“I’m going to plan the hell out of this wedding,” Campbell says, “and I’m going to do it with a smile. I’m going to look blissfully happy that Stanford is no longer my problem, and I can’t think of anyone better to be saddled with him than my backstabbing cousin.”
William dips his head. “Amen to that.”
Neither Iverson nor I jump in. It doesn’t feel right. Everyone involved in hurting Campbell can stay in Portland or Seattle, or wherever Campbell was living before she moved home.
“When you put it like that...” Christine sighs and rolls her neck. “Then I’m in. Whatever you need, even if it’s just moral support when Stanford’s pompous parents show up.”
The relief and gratitude pouring through Campbell’s smile at her mom tugs at my heart. Damn, she’s pretty when she’s not irritating me. She’s not just doing the wedding to spite her ex. She wants to help her dad—and us. I thought she was self-absorbed, but her selflessness didn’t just appear overnight.
Iverson and I exchange a glance. I know from his hard stare what he’s thinking. He wants to back Campbell. He doesn’t want to incur his wife’s wrath foragreeing to the wedding, but he wants to help Campbell. So do I. But neither of us is going to be Stanford’s dancing puppet. Fuck that guy.
“We’ll agree,” I say carefully. “But the bride and groom are going to realize quickly that we’ll provide services at our discretion, when it works for us, and we can jump off this train wreck whenever we want. They can go buy a few six-packs if they piss us off.”
Her eyes widen with each declaration, but then a radiant smile breaks through. “I can’t wait to tell them.”
Iverson glances at me. “Jamison’s due right around when the wedding is. Mind taking point on all this?”
“No problem.” Just because Campbell Hawthorne is the event coordinator doesn’t mean I can’t be professional.
CHAPTER FOUR
Campbell
A week after the meeting that determined my future for the next six weeks, I coast through the trees at the entrance of Foster House. The distillery looms at the edge of the parking lot, a polished gem that once housed the loud, heavy equipment that crushed pieces of the surrounding mountains freed by miners to liberate any gold inside.
The equipment is long gone, hauled out by the mining company when they declared the hills empty of gold, platinum, and palladium. The inside sat empty for decades, and the elements took a toll on the metal sheeting blanketing the outside and the logs making up the headquarters. You’d never know now. Silver metal gleams along the sides, rising to peaks of three different levels, and some of the timber has been replaced. The newer pieces are lighter than the restored older wood, giving the whole building a rugged, industrial aesthetic.
I got a tour once, shortly after they opened. Jamison dragged me and Avery through. The higher levels are now offices, one each for the Hennessy brothers and Lane and Cruz Foster. The main level is where the tanks and stills are housed, and there’s a small area in the back for the production line. A large garage door faces the far end of the lot where a long rickhouse has been built. It’s a new structure, but it matches the metal, log, and timber look of the tasting room and merch store.
The whole property is a complete one-eighty from how I knew it most of my life. I grew up being told never to roam the dangerous area full of abandoned mine shafts, but it’s private land anyway. Hennessy land. As a kid, I had no idea the only remaining Hennessys worked for Daddy, but for a lot of my life, the boys didn’t live in Huckleberry Springs.
There are stories about them. Tales that tear my heart. The three boys were left alone after their dad died on a hike. They told no one that they had no guardian. Eventually, though, they were taken into foster care and then shuttled to their mom. All the time they worked for Hawthorne Ranch, no one connected the dots that they werethoseHennessys, or if anyone did, they kept it to themselves.
I park and enter through the main door.
Inside, Elodie’s little sister, Clementine Palmer, arranges a display of vodka bottles, all with the familiar yellow house on the labels. Her long dark hair is pulled back into two Dutch braids.
She brightens. “Hiya, Campbell.”
“Clem, how’s it going?”
She dusts her hands off on her jeans. She’s wearing a simple yellow shirt with a Foster House logo. Samehouse that’s on the product labels, only in black. “Good. Are you stopping in for wedding stuff?”
I don’t have to tell anyone about what I’ve been working on for the last three weeks. News spread around town faster than when Jamison announced she was marrying one ofthoseHennessys. “Yeah. Is Durban around?”
“He sure is. All the guys are in a meeting. The big boss is in town, but Durban told me to let him know when you arrive.”
She picks up a phone, and my traitorous belly does a little swoop. Normally, I can acknowledge what a good-looking guy Durban is. He’s tall, with thick dark hair that makes a girl want to run her hands through it. The way he styles it is always a little unkempt, like he meticulously combs it, then runs his hands over his scalp regardless. The guy’s so uptight, he’s probably constantly frustrated and tugging on those rich, almost black strands.
All the brothers are undeniably attractive with similar good looks, but I’ve never noticed the others quite as much as Durban. Iverson is my sister’s husband, so he’s been off-limits since I met him. Even then, I only thought he was hot in that general,my sister bagged herself a hot cowboykind of way. Haven’s more casual demeanor instantly put me at ease, and while he’s a genuine panty incinerator, mine have no singe marks.
But Durban’s always had that slightly disapproving frown that makes me more... aware. I can’t miss the way his whiskers fail to hide the cleft in his chin. Or how a deep dimple flashes when he smiles, but he’s never aiming that ovary annihilator at me. I never cared. I was with Stanford.
Now I’m not, and his frown a week ago was deeper than I’ve ever seen it. Yet he took me home without even knowing the whole story.
After he abducted me from the bar for my own good, I figure I’ll feel humiliated around him for the rest of my life. Now’s my chance not to flub and show him I’m a competent adult. Maybe I’ll figure out why it’s important to me to redeem myself. It’s not because I’m interested in him. He has a girlfriend. A smart one.
“He said you can go on up,” Clem says. “They’re almost done, and you two can use the meeting room.”
