Page 36 of Silver Brewer

Cozy. Homey. Inviting.

I’ll never have a home like this.

I’ll never have a man like him, who loved a woman so much he washed her hair.

“You wanted what’s mine, and I wasn’t going to give it to you. It wasn’t even a thought until…” His voice drifts, but I’ve heard enough.

“How could you think such a thing of me?” My lips instantly quiver. An ax thrown at my sternum would be less painful than what he’s suggesting. I would never do such a thing. Ever. The word reverberates in my head. Sleep with the enemy. I’ve already done that with Hudson. Sleep with a client to score a commission. Not on my watch.

Then I hear Uncle Frank’s voice. Anything. I continue to shake with disbelief. Not like this. I would never strike a deal like this. This wasn’t a deal. Things changed. Something happened, at least for me. This was so much more, and for what? Why did I go with him? Why did I sleep with him? These questions have no answer, and it’s all a reminder that Giant and I are strangers. I lean forward and rummage through my bag for my car keys.

“I see,” I repeat. Licking my lips, I reach for the handle to release me from the truck. “Well, enjoy your land, Mr. Harrington.” I realize when a real estate deal has failed, but once again, I’ve failed to recognize a hopeless relationship.

It wasn’t a relationship. It was only sex.

I don’t offer a conciliatory handshake as I pop open the door. I’ve already wasted my heart on Giant and my body, which aches for his, even now, especially now.

Say something to change my mind.

“Officially off duty, sir,” I spit, reminiscent of stating I reported for camp when I accepted the challenge. The challenge of this land. The challenge of this man. I salute him with one hand while my other grabs my backpack at my feet. With strength I don’t feel, I carry the suddenly too heavy pack a few feet to my car and toss it over my front seat once I’ve opened the door. I collapse into my rental and reverse, narrowly missing the back corner of his truck.

With liquid blurring my eyes, I peel down the two-tire lane with a sad tunein my heart.

Country road, take me home, to the place, I belong…Chicago.

15

Intent to purchase or not

[Giant]

Eight days. Eleven hours. Twenty-seven minutes. That’s how long it’s been since she drove off, and I didn’t say a word to defend myself or apologize for my accusation.

The pain in her eyes undid me. The tears she fought. The courage it took her to get out of my truck.

I wanted to pull her to me the minute I said what I said.

Didn’t you?

Didn’t you sleep with me in order to obtain my property? Didn’t you mess with my heart to get to my land? Didn’t you want to stay? Didn’t you feel something for me? Didn’t you see I’m falling for you?

Three short nights.

I slam back the beer, hardly tasting the crisp October blend. My brother Charlie asked me to meet him at the pub for lunch. Being in public is the last place I want to be, but going back up the mountain isn’t a possibility for me. She ruined it. My haven has been invaded by memories of a woman with blistered toes, a sweet laugh, and a delicious body.

Charlie is the mayor of Blue Ridge and the baby brother of our family. He took up politics after some of the corruption from our previous mayor came to light. He’s been good for the community, working to keep the locals happy and the tourism thriving. The economy has been restored under his reign, especially with the help of one particular business.

Blue Ridge Microbrewery and Pub is my other brother’s business. Billy didn’t want to work in the factory, but when he dropped out of college, he didn’t have a choice. Eventually, he broke free and built a place for people to enjoy our family’s brew—and party—which he knows best. Celebrate has been Billy’s motto since his divorce from his high school sweetheart, or potentially the cause of it. He’s been in business for about fifteen years and along with him, Giant Brewing Company has grown under me.

I thought I’d be military forever, but with the gunshot wound and a medical discharge, here I am.

Alone again.

It sounds like a song Mati’s new beau might have sung back when he was a rock star. Matilda’s our little sister, the real baby of the family, and the princess as the token daughter after four sons.

“Want another?” she asks me as she works the lunch shift before coaching volleyball in the evenings for the local high school. Her lion-red hair doesn’t match any of us boys, as we’re all shades of gray at this point. I’m still the lightest although I’m the oldest.

“Keep ’em coming.”