Chapter Seven
Liam did a quick survey of the Black Mountain Tavern bar. Small crowd. Fewer than yesterday, he was pretty sure. Summer was beginning to wind down with a corresponding drop in the number of tourists, although the number of locals would stay constant. Unfortunately, the locals didn’t always feel called upon to tip the bartender, particularly when they’d known the bartender since he’d stopped wearing diapers.
He sighed. Maybe Bec would sell the damn Zoria. He was pretty sure she’d let him know what was going on eventually. They might tear into each other regularly, but they were still family. If she sold it and started the brewery again, she’d let him back in. Probably.
Liam had seen Wyatt Montgomery walk by yesterday, so he knew the guy was still around. He couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Maybe Montgomery and Bec were still haggling on price. Then again, Bec might have told Montgomery to take a hike. His sister was quite capable of doing something like that, which would screw up another chance to turn around the epic failure that was Antero Brewing.
Unless the mysterious Threadgood came through with another offer.
But Bec refused to see Antero as a failure at all. When Liam had washed his hands of the place, Bec had dug in. He wasn’t sure what made her think she could go back into business again without a backer, preferably one with both deep pockets and the courage to stick it out no matter what happened.
The memory of Colin Brooks heading off to points unknown still made Liam’s stomach turn sour. He’d thought they were friends, he and Colin. Clearly, Brooks had a different definition of friendship from the one Liam knew. And the fact that Colin and Bec had been involved made it all the more bitter.
They weren’t that involved when he left.
But you didn’t walk out on a former lover. Not unless you were a complete asshole, which he was beginning to think Brooks was.
He watched another customer head inside from the dazzling mountain sunshine. Judging from the clothes—Peter Millar polo shirt unless he missed his guess—this one at least had money. Maybe he’d feel like tipping the bartender.
“Afternoon.” Liam dredged up a smile. “What can I get for you?”
The stranger folded his arms on the bar, giving Liam a cool look. “You have any Possum Creek?”
Liam frowned. “Is that a brewery or the name of a beer? Either way, no, we don’t carry it.”
“Brewery,” the customer said shortly. “Out of Montana. Relatively new. You’ll be hearing about it one of these days—right now I’m one of the few who serve it.”
Liam kept his smile in place. If the guy was a competitor, he had balls of steel. Coming into somebody else’s bar and ordering an obscure beer to show your superiority was quite a feat of oneupsmanship. “We don’t carry it. We’ve got a nice Left Hand seasonal, though.”
The customer shrugged. “The Fade To Black? It’s nice enough. You can pour me one.”
Nice of you to let me. Liam snarled mentally but kept his smile going. Tips did not come to those who snarled. Of course, this jerk might not tip anyway. He looked like the type who talked big but didn’t go for sharing his cash. Liam poured a pint and set the beer on the bar in front of the customer. “Are you opening a bar here in town?”
“Here?” The man shook his head. “No. I’ve got a place in Denver.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a steel card case then shoved a business card across the bar toward Liam.
Liam glanced down. C. Threadgood, Threadgood Entertainment Group. So this was his mysterious caller. Liam wasn’t sure if he was supposed to know who C. Threadgood was beyond the fact that he’d left a voicemail. He didn’t, but that wasn’t a problem so far as he was concerned. He figured the guy was the type who’d be sure to pass on all the facts about himself as quickly as possible.
Threadgood gave him a smug smile. “I own the best gastropub in town. The Red Wolf—maybe you’ve heard of it?”
This guy was definitely Wyatt Montgomery’s competition. Well, well. And why would you have chosen now to show up? “I don’t get over to Denver too often. Grand Junction’s closer.”
Threadgood shrugged as he sipped his beer. “Not much of a beer scene in Grand Junction.”
“There’s enough.” Liam leaned on the bar, waiting. By now it was clear that the guy had come into Black Mountain for a reason.
Threadgood set his beer back on the bar, regarding Liam with a raised eyebrow. “I’m guessing you’re Liam Dempsey.”
Liam nodded. “I am.”
Threadgood nodded back. “Former owner of Antero Brewing?”
“One of them. There are three of us.”
Threadgood took another swallow of his beer. “Right. But as I understand it, you and your sister are the ones in charge of the place now. Or what’s left of it.”
