For Love & Bourbon (33 page)

T
hough she had never mastered cooking the way her mother had, Ava figured she wasn’t half bad. She had managed to bake the chicken without burning it and her mashed potatoes were a little lumpy, but altogether tasty. The gravy was giving her trouble, but once spread over everything else it wouldn’t matter.

Cooper rested a hip against the counter beside her, a beer in his hand and a playful grin on his face.

She shot him an annoyed look while she viciously stirred the gravy. “I got this. Stop looking so concerned.”

He held his free hand up in a show of peace. “I know you do. But you might want to pull those biscuits out.”

“Shit.” She threw open the oven door and saw the biscuits turning more brown than golden. She nearly grabbed the baking sheet without oven mitts but caught herself just in time. When she pulled them out of the oven, she let out a relieved breath and tossed the pan on the stove. “There, see. Not burned.”

“Check the underside.”

She did, and saw that while the tops were merely brown, the bottoms were black as night. “Oh, hell.”

Cooper burst out laughing. She smacked him with the oven mitt for good measure. “Shut up, Slick. It’s not funny.”

He caught her wrist and pulled her in, kissing the tip of her nose. “It’s okay. We’ll just break off the burnt parts. No harm, no foul.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll take the blame.”

She cocked her chin, a subtle smile forming on her lips. “What a gentleman.”

He started to reply, only to be cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat. They both turned and saw Joe standing behind them. He was eyeing Cooper strangely, like he couldn’t decide just how he felt about the situation.

Ava recovered first. “Hey. Dinner’s almost ready. You hungry?”

Joe crossed his arms. “Aye. I see we’re having company.”

Cooper faced Joe, knowing he was treading on rocky ground. “She took pity on me. It’s been a while since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”

A ghost of a smile flitted over Joe’s features. “Well, our girl isn’t so talented as her mama, but she does all right.”

Ava pointed at Cooper. “He’s the reason the biscuits are burned. Everything else, everything
I
did, is great. I promise.”

She turned away to get dishes out of the cupboards, and Joe gave Cooper a conspirator’s wink before wandering over to the dining table.

Cooper breathed out in relief, pleased her grandfather wasn’t going to push the subject of his infatuation with Ava. The old man had seen enough to know the truth.

“I invited Marco to join us,” Ava said, bringing the casserole dish over to the table. “Told him to bring Adam with him. If I can’t coax my brother out of the bar, maybe he can.”

Cooper chuckled as he helped her bring the rest of the food to the table. The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Cooper offered, heading for the front door. He opened it to find Marco standing on the porch, alone. “Hey. I thought you were bringing Adam with you?”

Marco shrugged, entering when Cooper stepped aside. “He didn’t want to come. Now me, I don’t turn down a home cooked meal. He’ll be okay by himself for an hour.”

Cooper patted his partner on the back. “Well, you’re in for a treat. We’ve got burned biscuits and lumpy mashed potatoes.”

Marco faced him, humor in his eyes. “Good job, Coop. Sounds like you found the only Southern woman who doesn’t know how to cook.”

“To be fair I was a bit of a distraction,” Cooper mused, leading the way into the kitchen.

“Lucky you.”

Ava’s smile faded when she saw Marco was alone. “Where’s Adam?”

“He wasn’t hungry.” Marco sniffed the air and admired the food laid out on the table. “Oh, man. Cooper’s a liar. This looks amazing.”

He settled in at the dining table while Ava shot Cooper a questioning look. “Were you seriously talkin’ crap about my food before you’ve even tasted it?”

Joe was already seated and piling his plate high with chicken and potatoes. “Careful, boyo. A smart man never insults a lady’s cookin’.”

Cooper’s brows rose. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Just sit down and eat.” Ava scolded him before taking a seat herself. She spooned food onto her plate while Marco gave a groan of approval.

“Oh, yeah. This chicken’s awesome.”

“Thank you.” Ava smiled, cutting into a piece. “It was one of Mama’s recipes.”

Marco met Cooper’s gaze, a knowing look passing between them. Cooper cleared his throat before speaking. “Your father won’t be joining us?”

Ava pursed her lips. “I can’t make him eat,” she said simply, a hint of regret masked by the anger in her voice. “Just like I can’t make my brother eat, either. Seems I’m pretty damn useless these days. I can’t fill my mama’s shoes, no matter how hard I try.”

She threw up her hands, tears suddenly brimming in her eyes. Joe placed a hand on her forearm to comfort her.

“There now, dearie. No one expects ye to be anythin’ but yerself. Those two will come around, ye’ll see.”

She sniffed, embarrassed by her own rampant emotions. “I know. I’m just sick of worrying about them.”

“If it makes you feel better, your friend Brandy has been keeping an eye on Adam,” Marco chimed in, giving her a sympathetic smile. “He’s spending a lot of time over there, but she’s monitoring his drinking. I think he just needed time away from the house.”

“He’s not as strong as you are,” Cooper added, his eyes shifting to Joe. “Both of you.”

Ava nodded. “I think we’ll all feel better once we have closure.”

“Speaking of that, are ye any closer to catchin’ the bastard that done this to our girl?” Joe asked.

“The local PD has a lead. They’re keeping us posted,” Cooper told him, knowing it was partly a lie. He couldn’t say more than that without giving too much away.

Joe scowled and picked at the potatoes on his plate. “It’s a damn shame the first one they caught wasn’t our guy. I thought for sure this nightmare would be over by now.”

