As I walked into the Gett Bar, Marcus’s warm hand in mine, I stopped, letting my gaze slide around the room. The place looked amazing. Far more so than how I’d left it a few hours ago. Silver steaming serving trays lined the bar with townsfolk adding plates of home-cooked dishes next to them, one after another until there was enough food to feed everyone in Harker too. The smells of savory treats swirled around the room, mixing and mingling much like the guests.
Nearby sat a wooden cask with the Lucky name branded in thick black scorch marks on the side. Glasses were stacked three feet high around it. Balloons in a variety of colors floated in the air, adding to the festive atmosphere. Best of all, the big birthday banner Brodie had helped me secure announced for all to see that this was a very special day indeed. Townsfolk had come out in mass to bring this party together. And I felt a gratitude I’d never felt before to the people of Gett.
I thanked each person, gripping their hands tightly, though most were far more interested in taking pictures with the famous Marcus Savage. Even the one man of God in Gett, Pastor Matt Reeves, waited his turn for a chance to take a selfie with a celebrity.
Much to my delight Marcus graciously agreed to each photograph, smiling for shot after shot. And even taking a few of his own. Usually with his arm slung around me. While it was nice to feel appreciated, I had work to do before Jack arrived. Slipping out from under his arm, I moved off to check the temperature of the cask, making sure the whiskey was a perfect sixty degrees.
The room quickly filled as eight o’clock drew near. Our bookkeeper, Crystal Green, with her new boyfriend, Willis, arrived looking a bit disheveled but happy. Adam and Derrick Best walked in right after, thick, wavy dark hair slicked back for the occasion. The twin brothers had a history of ruckus behavior, but two better bottlers couldn’t be found. They worked for Lucky, like their father and uncles before them. Proud of each bottle bearing our name. Next came Jonas Moore and his wife. I couldn’t remember her name. Though I could’ve asked any of the gossips, for her marriage to Jonas had tongues wagging for the last six months.
Before I could make my way across the room to the couple, an elderly woman, her features too sharp to be called beautiful, approached. Brodie stood next to her, looking annoyed. “Sorry we’re late, Charms. Some ass—Excuse me, some person slashed two of the tires on my vehicle.”
“Don’t look at me,” I said with a quick grin. “I love that Jeep.”
“Funny,” he snorted.
The woman, not one to be ignored, tapped my shin with her cane. “Isn’t that dress a little short?”
“Rue,” I said with a tight smile. “So nice to see you. Thank you for coming.”
She held up a silver flask of what I assumed was Gett Whiskey. “I brought this along just in case.”
“Now, Rue,” Brodie said to his grandmother, a hard smile firmly affixed to his face. “Give Charms’s whiskey a chance. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
Rue laughed, which, honestly, sounded like a cackle to my ears. “The Luckys are finally the death of me?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ll outlive us all. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Before I managed to make my escape, Jack’s thin frame appeared in the doorway. He looked stunned by the crowd of people, his mouth hanging wide. “What’s . . . all this?”
In all my years, I’d never seen him more at a loss for words. I smiled, rushing forward. “Happy birthday!”
A grin split his features, almost obscured by a growth of whiskers. “Did you pull this together, girl?”
I nodded. “With plenty of help.”
He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me to him. His lips touched my cheek and I inhaled the scent of oak and whiskey, of yeast and sour mash—his scent. It clung to him like the Lucky name. “Thank you.”
Tears filled my eyes. I quickly blinked the wetness away, for Jack hated tears. “You are welcome. Now come in and enjoy the first sip of the small batch.” I didn’t have to ask him twice. He bounded to the bar like a much younger man, with a strong heart. The healing power of whiskey pride.
I followed behind him, serving him a glass of my first small batch. In that moment I understood his passion, his struggle, and what he’d lost nine months ago. Whiskey was more than Jack’s way of life; it was his life. His passion. His one true love. A part of me understood his obsession, the way in which the perfect drop rolled around your tongue, inducing memories of fields of peat and heather, even in the hellish heat of the Everglades.
