Page 31 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“Thank you.” Margot exhaled slowly through her teeth as his footfalls departed.
Merrick was going to Greenbrier today. The thought was enough to unspool her. She collapsed against the door and raised a trembling hand to her forehead. He was going to Greenbrier.
Her mind conjured images automatically. The whitewashed and sprawling country estate, its prim black shutters and open-air rooms. Theblue hydrangea hedges—they’d be thick and full this time of year, guzzling water. The paddocks of cattle and the gentle rolling field where the horses were put out to graze. And beyond all that, near the edge of the estate bordering the Kentucky River, just past the sleeping eaves of Ma’s favorite willow tree…the graves.
One for Elijah.
One for her mother.
She shivered, reaching for the cap sleeves of her wedding gown, yanking them down her shoulders. She wanted to shed this ghastly dress. She’d shed her very skin if she could, evaporate into thin air to float away, join with the clouds in the sky. Here, but also not…
Because Merrick was going to Greenbrier.
Which meant he might come back with questions.
Questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.
11
September 1918
There are four things you must always remember, Merrick.
First and foremost, all bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon.
And all whiskey that’s not bourbon is a waste of a barrel.
—Excerpt, a letter from Richard Dravenhearst’s Last Will & Testament
Halfwaythroughtheday,the realization struck—with her husband away, the bourbon rickhouses were unattended. Margot could steal away, look at those barrels he’d constructed up close, run her fingers over them. Feel the wood for herself, examine the craftsmanship.
And figure out what in blue blazes he was doing with them. He couldn’t be making bourbon…could he? He said he hadn’t made bourbon for years, not since Prohibition made it illegal.
It was high noon when she set out, and the Kentucky sun was fierce. Beau wilted quickly, his black fur amplifying the deadly effects of the midday heat. Margot directed her feet first to Rickhouse Two,where Merrick ran his barrel cooperage. Beau pranced ahead to the doors, sticking his nose into the crack to nudge inside. The practiced expertise with which he conducted his break-in suggested this wasn’t his first time.
Margot smirked, happy to be in league with such a smooth criminal.
As she neared the building, the scent of ash filled her lungs. The firepit was small, messy with burned debris and wood. A few planks with varying degrees of char lay about. She moved toward the rickhouse doors, glancing over her shoulder to be certain she wouldn’t be caught. Evangeline was in the gardens today, Xander tucked inside the dusty manor, and Ruth…well, Margot had scarcely seen hide or hair of the equestrian trainer since she’d arrived.
It took several blinks for her pupils to adjust from the brilliant summer day to the dim warehouse, but once they did, Margot’s jaw dropped.
“I’ll be jiggered,” she whispered, tilting her head to look up.
The warehouse was filled top to bottom with barrels. A central aisle ran straight ahead, splitting the interior in half. Rick shelves ran horizontally, row after row after row, each filled with barrels. On top of each rick was another rick, then another. And another. All filled with barrels. Always more barrels, endless barrels. Balcony walkways cut across the main aisle to access higher levels. Margot countedfiveof those. Five stories of barrels.
She paced down the center, utterly amazed. The scent of cedar and oak was all-consuming. With near reverence, she ran her fingers along the grain of a barrel, following the natural curve down its length. The wood was smooth and warm to the touch.
Curious, she rattled the barrel. There was no sloshing of liquid. She shook the one beside it and again came up empty. Margot looked skyward, amazed by the magnitude of her husband’s enterprise. Hemadethese barrels. With his own two hands. Enough to fill an entire warehouse.
She strode back to the door, her feet thudding solidly as she crossed the wood floor.
“Beau?” she whispered. “Where are you?”
It wouldn’t do to leave without her partner in crime, but she had no clue where the mutt had slunk off to. The interior of the warehouse was hardly better than being outside. It was stiflingly hot from lack of airflow, the brick exterior baking in the sun all day, heating the space like an oven. Margot’s skin dampened with sweat.
The temptation of a breeze stirred just ahead. Maybe Beau had already left? She called for the dog once more before slipping outside. Beside the firepit, she bent to pick up a charred and discarded plank. She breathed in its scent.
Positively intoxicating. Like burnt hickory.
