Page 14 of Whiskey Proposal
“What do I owe you for it?” Brooks asks, digging in his wallet.
“Don’t worry about it. Wasn’t much.” A total lie.
His brows knit together. He probably doesn’t know how much cleaners cost. “Thank you.”
“Thanks,” Emerson mumbles with enough hesitancy my lips twitch to smile.
“Can I play with the dog?” Hillary asks, breaking the awkward silence that’s settling in. Brooks was barely able to tear her away from Lady when he first pulled in.
I shrug to let Brooks know I’m fine with it. “Lady’s used to kids hanging on her, but the red gelding is a nipper. He’ll want pets, but keep your hands away from his mouth.”
“Yay!” She darts out the door before her dad can argue.
“I’ll go out with her.” Brooks starts for the door. “Then I’ll run to town for lunch. I can bring enough back for everyone.”
“I’ve got food,” I offer, my stomach waking up to rumble. “I can throw something on the grill.”
“Jesus.” Brooks pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to insist on marrying you too if you keep this shit up. Mind letting someone else pitch in?”
I hold my hands up, not at all insulted—or guilty. “I’m used to taking charge. Didn’t mean to overstep.”
He nods. “Be right back then.”
When he leaves, I turn. Emerson’s studying me instead of the progression of Elsa’s artwork.
“Why are you used to taking charge?” She’s got her arms folded around her again. Are they a barricade between me and her?
“I thought you studied me.” That night we hung out tasting whiskey and talking, we discussed the product and her career. Our personal lives remained untouched.
“That was Foster House, and there’s a lot about Myles. Very curated and well done. Gives us his past without getting too personal. I think that makes it harder to realize that you and Cruz stay pretty private.”
“You think our competitors would like to know that my mom died of an overdose and my dad’s in prison? Those two aren’t related, by the way.”
Her eyes flare wide. “I’m sorry.”
I lift a shoulder. My past isn’t a secret, but it’s not something I tell the world about.
She thinks I have all the power at the moment, so I’ll give her this. “Cruz relied on me growing up. Then Myles learned about us, and the Baileys took us in.”
“Myles’s foster family. Where he met his wife?”
“They reconnected years later. Wynter’s only six years older than me. But yeah, the Baileys. They gave us work. Food. Love, trust, and respect. Things Cruz and I hadn’t experienced much of outside of each other.” The back of my throat aches. Why did I admit all that? I’m trying to win her trust. That must be it. “We were lucky to get that experience.”
Her right eye twitched when I said luck. “Is that why you helped Dad?”
I school my expression. She doesn’t always call him “Dad.” Only when she forgets to be angry with him. “I helped him because he had no one, and I know what that’s like.” Her expression turns stormy, but I put a hand up. “I’m not excusing how he was as a father. Sometimes, I just needed to make sure the animals didn’t suffer, and that he didn’t start a fire that would take out my place or Cruz’s.” I nod in the direction of Cruz’s property. She would’ve seen some of it driving in. “But he was hurting, and yeah, maybe there was something there. I couldn’t help my mom, but I could help him.”
“He would’ve been gone a lot earlier without you.” She glances away. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She holds my gaze for a moment before spinning back to the artwork. “You have a lot of kids in your life.”
“This is Elsa’s.” I close the distance between us. She takes one small step to the side, but stops when I point to a sheet with nothing but crayon scribbles. “Her first piece.” I run my finger through the progression of increasingly more talented drawings until I stop on a watercolor whiskey bottle. The backdrop is the Beartooth Mountains. “And her most recent.”
“She’s talented.”
“Yet she’s dead set on running Foster House.”
