Chapter Eighteen
At eight the next morning, Wyatt maneuvered his truck toward the loading dock at Antero Brewing, or what had been the loading dock in better days. Now there was only a stack of weathered pallets and a couple of dusty cardboard boxes to show that anything had ever been loaded there at all.
Somewhere inside, Bec was driving her forklift toward the rack with the barrel of Zoria. He’d offered to help her, but she’d declined politely. Maybe she thought he’d take the forklift for a spin around the brewery floor before he picked up the barrel. Maybe she was right.
He tried to ignore the slightly hollow feeling in his chest. She’d said she’d come to Denver for the Zoria party, so they’d see each other again in a few weeks. That ought to be enough. He could always come back to Antero to see how she was getting along, check the progress on the next production round. Maybe try to buy up a few exclusives. He had a feeling Bec would give him a fair price.
Right. And you’re really thinking about the beer she’ll be producing.
He was thinking about it. But it wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about.
Unbidden, an image of Bec in bed that morning, all ivory skin and silken red hair, drifted through his mind. He had a feeling he’d be thinking about that a lot more than the barrel of Zoria he’d be loading in the bed of his truck.
Someone waved to him from the side of the dock, and he recognized Carol. He stepped out of the truck and waved back. “Morning. What are you doing here?”
She raised a small camera. “Pictures. This is a big moment for the brewery. Or anyway, that’s what my mom says. I figured Bec would want a few snaps for the newsletter.”
Wyatt frowned. “What newsletter? I didn’t know the brewery had one.” Considering that the brewery currently existed more as a concept than a reality.
Carol shrugged. “They don’t. Yet. But I figure they need one. I’ll see what I can put together over the next couple of weeks. MailChimp’s not that hard. I already do the one for the Salty Goat.”
“Sign me up. I’ll give you my email.” With Carol running it, the newsletter should at least be interesting.
She nodded absently. “Are you leaving right away after you get the beer?”
He blew out a breath, his good mood souring. “Yeah. I need to get back to Denver, and I don’t want the barrel sitting around in the back of the truck any longer than it has to.” He and Bec had worked out a way to wedge it carefully in the back so that it wouldn’t be bounced much, and he’d cover it with a tarp, but he still didn’t like agitating the barrel any more than necessary.
The metal door to the brewery interior rolled up with a clatter that made Carol jump. Bec looked a little surprised to see her there. “Hi. What’s up?”
Carol lifted her camera again. “Pictures. For the newsletter.”
Bec narrowed her eyes, then sighed. “Fine by me.” She turned to Wyatt. “Are you ready to load?”
He nodded. “Any time.” It might have been his imagination, but she seemed a little down too. Of course she might be sadder to see her Zoria headed out the door than to see Wyatt go, but he could at least hope she’d miss him a little.
“Okay. Back your truck up to the edge of the dock, and I’ll get the forklift with the barrel.” She headed back inside.
The loading dock was slightly above his truck bed. He could only hope that the forklift could slide the barrel into it without a problem. He hated to jostle the beer too much, and they needed to keep the bung facing up as much as possible.
A moment later, he heard the sound of a motor from inside the brewery. The forklift emerged through the door with Bec in the driver’s seat, moving very, very slowly. She put on the brakes a few feet from the edge, turning the forklift slightly so that the barrel wasn’t hanging into space. “Let’s check out this set-up first to see how it’s going to work.”
She climbed out of the forklift just as her brother walked around the corner of the building. His smile reminded Wyatt of the Wicked Witch of the West closing in on Dorothy. “Selling some Zoria?”
Bec paused to look at him. “I told you I sold the Zoria to Wyatt. He’s here to pick it up.”
Liam turned toward Wyatt. “Might I ask how much you plan to pay for this barrel of magic?”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes. He could smell a fight heading his way. “That’s between me and your sister. You can ask her.”
“I could. I have, in fact. She hasn’t seen fit to tell me. I’m asking you.” Liam rested his hands on his hips, his head back slightly. Classic challenge pose.
