Page 14 of Bourbon and Lies

Lincoln laughs and answers for her, “Rarely.”

I slow down next to a massive silver tub. “Ace is doing a friend a favor by giving me a job and a place to stay for a while. I met him last night.” Looking into the tub, I see it filled almost to the brim with a bubbling, thick yellow substance. When I hover my hand over the top, I can feel the heat radiating from it. “Getting involved with anyone is very low on my to-do list right now.”

Hadley loops her arm with mine as we walk. “You, my friend, might want to consider a new to-do list. But fair warning, there’s already gossip that Ace had a ‘young thang’ at his house this morning.”

“News travels quickly here?” I had hoped this was more of a mind-your-own-business small town and not the stereotype in movies and books.

“Oh, Laney, it’s the most fun part. I usually make up a couple of rumors about myself just to keep the old biddies out of my business.” She winks at me as we leave the main building.

The clang of metal against concrete has me jumping. The echo grabbed most people's attention, but for me, it pushes my pulse rate into double-time.

“It’s a bit louder in here. Between the wood that’s carved and slotted into staves and coming off the line to the barrels being toasted.” Lincoln points around the massive workspace. Along the edges, several tour groups keep their attention on the center of the space as wooden barrels are being made in various stages of their process.

“This is one of the few distilleries that has an in-house cooperage. My grandfather decided it made more sense to do what we wanted instead of negotiating and paying for a product we couldn’t control. It’s one of our largest assets when it comes to making bourbon. The barrels are where everything changes. It gives us complete control on the level of char we have in our barrels and sets the plan for what we’re making.”

He talks as we walk, and I take in all the machinery and barrels that are rolled outside and off to wherever they’re headed next. I’m fascinated by each piece of it. From the way he explains how the pieces of wood are held together by metal hoops and pressure, to the amount of time they’re currently toasting their barrels for this batch. “Right there.” He points to a conveyor belt that carries a newly constructed barrel. Someone pushes a button, and it immediately bathes the oak in a controlled fire. With a countdown clock on the wall of fifty seconds, the fire-roasted barrel is covered to tamp out the flames, and then when the cover is lifted, air ducts suck out the smoke as if it never happened.

But I miss what he says next, or whatever he wants me to see, because I’m watching as the cowboy, sans his blue baseball hat, yanks the barrel down and then rolls it from the conveyor belt, into the center of the room.

When he looks up, he pauses just long enough that our eyes meet. Long seconds tick by before his gaze moves to Lincoln standing next to me, who I forgot was talking.

“. . . that’s the truth of it, Laney.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

He laughs, and then glances out to where I was focused. “Nothing. Come on, let's go tag a barrel.” As we follow, he looks over his shoulder. “Perk of taking a tour with one of us.”

Hadley leans into me as we walk behind Lincoln, adding, “That one, with the forearms and big shoulders, would be Grant Foxx.” She must sense exactly what I’m feeling, because she sniffs a laugh. “Yeah, I know. All of them, right? It’s ridiculous.”

I widen my eyes, and whisper-shout back to her over the noise from the massive space. “All of them. What’s in the water here?”

“Limestone,” that voice from this morning answers.How did he even hear that?“These two are shit tour guides if they haven’talready told you about the water here.” His mouth ticks up to the right. “That’s what you were asking—what’s in the water here?”

Cocky bastard. He knows exactly why I asked that.

He looks down at my legs. “I see you found some pants.”

He didn’t.

Hadley and Lincoln look back and forth at us, clueless as to what he’s talking about. “Linc, what am I witnessing here?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

Hadley points between us. “So you’ve already met?” And since she is apparently someone who doesn’t let people answer before she throws out more questions, she turns to me and says, “I thought you said you just came last night?”

And the minute she says it, that particular choice of words, I can tell exactly what Grant’s thinking. His stoic expression cracks for just a moment as the tiniest smirk quirks the mustache that stands out thicker from the scruff along his beard. And I’m realizing really fucking quickly that Grant Fox is not just attractive. No, this guy is ruggedly handsome. Tall and built. Thick, dark brown hair long enough to thread through fingers and grip along the top. Hazel eyes shining with colors that make them pretty as they dance around my face. “That true, honey? Did you justcomelast night?”

“Sure did,” I quip right back without missing a beat. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Honey? What did I miss?” Lincoln asks his brother.

The glare I’m trying to muster turns into a staring contest that, if I’m not careful, I might lose.

He keeps his eyes trained on me while he answers his brother. “She was wandering around the back of the main house in one of Ace’s t-shirts. No pants. Thought she was still drunk or lost.”

My hands ball up into fists and a full-body flash of heat flushes my face, staining my cheeks and up my neck too. “I was neither of those, fuck you very much.”

He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. He usually doesn’t like repeats.”

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