They’d talk and joke and flirt, maybe kiss a little, maybe even cancel her reservation at Rose Cottages…
Whoa. She abruptly pulled back on that thought. She wrestled her imagination into submission as she navigated a series of potholes. Then she rounded a corner, and the massive stone castle of Craig Mountain rose in front of her. She rocked to a halt in the parking lot, fingers going white as she gripped the steering wheel.
The band had changed songs, belting out one about the winner losing it all. Abigail didn’t particularly feel like a winner, but the rest fit. Her pride had been battered and bruised, and if she dared let her anger slip out of place, her emotions felt a whole lot like heartache.
Zach greeted Abigail in the brewery’s reception area, which was once a foyer to the massive, stone castle. She was glaring at him, displeasure palpable in her flashing golden eyes. She wore torn, faded blue jeans, a powder-blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, the top button missing, and a pair of battered cowboy boots, with a gray backpack slung over one shoulder. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and her glossy auburn hair was pulled back in a plain ponytail. She couldn’t have telegraphed “don’t touch me” any louder if she’d shouted it from the highest tower.
He knew she thought he’d set her up. He hadn’t. But there was no way to make her believe it. Too bad. Because whatever it was that had attracted him that night wasn’t going away anytime soon. She could dress down all she liked. She was still off-the-charts sexy in his eyes.
“Good morning,” he offered.
“Morning,” she returned, stony faced.
“Thanks for coming.”
She scoffed and shrugged her shoulders. “Like I had a choice. Tell me what you need, and let’s get this over with.”
Zach couldn’t help a surreptitious glance at the receptionist stationed at the counter across the room, trying to gauge if she was within earshot. It seemed unlikely, but there was no point in taking chances.
“You want the tour first?” he asked Abigail, using an outstretched arm to direct her toward the main door.
Craig Mountain Brewery offered tours of the castle, the facilities and the grounds. According to Lucas, there were quite a few tourists willing to make the hour-long, scenic drive to visit a historic castle and sample Craig Mountain beer. At the last managers’ meeting in Houston, Zach and Alex had turned down Lucas’s proposal to put in a small restaurant. But Zach was now rethinking that decision.
“Why would I want a tour?” Abigail asked without moving.
“Because it’s interesting.”
She crossed her arms mulishly over her chest. “I’m not here to see the sights.”
In his peripheral vision, he saw the receptionist move to the far side of the cavernous room. Nice to know the staff were courteous.
“I need you to understand how we operate here. How else are you going to argue our case?”
“I’m not arguing your case. I’m giving you some information. What you do with it is entirely up to you.”
“That wasn’t our deal.”
“We don’t have a deal. We have a blackmail scheme.”
True enough. “You’re being melodramatic again.”
She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Then I can walk back out that door and not worry about any negative repercussions?”
“No, you can’t,” he admitted.
“I rest my case.”
“See, you’re good at this.”
She frowned. “You expect me to laugh?”
“I expect you to let me show you around Craig Mountain Brewery.” He gestured toward the door again.
She gave a hard, exaggerated sigh and hiked up the backpack. “If that’s what’ll get this over and done with.”
“That’s what’ll get this over and done with,” he confirmed.
She lifted her nose in the air, pivoted on those scuffed boots and marched for the door.
He couldn’t help watching her rear end as she walked away. The woman had the sexiest body he’d ever seen. He supposed that’s what happened when you combined natural beauty, fresh air and healthy living. The hot got hotter.
Abigail was scorching.
He followed her outside to where semicircular, stone steps led to a gravel parking lot. They were bordered by the castle lawns on the lake side and by forests of maples, aspens and evergreen trees stretching up the hill on the other. As August wound to a close, the barest hint of changing leaves had appeared. Beyond the tree line, the mountains turned to scrub and then craggy rock.
The expanse of green lawn stretched toward a rocky cliff that dropped to Lake Patricia. At the cliff’s edge was a massive statue of Lord Ashton, chest puffed out, sword drawn, perched on a magnificent charger that seemed to gallop toward the water.
Zach had to admit, if it wasn’t for the worry about DFB’s future and the discord with Abigail, he would have enjoyed his stay here. He’d taken a small but very comfortable suite on the third floor of the castle. He’d even poked his head up to the small, dusty, rotund turrets. Lucas was right, the castle was a treasure trove of memorabilia.
“That’s the statue of Lord Ashton,” Zach offered as an opening.
“Is he currently brewing beer?” Abigail tartly inquired.
“He is not.”
“Then I don’t need to know about him.” She rounded on Zach. “Can we move it along? Let’s stick to the things I need to know.”
Zach couldn’t really blame her for being testy. And blackmailing her wasn’t exactly his most admirable undertaking. But life was tough. You took your advantages where you could. And in a few days, she’d be finished with him, and she’d be back in the bosom of her family, doing the ranch job she hated, none the worse for wear.
Come to think of it. She should be grateful to him for giving her a reprieve from roping and riding and branding. He wondered if he’d be able to make her see it that way, or at least get her to admit that he wasn’t dragging her to the gallows. Helping Craig Mountain get a few thousand more gallons of water each day wasn’t going to fundamentally change anything, except the lives of Zach’s employees. And that would be for the good.
“The brewery’s down this path,” he offered, nodding the way.
She reluctantly fell into step beside him. “And I need to see it why?”
“We brew C Mountain Ale up here,” Zach began. “It’s Craig Mountain’s signature product, and its unique taste comes, in part, from the local, underground springwater.” They rounded a corner of the path, and the gray, industrial complex came into view. “Nationwide and worldwide, hundreds of microbreweries are going under in today’s economy. We’re in danger of joining them, except that we have one product that’s taking our national and international markets by storm. Our Red, White and Brew six-pack.”
“Red, White and Brew?”
“Very patriotic packaging. Consumers love it. It contains one beer from each of our breweries. They’re in six different states. All the other facilities can keep up with the increased demand. But we need to triple production of C Mountain Ale.”
“Why not replace C Mountain Ale with another beer?” she reasoned.
“Because it’s one of the most popular in the pack. When you find the X factor in the beer business, in any business, you don’t mess with it.”
“Find another water source. It’s water, Lucky. Water.”
“From where?” He stopped and gestured around them. “From the lake? The river? Surface water is vastly different in chemical composition. It would need a different treatment. The taste would change. And-and this is the most important point-I’d have to get the bloody water license to do that anyway.”
She didn’t seem to have an answer for that.
