Page 112 of Bourbon Sunset

I recall the three Hennessy boys. They weren’t under my roof for long, but they left an impression. They were close and it broke my heart when I heard about the environment they’d had to live in after their dad died.

“Myles will find him,” I say.

“Doesn’t mean Iverson Hennessy will deal,” Lane says as he sprawls in Hank’s chair.

“He’ll deal. Those boys know what’s good for them. Just like you two did.”

Almost ten years ago, I was introduced to Lane and Cruz Foster. Spitting images of Myles, but eighteen years younger. Now Lane is just over thirty and Cruz is just under. The boys have grown into hardworking men.

I’ll miss them when they move to Huckleberry Springs permanently. They won’t be coming and going like they did when they worked at Foster House in Denver. Huckleberry Springs is a little over two hours southeast. My boys chose to make a home in Montana.

“We’ll need more employees,” Lane says. “Know any of your foster kids who want a good job?”

“I’ve got some names,” I reply.

Myles already asked. But first, he needs to find the Hennessys. Then Cruz and Lane can make their own mark in the spirits world. And maybe I’ll get to see them find the type of love their brother did.

I can’t wait. Until then, I’ll sit back and enjoy the bourbon sunset.

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