Love on tap, p.1
Love on Tap, page 1
Love on Tap
MOUNTAIN MEN OF CARIBOU CREEK: THE ASHBURN BROTHERS BOOK 1
KALI HART
Love on Tap is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Kali Hart
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Riley
2. Zac
3. Riley
4. Zac
5. Riley
6. Zac
7. Riley
8. Zac
9. Riley
10. Zac
11. Riley
12. Zac
13. Riley
14. Zac
15. Riley
16. Zac
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Kali Hart
CHAPTER 1
Riley
“Grandma Hattie, I know you’re not trying to climb those stairs.” My grandma, the most stubborn woman in the entire state of Alaska, freezes. Her injured leg, still wrapped in an ankle boot, hovers above a narrow stair. One I clearly remember forbidding her to climb only yesterday. Just as I’ve reminded her every day for the past week. “Whatever you need, I can go upstairs and grab it for you.”
“I want my quilting room,” she huffs, lowering her booted foot to the floor. “Can you bring that to me?”
I close my eyes, focus on my breathing, and count to ten. I’ve dealt with my share of ornery patients, but she’s really taking the cake. Why didn’t I consider her capacity for spunky hostility when I agreed to oversee her in-home rehab? “We’ve discussed this. Those stairs are too narrow. You can’t make it up there without tilting your ankle. You know. The one you fractured. Are you trying to make it worse?”
Her stern expression softens, as does her tone of voice. “I haven’t been up there in two weeks, Riley.”
“I can bring some of your quilting supplies downstairs,” I offer.
“It’s not the same.” Grandma Hattie’s nearing eighty-five, but until she slipped on some wet gravel while wrangling a fish at the creek, no one would’ve guessed it. My grandpa is the first to tell anyone that she’s a self-sufficient woman who insists on doing everything herself.
Her stubborn pride is the same reason she refused to stay in Anchorage or Fairbanks for physical therapy.
She’s reminded me at least a dozen times since I temporarily moved into the guest room that she’s lived in this house for fifty-five years and has no plans on leaving. And because grandpa loves her so much, he’s not the best candidate for overseeing her rehab. He’d let her get away with murder.
It’s why I volunteered to come home after nearly a decade away.
Well, not the only reason.
I push away the worrisome thoughts. They’ll haunt me plenty enough later tonight when I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Right now, the most important item on my agenda is to figure out how to deter Grandma Hattie from her mischief without it requiring constant supervision. Or an ankle monitor.
“Is it the room you miss?” I ask, glancing up the staircase staged along the back wall of the living room. It leads to only one room, and that’s Grandma Hattie’s quilting room.
“I need the ambiance to finish the baby blanket for Huck and Penny.”
At the mention of my brother’s name, an idea pops into my head. “What if I switched my room with the quilting room? That way your room would be on the main floor.”
Grandma Hattie’s eyebrows draw in and her expression screws up, like I might’ve just suggested she paint the living room logs pink. She hates pink. The room at the top of the stairs has been her quilting room ever since I can remember. “What about the view? And the lighting? You can’t bring those down here. I can manage these stairs—”
I bolt in front of her so quickly she doesn’t have a chance to plant her good leg on the bottom stair. “Not a chance.”
“You’re lucky your grandpa’s still at work—”
“Hattie, what’re you up to now?” The sound of Grandpa Harold’s voice is music to my ears. He looks tired from another day at the shop. He retired a decade ago, but he refuses to admit it. He likes tinkering with cars, ATVs, and machinery. The guys enjoy his company and appreciate his expertise. I imagine it brings him the same joy that quilting brings Grandma Hattie.
“I want to get up to my quilting room. I need to finish my grandbaby’s blanket.”
Grandpa drops a hand on her shoulder, then looks to me. My heart melts at the sheer love in his eyes. He’d do anything for Grandma Hattie, and probably has over the six decades they’ve been together. “Still too early for stairs?” he asks.
Huck and Penny just announced that they were expecting last week. I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to swallow my frustration before I speak, hoping my tone betrays none of it. I know he means well. “The stairs are too narrow. It’s not safe right now. If they were wider—”
“I’ve climbed these same stairs for fifty-five years,” Grandma Hattie snaps back, the exasperation in her tone hinting that she might be near throwing the white flag in this fight. For now. But one night of rest and she’ll be back at it again. I have to get this handled tonight. It can’t wait.
“I suggested we switch her quilting room and my room,” I explain to Grandpa. “I was about to run down to the brewery to see if Huck can stop by after work. I’ll need help to move the heavy furniture.” If I thought a text would be enough to get my brother here, I’d try that. But he’s stubborn and thickheaded. Not to mention totally in love. I’ll have to do this in person so he understands the seriousness of the situation or he’ll blow me off.