Wyatt didn’t want to get into a fight with Bec’s brother, although they seemed pretty evenly matched. And Liam really needed a punch in the mouth, considering how much trouble he’d caused Bec. On the other hand, he didn’t want to risk damaging the Zoria. “If it’s okay with Bec, I’ll discuss it with you.”
“It’s not okay with me,” Bec snapped. “Not at all. What’s wrong with you, Liam? Why show up now just to mess things up?”
“Maybe I’m not the problem. Maybe the problem is the amount of money he’s willing to pay.” Liam glared back at Wyatt again, his jaw tensing.
Threadgood came through with an offer. Wyatt felt ice drip down his backbone. After tasting the Zoria, he knew he was getting a hell of a bargain. Maybe it was too good to be true. And maybe he should have offered Bec more to begin with. “You have a competing bid?” He managed to keep his voice calm.
Liam nodded. “Twenty thousand. Seems fair.” His lips edged up into a slightly smug smile. He turned toward his sister, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t have any problem with Wyatt’s offer,” Bec said flatly. “I worked it out with him a while ago. Whoever is making these pie-in-the-sky bids is out of luck. And unlike some people I could name, once I’ve made a promise, I keep it.”
Liam’s face flushed. “I kept my promise, Rebecca. I just don’t believe in flogging a dead horse.”
“Not so dead anymore, is it?” Bec gestured toward the brewery, then folded her arms. “I’m selling the barrel to Wyatt, Liam. I’m not going to discuss it with you. If you want to help me load it onto his truck, fine. Otherwise, you should probably go back to work.”
Liam dropped his hands to his sides. “Goddamn it, Bec.”
Bec shook her head. “No. That’s it, Liam. That’s all I’ve got to say. The Zoria goes to Wyatt. He helped me get the malt and hops and yeast we need to start over. And for that, he gets the stout.”
Wyatt turned uneasily toward Liam, whose face had turned a troubling shade of red. If nothing else, his conscience was pinching him, both on account of the fight between the siblings and on account of the fact that the Zoria was worth a lot more than he was paying. Obviously, assuming that wild-ass twenty-thousand-dollar bid was real. “Look, I could see my way…”
“Look out!” Carol cried. “Stop it!”
Wyatt turned back in time to see the forklift rolling slowly forward, heading inexorably toward the edge of the loading dock, the barrel of Zoria trembling on the forks in front of the wheels. Disaster heading toward them at a steady pace. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, then headed toward the forklift at a dead run.
Bec froze for a moment, then started running toward the machine as well, but they were both too late. The forklift had already rolled too far for either of them to stop it. In what seemed to be agonizing slow motion, the forklift flipped forward, overweighted by a barrel of superlative imperial stout at the front. As Wyatt watched helplessly, it tumbled over the edge of the loading dock toward the cement slab beside his truck, the forklift landing squarely on top of the barrel.
There was a sickening crack as the barrel gave way, splitting up the middle. And then dark brown ale spilled onto the cement, filling the air with the sweet smell of yeast and malt, the aroma of a well-nigh mythical beer spilling onto the ground and flowing away into the dirt.
“No,” Bec moaned, pressing her hands to her lips. “Oh no, no, no.”
Wyatt started toward her, but Liam beat him to it, wrapping his arms around his sister and pulling her tight against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Bec, I’m so, so sorry.”
She pushed sharply away from him, her face twisting in fury. “Did you do it?”
“Did I…” He stared at her blankly. “No. I didn’t do anything. I just got here. And you know I wouldn’t smash your best stuff. The brake must have slipped.”
Bec sank back against the wall, rubbing her hands across her face. “No. I set the brake. I always set the brake. I know I set the brake.”
Wyatt wracked his memory, but he was pretty sure she was right. He thought he’d seen her set the brake after she’d turned the forklift to the side. He stepped beside her. “Yeah, you did. I know you did. It was an old forklift. Maybe the brake failed.”
