“She doesn’t have to be,” Bowen says more carefully than I expect him to. “Yet she’s not cooperating with us while she has no other means to help.”
We aren’t exactly working with her either, and shame on us for not considering how much we’d have to consider her in all this. “She’s downstairs working her ass off, packaging products that go out Monday, so we can sell some shit and get paid. Last I checked, brewers don’t earn what we do.”
Landry levels me with a challenging stare. “Your girlfriend can start her own brewery with the proceeds of the sale.”
I suck in a measured breath. He’s trying to dig under my skin. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not anything to me.”
The wrongness of what I said hits me just as a squeak sounds from behind Landry. He spins around, shock scrawled across his face. Bowen cringes.
Meredith.
TWENTY-EIGHT
MEREDITH
I freeze. Busted. I didn’t mean to be so quiet as I walked into the office, but I also didn’t want to disturb them.MaybeI thought if they were talking about Jules Creek and Crossroads stuff, it wouldn’t be bad for me to hear. I’m an owner, too, after all.
Thinking that just feels wrong. Yet Ransom knew how much all this meant to me. The ranch is my home. I helped name all the chickens. I bottle-fed the calves with Carlos. And the brewery…it’s a dream. But it’s never been mine. Only, now it is. Because Ransom was there for me once again.
Right now, I’m very much alone among the Cross brothers.
I edge into the doorway. Landry lowers his gaze and shifts. Bowen tucks his chin into his hand like he wants to disappear. Calder’s startled expression betrays his dismay. Standing by Landry, I feel like the pauper I am in a room full of princes. My hair is wild atop my head, styled in the most haphazard bun I’ve ever formed. My worn jeans and my river-blue polo featuring the Jules Creek logo stick out like a crushed can among brand-new bottles. My face must be red.Rosy.An embarrassed flush. Calder defended me based on how broke I am and then defiantly clarified I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not anything to him.
“I-I’m sorry.” My voice shakes. I’m losing grip on my composure. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I got a call from Shirley, at the bank. She doesn’t have your number.”
I scurry away. The squeak of an office chair resounds, followed by the click of Calder’s heels. I put on a burst of speed, but not in time to miss hearing Landry’s, “Sure about that?”
Which comment is he referring to? Does it matter? We messed around, that’s all. He saved me from more stupid fantasies. I won’t get involved with anyone who isn’t committed or one hundred percent certain I’m his woman.
This day sucks. Yesterday sucked. Tomorrow’s going to suck.
My shoes hit the bottom of the stairs, and I power-walk to the production line on the other side of the stills.
“Meredith!”
I stop in front of the labeler. Where was I? I’ve got a day full of packaging, then cleaning, then?—
My vision gets blurry. I blink it clear. I have a job to do. This place is partly mine now. Not all mine. I can’t afford it, and it doesn’t matter that I’ve dedicated years of my life to it.
A line of cans stretches along a belt to my left. Where was I again? Right. My job. I paused for a phone call, and that was why I overheard exactly where I stood with the eldest Cross.
Calder’s wall of heat is right behind me.
“You need to call Shirley back.” I can barely speak above a whisper.
“She can wait.”
I monitor the cans as they get grouped in sixes and rings are pressed on. He can leave at any time and save my dignity. I have work to do. It doesn’t help that my eyes are raw and scratchy this morning, as if I cried all night, or that I could barely roll out of bed, so mentally and physically exhausted I didn’t want to move from the sheets, which still smelled faintly like Calder. I’ve been nothing but a beer can on the production line, getting scootedfrom one checkbox to another. Fill. Check. Top. Check. Label. Check. Ringed. Check.
Check, check, and check. Today. Tomorrow. All weekend. Our busiest nights.
“I’m sorry.” His voice caresses me.
My sight gets cloudy again. I have this job and my pride. Nothing else is mine—not really, and definitely not Calder.
“For what?”
There’s a pause. “You know what.”
