remember places that made me feel a certain way. I don’t know why that stuck with me, but it did. Something so obscure, my grandfather said to me years ago.” I look around the cool, damp space. “Bourbon’s beauty is in the way it ages. It’s one of the few things that people appreciate more as it gets older. But aside from that, Kentucky bourbon does so well because?—”

“Because of the extreme weather changes,” she finishes with a wink. “And the water.” That day in the cooperage when I teased her about what was in the water here, comes rushing back to my memory.

“That’s my girl.” I love that she knows that. Laney doesn’t just know the bare basics anymore. I watch and listen to her when she pours at the end of tours; she has opinions about flavors and has learned the science that Lincoln is so hell bent on teaching. It’s just another turn-on.

I grab the gloves, along with the screwdriver and mallet. “I needed something in order to stay busy and out of my head.” I clear my throat, not proud of how I was after I left the police department.

“So you made bourbon.”

“So I made bourbon.”

I crouch down to the bottom row a few feet ahead of her. “I wanted to turn this grief I had into something. A way to remember, but also to forget for a while, if that makes sense.”

She runs her hand along my arm. “It does.”

“I’ve only ever been good at a few things.” I nod to the barrel I’ve just opened. “And knowing good bourbon is at the top of that list. I don’t have any plans for it. Nobody knows about it—not even my brothers.”

“What?” She scoffs at me, eyes wide, disbelief evident in her voice. “What do you mean, they don’t know about this?”

I dip the long stopper into the open slot. “This was for me. And now...” I look down the row and see all the barrels. The sweat and time it took to make this, bringing it out here and giving it a place to change into something better, makes me proud. “Now it’s theirs if they want it. I don’t have a need for it anymore.”

“You can’t just leave all this. I can’t even imagine what it took to get all of it out here. And the time to get the mash right.”

My mouth ticks up. “Listen to you using the proper language.”

With her hand slung on her hip, she says, “I’ve been living, breathing, and sleeping with Foxx Bourbon. I know what I’m talking about.” She smirks at me.

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