Page 71 of Whiskey Proposal

“A little deeper in the hills than my place.”

“Very Montana.” She inhales. “So fresh.”

Birds sing around us, and the partly cloudy sky still lets a lot of sunshine through.

Bootsteps approach from inside the shop. My oldest brother appears, wiping his hands on a greasy rag.

“Hey, Lane.” He holds his grimy hands up and wiggles his fingers. “I’d shake your hand, Emerson, but a wave will have to do.”

She’s standing close to me. “Nice to meet you.”

“I heard we were supposed to meet already.” Myles smiles enough to take the punch out of his usual intense gaze.

“Uh, yeah.” She shrinks and then steels herself. That’s my girl. “I thought I’d shoot my shot.”

“That’s how you get ahead.” Myles nods to me. “Thought I’d try to fix Darin’s old 4450 tractor before you got here. Just to see if I could.”

“Weren’t you going to do it with Devon?”

Myles snorts. “He got a job mowing lawns. That boy’s going to build his own empire before he’s twenty.”

“Like father, like son.”

Myles smirks. “Hopefully he doesn’t have to go to jail first.”

“You’d be like my father then.” I chuckle and Myles does the same. Emerson’s wide eyes dance between us, but she’s relaxed more during my exchange with my brother. “Is Elsa gone too?”

“They’re teens. I can’t keep them around.” He scoffs, then his mouth twists. “And I think she’s got a guy sniffing around her.”

“Good kid?”

“He’ll let her walk right over him.” Myles scratches at the scruff on his cheek. “I’m a little worried about him to be honest. They should wait a good ten or twenty years before they start dating.”

“Hi there,” Wynter calls from a distance. She’s walking down the gravel drive, her boots crunching in the dirt. Her pale hair is down and fluttering in the breeze. Her smile widens when she meets Emerson’s eyes. “Oh yay. I get to geek out about marketing. Hi, Emerson.” When she reaches us, she pumps Emerson’s hand. “You eat yet?”

“We had a late breakfast,” I answer.

Emerson’s cheeks flush. “It’s my fault we’re late. Don’t blame Lane.”

“Not worried at all.” Wynter waves us after her. “The kids are gone, but come on in. I grilled up some steaks and threw together a salad.”

“You two go ahead,” Myles says to me. “I’ll finish cleaning up, and then I’ll pick your brain later about this damn thing.”

As excited as I am about diving into an engine with my brother, I won’t ditch Emerson. But from the way Wynter’s chatting with her and asking about her experience, that may not be an issue.

Still, I slide my fingers through Emerson’s. She glances at me, and the corner of her mouth lifts before she tells Wynter how long it’s been since she struck out on her own. She grips my fingers back.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Emerson

I’m sitting with Wynter on the back deck, in the shade, and with the warm day, the temperature is perfect. Lane and Myles are working in the shop. Brooks texted me pictures of Hillary cuddling my chickens. I made the one of her and Ethel my lock screen image.

There’s a line of Copper Summit bourbon on the deck table in front of us. She’s been making me mini cocktails. I had a blackberry bourbon lemonade, a huckleberry Kentucky mule, and a flight of samples of various lines.

“I’m afraid I need it mixed.” I smack my lips. The sweetness of the lemonade lingers on my tongue. “I can’t drink a lot of straight bourbon.”

“Have you tasted some of the Foster House Gold vodkas and gins?”