When thoughts of Zac Ashburn drift in uninvited, I try to push them out. But it’s not so easy. He’s Huck’s boss. It’d be impossible to talk to my brother and not run in to his best friend. I made up my mind when I bought the plane ticket that I’d be avoiding Zac as much as possible during my stay. So far, I’ve been successful. The last time I saw him, I was fifteen and planted a wet one right on his lips. Spoiler alert: he didn’t kiss me back. In fact, he looked downright mortified. His expression is forever burned in my brain.
“I can help you,” Grandpa offers.
I wish I could take him up on his offer, but he’s not quite fit as a fiddle anymore. And some of the furniture is crazy heavy. I don’t need two grandparents down for the count. “I know you can, Grandpa. But someone needs to keep an eye on our wild child. She’s out of control today. Maybe you could take her out for a drive or something?”
Grandma Hattie flutters her eyelashes at Grandpa, feigning innocence. I know he doesn’t buy it, but he plants a kiss on her forehead anyway. Damn them and their cuteness. I’d kill to find someone to spend a lifetime with. Someone who’d look at me like I hung the moon in their sky, even when I’m a hundred. But when it comes to men, I have a knack at picking all the wrong ones.
“Hattie, you might like your quilts down here for a change. A different view could give you more…inspiration.” Grandpa’s always had a way with words. He can get through to Grandma Hattie like no one else can. He looks back to me. “Why don’t you go see if you can grab Huck. I’ll keep my sweetheart out of trouble. I’m craving a piece of Rose’s blueberry pie.”
I don’t dare waste a second, even if the thought of seeing Zac Ashburn again after all these years makes me excited and nauseous at the same time. Of course, the nausea could be from something else entirely. What a mess. “I’ll be right back. No funny business, Grandma Hattie.”
“I assure you, the only funny business will be later, behind closed doors,” Grandpa says, effectively moving my feet right out the door before he can say something that’ll scar me for life.
If only Grandma Hattie’s ornery behavior was my biggest problem, life might not be so bad. But the shitty reality is she’s the least of them. I back the car out of the driveway, hoping Zac called in sick today. But I don’t have that kind of luck.
CHAPTER 2
Zac
“One Caribou Creek Pale Ale and one Caribou Creek Pilsner,” I say to the couple next in line at the bar, sliding two glasses to them. The brewery’s been busier than usual for a Monday. I know it’s good for business. A business I’m part owner of with my brothers. My livelihood depends on its continued success. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t stealing glances at the clock, willing time to go by faster.
I let Decker, one our part time bartenders, help the next person in line and return my attention back to the couple seated at the end of the bar.
I’m still shocked as hell that James Devano, playboy coast guard pilot and sworn lifelong bachelor, is here with a woman. He doesn’t bring flings to town, or so he’s told me. Maybe after all these years of resisting, a woman’s finally got her hooks into him. From the interaction I’ve watched between them so far, I think she’ll be good for him. She doesn’t take any of his shit and isn’t afraid to give it right back.
The ache I feel in my o wn chest is surprising. I push it away. I don’t know that I have any business getting tangled up with a woman. Some days my head’s a bigger mess than others. The flashbacks from Afghanistan plague me without warning for no fucking reason at all. Today has been one of those days. I yearn for the solitude of my cabin a couple miles from town. Out there, I can split wood until I chase them away.
“Don’t rush me,” the woman says playfully to James, bringing me back to the present.
Earlier, I set her up with a sample platter and took my time explaining the flavor pallet of each of the six brews we offer—Ben, my oldest brother who’s in charge of sales and marketing, would have my head if I didn’t. Sometimes he takes his job too seriously.
She’s halfway through her samples before I realize I haven’t offered James a drink. Fuck, where is my head today?
I turn to him. “Do you—”
“Is he here?” a woman demands, drawing my attention away from James and his date. I suck in a breath, prepared to lock my friendly smile into place so I can politely put her in her place. We don’t tolerate rudeness or assholes at our brewery. It’s an automatic invitation out the door. But when I lift my gaze, I’m stunned into silence.
Dark auburn curls cascade over the front of her shoulders. My mouth suddenly dries. In her skinny jeans and muted green top, it’s impossible not to notice and appreciate her curves. But it’s those intense blue eyes that capture my attention and refuse to let it go. Riley Kohl? The last time I saw her, she was just a kid.
But there’s nothing kid about her now.
Not even close.
She folds both arms over her chest, unwilling to offer me a smile. It’s been well over a decade since I last saw my buddy’s little sister. If it weren’t for those eyes, I don’t know that I would’ve recognized her. I’d heard she was in town. Nothing stays a secret in Caribou Creek. But I haven’t run into her until now. And she does not look happy to see me. I can’t figure out why that bothers me so much.
“Huck,” she prompts snappishly, as if I’m not an old friend. “Is he here?”
“Your brother’s cleaning out the fermentation tanks.”
“How long will that take?”
