She thumps against the counter, draping a little too far across it. “Got a problem, Durban?”
“I’m trying not to have one.”
Usually, she rolls her eyes when I call out her antics. Ever since I’ve known the youngest Hawthorne sister, she’s been carefree, flitting through life on her daddy’s money and her sexy looks. A smile and a giggle, and she got her way. My oldest brother married her oldest sister five years ago, and they’re the reason I’m here. Iverson and Jamison don’t need Campbell breezing into town and getting herself into trouble when Jamison is having some health concerns with her second pregnancy.
But there’s no eye roll. She’d probably get too dizzy. Defensiveness puffs her lips out. Is she trying to look tough? Or like a trout asking me to put it back in the water? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that maybe you should skip this round.”
“Durban knows best,” she mocks.
“Do I have to keep proving it over and over?” I should stop. This is only going to get her riled up, but I can’t help myself. I hold a finger up. “The day trip on the river after the wedding?” She was late, and our party of six lost their booking.
Guilt flashes in her eyes. “I told Jamison to go without me.”
I tick up another finger. “At the opening of the distillery, I told you to take a small sip, and you gulped it.” We practiced our tasting presentations on friends and family. She spewed a mouthful all over me and my youngest brother, Haven.
“I did take a small sip. It was, like, a hundred and forty proof!”
It was a cask-strength whiskey, but it was one of the last lines we served for tasting. The strongest was saved for the end when her palate should’ve been conditioned, had she listened. I add a third finger. “And then there’s Kacey’s dog.”
She glares at my offending digits. “I was told Coal would be a midsized dog.”
The rescue mutt puppy grew bigger than our niece by the time he was six months old. Coal ended up being a Labrador-and-Pyrenees mix. She’s a gorgeous, well-tempered dog, and also huge. “I’d hate to see what you think is large.”
“And I hate to be blamed when others lie to me.” Her glassy eyes flare, and she hiccups. She puts the back of her wrist against her mouth.
“Maybe skip that shot.”
She narrows her eyes and brings the little glass to her lips. She doesn’t throw it back. Instead, she slowly tips her head. Those lush lips of hers open, and the golden liquid flows into her mouth. She swallows without wincing, but the fight of her life is happening in her eyes.
“How’s that burn?” I ask smugly.
She inhales sharply, but it’s to cover a gasp. “Smooth,” she rasps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have a good time, and you’re a bit of a downer.”
I’ve heard I’m a distraction. “Sure.”
I riled her up, and I shouldn’t have. She’s going to retaliate and drink more. She’s like that. Jamison tells her to slow down on horseback, and Campbell gallops faster. Her daddy tells her to find a stable job, and she goes into event planning. I tell her to sit down, and she dances around me—after she picks a song she thinks I won’t like.
She did that at her parents’ anniversary party a couple of years ago and asked the band to play “Barbie Girl.” Too bad for her, I know all the words. I have a good memory, and the guys would play it during poker nights when I lived in the bunkhouse on Hawthorne Ranch, back in the days when I was nothing but a hired cowboy.
Now I’m a businessman and a distiller.
I take a sip of my whiskey, rolling the rich Foster House Gold over my tongue. This is one of my batches. I used locally grown corn and wheat, and we sell it as a special barrel line. One of the first made in Foster House’s new location, right here in Huckleberry Springs, Montana.
I understand a whole lot, Natalie. And I didn’t need school to do it.I didn’t have a chance to get one degree, much less the third or whatever she was on.
An hour ticks by. I scroll through my phone, making notes for new recipes and shoring up details for a meeting we have at Hawthorne Ranch tomorrow. Campbell doesn’t return to the counter. Silas leaves me alone to nurse my whiskey. People come and go. The ones I know toss me a wave and a few come over to chat—about the weather, the distillery, and my brother’s soon-to-be new arrival. People I don’t recognize come and go. Tourist season is gearing up now that spring has officially hit Montana.
A few guys enter. I tense as they look for a seat and eye Campbell’s group. Seasonal workers. They could be in town to work at the Hawthorne Ranch, in which case, Campbell is very off-limits. Iverson learned that the hard way when he hooked up with Jamison, not knowing she was our boss’s daughter.
Campbell can do what she wants as far as I’m concerned, but she’s drunk. So those guys cannot do what their overly interested gazes say they want to do.
The cloud of huckleberry blossoms returns. “Silas,” she says in a singsong voice and kicks a hip out.
All I have to do is lean back, just a few inches, and I can see the way her ass pushes against her dress material. She’s got a purse strung across her body, and the strap only clamps the dress closer to her lush, round butt cheeks. Heat punches low, and my long-neglected dick wakes up.
Down, boy. I’m not interested. I’m just deprived.