Fortunately, Liam had had several months of developing his bland expression. It would take a lot more than a shot like that to make him lose it. “My sister and I are joint owners of Antero Brewing. That’s true enough.”
“Uh huh.” Threadgood regarded him through narrowed eyes. “And how much beer does Antero have left?”
Tricky. Liam wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that. They had the barrel of Zoria, but beyond that he didn’t think they had much of anything. On the other hand, he’d walked out before they’d sold all the stock, and he hadn’t bothered to get an accounting from Bec since she was paying off their debts. He shrugged. “We have some.”
Threadgood raised an eyebrow. “And are you planning on brewing more?”
“I’m not,” Liam said. Which was true for the moment. God only knew what Bec was planning, but that wasn’t his problem.
Threadgood leaned forward. “I’ll buy everything you have left. Red Wolf specializes in the unusual. Antero beer would definitely be that.” He propped his arms on the bar.
“I should discuss any offer with my sister.” And he would, although right now he was sort of pissed at Bec’s stubbornness about entertaining other offers besides Montgomery’s.
Threadgood wore another of those slightly mocking smiles. “Fine. I’ll be glad to talk to her, too. But this is a limited time offer, you understand.”
“How limited?”
“Look, Dempsey, we both know the Zoria is all I’m interested in. And we both know it can’t last forever—it may already have gone bad by now. I’m not interested in a long-term negotiation here. I’ll give you until the end of the month to come up with the barrel. Then the offer goes away.”
Liam managed to keep his expression bland. “Could I ask how you found out about the Zoria?”
Threadgood shrugged. “People talk. Waiters have a way of overhearing things. Montgomery should learn to keep his voice down when he talks about his plans.” His smile moved from mocking to smug.
Tough for Montgomery. Good for us. Liam figured he’d need at least a few days to talk Bec into seeing things his way and cutting out Montgomery. Or maybe they could get Montgomery and Threadgood into a bidding war. Either way, this wasn’t something he could do overnight. “I’ll take that time. You’ll have your answer by the end of the month.”
Threadgood’s mocking smile moved into supercilious territory. “Don’t you want to know how much I’m offering before you head off to tell your sister about it?”
Fuck you, asshole. “I’m not really interested in how much you’re offering, Mr. Threadgood. I’ll let you know the price when I’ve talked to my sister. And that’s the price you’ll be paying if you want the Zoria.”
Threadgood stared at him for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll be in touch.”
Liam watched him saunter out of the bar into the late afternoon sunshine. He sort of hoped Montgomery would offer more money. He’d hate to sell anything to that jerk.
But he would sell it if they had to. In the end, he’d do it without hesitation, and he’d try to get Bec to see it the same way—they needed the money, and they needed to sell the Zoria to a high bidder. Even a piece of pond scum like C. Threadgood.
…
Bec stared at Wyatt, trying to wrap her head around what he was saying. It didn’t seem to make much sense. “You’re cooking dinner for Abe? And you’re doing this to get him to sell you the malt?”
Since he’d walked into the brewery building a few minutes ago, she’d been trying to get more details. Not that the details made any more sense than the basic point.
Wyatt was cooking? Wyatt could cook?
He nodded. He looked pleased with himself, his dark eyes dancing with delight. He looked pretty delightful, as a matter of fact, all golden hair and flashing teeth.
Stop that. You are not supposed to be hitting on your source of funds. And you know better than to get involved with anybody who isn’t sticking around.
“Abe has to tell me the date, but yeah, that’s the gist of it. He’s ordering the grain for the malt.” He gave her a broad grin.
“But why?” Bec shook her head, although she was pretty sure that wouldn’t clear it. “I mean, I figured he’d ask for something, just like Harlan did. But why a dinner?”
Wyatt’s grin took on epic proportions, white against the tan of his skin. “Because he’s a man in love. And I can help him. That is, my dinner can. I promised I’d cook him a romantic dinner, complete with candlelight. I’m going to need your help coming up with a location, though. He might like it outside, assuming the weather cooperates. Someplace romantic, loosely interpreted.”
Bec narrowed her eyes. “Okay, I have to ask—can you really cook?”
He laid a hand across his heart, one eyebrow arching up. “You wound me, woman. Of course I can cook.”