Ava reached for her grandfather’s hand. “It will be soon. I can feel it.”

ADAM WATCHED
Brandy explain the different flavors of Lucky Fox whiskey to a tourist at the bar, content to simply observe. Strands of her honey blonde hair kept falling over her face. Every time she tucked them back behind her ear, the charm bracelet she’d gotten from her grandparents one Christmas would slide down her arm, little metal trinkets clicking together in a soft rain of sound. Her blue eyes would occasionally venture to his and brighten in a way that warmed him from the inside out.

At some point she’d swapped his glass of bourbon for a cup of ice water, and he sipped it absently as he thought up ways to talk to her. Things he’d say, promises he’d make. She deserved the world, and he wanted nothing more than to give it to her.

The drink he had indulged in for most of the day gave him a slight boost in confidence. And, though he hated to admit it, the pesky FBI agent’s remark the day before about Brandy being hopelessly in love with him didn’t hurt, either. Not that he completely trusted that the agent knew what he was talking about. But once he looked for it, really looked for it, he thought he could see her love for him all over her face.

He’d screwed up the last time, he understood that now. Kissing her senseless in a drunken stupor and then pretending it meant nothing had hurt them both. Even if she had played along and claimed it didn’t matter, he knew better than to believe her excuses now.

The only thing holding him back was himself. He was a mess. A tornado of grief and rage and regret, and no matter how many days passed he wasn’t getting better.

What he wanted was something to hope for. Something to chase away the pain.

What he needed was Brandy.

He started to motion for her attention as she broke free of the tourist, but a man lowered onto the stool beside him and got to her first.

“I’ll take a Guinness, love.”

Brandy nodded and fetched his beer, popping the top off for him. “Here you are.” She glanced at Adam. “Doin’ okay, baby?”

Adam lifted his water cup with a half-smile. “Yeah. Thanks for the water, darlin’.”

“Don’t mention it.” She smiled and turned away.

The stranger beside Adam took a long pull on his beer, then set it down and began to peel off the label. Adam tried to nonchalantly study the man, having caught his Irish accent. It wasn’t often foreigners came around Fox Hills, and with the news of his father’s connection to the IRA, an Irishman in town was cause for alarm.

The man was a couple of years older than himself and though lanky, was lined with solid muscle and clothed in a black button up shirt and tailored jeans. His chestnut hair was cropped at the jawline and loosely slicked back from his face. From a quick study of his profile, Adam noticed a distinct crescent-shaped scar along the stranger’s cleft chin.

When the man turned and caught his eye, Adam looked away.

“Where I come from, men drink beer and whiskey in a bar. Not water,” the stranger said, a hint of humor easing the edge off his voice.

Adam shrugged. “Gotta sober up. If I go home drunk, I’ll be in trouble.”

The man faced him with a knowing grin. “Ah. The wife’ll have yer head, is it?”

“I’m not married,” Adam replied, though his eyes went briefly to Brandy before landing on the stranger. “My sister. She likes to run my life.”

“Sounds like ye got yerself a problem, mate.” The man lifted his beer in a sign of comradery, and Adam got his first real good look at his face. He didn’t look like a tourist. He had the edgy features of a conman, and the trickster’s grin to match it.

“You from Ireland?” Adam asked, suspicion churning low in his gut. He cast another look at Brandy, but noticed she was busy counting change back at the register. If all hell broke loose, he hoped she’d grab the shotgun he knew lay beneath the counter.

“Aye. Belfast.” The man stretched out his free hand, an eagerness flashing in his green eyes. “Name’s Killian.”

Adam accepted the handshake warily. “Adam.”

“Ye one of the Brannons, Adam?” Killian asked, releasing his hand.

Adam felt a chill race over his skin. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

Killian smiled again and sipped his beer. “Nice distillery ye got here. Decent whiskey.”

“Thanks.” Adam jostled the ice in his cup, his eyes narrowing. Down the bar, he noticed Brandy pull out her cell phone and slip into the back. He didn’t have time to wonder what she was up to when the Irishman spoke again.

“Name like Brannon, there must be some Irish in that blood of yers. Have ye ever been?”

“No,” Adam said flatly, though he caught himself before he told the man to take a hike. If this was, as he suspected, somehow tied to Ned and the IRA, then he needed to play it out until he got the truth. Since his FBI stalker had chosen to take the night off, he was on his own for this one. “But I hear good things. Green hills, good whiskey. Pots of gold and rainbows.”

Killian laughed. “Aye. It is that.”

“So what brings you to Kentucky?” Adam asked, trying to play it casual.

“Whiskey, of course.” Killian tossed back the last of his beer, set the bottle down. “And family business. But no time for that nonsense now. I’ll see ye around, mate.”

He tossed a twenty dollar bill on the bar and left. Adam frowned, wondering if he’d read the man all wrong. Just then Brandy came back behind the bar and went straight to him.

“I just called Ava to come get you,” she said, twisting a piece of blonde hair around her fingertip. “Don’t be mad. It’s just that guy was giving off some bad vibes and without Agent D’Amico here…”

Adam’s brows rose, even as his heart thumped at her words. So she’d been suspicious of the Irishman, too. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need my sister coming to my rescue.”

Brandy sighed, exasperation creasing her face. “I know, but that guy…there was something off about him.”

“I picked up on that, too,” Adam told her. He rubbed his chin. “Oh well. Odds are he’s just a tourist. If he wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it.”