Chapter Seventeen
Wyatt was quiet during dinner, but Bec didn’t find that too surprising. So was she. Their last bout of love-making had left her a little dazed. Sated, happy, but dazed. Dazed beat unhappy, after all.
He’d accomplished every task she’d set out for him at the beginning of their partnership. The money he paid her for the Zoria, plus the ingredients he’d found, would help her get another batch of brews ready to go and let her pay off the last of their debts.
And she’d promised herself she’d concentrate on one thing only—moving forward. Getting Antero Brewing open again.
Not thinking about how empty her bed would seem without Wyatt to share it.
The truth was that she wasn’t very good at flings. She wasn’t sure how to behave. Was she supposed to pretend there was nothing going on between the two of them? Was she supposed to send him off with a grin and a wave, then head back into the Salty Goat and press curds as if nothing had happened?
Actually, she was pretty sure that was exactly how she was supposed to behave. She just wasn’t sure she could do it. Maybe she’d ask Ruth to keep everybody away from her for a couple of days. Except for Carol. She figured Carol would carry on as if nothing had happened, and that was fine with Bec.
Maybe nothing had. Maybe she was back to the beginning again, a little farther along than she’d been when Colin had pulled up stakes and left without saying good-bye.
“Good chicken and rice,” Wyatt said from the other side of the table. “What’s the sauce?”
“It comes out of a jar. I’m not sure what it’s called.” She took a quick breath. Time to be an adult. “So when do you go back to Denver?”
His eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Soon, I guess. Whenever the Zoria is ready to go.”
“It’s ready.” She managed a smile that might convince him she wasn’t whimpering inside. “Whenever you need it, it’s ready to go.” She started to gather the dishes together.
Wyatt pushed back from the table and picked up the dishes she couldn’t reach. “I’ll dry.”
“I thought I’d use the dishwasher. There are probably enough dishes for a load this time.”
He shook his head. “Come on. It won’t take long.”
And they could stand side by side and maybe talk a little. That actually sounded good now that she thought about it.
She stacked the dishes on the counter while Wyatt placed the two dishpans in the sink. After a moment, she took a breath and dove in again. “When do you want to load up your truck?”
He paused, then turned on the water. “Any time, I guess. How much does it weigh?”
“I’m not entirely sure. Around two hundred pounds, I think.”
He gave a low whistle. “Good thing I brought the truck. I wouldn’t want to try loading that into the trunk of a car.” He stacked dishes in the drainer, then pulled a dishtowel off a hook by the side of the sink. “How will we get the barrel out of the warehouse to the truck?”
She shrugged. “We’ve got a forklift. I was going to sell it, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
Wyatt grinned, wiping down a glass. “A forklift? Why are you standing here when you could be playing with your forklift?”
Bec gave him her own slightly dry smile. “It’s not nearly as much fun as you think it is, believe me. After a while, it’s just something else to learn how to use.” Particularly when they’d had to lay off all the brewery workers who knew how.
He shrugged. “Still. Where is it—in the warehouse?”
“I don’t have a warehouse exactly. We used to rent space in town, but once our inventory dropped down, I started storing things over here. The Zoria’s actually down on the main brewing floor.” Which would make it relatively easy to forklift out once Wyatt got his truck lined up at the loading dock. Suddenly everything seemed to be coming together much too quickly.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a loading dock here, haven’t you?”
She nodded. “You should be able to back your truck in next to it easily enough.”
He leaned back against the counter, watching her scrub the Crock-Pot insert. “Have you ever tasted it?”
She frowned. “Tasted what? The Zoria?”
He nodded.
She shook her head. “Not this batch. I tasted the one before that, and I’m guessing this will taste about the same, although it’ll probably have a few characteristics of its own—it’s been aging longer.” She hoped it tasted at least as good as the last one had, but she was really hoping it tasted better.
Wyatt began wiping out the crockpot insert, the kitchen light bringing out hints of gold in his hair. He was a gorgeous man. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? Was it too late to appreciate him? “Would you like to taste it?”
He stared at her for a moment. “The Zoria? Absolutely.”
She blew out a quick breath. “Okay. Let’s finish up in here and head down to the main floor. I’ll grab a couple of glasses on the way.”
…
Finally. Wyatt had mostly given up hope that he’d get to taste the Zoria before he got it back to Denver. He wanted to taste it with Bec, to see her face when she found out what she had, to let her tell him what she’d been hoping for and how the product measured up to her expectations.
He might even tell her what he’d hoped for in the Zoria, although in reality he wasn’t sure. He wanted a great beer, but he wanted her, too. Somehow the two had become entwined. He was trying to think of ways to spirit her off to Denver with him, but he hadn’t come up with anything definite yet. Particularly since she was focused on creating a new line of beer with the ingredients he’d bought her. That would probably keep her in Antero for the foreseeable future.