He put his arm around her shoulders, pressing her head into the hollow beneath his chin. “It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. Babe, it was just an accident.”
He felt her hands press against him for a moment as she took several shuddering breaths. Then she pulled back to look at him, her jaw so tight it made his own jaw ache. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything else to sell you, and it’s too late to cancel the orders for the ingredients. I’ll pay you back for the malt and the hops and the yeast when I can. After I sell the first batch of whatever I can put together on the fly.”
He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s all right. Don’t worry about that.”
“No.” She took another of those deep, shuddering breaths that made his own chest ache. “No, I have to worry about it. We made a deal, and I can’t fulfill my end of it. But I will take care of what I owe you. I promise.”
Something about the set of her jaw began to make him nervous. “It’s okay, Bec. Don’t think about that now.”
“I have to think about it. It’s all I have left to think about.” She took another deep breath. “I guess you’ll want to head back to Denver now. The Zoria’s gone. I’m sorry you wasted your time here.”
A dull ache began to develop around his heart. He reached for her again. “Bec…”
She moved back, then shook her head stiffly, as if her muscles hurt. “No, look, you really need to go. You need to get back to your place. You spent a lot of time and money here on nothing. Maybe you can find somebody else’s beer to make up for it. I wish I had some suggestions, but I’m fresh out.”
Across from him, Liam’s expression was thunderous. “Goddamn it, Bec. Don’t do this. Don’t shut yourself away. I’m so fucking sorry this happened. I want to help.”
“No.” She turned toward him, eyes burning. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t have anything more to say to you now. I’ve got nothing for you. I’ve got nothing, period. You need to leave. Both of you need to leave.” She turned on her heel and walked back inside the brewery, her back a rigid line as she slammed the door.
Liam stared after her, then muttered a vicious stream of curses. After another moment, he turned away, heading toward town, his back almost as stiff as his sister’s had been.
Wyatt stood where Bec had left him, wondering what his next move should be. He could go after her, although she didn’t seem to want him to. He could wait for her to come back out, but he wasn’t exactly sure how long that would take or if it would happen at all.
He could head back to Denver.
No. Jesus, no. He didn’t want to; that much was clear. Every cell in his body seemed to be aching for her. He didn’t have anything waiting for him at home besides business, and he suddenly realized he had everything he wanted right here in Antero.
Except business. He now had no business here at all. And he was likely to lose the business he had in Denver as well.
And she didn’t want him. She’d told him to go. If he stayed, he’d remind her of the worst day of her life. And there was nothing he could do to change that—the Zoria was gone now forever.
If only Bec weren’t gone forever, too.
…
Wyatt sat in the dark barroom nursing his scotch. He hadn’t deliberately chosen the Black Mountain Tavern as the place he’d get drunk. It just happened to be the first bar he saw.
He knew he should be heading down the mountain to Denver, ready to take his lumps when he told Gabe he’d spent all this time in Antero and come up with nothing. He figured Quaff was pretty much history now. Threadgood would go on pumping money into the Red Wolf, drawing away their customers, picking up the good brewers with exclusives.
Quaff couldn’t compete. They might be keeping up now, but in the end, all that money would probably make the difference.
He took another swallow of his drink. Truth be told, he didn’t like scotch that much. But he couldn’t take beer right then. Not with the memory of the Zoria still imprinted in his brain. The Zoria that could have saved Quaff and Bec and maybe what was between the two of them. And the loss of the Zoria, which doomed everything.
Getting a little melodramatic, aren’t you?
Maybe. But it was no more than the truth. Bec was already gone, and if things kept going in the direction they were going currently, Quaff would be, too.
He swallowed more scotch and grimaced. Maybe he should have gone for vodka.
“Feeling sorry for yourself?”
Wyatt glanced up. He hadn’t seen Liam Dempsey in the place until now. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t show up at all. “Get stuffed.”
