A Shot With You (Bourbon Brothers) Read online

  “I want all the barrels at a fifty percent discount, to be paid after the tequila is aged.” Papa crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Did you even ask him yourself to change the offer?”

  “Oh, I will,” he told her. “But I look at that boy and I don’t think he’ll budge for me. For you, he’ll change the direction of the sun.”

  Lesa snorted. That was ridiculous. Oh, Dios. Please let it be ridiculous.

  She thought longingly about a slow walk around the Eiffel Tower—alone.

  With a sigh, she said, “I’ll talk to him if you don’t have any luck.”

  …

  Brandon looked through the kitchen window at Lesa and her father in the driveway. He wondered what the hell they were up to. As he watched, her shoulders slumped in the universal body language for heavy sigh, but then she squared her shoulders and said something to her dad as she walked toward the house. What was going on?

  When they were in the car just a few minutes ago, and he looked in her eyes, he believed there was no way she expected to see her father here, and he questioned why he’d mistrusted her earlier. Their discomfort with each other faded a bit. She might be acting weird because she was leaving soon and was pulling away in preparation. Whatever her dad was doing here wasn’t helping.

  “Hey, you’re in the way,” his mother said, bumping him with her hip so she could get to the sink, her hands full of asparagus. “Go ogle your girl somewhere else. And take these bags out of here.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.” He kissed her on the cheek and she swatted at him as he hoisted the bags and left the kitchen.

  “Brandon, wait!” It was Carlos, coming in the back door with Lesa. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Sure. Let’s go in here,” he said, leading the older man into the dining room. “This is our temporary boardroom, until the new tasting center’s finished. What can I do for you?”

  “I want to discuss the terms of your proposal,” he said.

  “Hey, y’all.” Grandma stood in the doorway, her ancient red-and-white polka-dotted apron neat as a pin. “Supper’s gonna be ready in five minutes. Go wash up.”

  “We have some business to discuss first,” Carlos told her.

  “Bullhockey. Go wash.”

  Carlos was silent, clearly shocked that Grandma was so demanding.

  “Sorry, sir. But when Grandma says it’s almost suppertime, we don’t argue.” His mouth twitched.

  “Now,” Grandma said.

  “Si,” Carlos said and went.

  Lesa, following Grandma, smoothly snatched her bag from Brandon’s hand and winked at him on her way past, so he followed her. She stopped at his room and turned to give him one of her smiles—the kind that spoke of the hours they’d spent making love and made Brandon willing to sit up and beg.

  He dropped his bag next to hers—he’d have to take it into Justin’s room in a minute, but for now…

  “Hey,” he said, leading her inside and then putting his hands on either side of her, trapping her against the door. Her orange and lime scent wafted up to him and he breathed deep, lowering his head to feel her silky hair against the side of his face, kissing her on the shoulder. “You wanna maybe go for a walk later?”

  Her hands walked over his abs, and he nearly groaned, wanting her to touch him lower.

  “So did you and Papa come to terms about the proposal?” she asked, her lips against his neck, kissing him, then running her teeth along that tendon on the side.

  Oh, Jesus. When she did that, he couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. But she’d asked a question. The proposal. The proposal. His ardor cooled slightly.

  “Uh, not yet.”

  “Well, shoot. I was hoping that you’d have it all sewn up nice and tight so we could talk about what comes next.”

  What comes next? He thought she wanted nothing to do with Pequeño Zarigüeya.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, stroking her hands farther down his stomach, resting on his belt. “Whatever the future holds.” Was she talking long-term future, or immediate?

  A knock on the door behind her head made them both jump. “Hey, bro. Time for grub.” Justin. Perfect timing as usual.

  “Okay, we’re on our way.” Then, with a quick kiss to Lesa’s beautiful mouth, he adjusted himself, hopefully enough to not embarrass everyone when he walked into the dining room, and opened the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The enormous oak kitchen table overflowed with people when Lesa arrived. Papa sat amidst Brandon’s family. His mom and dad, grandparents, Justin, and all three McGraths—Allie, Eve, and their mother, Lorena.