I’m determined to rid her of that scowl. I can’t imagine why she’s wearing it. She used to follow Huck and me around all the time when we were growing up. The three of us were thick as thieves. “Long enough for you to sit and have a drink.”
“I’m in a hurry,” she says, glancing around the brewery. I suspect the last time she saw the place, my grandparents were still running it. My brothers and I have made a lot of improvements since taking over. The rustic tin walls might be the only detail we didn’t change.
“What are you drinking? We have six different—”
“I’m not.” She moves to the edge of the counter and stretches up on tiptoe, as if that’ll help her see over the saloon doors to the back. But they’re too tall for her short frame. “Can you hurry him up or something? I have to get back before Grandma Hattie gets into more trouble.”
“How is she?” I ask, recalling she fractured her ankle a couple of weeks ago.
“Stubborn as ever.”
I can’t seem to keep my gaze from raking over her curves. I haven’t felt this drawn to a woman in … ever. Shit. Play it cool, Zac. Your head’s a fucking mess. That’s the only reason you’re having these thoughts about Huck’s little sister. “You came back to help her out for a while?”
“I’m overseeing her at-home rehab, but I’m not staying. I’m headed back to Orlando as soon as she doesn’t need me anymore.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a ten-dollar bill. Slapping it on the counter, she says, “Give me an amber.”
“Good choice,” I say, refusing to take her money as I fill a glass and wonder what her life is like in Orlando. She always used to talk about leaving Caribou Creek and moving somewhere bigger. A city that never slept. But part of me thought she’d always end up back here. I thought all three of us would. “The amber’s our most popular,” I add, handing the glass to her instead of sliding it over. Which ends up being a big fucking mistake. A simple graze of our fingertips as we exchange the glass sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. What the hell?
Riley flinches. I give myself a whole second to consider that she felt it too. But she’s looking at the glass of amber like it’s poison and she doesn’t know how it got there.
“Are you—”
“Um, I’ll be right back.” She sets the glass on the counter and hurries toward the restroom in the corner.
I force myself to shift my attention back to James, remembering he requested a to-go order to take back to North Haven. Luckily Decker has his wits about him and boxed it all up. “Sorry about that man,” I say to James, setting the wooden crate filled with six packs of the J-Squad’s favorite brews. Though I try my damnedest to focus on my customers, I can’t help but glance toward the restrooms, wondering if Riley’s okay.
“Be careful with that one,” James says, handing over his credit card.
So much for being discreet. “Don’t I know it.”
As James and his date leave, Riley reappears at the bar. I’m relieved she’s not looking green, but still confused about her suddenly running off. But she doesn’t waste any time explaining herself. “Is Huck done yet? I need his help moving furniture at—”
“Dude!” Huck bursts through the saloon doors, waving his phone. “She got it! Penny got the gig!”
It takes me a few seconds to remember what he’s talking about, which is embarrassing considering he hasn’t shut up about it all week. His wife, Penny, auditioned to open for a major concert in Anchorage. Though she doesn’t sing professionally and doesn’t want that lifestyle, her voice could win any music competition out there. “That’s great, man! When is it?”
Huck looks up from his phone, a guilty expression spreading across his features. “This weekend. They want us in Anchorage tomorrow morning for press, rehearsals, and all that. I’ll run it by Wes. Make sure I can take the time off —”
“No need.” I’m not giving either one of my brothers the opportunity to turn down the last-minute request. Wes, the brew master, would probably approve even though he’s shorthanded right now. But Ben will be a pain in the ass. Better for me to handle this now and deal with the repercussions later. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You can’t leave yet,” Riley says.
“Oh hey, sis. Didn’t see you there.” Huck’s wearing his goofy, cupid-hit-me-in-the-ass grin that he’s had on since he met Penny. I’m happy as hell for him, but I have to admit, I’m a little jealous. Huck didn’t come home from Afghanistan with the same trauma I did. He had his whole heart to give. “Sorry, I have to go straight home. Penny needs help packing.”
“I need help switching Grandma Hattie’s quilting room with my room. She’s been trying to sneak upstairs again. Do you want her to fall and break her other ankle? Or worse, her neck?” Riley folds both arms over her chest again, tapping her foot. When did she learn to put up such thick walls? Why did she? I feel something inside me bristle. What asshole did this to her?
“I can help,” I hear myself offer before I’ve had a moment to think it through.
“You sure, man?” Huck asks.
“I’m free tonight. It’s no problem at all.” I meet Riley’s eyes for the first time since Huck erupted on the scene. I’m afraid my buddy’ll catch me staring at his little sister like she’s a dessert. A dessert I yearn to taste more by the minute. “That work for you?” I ask her, hoping like hell I sound calm and in control of my breathing. My pulse is another matter.
“How soon can you come over?”
“Give me an hour?”
“See, there you go,” Huck says. “Problem solved.”