Once again, Liam refused to take the hint. He pulled out the chair opposite Wyatt and dropped into it. “Fuck you, Montgomery. You’re just broken up because you can’t promo your precious gastropub. The rest of us have real problems.”
Wyatt sat back, gritting his teeth. Liam looked like he wanted a fight. All of a sudden, Wyatt was dying to give it to him. “Want to take this outside, Dempsey?”
Liam paused, then he sighed. “No. It wouldn’t help. Nothing helps.” He leaned forward again. “Bec lost everything. Do you understand that? She staked everything on that barrel—all her plans, her future. And it’s all gone now. Sunk into the dirt. She’s got nowhere else to go. It’s over.”
“Is that why you walked off and left her? Again?” Wyatt knew that wasn’t exactly fair since Bec had thrown both of them out. But he had no way to help her. Liam at least had his half of the brewery, and he was family.
Liam narrowed his eyes. “What the hell do you think I could do?”
“I don’t know. But I figure you could find something. And I figure she shouldn’t be alone right now. And she doesn’t want me around.”
Liam blew out a long breath. “Maybe you’ve got a point.”
“Give it some thought.” Wyatt pushed himself to his feet and headed toward the door. He had a long drive ahead of him and not much waiting at the other end. Getting drunk wasn’t working for him, either. “See you around, Dempsey.”
He stepped out of the tavern and started back toward where he’d parked his truck when he heard someone call, “Wyatt.”
He sighed in irritation. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.
“Wyatt.” This time the voice was closer, and he realized the person calling him was Carol.
“What?” He turned toward her, trying to control his annoyance at the interruption. He’d been working up to a really tragic conclusion, after all.
Carol gave him an exasperated look of her own. “You need to come with me. I’ve got something to show you.”
“What?”
“Just come.” Carol sounded like she was out of breath. “It’s important. Believe me.”
He sighed. “Okay, kid, this had better be good.”
She nodded. “It is. Believe me, it is.”
…
Bec sat at the desk on the brewery floor, staring at the copper-faced tun where they cooked the mash. Had cooked the mash. Once upon a time.
She could still hear the crack of the Zoria barrel splitting open, smell the sweet-sour odor of the stout splashing onto the dust. She needed to cry, but somehow she couldn’t seem to do it. She felt as if her insides had been doused in Novocain—everything was numb. Once it stopped being numb, she figured it was going to hurt. A lot.
She heard the door open and braced herself. She didn’t want to talk to anybody, whoever it was. Even if it was Wyatt.
You sent him away, remember? She definitely remembered that. In fact, she had a feeling that was going to hurt worse than anything else once her emotional Novocain wore off.
“I guess you’re not coming in to work today.”
Bec glanced up. Ruth was standing in the shadows near the door, her hands on her hips.
“I might be in later,” she said slowly. “Or I might not.”
“Well, that covers the possibilities, doesn’t it?” Ruth reached into the pocket of her white apron and pulled out an envelope. “This is from your boyfriend. He was at the Salty Goat with Carol for a while, but he headed out a few minutes ago.”
Of course he headed out. I told him to head out. Her chest hurt as if she’d been power lifting. Apparently, the numbness was wearing off.
“I’m going back to the Salty Goat.” Ruth dropped the envelope on the desk in front of Bec. “I’d recommend you come in and make some cheese. Oddly enough, when disaster strikes, doing something monotonous helps sometimes. You’ll need to keep your tears out of the curds, though. I don’t want any more salt than usual.” She turned and walked back through the door.
Bec stared at the envelope for a moment. She needed to pick it up and read it. And move on with her life. For better or worse, she’d told Wyatt to go away. And he’d done what she’d told him to do.
For better or worse. Mostly worse.
She pulled a single sheet of notebook paper out of the envelope and unfolded it.
Bec:
I’ll be back in a few days. Don’t give up.
Love,
Wyatt
Love. She swallowed hard. It didn’t mean anything. Everybody signed their letters with Love.