  Brandon pulled out one of the only two remaining chairs for her next to Allie and seated himself next to her father.

  “I didn’t get to spend as much time with Lesa when she was a little one as I should have,” Papa was saying.

  That was an understatement.

  “Why not?” Grandpa asked. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about nosing in where he wasn’t wanted.

  But Papa answered him. “Her mama was sick. I worked all the time to make enough money for the treatments. Lesa was a good little nurse, though, and took very good care of her.”

  “Well, now, that’s too bad,” Grandpa said. “You shoulda maybe hired some help. No wonder the girl’s got such a hankerin’ to see the world.”

  “Grandpa,” Justin interjected. “Can you pass the None-of-Your-Business Peas? What did you put in these, Grams? They taste a little like Let’s-Change-the-Subject.”

  “You hush, boy.” Grandpa waved the mood-lightening subject change away. “So what’s the situation now? You ready to make a deal with us and move forward?”

  Carlos looked at Brandon’s grandma, who nodded her permission.

  “I guess, since you’re company, you can talk business,” she allowed.

  He nodded. To Brandon, he said, “I don’t like your proposal.”

  “What don’t you like about it?”

  “I don’t like anything. Your terms are unreasonable.”

  There was silence as everyone in the room waited to hear what Brandon would say.

  A moment of something—panic?—crossed his expression, but then he cleared it to become the cool, calm businessman that Lesa knew him to be.

  Oh, please let this work out, she silently prayed.

  “Can you be more specific, so we can see if there’s common ground?”

  “Item one. I want all the barrels.”

  Brandon shook his head. “You don’t have enough tequila for all of them this year. You can’t leave them sitting around until next year, they’ll dry out.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I don’t want anyone else to use what is for my exclusive use. You could otherwise sell the others to my competition.”

  He pursed his lips and his forehead furrowed in thought. “We can add a non-compete clause, or if you’re gonna pay for them, I guess we can probably find a way to make that happen.”

  “I’m only paying for the ones I fill with tequila, and I want them on consignment, to be paid when the tequila is sold.”

  “Absolutely not.” Brandon crossed his arms across his chest.

  Carlos nodded, as though he’d expected this. He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Brandon.

  “What’s that?” Brandon’s grandpa asked.

  “It’s a bid from another company.” He named a well-known mass-production distillery. He read it, then handed it to his father, who looked at it, with Justin and Grandpa looking over his shoulder.

  “This is not a good deal,” Brandon’s father said.

  “It seems to me like a better deal than you can give,” Carlos told him smugly.

  “Nope.” Brandon was adamant. “For one thing, you won’t get exclusivity. They are too big. And their materials are crap. These guys don’t use the best. Or even the middle best. Half of the barrels will leak before the end of the first year.”

&nb
sp; “They have guaranteed replacements for any bad barrels.” Carlos waved away Brandon’s warning.

  “But not the product that you’ll have lost.”

  “Maybe it’s a risk that I’m willing to take.”

  “I’m sorry, Carlos,” he told the older man. “Blue Mountain’s survival doesn’t depend on this deal.“

  “But your relationship with my daughter does.”

  The sound Lesa made was buried amidst the collective gasp from the women at the table.

  But the look that Brandon gave her stood out more sharply than anything she’d ever witnessed. The hurt, the confusion, and then…the anger.

  All of her plans evaporated with a hiss. “Brandon—”

  “You played me.” He nodded, as though this made perfect sense. “Okay. Well, I kind of knew that.” He turned away from her, shutting her out. To Carlos, he said, “I think you should go ahead and take the other offer.”

  Through the cacophony in her brain, Lesa was vaguely aware of Papa making some sound of protest. “Lesa, you have to talk to him,” he said. “You were supposed to fix this.”

  “Are you kidding?” She stared at her father as though just now seeing him for the first time. She should have expected something like this. All of those years she’d given up to help him before she did what mattered to her, and this was what she got. Blame when things didn’t go his way.