She shook her head. “No, I mean can you cook professionally? Do you know how to put together a gourmet dinner? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what Abe’s going to expect. No pizza. No burgers.”
Wyatt’s grin dimmed slightly. “Yeah, I’ve cooked for a living, Bec. It was a while ago, but I know how. I’ll have to plan a menu, though. Which means I’ll have to get some idea of what Antero’s got to offer in the way of groceries and some idea of Abe’s preferences, if you know them.”
“There’s a City Market on the west edge of town, and I’ll see what information I can come up with.” Cooking for your living could mean anything. She needed a few more details. “Where did you cook?”
“At a restaurant.” He wasn’t smiling at all now. In fact, his expression looked sort of annoyed. Also defensive.
“What kind of restaurant?” She wasn’t sure why this was so important, but something about Wyatt’s reluctance made her uneasy.
His jaw firmed. “A diner. In St. Louis.”
She blinked. “A diner.” Ham and eggs, creamed chipped beef on toast, burgers and fries, maybe spaghetti and meatballs. Not what Abe was probably thinking of as a romantic dinner.
“Yeah, a diner. A freakin’ great diner.” Wyatt’s smile was completely gone now. His eyes flashed dangerously. “Diners are restaurants, Ms. Dempsey. And cooking in a diner teaches you all about food prep, believe me. I cooked everything from oatmeal to T-bones. I can do this. I will come up with something that will make Abe Parsons very happy. After which he’ll sell me the malt and I’ll be that much closer to getting my barrel of Zoria. Assuming you’ll give me a hand.”
“Me?” She frowned. “I make great beer and pretty good cheese, but I’m not much of a cook otherwise.”
“I don’t need you to cook. I need you to prep stuff so I can cook. And I need you to help me find the perfect romantic spot for this dinner, preferably close to a kitchen where I can prepare the food.” He folded his arms across his chest, his eyebrows raised in mock challenge. “Any ideas?”
Bec bit her lip. “There’s a kitchen here in the apartment. It’s not much. I sort of improvised after I turned the old office into my place. I’ve got a microwave and a hot plate, along with a crockpot and a rice cooker. And a coffee pot. Anything you can plug in will work, but I don’t have a real stove.”
Wyatt’s forehead was creased in thought. “What about the Salty Goat? Don’t they have a kitchen there so they can turn out their deli meals?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I’d have to ask Ruth if we could use it, but they’ve got a kitchen. But they’re using it most of the time to fix stuff for the deli.”
He shrugged. “This would be after hours. I wouldn’t get in their way.”
Bec frowned. She sort of hated to ask Ruth for the use of the kitchen. She’d have to tell her what was going on with the brewery, and she’d been trying to keep the whole project under the radar. The last thing they needed was a lot of people running around asking questions about the Zoria and her future plans and the bills she still had to pay.
But then, with Wyatt gallivanting across the countryside locating her beer ingredients, her plans probably couldn’t stay quiet for long anyway. It sounded like Harlan and Abe had already been in communication. “I’ll check. You could even buy some of the deli stuff—they’ve got salads and desserts you could use.”
He shook his head. “I might buy some of your cheese and a dessert or two, but I’m doing the rest myself. I told Abe I’d do it.” His chin took on a resolute firmness.
In reality, Bec wasn’t sure Abe would care if Wyatt bought some of the food rather than making it. Or that he’d even be able to tell the difference. Honoria, the head cook at the Salty Goat, was terrific at her job. She doubted that Wyatt would be much better. But this was clearly his baby, and she had no intention of getting in his way. “Whatever you want. I’ll see if I can square it with Ruth. She’ll probably be okay with it as long as we don’t mess up the kitchen too much.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I won’t mess up her kitchen at all. Like I said, I know what I’m doing.” His forehead creased again as he considered the new information. “Anyplace around there we could serve them? Preferably someplace romantic?”
“Well, there’s the dining area, but it looks like a deli. I don’t know that I’d call it romantic.”
He shook his head. “Nope. That’s not what I’m looking for.”
She rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, thinking. “There’s a sort of patio thing out back—flagstones and a couple of columbine plants.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘patio thing’.”
“Well, people used to live upstairs over the shop, back in the early days when the building was a dry goods store. Somebody made a little garden out back, but it’s never been big enough to have outdoor seating. There’s only room for a table or two.”
