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He whistles. “Looks like one.”

“You know why.” I jab a finger. “We lost our last bartender to you. We need this one to stay through the summer. Hands off.”

My brother and I have never come to blows over a woman. I don’t want to start now.

Over the speakers comes an unfamiliar song. Not our typical bluegrass or country, the up-tempo synth has me cringing. “What’s with the music?”

His mouth tips up in an amused smile. “Delilah changed it up.”

“Well, she needs to change it back.”

“It’s just music, Cole, Christ.” Warren rubs his brow, his telltale sign of older sibling irritation. “You want to tell me what’s really bugging you?”

“Why’s she really here, War?”

I think of last week, finding Evangeline in Delilah’s Creek House. I caught the tail end of their conversation. Something about secrets. One thing’s for certain: Delilah has a story. Maybe she messed up. Maybe she’s on the run. She’s young. But her eyes, haunted, desperate, look older than they should.

I have to remind myself it’s not my business. It’s not my job to interfere.

“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is she does her job.”

I glance over my shoulder in time to catch a guest snag Delilah’s wrist to get her attention. I stiffen but watch as she expertly moves away. As she chats up another table, I keep my eyes on the man who grabbed her. It’s an irrational feeling, an urgency to keep her close.

“Lookin’ a little too long, brother.” A chuckle from Warren has me turning my head. Dick.

I cross my arms. “Looking out for the bar.”

“She’s under your skin.” Warren pulls out a pitcher and fills it with water.

He’s right. She is.

I’m fucked.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t been with a woman since I returned to Tempest. I’ve been focused on the distillery and reconnecting with my brothers. No time for women. But Delilah’s different from all our small-town girls. From every buckle bunny I’ve slept with on the circuit.

She’s gorgeous. She stands up to me. And it makes me hard as a goddamn rock.

But all the hard-ons in the world don’t matter. Not when she’s temporary. Not when pretty attachments are the last thing I want.

The bell above the tasting room door chimes.

“We got a cop at two o’clock,” Warren says.

A growl escapes my throat, but when I look up it’s just Frank Langford, sauntering my way.

The only cop I trust.

Vietnam vet, ex-deputy from the Tempest Police Department, Langford was close friends with my father, and he’s the only one we trust to rely on memories of that time.

“How you been?” I ask as he exhales a heavy breath and takes a seat at the bar.

“Can’t complain.” Like everyone else in the tasting room, his gaze lands instantly on Delilah. His silver eyebrow lifts. “Came to see the new girl everyone’s talking about.”

“That’s her,” I say in a low gravel.

The lift of Delilah’s eyes from across the tasting room tells me she’s noticed Langford too. Lines appear on her brow, and she seems to freeze in place.

“Pretty girl.” He opens his hand for the glass of whiskey Warren slides his way. “Need me to look into her?”