Jack took the glass, his hands shaking slightly. He held it up to the light, swirling the whiskey in the glass. The amber color refracted into a rainbow that danced along the bar.
I swallowed as he raised the glass.
The liquid slid forward along the glass to his lips.
Sweat beaded on my palms.
He drank deeply, his face blank. Seconds ticked by.
Had I screwed up and served the cask before its time?
He lowered the glass, giving nothing away.
Why had I pushed the small batch’s release? What had I been thinking?
Finally, Jack looked into my eyes. “Good finish.”
My heart soared. For Jack, good finish equated to a rousing cheer. In whiskey, finish beat everything, including flavor. He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. With a wave of his hand, he ushered the crowd forward to taste the small batch.
An hour later, the party was in full swing. People danced, ate, and drank, all with gusto. I talked with what seemed like everyone in town over the age of eighteen. My throat grew raw. I waved to Nancy Jeanne, who was breastfeeding her newborn baby at the back of the room. The child looked like every other member of the Gett clan—too damn cute for their own good.
Music swelled in the air, an array of oldies and current hits. Marcus asked me to dance when a Luke Bryan song burst from the speakers. I took his offered hand in mine. He maneuvered me closer, the scent of leather and vanilla of his Tom Ford cologne tickling my senses. His strong arms felt good around me, and for a moment I entertained the possibility of a long-distance relationship.
It would feel good to have someone on my side for a change. For the past nine months, I fought an uphill battle to gain the respect of those around me. The glares of the townspeople whenever they glanced up at the water tower hurt more than I’d admit. Add in Jack’s constant badgering about the distillery, and Brodie being Brodie, and having Marcus around didn’t seem so bad.
The idea didn’t stay long.
Marcus wasn’t the man for me, and I really wasn’t the woman for him. Our lives were too different, our worlds even more so. Besides, I had more important matters to consider than romance at the moment. Lucky Whiskey for one. Without a new still, we were looking down a dark, deep hole I wasn’t sure I could dig us free from.
My gaze scanned the crowd, searching for the one man who could help—Jonas Moore.
Jonas sat at a table toward the back of the room with his younger bride, a plate of rib bones in front of him. His fingers were coated with the rich red sauce, which he wiped on a napkin as he rose to greet me following my dance with Marcus. “So good of you to invite us, Charlotte. I hope Jack’s enjoying himself.”
I waved to the center of the room, where Jack held court, a group of his oldest friends surrounding him, all sipping Lucky’s small batch. Even Rue. “So far, so good.”
Jonas glanced down at the woman seated next to him. “Charlotte, have you met my wife, Grace?”
I smiled at her, aware of how dumpy I must look in comparison. She wore her hair up in the latest fashion, streaks of gold shimmering in the dim light. The makeup on her skin, what there was of it, looked just as flawless. “I don’t think we’ve had the official pleasure yet.”
She stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Are you from around here?” I asked, unable to place the slight twang of her accent. Was it mid-Atlantic? As an actress I appreciated the way in which words formed on people’s lips. It was a subtle indication of a wealth of buried characteristics and personalities.
She shook her head. “No, Tampa. Jonas and I met about six months ago while he was there looking for some investments.”
Jonas laughed. “We were married a week later. Best investment I ever made.”
She smiled up at him with something akin to hero worship in her eyes. “It was love at first sight.”
For a brief moment, I wondered how falling in love instantly would feel. Honestly, it sounded pretty awful. “It’s very nice to meet you. Please enjoy the party.” I turned my attention to Jonas. “I’d love to finish our discussion about the loan for a new still, if you have time on Monday?”
His eyes widened as if shocked that a woman might care more about financials than social mores. Thankfully he recovered quickly and agreed to meet. A weight lifted from my shoulders. Everything would be all right. We’d get the loan, and Lucky Whiskey would survive, and even thrive.