Of course, she loved him. She knew that. But it was better that he was gone. She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t even help herself.
Oh, grow up.
Her inner voice sounded faintly pissed. Just her luck—even her inner child was a bitch.
Time to pull yourself together, Rebecca. Self pity doesn’t do anything but make you feel worse.
True enough. And she should at least try to figure out her course from here.
She looked around the brewery floor again. All the equipment was there. And thanks to Wyatt, she had the ingredients. She could make beer.
But she’d have to do it on her own. There was no money to hire help. And no money to do anything more than a barrel or two. Which probably wouldn’t make enough to put the brewery back in business again or pay their outstanding debts. She might not even be able to make enough to justify the amount of work she’d have to do to get everything going.
She covered her face with her hands, gritting her teeth against tears. She had no idea where she could go from here. Antero Brewing was more or less finished, even if she did have some ingredients, courtesy of Wyatt. No more ambitious plans for the future. No more castles in the air. She’d probably find a job with somebody else, being a brewer’s assistant.
Not a brewmaster. Never a brewmaster again.
Okay, now she was back to self-pity. But so what? She’d had the mother of all lousy days, demonstrating the mother of all bad luck. Why shouldn’t she feel like crap? Didn’t she deserve a little time to mourn the loss of the dreams that had been driving her for the last year?
To say nothing of the loss of the first man she’d ever really loved. She hadn’t loved Colin. She knew that now. But she’d loved Wyatt. Oh yes, she’d loved Wyatt.
In spite of everything, she still did.
The door opened behind her again, and she turned quickly to see a vaguely male shape in the shadows.
Wyatt? No.
Liam walked toward the desk, his lips twisted in a parody of a smile.
“Go away,” she said in a dull voice. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” If he hadn’t been at the loading dock, maybe she would have paid more attention to the forklift; maybe she would have checked the brake more carefully; maybe…
“Tough.” He pulled up a metal office chair, leaning back to rest his heels on the other side of the desk. “You’re not going to shut me out this time, Bec. I’m sticking around. So are your other friends—nobody’s going to leave you alone to wallow in your pain. Live with it. We’re all here for the duration. You have any particular plans for the future?”
She blew out a breath. “How far in the future? I don’t plan on working today, but I’ll go back to the Salty Goat tomorrow.”
Liam shook his head. “I mean the brewery. What kind of long-term plans do you have for Antero Brewing?”
She stared down at her hands. “None. I’ve got the ingredients for one more batch of beer. After that, we’re done.”
“Why?”
Bec narrowed her eyes. “You mean, why are we done? We don’t have any money, Liam. I can’t afford more ingredients. I can’t afford to hire help. And I can’t do it on my own. I needed both the ingredients and the money. I can’t do it with only one part of the equation.”
Liam stared at her, his supercilious smile gone. “I can help.”
She shook her head. “Why would you want to? You told me you were through with brewing. You told me you never wanted to set foot in the brewery again. And we’re not much better off now than we were when Colin took off. In a lot of ways, we’re worse.”
“Let’s just say I’ve changed my mind.” Liam blew out a quick breath. “Besides, you need help, and I’m willing to give you some. Why not take it?”
Why not? She couldn’t really see any reason not to. “Okay, you’re on.”
He nodded, pushing himself up from the chair. “I’ll be in touch. Figure out when we need to get started, and I’ll make arrangements for getting some time off.”
“Okay.” She watched him stride back out the door again, then shook her head. She wasn’t sure what was going on exactly, but she wasn’t inclined to ask questions. Maybe things weren’t quite as bleak as she’d thought.
But she sort of doubted it. By now she’d learned not to trust anything that pretended to be a silver lining. It usually turned out to be the moment just before the really black cloud showed up. When Colin had taken off, she’d thought it was the end of the world. Then Wyatt had arrived, and she thought maybe her luck had changed. Only now she was pretty sure it hadn’t.
I’ll be back.
Yeah, right. She’d believe it when she saw it.