Hell, he wasn’t even sure she wanted to spend more time with him anyway. She might grin and wave as he got into his truck, then head back into the brewery to make more beer without a second thought.
Or more cheese. Whichever was closest.
She glanced his way and smiled, and his insides promptly turned to mush. It was always possible that once they were no longer around each other, he’d come down to earth and stop wanting her every minute of the day.
But he doubted it.
“Ready?” She gave him another quick smile that made his temperature spike a few degrees.
“Absolutely.” He followed her through the door that connected the apartment to the brewery floor. The empty brewing tuns stood massive and ghostly near the wall, shadows filling the spaces in between, until Bec switched on the overhead lights.
He followed her across the concrete floor to the far corner, still dim even with the lights on. A single barrel rested on a rack that was meant to hold at least twenty. She placed the glasses on a small table at the end of the row, then pulled a length of plastic tubing from a nearby box.
“We’ll have to siphon some out. You hold the glasses, okay?”
He nodded, picking up the glasses, one in each hand, then watched her work the bung loose from the top of the barrel. After a moment, she set it aside and slid one end of the tubing into the barrel, keeping the other end lifted.
“Ready?”
He held the first glass near the tubing, and she plunged in the end. Almost immediately, dark brown liquid began to flow in. When the glass was half full, she pulled up the tubing again. “Now the other one.”
He pushed the other glass forward and watched her fill it too. She pulled the tubing free, then replaced the cork in the hole. “Come on. Let’s find a more comfortable place to taste this.”
He followed her back through the dim shapes of the brewery floor toward her apartment, resisting the urge to pause for a quick taste of Zoria. Nothing was going to be quick about this—this beer deserved to be sipped and savored carefully.
Bec opened the apartment door cautiously, heading for the small kitchen table where they’d had dinner. Evening sunlight filtered through the window in the living room, the mountains looming blue-black and massive in the distance. She set her glass of Zoria on the table near her chair, waiting until Wyatt had taken his place across from her.
“We do this right,” she said slowly. “First, we look at the color.” She raised her glass until the sunlight caught it. Wyatt did the same. Deep golden highlights danced within the dark brown depths, like molasses or unfiltered honey.
“Nice,” he murmured.
She nodded. “Looks about right.”
He stared down at the beer again. It was time to taste it, but suddenly he felt nervous. What if it didn’t live up to the hype? What if it wasn’t good? Even worse, what if it was…okay? Good, but just good. What would he say to Bec if she expected a religious experience and it was just sort of ordinary?
“Now we sip,” she said flatly, and he realized she was feeling the same fear that he was.
He nodded. “We do.” They picked up their glasses at the same time and sipped.
Wyatt closed his eyes. He tasted chocolate and caramel, the deep toasted notes of the grain, a faint bitterness of hops that kept the ale from being too sweet. He paused, savoring, and the flavor grew—deep, warm, smoky.
Extraordinary.
He swallowed, then took a deep breath, holding himself back from guzzling another gulp. “It’s good,” he said softly. “It’s really good.” It’s outstanding, but you must know that.
Bec nodded slowly, her forehead furrowed. “I think it worked out. The flavor’s a little deeper than the other barrel—that extra year made a difference.” She took another sip, closing her eyes for a moment. “Yeah. It worked out.”
He thought of all the things he wanted to say to her. You’re a wizard. Nobody else makes stuff like this. My God, this is head and shoulders above every other beer I’ve tasted in the last year. But somehow he couldn’t get the words out. She was so good at her craft that all the compliments he could think of sounded like empty flattery.
“I’m glad I bought this,” he said quietly. “And I owe you a hell of a lot more than I paid.”
She shook her head. “We agreed on the price. I need the money, but I also need the other things you bought for me if I’m going to start brewing again. You got me everything I needed, everything I wanted. Antero can start over again now.” She raised her glass in his direction. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.”
He took another sip of the Zoria, then reached across the table to touch her cheek. “You’re a star, Bec. This is one of the best beers I’ve ever tasted. If I can help you get back to brewing again, it’s worth it.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she bit her lip. “Thanks. I appreciate the help, but it’s going to be a while before I can get going again. I’m going to need to hire some people before too long—if we want to get the production on-line, I’ll need some experienced brewers to help out. Even if it’s only part time.”
Wyatt frowned. “What about Liam?” Her brother sometimes seemed about as reliable as a king snake, but he owned part of the brewery. Or anyway, Wyatt assumed he did.
Bec grimaced. “When we lost Colin, he took off, and he hasn’t shown much interest in coming back. I don’t know if he’ll want to do any more.”
Wyatt shook his head. “You need to get going again, Bec. You’re too good not to be working.”
“I can now, thanks to you.” She gave him a smile that he felt all the way to his toes. “I’ll probably start with something like an IPA that I can get going quickly. Or maybe a pilsner. Something that doesn’t have to age too long. Once we’ve got some capital coming in, I can do some more aging.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No more Zoria?”
