MEREDITH
The taproom is full, and the night is bustling. I was about to leave for the day and enjoy a night off, when a party of ten arrived for an after-work gathering. My stomach reminds me I skipped dinner as I prepare a sampler flight with an IPA, a sour, an ale, and a stout.
Heat prickles along my back. Calder spent much of the afternoon in the office. I didn’t venture up there, but Molly said he entered with a laptop bag. Was he upgrading everything? Moving our software to his computer and hauling it out of the office after uploading it to his password protected cloud? I wouldn’t put it past him.
His little tantrum at the funeral home should be unforgivable, but I glimpsed that hurt young man who argued with his dad before being told he wasn’t as important as the new wife and her sister. His expression has haunted me all day, and I hate to admit he had a point. Had Ransom betrayed Holly and then paraded some woman all over, setting up his eternal rest right next to her, I’d be in a corner rocking and sobbing.
James was right. Ransom and Holly left us a mess and a fair amount of pain. I dreamed of the love they shared, but if I listen to all the small-town gossip from when I was younger,their relationship was nothing compared to Ransom and Julia. A cowboy fairy tale that eventually led to a scandal. Perfect, considering the setting.
My curiosity takes over, with Calder at the center. What did he find in the books? Ransom brushed off my queries. Repeatedly. Bea once confided in me that the company supplying our malt warned us if there was one more late payment, they wouldn’t renew the contract with us. But when I asked Ransom, he muttered something about bank issues, and now we get malt from a place four hours away instead of forty minutes.
I bring the flight to the couple in the corner. “Here ya go, Ben. Hoppy Creek, Razzy Creek, Honey Creek, and Angus Creek.”
Declan snatches the stout, frowns at it, and takes a delicate sip. “Ugh. I can almost chew it.”
I grin. He samples our stout option every time they visit and laments that we don’t have a wine bar. “One day, Dec, you’ll realize you love it,” I tease. I know my stouts and their flavor profiles, but I would never choose to drink one.
He shudders as he watches Ben polish off the last few ounces. “Your threats are unconscionable.”
“I was like that with IPAs,” I assure him. “Just wait.”
“He will wait,” Ben says, smacking his lips. “Waitin’ for you to plant those vines.”
“Ha! I lost the grape battle to the birds.”
Ben leans over the table, so close I can smell his crisp cologne. “Is that really Calder Cross sitting with Miss Bea?”
I’ve been aware of that damn man since he and Bea took a seat. “The one and only.”
Declan’s brows lift. “Not a fan?”
I smile tightly. “It’s mutual.”
My dreams, however, are very much a part of the Calder Cross fan club. I woke up this morning twisting in my sheetsat the thought of muscled forearms with thick veins and long, talented fingers.
God, I need to get laid.
“He’s…intense,” Ben says. “But then he always was.”
Ben is a few years older than Calder and had moved away by the time I arrived in town. Declan is my age, but he’s not from Scandal. They both live in Williston now, and while I no longer do after the breakup, it’s only twenty minutes away. Their date nights are often held at the brewery. I met them through my ex, and I’m grateful I kept them when we split.
“‘Intense’ is a polite way of describing it.”
The door swings open and fading light pierces several feet into the taproom. A group of five burly men in worn work jeans and dirty shirts swagger in. Two of them are still wearing orange road vests. Williston may be a major hub of the oil boom, but related industries are planted all over the northwest part of the state, and they require infrastructure. Many of the workers keep businesses like ours alive.
“Oh!” Ben waves his hand. “Calvin’s here with the crew.”
The one who must be Calvin spots Ben and lifts his chin. He nudges the guy next to him, and the entire group weaves through the tables toward us.
I help them gather more chairs and facilitate a round of introductions. They’re all part of a road crew for the county DOT office where Ben works. Once they’re settled, I take their orders.
“Sorry about your pop,” Calvin says. “He was good guy.”
“Thank you.” My heart twists. “But Ransom was my brother-in-law.”
“That’s right. Dang, I’m sorry about your sister too.” His smile is sympathetic. “They ever figure out what happened?”
I shake my head, grateful someone else opened that door an inch. “No. It’s weird, though, isn’t it? How it happened.”