  Brandon still wasn’t looking at her.

  Okay, fine. She knew what to do now. What she’d always wanted. Screw them all. She stood. “Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Morgan,” she said, speaking to Brandon’s mother and grandmother. “Thank you for your hospitality, and while I’m sure that dinner is lovely, I’ll be leaving now.”

  She stood and pushed her chair back under the table while the silent, shocked people around it looked on.

  “So.” She heard Grandpa say before she and Papa left the kitchen. “What did you say was in those peas?”

  Chapter Twenty

  “We’re sorry for the delay, but we’ve got the mechanical issue resolved, and flight twelve-ninety-seven to Paris will begin boarding in five minutes.” The cheery voice on the loudspeaker was a harsh contradiction to the dozens of complaints that had been rising in number and volume over the past hour and a half in the gate area at John F. Kennedy Airport, where Lesa waited to start the next phase of Operation Single World Traveler.

  It had to be better than phase one, which consisted of a gorgeous spring weekend in Manhattan. She’d walked for hours, covered Central Park on foot and in a horse-drawn carriage, been to the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and the 9/11 Memorial. She’d seen a Broadway play and eaten a donut in front of Tiffany’s at three in the afternoon. It was breakfast food, if not breakfast time at Tiffany’s. But it didn’t count, because she didn’t have anyone to share the joke with.

  Damn it. This wasn’t going the way she’d expected. Her whole life she’d been planning for this. See Pequeño Zarigüeya in good financial shape, leave Mexico, visit New York City—do all the touristy things—and then start on Europe.

  She’d finally shaken off the weight of her childhood—the smothering responsibility for everyone and everything—her mother, her father, Pequeño Zarigüeya, and then, even Brandon. Because surely what had been between them would have become more of the same—expectations she didn’t want to have to meet.

  Instead, she’d taken on a different mantle. Guilt.

  She hadn’t left Pequeño Zarigüeya on stable ground. She’d been reminding herself over and over again that she didn’t owe anyone anything. She’d promised her dying mother that she’d look out for her papa and help him when she could, but the statute of limitations should have run out by now. She’d done her share.

  So why did she feel so terrible? Why was she so worried that everything was screwed up now, and Papa—and Tia Rita and Raoul—would be homeless soon?

  “Excuse us.” A woman with a large black dog wearing a red vest brushed past her and sat in the only empty seat, which was right next to Lesa. The woman was clearly blind, because she was the only person in the room who didn’t see the ugly aura that surrounded Lesa.

  The dog, some sort of Lab mix, stared at Lesa and panted.

  “No drooling on people,” the woman told it.

  “It’s okay, I like dogs,” Lesa said, and promptly burst into tears.

  “Oh no. Here,” the woman said, patting in Lesa’s direction and shoving a tissue into her hand. “I’m sorry. We’ll move—”

  “No, don’t move,” Lesa wailed. She was drawing attention to herself, but she didn’t really care. “I miss…” She trailed off into another bout of sobs.

  “You miss your dog?” the woman asked. “Seamus is supposed to be working, but since we’re just sitting here, it’s okay if you want to pet him.”

  “I don’t have a dog,” she said, but still reached out to stroke the Lab’s silky ears.

  “Okay…”

  Gathering herself, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Great. Mascara everywhere. Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain, but it came out garbled. “There’s a man. And some dogs. And then my father showed up and I told them all to go to hell, and now here I am, about to start the adventure of my life.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Lesa looked up, expecting to see that whole “Okay, step away from the crazy lady” look on the woman’s face, but instead got a sympathetic smile.

  “So this man, you love him but he doesn’t love you?”

  “Oh. No. Actually, I’m pretty sure he was starting to fall in love with me. I left him.”

  The woman nodded. “Ah. Your father didn’t approve.”

  “No, I think Papa would have liked me to be with him. But that’s part of the problem. If I was with the guy—Brandon—then Papa would keep using me to try to control what Brandon does.”

