Page 3 of Whiskey Proposal

I wouldn’t have come, but I wasn’t leaving Brooks to do this himself. The lawyer also informed me that it was a requirement of the trust Hutch left behind that I return. So there’s that.

He touches long fingers to his chest. “I’m Zack Beckford. We talked on the phone.”

“Just Emerson, please.” I pick my way up the stairs and shake his hand.

“Only if you call me Zack.” His grin has the right touch of welcome and understanding, and my respect for him grows. This day is hard. Being here is disconcerting.

My gaze is glued to the peeling front door, and more memories batter my brain. Brooks and I charging out the door yelling. Me in the corner of this very porch, my feet hanging over the end and the dog I lost when I was ten sitting next to me. Watching Mom drive away. “Mind if we do this outside? It’s such a beautiful day.”

“Absolutely. As long as you’re here, we meet that stipulation.”

What other ones are there? I’ll find out when Brooks arrives. “Thank you.”

He gives me another smile that unknots a muscle between my shoulder blades. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

The door opens, and I turn, surprised. Right. The other vehicle. It was too nice to be my dad’s.

“Ah, Miss—uh, Emerson. This is your dad’s neighbor . . .”

The rest of his voice is drowned out as the tall man exits the house I grew up in. I never expected to see this guy in or around this house. I hoped I’d make it out of town before seeing him again.

Dark hair is brushed off his forehead. The hard line of his jaw is at odds with the caution in his cobalt-blue eyes. The pools of his irises are as mesmerizing now as they were when I first laid eyes on him a month ago.

“Lane Foster.” Zack’s voice pokes through the haze, introducing me to a man I already know. “This is Emerson Langley.”

I’m frozen, stuck in the tractor beams of his intense gaze. It’s the calculation. The thinking. The attention he paid me. Like he never tuned out when I spoke to him, and for a girl with daddy issues, that’s my kryptonite.

“Why are you here?” My heart slams against my ribs. My present in Denver is commingling with my past in this very spot. It’s unexpected. It’s unfair.

A new memory, one more recent than it has a right to be, surfaces. His lips feathering against the skin of my neck. Electricity zinging through my nerves. My damn nipples on high alert, waiting for his touch.

“Em.” There’s that rich, deep voice, rolling across me like it owns me. “How was the drive?”

My right eye twitches. Where’s his surprise? His shock at seeing me?

Goddamn him. He knew who I was!

“Lane. What a surprise,” I say with a frosty punctuation on each word.

Instead of smirking, guilt passes through his features.

Can’t he look smug so I can dislike him and quit remembering how his lips felt dominating mine? “Why are you here?”

“Yes,” Zack says, and there’s a nervous tinge to his tone that wasn’t there earlier. Is the tension between me and Lane that bad? “Lane is also required to be here.”

The recoil snaps me out of my hot-guy stupor. “What? Why?”

“I’ve been helping your dad for the last few years,” Lane answers for him.

Zack lets out a good-natured chuckle and pats Lane fondly on the back. “More than a few years.”

That’s Lane. A good guy. I’m the bad one in our scenario.

I finally notice what he’s wearing and how unfortunately devastating he looks. Jeans instead of slacks. A tight black shirt instead of an unforgiving dress shirt that has nothing to forgive on his unyielding body. I rake my gaze down him, struggling to hold back any interest. Cowboy boots. That’s just not fair to my hormones.

I am not the luckiest girl in the world.

An engine sounds in the distance, and I get another wave of relief. Brooks and my niece. I won’t be alone.