“Here to steal… beer secrets?”
That earned him an eye roll. “Your privacy, Charlie. And Adriana’s. That’s what I’m afraid she’s after. Somebody could have planted her here to spy onyou.”
“Wouldn’t she be trying to talk to me?” he pointed out. “Instead of ignoring me?”
Mugsy huffed at that, probably because she couldn’t argue. “I couldn’t find much about her online. Either she scrubbed all her content, or she’s got dummy accounts.”
“That doesn’t have to mean anything sinister, Mugsy. Maybe she was applying for jobs.”
“I bet.”
“Or—graduate school.” Charlie stared at the pommel of his saddle, in case Mugsy was giving him a pitying look. “She could have hidden ambitions.”
“Maybe.” It wasn’t quite a sigh, but Charlie could tell she was humoring him. “I’ve got my eye on her. You watch your step too.”
He nodded, fully intending to pay extremely close attention to Jean, even if it wasn’t the way Mugsy had in mind.
The trail passed out of sight as they rounded a bend, so it felt like an ambush when Charlie saw his dad waiting ahead. His hand tightened on the reins, an unconscious movement that had his mount nickering softly as if to say,get ahold of yourself.
“Ride with me, son.” As far as Charlie knew, this was his father’s first time on horseback, but you’d never guess from his confident handling of his mount. Anything athletic came easily to him. Too bad those genes had skipped Charlie. “You don’t mind, do you, Mugsy?”
“Maybe Mugsy should be in on this,” Charlie said. “If it’s business talk.”
“This is more of a father-son discussion.” Charlie’s dad nodded at Mugsy, who slowed her horse to let Charlie and his father pull ahead. Several long minutes passed before his father spoke again.
“Your mother said I should talk to you.” That answered Charlie’s first question: why are you hanging out with me instead of someone more important? “Thank you for not hiding in your room last night.”
“Sure.” Guilt mixed with the weak coffee in Charlie’s stomach. It wasn’t loyalty to the business that had drawn him to the campfire. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
They didn’t chat often enough for this to feel like a casual conversation, even without the lurking-in-wait aspect.
“You know, Charles, there’s nothing more important to your mother and I than passing on the legacy of Pike’s Brewing to the next generation.”
Charlie waited for his father to go on, but he seemed to expect a response. As if there could be any doubt what point he was making. “Meaning me.”
“That’s right. Knowing that you’re provided for, and the Pike’s tradition will carry on, is all we ask from this life.”
That wasn’t strictly true. His dad had a dozen hobbies, and his mom had always wanted to travel. Charlie nodded anyway. It was the accepted storyline of their family.
“It’s really something to think back on your great-great-grandfather brewing the first batch of Pike’s. The hills were crawling with prospectors, everyone itching to make their fortune in gold, but did Great-Gramps spend his days with a pickax and a pan?”
“No.” Charlie did his best to sound interested in a story he’d heard a million times. Although he suspected it had beenembellished over the years. The first Pike had probably been a moonshiner, but this version sounded better. Or, at least, more legal.
“That’s right. Our forefathers spotted an opportunity, and they went for it. What does a prospector want at the end of a hard day’s work? Pike’s Pale, the real gold in them thar hills.”
Charlie made an appreciative noise, like he hadn’t seen that coming. On some level he understood that his father preferred to tell stories with a high probability of success, even if that meant repeating the same ones over and over. But this particular tale carried extra weight.
“You know who likes working at the brewery?” Charlie ventured. “Mugsy.”
“Yes, she’ll be a great help to you when you take over. Few things are as important as selecting the right team. Mugsy can be your fixer. She’s good at that.”
“Actually, I think Mugsy might want to do something more creative. Take things in a new direction—”
“Plenty of time to talk about that later,” his father interrupted. “If we’re still in business.”
Charlie started to nod before the substance of the words hit. “What do you mean?” His father wasn’t above occasional dramatics, but this time he sounded serious.
Mr. Pike glanced over his shoulder, where Philip and Emma Koenig were arguing about a bird, taking it in turns to mimic its call.
