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I look up at his chiseled profile, worry sweeping through me. “Is River okay?” It wasn’t fair last night. The cops treated Cole and his brothers like they were trash.

“Yeah.” Cole’s sigh is tired, like he’s used to it. “Probably won’t come off his damn mountain until winter after hearing about April.”

“Who’s April?” I feel like Tempest has so much lore it’s dizzying.

“She was his girlfriend. She disappeared seventeen years ago.”

I listen with rapt attention as Cole tells me about April’s disappearance and River’s jail time.

“When April disappeared, there was rumor of a trafficking ring in town. It’s been River’s quest. Find her. Even got himself locked up because of it. Framed.”

“By who?”

“By the cops.”

“And you know that how?”

“I know my brother. I know the cops. They’re corrupt as fuck, and my brother never had a gun that night.” Cole half-grunts, half-laughs. “River never cared about going to prison. All he cared about was finding April.”

“And all you care about is River,” I muse.

“That’s right.” Cole looks at me like I get it. “We won’t lose him again.”

The June night blooms with heat, humidity. The lowing of the cattle fades as we make our way onto the distillery side of the property.

“Is that how the cops are in Tempest? All assholes all the time?”

“Craddock—the man you saw last night—is a monster.” A muscle flexes in Cole’s jaw. “He’s in Mayor Hale’s pocket. Put our brothers in foster care after our parents’ death. Kept them from us until War and I became their guardians. I’ll never trust that man or any local cop.” Cole gives me a stern look. “And you shouldn’t either, Delilah.”

A fist squeezes my chest at the mention of the cops. What would Cole think if he knew they were after me? If he knew what I’m running from?

Here, on the ranch, busy with work, in this new life, it’s been easy to forget, to deny. But a little voice inside of me tells me escape is never that easy.

The garage doors of the distillery have been left open. Bright light shines out from the space into the field.

We step inside. It’s strange seeing it empty. The copper stills glow. “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones drifts through the speakers. Lined up on the bottling table is a selection of Weston Whiskey. Glencairn glasses. Crystal water pipettes.

I point. “Is all that for me?”

“Thought I’d ease you into it.” Cole’s grin is crooked, ruggedly sexy, as he says, “Gotta taste our whiskey sometime.”

“Looks like tonight’s the night,” I murmur, seating myself on a high stool. It’s a fight to steady my nerves, to not go back to that night with Sammy. The image in my nightmares is whiskey, blood, brain. But maybe, after tonight, things will be different.

I watch Cole’s eyes trace up my bare legs, the sundress I’ve worn, my breasts, my lips.

Dropping his hat on the table, he steps away from me, the muscles in his back barely straining as he pulls a barrel from the side. “Starting with this.” I watch as he grabs a strange-looking object. “This is a whiskey thief,” he explains. He uncorks the barrel and dips the whiskey thief in the hole. When he removes the thief, it’s filled with a clear liquid.

“This is what we call white dog.” He drops the liquid into a glass.

“It’s clear.”

“Exactly. It’s raw, unaged whiskey. It hasn’t had a chance to age for years in the barrels.”

“The barrels are where it gets its color?”

“You’re a fast learner.”

I lean in, arching a teasing brow. “I may be a dancer, but I pick up quick.”