Copper Creek: A Sawyer's Ferry Novel Read online

  Grabbing my bags, I pulled them carefully out of the trough where they’d been tossed haphazardly by some underpaid goon and set them down on the floor next to me. I was bent over, inspecting them for damage, when I felt someone grab me from behind.

  I spun, throwing my arms around Holden’s neck and hugging him tight. Gage stood beside him, and I half expected him to growl at me for manhandling his fiancé.

  “I’m so fucking excited you’re here,” Holden said as he released me.

  “That makes one of us,” I teased.

  Gage’s eyes swept past me and over to my Delsey Chalet champagne luggage set. “How many bags did you bring?”

  “Four. Plus my carry-on. And my laptop bag. And my other bag.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  “They tried to make me check this one, but I managed to squeeze it inside my laptop bag. I can only imagine what the mouth-breather in the high-vis vest would have done to her.” I held up the Versus Versace bag I’d gotten myself as a consolation gift when my one-year unemployment anniversary had come up. Spending hundreds of dollars on what amounted to a really nice handbag probably hadn’t been the most responsible thing to do, but what can I say? I shop when I’m depressed.

  “Did you pack everything you own?” Gage asked. “You know you’re only here for a few weeks, right?”

  “Hardly. And you never know what kind of couture crisis might pop up. So I’ve got Gia on standby to send me anything I might have forgotten.”

  “I can say with absolute certainty that Sawyer’s Ferry has never known a couture crisis.” I could tell Gage was holding back laughter. I opened my mouth to respond, but Holden cut me off.

  “Let’s get your stuff loaded into the truck,” Holden said. “And then we can figure out if you wanna head straight home or grab something to eat.”

  “That needs to be figured out? I flew all the way to this frozen wasteland to hang out with you. The least you could do is buy me a drink.”

  “The least I could do was pay for your ticket to come. Which I did,” he pointed out as he threw his arm around my shoulders. “But you’re right. We should celebrate.”

  “J’s?” I asked. I’d been hearing about that place for months, and while I didn’t hold my expectations all that high for a bar in a place like this, I was curious.

  “Definitely.”

  Barrett

  “Get your goddamn boots off my desk.” I glared at Mason, who unhurriedly rose to his feet as though standing had been his idea in the first place. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I was confirming the deliveries for this afternoon… You know, you could do with some sort of footstool. This chair is fucking uncomfortable. No wonder Lily left. And just in time too. You’ve been a cranky fucker for months.”

  I glared harder. “You about done?”

  “Complaining about your busted-ass chair, giving you shit for your attitude, or confirming the deliveries?”

  “All of the above,” I barked. I was about done with this conversation. I wanted him out of my office.

  “Yeah. Everything’s good to go.” Mason took two steps out from behind the desk and shot me a friendly grin. “You need anything else before I take off?”

  “No. Go on home. I got it from here.”

  “Don’t stay too late,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder as he passed. “You get friggin’ bitchy when you don’t get enough sleep.”

  With that, Mason was gone, and I was left alone. I exhaled with temporary relief. Mason was a decent guy, and on a good day, I enjoyed his company, but it’d been a long while since there’d been a good day.

  I should have made more of an effort to be a less cranky bastard. People didn’t quit jobs, they quit bosses, and losing Lily had been bad enough. I’d be in real shit if anyone else resigned. It wasn’t like Sawyer’s Ferry had a surplus of qualified laborers. In fact, my search to find Lily’s replacement highlighted just how difficult it was to find good employees.

  Sometimes, the headache of running my own company seemed like more trouble than it was worth. For the millionth time, my mind began to wander to how different my life would be if, once upon a time, I’d followed my head instead of my heart and made the move to California. I shut the thought down as quickly as it had surfaced. There was no sense in dwelling on the choices I’d made. It wouldn’t change anything.

  And besides, I’d have been miserable there. More miserable than I was in Alaska.

  Probably.

  I checked the smudged, handwritten list of deliveries and saw there was only one. Since it was local, it wouldn’t take long, and I might actually be home in time to eat dinner—albeit a late one—in front of the TV.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d rolled into my driveway before ten. I exhaled hard, briefly considering a vacation that would never happen, then grabbed my stuff and headed out.

  The cool night air wrapped itself around me, the scent of barley and hops replaced by the fresh bite of sea air. Gravel crunched beneath my heavy boots as I made my way to the truck, which Mason had already loaded with the three large metal kegs destined for Whisky J’s.

  I was one step closer to putting my feet up for the evening, so I climbed in and navigated toward the cluster of businesses that made up our small downtown core.

  The clock ticked over to eight as I pulled into the six-car lot. I was tired and I was hungry, but as much as I was looking forward to going home and putting my feet up, visiting with Jane was always one of the highlights of my week. She was good people—if not way too fucking chatty—and I knew I’d be there a few minutes at least. She was the older sister I never had, and even though our common interests were pretty much limited to craft beer, we seemed to understand each other anyhow.

  I loaded up the keg onto the dolly and rolled it out and down the ramp before hauling it inside, a feeling of gratitude running through me that the cold season was over. Deliveries were so much more pleasant when I didn’t have to drag shit through knee-deep snow or worse.

