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“Huge discount for paying up front, Mom. And the interest was ridiculous.”

She tilted her head in concession. “The Hayes girl, huh?”

“Yes, and she’s working with the Shepherd family’s distillery.”

Mom smirked. “Hoity-toity types.”

“Exactly.” I set my paper plate on the coffee table, then slumped onto the couch.

“You know, I can’t even afford Henley bourbon, it’s so fancy. Make do with my trusty Jim Beam.”

My eyebrow lifted. “I thought you only drank wine?”

She declined to answer. “Didn’t you have a sort of thing for the Shepherd boy?”

I refused to meet her gaze, but warmth crept up my neck.

A little chuckle emerged from her general direction. “Richest family in town. My daughter always did shoot for the stars.”

“He called me trailer trash.”

Her hand landed on my shoulder and shook it. “You had some choice names for him, too.”

I spared her an annoyed side glance. “A stuck-up daddy’s boy.”

“An eye for an eye.”

With a sigh, I headed toward the tiny kitchen to start on the dishes. “He probably doesn’t even remember me. Besides, maybe this will turn into nothing.”

“You can’t think that way. If you go in thinking you got nothing to lose, then you’ve already lost. Even if your only opportunity is to get in good with a Hayes, you do it. Never hurts to have someone like Ivy Hayes on your side.”

Hands soapy, I merely nodded. Her wisdom was unflawed—always foster well-placed friendships. Later, when Mama saw me out, she smacked a big kiss on my forehead. “I love you, baby. Remember, you may be from the trailer park, but you ain’t trash. You’re the best thing I ever did.”

I laughed. “I love you too, Mama.”

With both palms pressed to my cheeks, she leveled a frank stare at me. “But if they ever call you names again, you tell me.”

“Mom.”

“I know people.” Her southern twang blunted the threatening tone. “Ain’t nobody hurts my baby. Not even a Shepherd.”

Three

Like most Main Street, USA locales, Sugar Springs boasted an eight-block expanse of flat-fronted brick buildings with decorative finials and cornices reminiscent of bygone eras. Some had iron-fenced balconies, others ornate oriel windows. Beside a multitude of American flags, colorful signs hung over each facade. Wine bars, coffee shops, bed and breakfasts, cafes, an art gallery, Maribel’s fitness studio. Quaint benches, aesthetic light poles, and well-placed shrubbery completed that small-town vibe.

Across from the Henley distillery—established 1897—was my favorite place on Main Street. Anne’s Bakery made the best blueberry muffins in the world. Anne Stubbs was long gone now, but her family maintained the bakery that had been a staple in Sugar Springs since the 1950s. Unfortunately, they kept bizarre hours—opening at 5:00 a.m. and closing when they ran out of their limited stock—so obtaining one of those blueberry muffins was akin to winning the lottery.

As I parallel parked my trusty Corolla, any hope of snatching one after this tour was dashed at the CLOSED sign hanging behind their glass door.

Sigh.

Eight double doors made up the front of Henley Bourbon Co. The lintels, columns and doors boasted shiny black paint, and the transoms held glass inserts of the Henley logo. Three additional floors of windows shone out from the brick exterior. Through the glass, I eyed the interior. The first floor seemed to comprise their storefront, all exposed brick, black tile and glass shelves displaying bottles of Henley bourbon. An open-riser staircase climbed to a second floor, dominated by a copper-tubing contraption and mysterious doors that led further into the building.

I stepped into a space scented by whiskey, leather and opulence. Some next-level design went into the atmosphere of this place. Merely entering the space was like transporting into a world of affluent glitz. Manly elegance. Fine liquor.

The Henley logo decorated the brick behind the cash register to my right. The woman behind the counter smiled. “Can I help you?”

I approached her, but my attention strayed again to my surroundings. A great deal of money existed in this space. Perhaps Henley Bourbon was more popular than I thought. I’d assumed this was some sort of side gig for the Shepherds, but maybe this was where they made the bulk of their money.