  “And Brandon is willing to do whatever you say?”

  “Not at all. See, he was in love with this other woman one time, and she took advantage of him, and I’m not going to do that, and he wouldn’t have anything to do with me anymore anyway because he thinks I was using him to—” She broke off, not making any sense to herself anymore. “Never mind.”

  “Well,” the woman said, “I don’t know about everything you’re telling me, but if this guy really cares about you, he’d be willing to look at your side of the story. Love is blind, you know.” She elbowed Lesa and laughed. “That was a joke. Love is blind? Get it?”

  Lesa smiled. “Yeah. I don’t know. He was pretty mad. And I’m not supposed to want to be tied down, and he’s the tying down type, you know?”

  “Has he told you that? That he wants you to do exactly what he wants?”

  “No.” And he hadn’t, she realized. When she’d told him about her dreams to travel, he’d been interested, never pooh-poohing her thoughts.

  “Is that where you’re going now? To try to fix things?”

  “Flight twelve-ninety-seven to Paris, first class passengers can begin boarding now,” the cheery voice announced to a collective shuffling and gathering.

  “You know what?” Lesa said, standing and picking up her backpack, “I think maybe I am.”

  The woman, who had also stood, smiled and held out her arms. Lesa hugged her, this complete stranger. “You go get him,” she told her.

  “Thanks. I will. But I have to go take care of some other stuff first,” she said, then went to find a ticket agent to try to change her flight to Mexico.

  …

  Brandon threw a Cheeto into the water and watched a couple of ducklings fight over it. The mother duck quacked at them from the other shore. Probably telling them they were going to turn orange if they ate too much of that crap.

  He looked at his fingers, stained with cheese powder, and held his hand out for Maude to lick clean.

  On the other side of the little dock, Mabel ignored everything, contentedly gnawing on—what the hell was that?

  “Mabel, whatcha got there?” He stoo
d and walked to the dog, seeing something that might have once been shiny, and—it was Lesa’s shoe. One of the pair she’d given the dogs when she’d come to Blue Mountain.

  Damn.

  He’d avoided coming to the lake for a while after she left because he couldn’t face memories of her that would confront him in every crevice of the houseboat, but Grandma and Grandpa wanted to come down this weekend, and he’d drawn the short straw.

  He looked around to find something to trade with Mabel, but there were no chewy bones. Giving up, he dumped the rest of the cheese puffs into the water and sat back down, watching the lake evaporate.

  Grandpa groaned as he sat down in the chair next to Brandon. “How long you gonna wait before you go after her?”

  “Who?” He knew exactly who, but he wasn’t going after anyone, so it was a moot point.

  Grandpa was silent.

  Brandon sighed. “She was just using me.”

  “Well,” Grandpa cackled, “being used for sex isn’t the worst thing in the world. Your grandma’s been using me for the last fifty years and I’m still moving along pretty well, except for these knees. She’s got to be on top more often now, because—”

  “Ugh! Stop!” Brandon clapped his hands over his ears. When it seemed safe, he lowered them again.

  “What was it that she did, exactly?” Grandpa asked when he’d stopped laughing at Brandon’s response.

  “She tried to get me to change my proposal to Pequeño Zarigüeya. Just like fu—uh, freaking Suzanne.”

  “No. Not like fucking Suzanne,” Grandpa said. “Suzanne was a liar and a thief and a man-eater. Your girl just got a little distracted from what’s most important in life.”

  “She had a dream. She needed to get that deal between Blue Mountain and Pequeño Zarigüeya done so she could go travel the world and be independent and alone.”

  Grandpa harrumphed. “Dreams change. Maybe you should check in with her and see if she’s having a change of heart.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” Because it hurt too much to think about what might have been. Because he didn’t want Lesa to feel beholden to him, even if he could find a way to make a merger palatable to Carlos and his fragile ego. Because he didn’t want to see her face and know that he could never touch it again. “Because I burned that bridge with Carlos, and it would just be too awkward.”