Walking back to the center of the party, my happiness dimmed a bit at the sight of Brodie Gett dancing with Mindy Drift. The blond beauty queen twirled until he caught her in his arms, her laughter ringing over the steady beat of the music. The two of them made a striking pair. Damn him.
I turned toward the bar for a drink. “Lovely party,” Pastor Matt Reeves said with a warm smile as I approached. I couldn’t help but smile back. The pastor was young, no more than a year or two older than me. He had sandy blond hair and a boyish grin that put one instantly at ease. He’d only recently moved to Gett, after spending a year on a mission in India. I leaned in, trying to catch his next words over the music and free-flowing whiskey. “Jack is lucky to have you in his life.” A faint flush rose on his cheeks. “No pun intended.”
I held back a snort. I was the lucky one. Jack had taken me in at the darkest time in his life, after he’d lost the son he’d loved, the heir he’d shaped to take over the family business. What had a man in his fifties known about raising a five-year-old girl? Though he’d agreed without hesitation. Family, to him, meant everything.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I asked, motioning to the string of single ladies waiting to ask him to dance. All the mothers of Gett worked tirelessly to catch him in their daughters’ clutches, as they’d long given up on both Danny and Brodie Gett. Not a hint of gossip was attached to the pastor’s squeaky clean name. Surely odd in a town this size, but something I could appreciate. I longed for the day not a word was whispered about me.
The pastor’s next words brought me back to the conversation at hand. “If only they paid me this much attention during Sunday service,” he grumbled.
I couldn’t help but laugh at his tone. Marcus, who stood a few feet away, picked his head up, focusing on me. He left the local spinster Tessa Franklin and joined me. I introduced the two men while anxious mothers circled. Marcus preened at the attention. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the interest wasn’t all his.
A few minutes later, Marcus excused himself. A good thing too since Sweet Jayme waved at me from the kitchen. I checked my watch and nodded back at her. It was time for the cake. She had outdone herself in that regard. Three days baking and decorating had resulted in a chocolate lover’s dream. The cake was large enough to feed the entire town and shaped like a barrel of whiskey with the words Jack Lucky across the front.
Carefully, and with Billy James’s help, she wheeled it toward Jack, who sat at a table in the center of the room. Jack drained the whiskey in his glass as the cake approached, his eyes focused on the sheer number of lit candles.
I moved closer. Jack didn’t look happy, his eyes flat and hard. I couldn’t understand why until I overheard Marcus say the word blessing to him.
My stomach lurched.
No, no, no.
Before I could shout the words to stop the impending madness, Marcus grabbed my hand, jerking me in front of the cake. He lowered himself to his knee.
All eyes flew our way.
The music skidded to a halt.
I searched for a way to escape. My heart slammed in my chest, and my body grew hotter than all seventy-five candles on Jack’s cake. I tried to breathe but couldn’t take in any air to my lungs.
Across the room, my eyes caught Brodie’s, pleading for his help.
He turned his back and walked away.
The panic increased until my head swam.
The crowd pressed in around us, blocking everything from my view but Marcus and the aqua-colored Tiffany’s jewelry box in his hand.
How had this gone so wrong?
Now, rather than a success party and launch of the Lucky small batch, the only thing people would remember was my panic-induced heart attack.
I tried to extract my hand from Marcus’s without causing more of a scene, but he held tight. Almost too tightly. My skin reddened under the pressure. Once again I tried to pull back from the man on the floor in front of me, but to no avail.
“Charlotte, when you left Hollywood, I thought I would survive without you. But after all these months apart, I now know the truth,” he said in a booming voice used on soundstages and large theaters.
“Marcus, I—”
“I know, sweetheart. But let me get this out and then you can say yes.” His grip grew harder on my hand. I tried not to flinch. “Charlotte Lucky, will you make me the luckiest—” He paused for a chuckle, “man, and—” Jonas Moore, pale and soaked in sweat, stumbled forward, clutching his chest. He made it as far as Jack’s whiskey barrel–shaped cake before falling face-first right into the frosted creaminess.
Cake flew in all directions as Jonas crashed to the floor, dead.