Wyatt’s lips spread in a grin. “Keep talking.”
“We’d need to clean it up—wash off the stones and pull some weeds in the garden.” She paused to consider what all needed to be done. “And we’d need to bring out a table and chairs. A small table and chairs—that’s all there’d be room for.”
He nodded. “That would work. I’m thinking of a café table—you’ve got a couple of those in the dining room at the Salty Goat, right?”
“Right.” She took a deep breath. Things were moving along at a very rapid pace again.
“Sounds good.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now all we need is a menu and a date. And we’re good to go.”
“I’m still sort of…” She shook her head. “Look, don’t think I’m questioning you or anything, but…”
He sighed. “You still don’t believe I can cook.”
She bit her lip. “It’s sort of unlikely, I guess.”
“Obviously, you’re a woman who wants concrete proof before she buys in.” He gave her a slow grin.
For some reason that sounded a little like an insult. “No. Not exactly. I mean, not for everything.”
“Just for strange men claiming they can cook.” His grin turned faintly mocking. He glanced around the brewery floor. “You have any food around here?”
“Well, back in my apartment.” She had a feeling she knew what was coming next.
“Good. In that case, I’ll fix you dinner. With whatever you have on hand. And if I do a good job, you’ll buy in on the whole ‘Dinner for Abe’ bit.” He raised an eyebrow in a way that looked like a clear challenge.
She shook her head, grimacing. “You do this a lot, don’t you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do what?”
“Issue challenges. Try to beat the odds.”
“I have confidence in myself. But I realize other people may not know me as well as I do.” That grin broke out again. “You ready to take my challenge, Ms. Skeptic?”
Bec rubbed her fingers across her forehead. She felt the beginning of a headache somewhere at the back of her skull. “What do I have to do?”
“Tonight? Nothing except point me to your stoveless kitchen.” He paused. “But if I win your confidence—that is, if I show you I can cook to your satisfaction—then you agree to be my sous chef for the dinner with Abe and his date.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What exactly does a sous chef do?”
“Anything the head chef tells her to do.” For a moment, his eyes flashed dark.
Bec bit her lip. Getting in a little deep here, aren’t you, Rebecca? “Oh. And what goes into this ‘anything’?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Kitchen prep. The sous chef does the kitchen prep. A lot of chopping and measuring.”
“Okay.” She told herself she felt relieved. Definitely not disappointed. Definitely not. Not going into that briar patch again. “I’ll show you the kitchen, but remember—I told you it wasn’t much.”
He nodded. “Understood. But a good chef can improvise. Improvisation is good.”
He gave her another of those wolfish grins, and she felt slightly breathless all of a sudden. “Let’s go to the apartment.”
He followed her through her makeshift living room. At one point, it had been the reception area, so it had more space than the other rooms in the old office suite. But it still wasn’t exactly spacious. Or rather, it was spacious but only because she hadn’t gotten around to moving in much furniture beyond a couch and a television set.
Wyatt seemed not to notice the lack of furniture, heading toward the collection of rooms at the back. “Which one is the kitchen?”
“The middle door.” She was just as glad he was taking the lead. She didn’t want to see his face when he got a good look at what passed for her cooking area.
The kitchen was in what had once been the break room back in the days when the building had been a shipping warehouse before the brewery. There was a shelf for the microwave and a counter prep area where she had the hotplate. She’d put in a small refrigerator that held her frozen dinners and milk for her coffee. The Crock-Pot and rice cooker were lined up on the side of the counter, along with the coffee maker and a toaster oven. Given her extremely limited cooking skills, the setup had seemed fairly adequate up until now. “This is it,” she said a little stiffly. “Sorry.”
Wyatt glanced at her. “Sorry for what?”
“I don’t know—the state of things?” She waved her hand to take in the lack of a functioning kitchen.
He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve worked with less.”
Bec stared at him for a long moment, wondering where he’d worked with less and what he’d been doing at the time. But wondering about that would only lead to trouble. She didn’t want to know more about Wyatt Montgomery, did she? She wanted him to get her ingredients and buy her Zoria so that she could start all over again. Without him being around.
That’s what she’d felt at the beginning of their relationship. Right now, she wondered if that was still what she felt. Danger, danger, danger. But Wyatt’s kind of danger didn’t scare her nearly as much as it should have.