  It really was the small things in life…

  “Hey, Jane,” I shouted once I was inside, pausing beside the bar. “I got your delivery.”

  She emerged from the kitchen, a towel draped over her shoulder. “You waiting for an engraved invitation? You know where it goes.” She winked at me in case I hadn’t missed the teasing tone in her voice and stepped out of the way so I could wheel the heavy keg into the cooler to hook it up.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” I asked as I stood, dusting off my knees. “Since you’re one of the only places in town that serve liquor. Wouldn’t wanna piss you off.”

  “Damn straight. You’d have to move your base of operations outta town.”

  “No way that’s happening.”

  Jane laughed. She knew it had never been an option. Opening up shop in a larger city would make the day-to-day business a hell of a lot easier, being that they were much more accessible than Sawyer’s Ferry where the only way in or out was by plane or boat. But even with the extra considerations I needed to run my business in the small town, Sawyer’s Ferry was my home. There was nothing on earth that would convince me to leave.

  “Too bad too. Miranda loves living in Anchorage, and she’s still single.”

  We went through this same song and dance every time I made a delivery. “Miranda is not still single.”

  “Until there’s a ring on her finger, nothing’s set in stone… and even then…”

  “I think her boyfriend would have something to say about that.”

  “That boy is so clueless I don’t even know how he found her in the first place.” She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “You hungry?”

  I glanced over to see Bud absent from the line. Oscar was working instead, and I grinned, thinking a steak sandwich sounded so much better than microwaved takeout.

  “Starving. Steak sandwich?”

  “You got it. Go take a load off. I�
�ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

  I thanked her and tossed a nod to Oscar before I breezed out the kitchen doors into the main pub where the temperature was noticeably cooler. The place was empty other than a few couples and one small group. I nodded hello to everyone as I passed, sitting at a table near the bar to wait for my meal.

  It was the same table I always ate at when I came in, the comforting grip of familiarity especially strong here. I don’t know what it was about this place that always made me feel so welcome, if it was Jane or just the overall atmosphere. She’d been my first customer when I’d started my fledgling business, ordering out the entire batch of my first run, even though it had tasted like absolute horseshit. Most of it had ended up getting dumped, but it hadn’t stopped her from ordering just as much the next time around.

  But that was living in a small town. People knew each other. There were relationships and bonds forged just by being lucky enough to be born there, and I couldn’t be sure if I’d started up anywhere else in the state, if Copper Creek Brewing could have actually made a go of it.

  I liked it here. I knew pretty much everyone, and pretty much everyone knew me. Every year we seemed to pick up a transplant or two, and of course, a good portion of people left—some came back, some didn’t—but with only a few exceptions, there were no strangers in this town.

  The door opened and a gust of wind swept my napkin onto the floor. I picked it up, and as I straightened to set it on the table, I saw Gage walk in. Holden was right behind him, chatting animatedly with another man. Holden had moved here not long ago, and since then he’d made himself a fixture. Sometimes it was hard to believe he hadn’t grown up in Sawyer’s Ferry, he fit in so well.

  His friend, though, he definitely wasn’t from around here. Medium height and slender, he had curly brown hair that kind of swept to the side in a style that looked like it took some work and not a small amount of product to achieve. He had high-maintenance written all over him in a way I’d never seen in real life before.

  The gold glitter #NoFilter on the guy’s shirt glinted under the dim lights of the bar, and as he walked, his hips seemed to shift and sway from side to side. It was mesmerizing and confusing, and it should have seemed so out of place, but on him, for some reason, it didn’t.

  As they crossed the room, he turned the heads of everyone they passed. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Maybe he was used to being the center of attention. He certainly was now. I wasn’t the only one who watched as they sat down on the stools against the bar. He was weightless as he lowered himself onto the seat, like the force of gravity didn’t apply to him.

  He turned, his gaze locking with mine and cocked one eyebrow, then leaned in closer to Holden. I couldn’t hear what he’d said, but Holden looked over his shoulder at me and grinned.

  I couldn’t help but feel like I was the punchline to a joke.

  I was halfway to my feet when this weird feeling of foreboding came out of nowhere and smacked me upside the head. I second-guessed moving at all, but I pushed myself to stand and walked toward them.

  “Hey, Barrett, this is my friend Frankie. Frankie, Barrett.”

  His deep brown eyes locked with mine, and the way he looked at me, like he could see right through me, made me so fucking uncomfortable. He hadn’t even opened his fucking mouth, and I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about this guy that threw me sideways, and I couldn’t tell which way was up.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, after what had to have been an awkwardly long pause. He quirked a smile at me, and my skin prickled uncomfortably. “You’re just here visiting?”

  Frankie laughed. “I’m more of a hostage than a tourist, but yeah, visiting from New York.”

  I tossed a glance to Holden, who just shrugged like he didn’t know what the hell Frankie was talking about.

  “What can I get you, boys?” Jane asked, leaning over the bar the way she always did when taking drink orders.

  “You got any more of that IPA?” Gage asked.

