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A fat tabby cat darts across our path, eliciting a loud squeal from Evangeline. She rushes after it to plop in the shade outside the building and tickle its belly.

One eye on his daughter, Ezra gestures at our surroundings. “This is the cooperage, or what we call the Coop. We make our barrels here. And those barrels create some of the best damn whiskey you’ve ever had. Flavors and diverse profiles that aren’t found in any other bottles.”

Awed, I look around the space. “You make it sound like state secrets.”

“It is,” he says. “Our father and uncle forged a path, and we haven’t deviated from it in over forty years.” Ezra’s eyebrows arch. “Our team of people have been with us for years. We have it down to a science. Sensory team. Barrel raisers. Blending and bottling team. It all comes together to make Weston Whiskey what it is.” He grins. “Pretty goddamn perfect.”

I take it all in. Inhale the char and the vanilla scent.

Cowboys making whiskey. It’s so Wild West.

Speaking of wild…

My body tenses as my gaze lands on Cole. Together with a group of men, he hefts planks of wood. Muscle and veins strain beneath his skin, stretching his pearl-snap denim shirt tight, as if his entire body is chiseled from granite.

“He works here?” I breathe.

“He does.”

“What’s he doing?” I watch Cole smooth his big hands over the wood. My skin tingles.

“Raising barrels.” Ezra evaluates his brother. “He’s the best. He’s never had a leaky barrel.”

“Really? Never?”

“Never. Which is why we practically had to twist his arm to come home.”

Without being too obvious, I steal another peek at Cole as he easily stacks wood in a strange pattern. I need a cold shower after watching the man work, because the skill he displays at his profession is goddamn sexy.

“Where was he?” I murmur.

Ezra’s silent for a long moment, then he says, “Away.”

Ezra’s cloudy tone tells me I’ve hit a nerve. I change the subject slightly but am unable to resist the urge to pry a little deeper into the man that is Cole Weston. “Does he live on the ranch too?”

“In the house behind yours. He’s your neighbor.”

Great. I can’t escape him. At least he’s nice to look at. Too nice.

A man like that would never want a girl like me. Hot mess. Disaster. Danger zone.

Not like it matters. I’m not in the market for a man.

This ranch is a place to lie low. Not get flirty with Cole Weston. Even though I’m sure it’d be a damn fun time.

I force my attention back to Ezra, who walks the space. “Now Cole would say the barrels are where the magic is made.”

“That’s right, little brother. I would.” Cole’s rough voice scrapes over my skin, causing me to shiver.

I look over, and we lock eyes. The man’s sexy as hell even when he’s grumpy.

Ezra scoffs. “I’d say it’s a combination. The char of the barrel and the distilling of the whiskey.”

A whistle comes from one of the men beside Cole. “They’re impossible to argue with, you know that.” He has pale skin dusted with freckles and thick black glasses tucked behind his safety glasses. He gives me a quick grin. “Hi, I’m Cy. Cole’s right-hand man.”

“Hi, Cy.” The way Cole glares at him, it’s hard to hold back my smile.

“I’d say you’re wrong, Ez,” Cole interrupts, lifting a strong hand, his skin calloused and rough. Brotherly tension pulses between them. “It comes down to the char and nothing else. That’s where the real whiskey happens.”