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Gripping the sides of the empty barrel, I dip at the waist, stick my head inside, and inhale.

“It smells like fire and heaven and honey.” I straighten up. Bootsteps behind me.

A lightning storm crackles in my stomach as Cole presses against me and breathes, “Darlin’, that’s exactly the way you smell. Damn near torture.”

Wobbly from the whiskey, I spin around, finding blue eyes on mine. “You like torture, cowboy?”

Cole reaches out. Big, scarred fingers tenderly fix a strap on my dress. My breath catches, and my skin heats. “Thinkin’ I like torture when it comes from you, Delilah.”

Kiss me, I think, but he takes a step back, clenching his jaw like he’s reining himself in.

My gaze catches on a photo of a man hanging over the entryway to the tasting room.

“Who’s that?”

He follows my gaze, expression sobering. “Jack.”

I study the photo. Broad shoulders. The Weston blue eyes. Even captured in a photo, he exudes charisma. “He’s handsome. You look just like him.”

Beneath the photo is a plaque with the inscription, “Straight and true.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a Jack-ism.” A swallow jogs Cole’s throat. “He always told us to tell it straight and be true. What that meant was up to us to decide.”

I turn into Cole. “He sounds like a smart man.”

“He was.”

I take in Cole’s coiled fists, his tense body. He’s fighting some sort of inner battle, fighting demons, and maybe I’m an idiot, but I want to dive in and fight them with him.

The whiskey has me wobbly, off-balance, brave and brazen. “Is he what haunts you, Cole?”

He makes a deep sound in the back of his throat. “Who says I’m haunted?”

“Your face. Those eyes that don’t smile.”

He’s silent for so long that I’m afraid I’ve pissed him off, pried too deep. Just when I’m sure he’ll storm out on me, he exhales.

“I left him that day. The day he died.”

The words sound torn from a ragged place in his heart.

“I was supposed to ride the bull, but Jack claimed that ride as his own. He thought it was too dangerous for me. I was pissed, young, hungry for fame, and we had words. Back then, I didn’t see what he was tryin’ to do, which was protect me.” A grimace twists his handsome face. “I thought he was tryin’ to hog the spotlight, to keep me back. I left him in the bar and caught up with some friends.” Cole drags in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “He died the next day.”

My throat closes.

“Christ, the things I said to him.” He flashes me a regretful sideways glance. “I learned later that Jack’s manager, Pappy, placed a $20,000 bet with the bull’s owner that neither Jack nor I could ride it. He got Jack drunk that night and drugged his drink. My brother wasn’t in his right mind when he got on that bull.” His eyes flash. “If I had been there… If I had stayed, I would have seen that. I could have stopped him.”

Guilt is etched in his deep, raw voice. A guilt I feel down to my bones.

I grip his shoulder. “Cole, no.”

“I fuckin’ let him down. I lost him because I made a mistake. Because I wasn’t looking out for him.” He shakes his dark head. “Brothers don’t turn on brothers… And what did I do? I left him there. So much damn guilt I’ve got. Stayed away all these goddamn years, missed out on my brothers’ lives, and for what?” A dark laugh shakes out of him. “Some piece of vengeance that feels hollow now?”

“You can’t blame yourself,” I whisper, wishing I could take my own advice.

“I tried my best not to. I spent an entire fucking decade waiting for evidence to end him. And last year, I got it. Pappy was trying to sabotage another bull rider just like Jack.” Cole rubs the back of his neck, his gaze distant with a memory. “Fallon McGraw. She was one of the best. Tough as shit. Stubborn as hell. I had evidence that Pappy had rigged her ride. Did my damnedest to warn her away from him, turned over the evidence to the PBR to put Pappy in prison, but…”