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I can’t resist poking at him. “What’s the secret?”

His gaze comes up from the barrel, dark, distrustful. “That’s proprietary information.”

Amusement flashes across Ezra’s face. “And that’s why Cole’s not a guide.” He tosses his brother a look. “You’re a rude asshole, you know that?”

I laugh, Cy joins in, and Cole’s glare deepens.

Ezra launches back into his spiel, and I steal another glance at Cole.

He’s still watching me.

Probably thinking up all the ways he can run me off.

We spend another ten minutes in the Coop, then Ezra leads me into the tasting room. Low conversation sounds, and sunlight streams through the big windows that overlook the front of the ranch.

I take in the majestic view of it all. Across the highway, mountains surround wide, endless fields. Tall grass grows wild on either side of the road. Through the tall aspen trees, a crisp breeze floats. The perfect place to disconnect from real life for a while.

I turn my attention to the tasting room.

In the center of the room stand four high-tops made from stacked whiskey barrels. Along the wall are display shelves showcasing Weston Whiskey. A Distiller of the Year award from the American Distilling Institute hangs next to a photo of some cowboy shaking hands with Clint Eastwood. Scratched onto a chalkboard menu, clearly in a man’s handwriting, are the whiskeys and featured cocktails. But the most eye-catching feature is the hand-carved mahogany bar with a huge half-moon mirror hanging behind it.

The place is full, even though it’s only noon on a Thursday. For being in the middle of nowhere Montana, judging by the awards on the walls and the overflow of customers, business must be steady.

The relaxed vibe of the tasting room is no busy nightclub, but I’ll take it.

The money isn’t important to me, but peace is. It’ll be something to do until it’s safe for me to go back to Vegas.

I miss Melly and Belle desperately. After losing Lucy Lou, the little family I forged with them was something I treasured.

I crane my neck and listen as Ezra runs over the day-to-day of the tasting room. “Right now, we’re short-staffed, so it might be chaos until you learn the ropes. All you have to do is mix drinks, remember the color of the whiskeys, and you’ll be a pro by the end of next week. We’ll bring in our mixologist to show you our cocktails.”

“Do you serve food?” I ask.

“No.”

“You should.” I think of the happy hour at the Velvet Belles. “Guests always stay longer, spend more when there’s food.”

Ezra looks like he’s making a note in that brain of his. “It’s a lot, right?” He gives me a worried look like I’m planning to bail out right then and there.

I give him a smile. It looks like he needs it. “It is, but I’m a fast learner.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

From the wood shelf, I pick up a bottle of Weston Whiskey and study it. WESTON in gold, embossed cowboy-inspired script takes center stage. Beneath it, the slogan: Drink Like a Cowboy. I turn the old-fashioned bottle in my hand, watching the way the liquid spins in the bottle, the slice of sunlight that brightens the rich amber color.

It’s beautiful. Raw, real, cowboy.

Inhaling a breath, I smile and glance up at the tasting room.

I’m hopeful being put to work will take my mind off the last few days. I need to disappear, to forget, and if that includes mixing drinks and smiling pretty, then I’ll do it. Here, with people, I won’t be scared of my own shadow.

As if he can read my thoughts, Ezra asks, “How long do you think you’ll be in Tempest?”

“Let me guess, you want at least two weeks?”

“I’d appreciate it.” He laughs, then looks sheepish. “Give me the summer at least.”

“I’ll do my best.” No promises. It’s cleaner. Less heartbreak.