Page 34
“Yeah.”
Her eyes get big, then she guffaws. “Oh, fuck me, I need this story.” She gives me a bright, genuine smile. “I’m Hassie.”
“Delilah.”
I smile. She’s bold and weird and brazen. I already like her.
Hassie moves to the bar. “You want a drink?”
“Anything but whiskey,” I say as her hand reaches almost automatically for the bottle of Weston Whiskey that sits on the top shelf.
She flashes me a mischievous grin. “So, you’re not drinking the Kool-Aid at the distillery. My type of girl. Champagne?”
“Perfect.”
As Hassie pours out her glass of whiskey, adds two ice cubes, my thoughts stray to Cole.
“You stock Weston Whiskey.”
“Everyone does. The Westons are like kings in this town.” Not elaborating further, she hands me my flute, and we settle on a black velvet couch at the back of the shop. She leans in. “So give me the scoop. How in the hell did you end up at the Weston Whiskey Distillery?”
Leaving out the murderous specifics of why I’m in Tempest, I tell her about my Las Vegas detour, my late-night arrival and run-in with River, Cole and his surprise ambush, then Ezra and his job offer.
She’s being so nice to me. I almost wish I could tell her everything. Spill all my secrets to a stranger. But if the cops are after me, I can’t chance it. There’s no one I can trust.
“Is that…okay?” I tilt my head, curious now. “They’re not serial killers, are they?”
She stiffens, and I’m afraid I’ve said the wrong thing. “No. They’re good guys.” She sips her whiskey, narrows her stunning blue-green eyes. “What do you think of them?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s not being nosy, she’s being protective. Of the Westons.
“I’ve only met Ezra, River, and Cole…”
“Let me guess, Cole growled the second you met him.”
“How’d you know?”
Her laugh is husky. “That tracks with Cole. Averse to pretty girls and conversation that consists of more than two grunts.”
I laugh. My mind drifts to the cowboy who makes it obvious he wants to shut out the world. I’ve never seen a man who so clearly looks like he’s trapped in his own head.
Hassie releases a long breath. “Okay, look, Delilah, if you want real town gossip, you have to know three things.”
Hassie’s energy is electric. I lean in, eager for Tempest’s lore.
“One. Don’t go on the outskirts of town after dark.”
I smother a laugh, unsure if she’s joking. “What happens after dark?”
“Bad things in the woods. Bad people. Two. Never trust the cops. The Hales own them.”
“Who are the Hales?” My mind calls up the banners I saw on Main Street.
“Which brings me to three—and this is the most important—there are two main families in Tempest. The Westons and the Hales.” Hassie taps a finger on her crystal glass. “Think of it as a Hatfield and McCoy situation.”
Eighth grade history comes back to me. “They hate each other.”
“Bingo.” Every muscle on Hassie’s pretty face tenses. “There are the Westons and the Hales, and you only trust one of them.” The look in her eyes tells me it’s the Westons.