  “Just dropped off a fresh keg,” I answered for her.

  “I’ll have a pint of that,” he said.

  “Same for me,” Holden said.

  I nodded, letting her know to make it three.

  “Is it too much to hope that you have some sort of Bellini? Pear ginger? Classic peach?” He sat up straighter. “Anything?”

  “Uh…” Jane shifted her gaze between the four of us. “We’ve got orange juice. And we might have a bottle of champagne left in the back, though I don’t know how old it is.”

  Frankie looked absolutely horrified.

  “The beer’s really good,” Holden offered. “Barrett makes it.”

  The smile he gave me bordered on a grimace. “Just wine, thanks.”

  “Sure,” Jane said, then turned away to grab the pint glasses from the counter behind her.

  “So, Barrett,” Frankie said, his gaze traveling up and down my body, his eyebrows lifting as he took me in. “You make beer. Not the most elegant choice, maybe, but unrefined can have all kinds of advantages…”

  “Order up!” Oscar’s voice carried out from the kitchen before I could respond. I wasn’t sure if I was reeling harder from the dig at my beer, or the fact that this guy was clearly, openly hitting on me.

  “That’s yours, sugar,” Jane said, clipping short my confusion. “You eating at the bar?”

  I gave myself a mental shake. “Nah. I’ll let them get back to it.” I turned to Frankie. “Enjoy your stay.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.” He waved his fingers at me, and I couldn’t fucking figure out if he was being sincere or condescending. I’d never considered myself stupid, but for some reason, big-city shit made me feel out of place. And even though Frankie should have been the fish out of water here, I felt like I was the one who was drowning.

  Frankie

  “When the hell did you learn to cook?” I sat across from Holden, stuffing my face with a second helping of the breakfast he’d made me. I’d been so ravenous since landing in Alaska, it was as though I hadn’t eaten in years. Maybe it was some primitive throwback to caveman times and I was unconsciously bulking up for the impending freeze—not that I’d ever been bulky in any way.

  It’d been three days since I’d arrived, and I’d spent a good portion of that time stuffing my face.

  “I’ve always been a good cook.”

  I shot him a disbelieving look.

  “Fine. It’s a mix.”

  I shrugged. “Still. Making blueberry pancakes. Pretty domestic.”

  “That’s why Gage decided to keep me around.”

  I paused dramatically. “For as long as you both shall live.”

  He beamed. “Yep. I need to get us married before he figures out I’m an annoying little shit.”

  “Trust me. He knows.” Holden glared at me, but I ignored him. “Have you picked a new wedding date?”

  An amused grin playing at his lips. “August twenty-third.”

  “Of next year?” I asked hopefully, already knowing the answer. I still thought he was nuts not to push everything back. What the hell was his rush, anyway?

  “Nope.”

  I glared at him. “We talked about this last night. And last week, but you don’t seem to be getting it through your head. It ain’t gonna happen, princess. There’s no way you can plan a wedding in two months. There just isn’t.”

  “If anyone can do it, you can.” Holden slid a cup of coffee toward me. “I have complete faith.”

  “Sweet-talking me, while appreciated and encouraged, won’t actually get you anywhere. You should have figured that out long before now.”

  “You’re not as tough as you think you are,” Holden countered, shooting me a knowing look I pretended to ignore.

  I opened my mouth to toss back something snarky when Gage strode into the room. With barely a glance in my direction, he walked over to Holden and pulled him close. I could hear the low “morning” as he spoke against Holden’s ear.
I stared down at my cup of coffee, the moment seeming a little too intimate for an audience, even though Gage was fully aware I was sitting in his kitchen.

  There was a little pang of something I couldn’t really put a name on. It wasn’t jealousy, though maybe a distant relative. What Holden and Gage had… that wasn’t something that came around all that often, if ever. Even now I wasn’t totally convinced they’d last. I hoped so, for Holden’s sake. He seemed really fucking happy, but I’d seen more marriages fall apart than I cared to name, and there was still time for the shit to really hit the fan.

  When I looked back up, Gage was at the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. He looked bright-eyed and well rested. Happy. He and Holden both did.

  “Did I miss anything important?” he asked, lifting the mug to take a sip.

  “I was just telling your husband-to-be that he’s delusional if he thinks you guys are getting married in August unless you’re willing to push it back by twelve months—twenty-four would be even better.”

  “And I was just telling Frankie that he’s underestimating his incredible event-planning abilities.” Holden shifted his attention to me. “You finished organizing that gala for my father when the party planner went into labor and popped out a kid two weeks before the event.”

  “Not the same thing,” I pointed out. “That was almost completely planned before I stepped in; I had the entirety of Manhattan from which to source my shit and a nearly unlimited budget. I don’t even know what kind of wedding you guys want.”

  “A nice one,” Gage supplied.

  I frowned. “How helpful.”

  “Something simple,” Holden said. “Nothing over-the-top. A nice venue—though it probably goes without saying, not a church.”

  “Because you’d burst into flames the minute you crossed the threshold?”

  He flipped me off. “Maybe something with outdoor and indoor space in case the weather doesn’t cooperate. Or we could do tents.”