There was quite the crowd inside, a wall-to-wall melding of the locals and those who owned seasonal homes. Cowboy hats abounded,paired with worn jeans, right alongside not-worn-in designer jeans and one-hundred-dollar haircuts.
Travis liked it.
What the place lacked on the weathered outside, it made up for on the inside. First, because the inside had new lumber for walls. That squelched his previous concern the place might cave. Even the sawdust on the floor seemed to be more for show than for utility, because the sawdust was way too clean to have been there before that evening.
Rachel was pulling him toward a table set up along the wall filled with a buffet of food, but that’s not where she stopped. Behind that table was another with mason jars filled with what appeared to be moonshine and a keg of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
At the end of the table was a tabletop sign announcing the beverages were for the VIPs.
“I’ve never had moonshine before,” she said with a sly grin.
He squeezed her arm. “Be careful with that stuff—it’ll light you up.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Depends on who’s holding your hair tomorrow.”
“You’d hold my hair?”
“Did I bring you to a fancy barn or what?”
“I guess you’d hold my hair,then. But good news”—she chucked him on the shoulder—“you don’t have to,because I have an iron stomach.”
This he did not know about her.
She nodded along with her assertion.
“Then I suppose you should try the moonshine,” he said.
The attendant offered a tiny, shot-size mason jar filled with clear liquid to Travis.
He took it and passed it along to Rachel. “Enjoy.”
“You’re not having any?” she asked, doing a little sniff test that made the corners of her eyes water.
He shrugged. Given that he’d driven her there, he was definitely not having any. Plus: “My stomach is not of the iron variety, and I’d prefer not to be throwing up tomorrow.”
“I would also prefer you not throw up tomorrow.” She lifted a shoulder,and her sweater slipped down a notch,exposing a lace bra strap.“The Frank stomach is notoriously weak. Which is a wonder, given your excellent breakfast choices.” She layered on the sarcasm nice and thick.
“Did you just call me weak?” He nudged her.
“It’s the only part of you that’s weak.” She smiled and glanced down to his fly. “Everything else seems top-notch.”
That top-notch part of him she stared at stirred under her scrutiny.
“Glad you approve.” He stepped aside so another woman with a VIP bracelet could get to the table.
Rachel tossed back the shot like it was apple juice, but then the fire of the moonshine must’ve punched her in the gut,because her eyes bugged and she gripped his shoulder.
He didn’t like that she learned the burn of moonshine the hard way—she should’ve given it a little sip first—but he liked that she leaned against him for support and held on when she needed it. He practically felt the warmth of the distilled liquor in his own veins. Except his hit wasn’t near as bad as hers must’ve been.
“Smooth,” she managed to finally say on a cough.
“Maybe I should try some,” he said.
She shook her head. “Take it from me—don’t do it.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant,though. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her lips. She sighed and parted her lips,and he went for a taste. Rachel, and fire, and spirit.