“Not for a while.” She shrugged. “I’ve got the recipe. I can make it again, although it won’t ever be exactly like this one. You’ve always got slight variations in the malt and the hops, even the water.”
He sighed. “You need to make it again. You really do. Even if it’s not quite the same, it’ll be close.”
Bec gave him a faint smile. “It might be better. You can never tell.”
“There’s a concept.” He took another sip, savoring. “You’ll need to come down to Denver for the party.”
She frowned, biting her lip. “I do? Why?”
“So everybody can tell you how great your beer is. And so you can talk about it. People love to hear from the brewmaster.” And they’d particularly love to hear from a brewmaster who looked like Bec.
He had a quick twinge of something like jealousy, but he repressed it ruthlessly.
“I’m not too good at stuff like that,” she mumbled. “Talking. I’m better at doing the brewing than explaining it.”
He shrugged. “It’s not too complicated. You tell them what you were looking for when you put the Zoria together, what kind of beer you wanted to make. Maybe a little about other beers you like—other beers you’re making so people can buy those, too.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly. “You’re better at that than I am, talking to people, I mean. Maybe I can just stand there and let you do the selling.”
He leaned forward, taking her hand in his. “As long as you’re there, I’ll say anything you want me to say.”
Bec stared back at him, her gaze taking on a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment. She brushed her fingers through his hair, disarranging it slightly on his forehead, and he felt an answering jolt of heat all his own.
“Works for me,” she whispered.
…
Liam’s phone began to vibrate around ten that evening. He had a pretty good idea of who was calling, and his interest in answering was nil. He ignored the first call, also the second, which came twenty minutes later. After the third call, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and dropped it behind the bar. At least he’d be free of the annoying vibration, although he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to get rid of Threadgood that easily.
He wasn’t. At eleven thirty, he looked up to see Threadgood staring at him from the other end of the bar. He looked like he was trying to be threatening, but since he was a good two inches shorter than Liam, he didn’t quite achieve his goal.
Liam finished mixing the pomegranate margarita for the customer who’d ordered it, then strolled down toward the end of the bar where Threadgood sat seething. “Evening.”
“Do you have it?” Threadgood snapped.
“You mean here at the bar?” Liam shook his head. “Nope.”
Threadgood looked like he was gritting his teeth. Painfully. “Do you know where it is?”
After a moment Liam nodded, regretfully. If there were any other way… But there wasn’t. Bec had already said she wasn’t going to consider any other offers after promising the Zoria to Montgomery. Christopher Threadgood was a slimy bastard, but he was a rich slimy bastard. And Liam intended to take him for every penny of that twenty thousand.
Threadgood folded his arms across his chest. “When can I expect delivery? I assume you remember my deadline.”
“Tomorrow morning.” Liam gritted his teeth. “I’ll have it for you before noon.”
Threadgood cocked an eyebrow in a way Liam found particularly annoying. “Why not right now?”
“Because I’m working.” Amazing how he could talk through gritted teeth. Jesus, he hated Threadgood.
Enough to give up on twenty thousand bucks? Unfortunately, no.
Threadgood narrowed his eyes. “When do you get off work?”
“Two in the morning. And there’s no way I’m going to get you a barrel of beer at two a.m.” This time, Liam didn’t bother to conceal his irritation. If Threadgood walked out, it might be best for all concerned. Too bad Liam himself wasn’t principled enough to tell him to take a hike.
Threadgood gave him a sour look, then pushed back from the bar. “I’ll call you at nine tomorrow. And if you don’t answer, I’ll take myself and my money back to the Red Wolf. And I’ll make it my personal crusade to keep Antero Brewing from ever selling another bottle of beer in the greater Denver area.”
Given that Antero Brewing had no bottles of beer to sell—and might never have any, no matter what kind of ambitions Bec might harbor—that threat wasn’t particularly chilling as far as Liam was concerned. He shrugged. “I’ll get you the Zoria. What happens after that is up to you.”
“That’s always been up to me. Nine o’clock, Dempsey. Don’t fuck around with me.” Threadgood gave him one more simmering look, then turned and stalked back through the door.
For the hundredth time, Liam reflected on how good it would feel to tell Threadgood to go fuck himself. The man was an arrogant bastard. There was no way he’d give Bec’s legendary imperial stout the kind of respect it deserved.
Unlike Montgomery, who would probably treat it like liquid gold, given that Montgomery might well be in love with Bec.
Liam sighed. If only he were the noble type, he’d go with true love and let Threadgood head back to Denver and his imaginary vendetta. But twenty thousand bucks would buy a lot of love. And it would allow both Liam and Bec to pursue their separate agendas. Given those options, Liam figured he was going to have to dance with the devil.
But he wouldn’t have to enjoy it.