Let’s do this.
14
Susie
About halfway to the distillery, the caffeine kicks in and I feel my senses sharpen. The pea-soup thick haze around my vision clears, and I find myself taking mental note of every bird that zips past our car. Braxton has taken the wheel, Ray shotgun, and I’m stuffed in the back with one of Ray’s best friends and groomsmen, the noble Sheriff Carson Colburn, a thick-shouldered man with an even thicker mustache. When I point out the birds, Colburn names them without missing a beat: the tuxedoed top of the Carolina chickadee, the red-bodied Carolina wren, and the mousy brown-headed nuthatch.
“We’re here,” Braxton announces as he shifts the truck into park.
Muddy Waters Distillery is built inside of a wooden barn with two twin copper vats standing like guards at the entrance. There’s a goat tied to one of the vats, and it chews lazily on the last patch of green grass underneath it.
“Howdy!” A woman waves to us from the door, wide smile stretched across her face. She wears a cowgirl hat and Muddy Waters Distillery shirt with the bottom tied in a knot underneath her breasts, never mind the chill in the air. “Which one of you is the man of the hour?”
Ray lifts his hand as we walk over. “Right here!”
“Whoo-ee! They always take the good ones off the market, don’t they?” She flings her arms around Ray and hugs him before giving Colburn the same treatment. “My name’s Alice. I’ll be giving y’all the tour of our little distillery here.”
“Braxton.” Braxton keeps the bouncy hostess at arm’s length and extends a hand instead. “We spoke over the phone.”
“Good to put the face to the voice—c’mon inside! Warm yourself up on our whiskey.”
She guides us inside and I hold back to walk beside Braxton. There is that devious look in his eyes again. “Let me guess—did you request the bustiest tour guide?” I ask under my breath.
“Had to get the boys thirsty,” Braxton comments.
I roll my eyes.
Alice leads us through the Muddy Waters merchandise—hats, shirts, mugs—and lines us up in front of a polished tasting bar. Bottles of whiskey and moonshine are stacked on the back wall next to the images of Carolina pride—race cars and fly-fishing and pictures of men with long grey beards that extend down to their belts. As Alice enthralls her captive audience with the history of each barrel, I step to the side and pore through my emails on my phone. The reception is crystal clear out here, and I seize my opportunity to send out a couple of time-sensitive emails, one to the baker and the other to the dress designer.
“Phone down. Mouth open.” I lift my eyes. Braxton stands in front of me, holding two tiny tasting glasses.
“I can’t,” I tell him. “I’m on duty.”
“This is official business. And I need your palate.”
“Well, sober-man-out, why don’t you ask one of the boys for their opinion?”
“You have better taste.” Those dark eyes meet mine.
I let out a light laugh and tuck my phone in my back pocket. “Okay,” I agree. “A small taste.”
Braxton hands one of the glasses to me. I tip it to my lips and take a small sip. The acidic taste of raw liquor hits the back of my throat harshly, and I screw up my nose.
“It tastes like a coin,” I tell him.
“Nickel or a penny?”
“There’s a difference?”
“Like tinfoil or copper?”
I think. “Copper.”
“You’re tasting the original stills.” He tosses the rest of the cup in the discard bucket and hands off another shot. “Try this one.”
A summery smell hits my nose as I put it to my mouth. I daintily sip this one and roll it on my tongue before taking a second taste.
“Well?” Braxton watches me expectantly.
“Better,” I say. “It tastes like peaches…a little less smoky.”
Braxton turns back to Alice. “We’ll reserve a barrel of the peach moonshine for the reception,” he tells her.
Ray and Colburn have three times as many empty tasting glasses in front of them. “Take this away from me,” Ray groans. “That moonshine is dangerous. Goes down like water.”
“You ain’t kidding,” Colburn laughs.
Braxton’s eyes flit over my head, and his expression changes. “Hold that thought.” He whisks past me toward the door. I see him greet someone, but I can’t see who it is at first—the postcard rack blocks the other’s body from view. Braxton smiles widely and goes in for a hug. I see red hair—it’s a woman, I know that for sure. He pulls her through the gift shop, his hand on her back, and I try to ward off this incomprehensible stab of jealousy.
When I see who it is, however, my heart plummets into my stomach.
“I thought I’d invite my plus one,” Braxton announces to our group. “I hope you don’t mind. You know each other, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Mandy says, a coy smirk on her lips as her eyes lock on Ray. “We know each other, all right.”
Mandy steps in and Ray pulls the girl into a hug. He looks like he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him, but he grins through it charmingly. “Hell, girl, good to see you here…c’mon.” Ray moves aside and motions her to the bar. “There’s plenty to go around.”
“A woman never turns down a drink.” Mandy winks and sidles up next to Ray.
Braxton steps back beside me like a shadow.
“Mandy,” I hiss. “Really?”
Braxton wears this most infuriating, cocky smirk. “We met when I went to pay for the wedding cake. You guys racked up quite the bill.”
I’m kicking myself now for mentioning Mandy to him last night. “I told you about Mandy in confidence,” I murmur. “Not so you could use her against me. You know she’s a ticking time bomb.”
“I told you from the start that I was tearing this wedding down,” Braxton says as he squints at me. “Don’t get mad at a wolf when he eats a sheep.”
“You’re not a wolf,” I scoff. “You’re just an ass. How did you get Mandy to be your plus one?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean did you use your…magic Braxton tongue?”
“Did I seduce her?”
“Your words.”
“No. Your words. And no, I didn’t seduce her. I simply told her the truth.”
“What’s that?”
“That, very soon, this engagement is going to fall apart. Ray should have someone there to pick up the pieces when it does.”
I turn my eyes away from Braxton’s annoying I-win smirk and watch Mandy instead. She’s matching the men shot for shot. When she laughs, she does it with her whole body, throwing her head back and leaning against Ray. This vulture is picking apart the carcass of the wedding before it’s even died.
I feel sick. “Give me that.” I swipe one of the tasting cups from Braxton and down it in a single swallow.
15
Susie