Feisty Red: Three Chicks Brewery #2 Read online

  His brows drew together as emotion filled those breathtaking eyes. “I know it will. Because one day we’ll get married and I’ll give you the life you’ve always wanted. Make you the happiest girl in the world.”

  “I already am the happiest girl,” she said.

  The heartbreak faded with his warm smile. “Yeah, but you’d also really like the wedding and the dress and all that girly shit.”

  “You’re right,” she said, lifting up her head until she brought her mouth close to his. “I would like all that girly shit.”

  This time, she kissed him, and she wouldn’t let him pull away when he groaned again.

  A car door slamming brought Clara’s attention back to the work in front of her. She blinked, surprised to find tears on her face. Before Sullivan’s mother died, everything had been easy between them, simpler, with a whole world ahead of them. Back then, Sullivan was different. She’d been different. More carefree and not so guarded. She missed that old version of herself.

  Her office door burst open. She was unsurprised when Amelia and Maisie strode in. She’d called them a half hour ago. “I’ve got good news and bad,” she announced, getting right to the point of the meeting. “What do you want first?”

  “The good,” said Maisie, taking a seat on the tufted chair in the corner by the window.

  Amelia sat on the armrest. “Yup, always the good first.”

  Clara took a big, deep breath, steadying herself before addressing them again. “This morning, two other distributors reached out with offers to represent us.”

  “No shit?” Amelia asked, eyes huge.

  Clara nodded. “True.”

  “Wow,” Maisie said with a bright smile. “That is amazing news.”

  “It’s the exact news we’ve been waiting for,” Clara agreed. “But that said, the terms are terrible.”

  Maisie’s smile fell. “That’s the bad news, then?”

  “Exactly,” Clara confirmed. She pushed away from her desk and rubbed her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara. “Ronnie sent over his terms too.” When she dropped her hands, she glanced between her sisters and added, “All of the contracts definitely benefit the distributors more than us and give them far more control than I’d like.”

  “We definitely don’t want that,” Amelia said. “This is our company. Our beer. Pops’ beer.”

  “Hell yeah,” Maisie agreed. “What can we do now?”

  “It’s simple,” Clara explained, rising and moving to the window, looking out at that big tree again. “We need leverage to lessen their profit margin. All three companies have offered us a 28 percent profit margin for the distributors’ share, which would give us seventy-two percent of the profit. We need to get that number closer to twenty-five or less so we end up with seventy-five percent of the profit.”

  From behind Clara, Maisie asked, “Okay, ignoring profit margins, do any of the distributors stand out?”

  Clara turned back around. “Ronnie’s looking like our best shot. His company knows how to sell craft beer. They made Moose Ridge huge in a very short time. They’ve got everything we need, including a brand manager responsible for Foxy Diva’s product line. Most importantly, they’re financially strong and growing.”

  “But the profit margin?” Amelia asked.

  “But the profit margin is a problem,” Clara agreed, moving around to sit on the edge of her desk. She folded her arms and told it to her sisters straight. “I don’t want to rush this and accept whatever deal they throw at us. We need a better offer, but we need leverage to ask for a better one.”

  Maisie nibbled her lip then asked, “All right, how do we do that?”

  “And there lies the problem,” Clara said, dead serious. “Do either of you have any ideas?”

  “Oh, this is bad,” Amelia said, the color draining from her face. “You always have ideas.”

  “Don’t faint on me,” Clara said with a soft laugh. “We’ve got this. Something will come to me. It always does. We just need to think bigger. We need more buzz, more exposure, more reasons that will have these distributors fighting over us. The offers all expire in a month, so we’ve got time to turn this around in our favor.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Maisie said.

  Clara agreed with a nod as the alarm on her cell phone beeped. She headed back around her desk and turned it off. “I need to grab Mason from school, but let’s think on this. We need to push ahead. We need to make this work for all of us.” Even if Maisie agreed to a lesser share of profit now that she only did graphic design for the company, they all needed this company to succeed. “This is it, our one chance to take our little company and make it big.” She moved to the door and looked back at her sisters. “Until we get what we want, we can’t stop. Got it?”

  “Got it,” her sisters said in unison.

  Clara took a step out the door when Maisie added, “But you’re going to think of something, right? I mean, this is your wheelhouse Clara, not ours.”

  Clara smiled back at her. “I’ll come up with something brilliant. I promise.”

  Late into the morning, Sullivan arrived at the office of Dr. Elizabeth Stevens. Determined to deal with his past and be a better man by the time he left River Rock and to leave all his trauma there, behind him, he figured a therapist was his best way forward. The office was located in an old Victorian home a block off Main Street. He climbed the porch steps, opened the front door, and was greeted by a surprise. Working behind the desk was Gloria Winters, the mother of a player from his old baseball team.

  “Sullivan Keene, as I live and breathe,” she said, her wise brown eyes just as he remembered them. “My goodness, it’s so nice to see you.”

  Sullivan shut the door behind him. “You as well, Mrs. Winters. How’s Kenny doing?”

  She grabbed a picture off her desk, flipped it around, and showed him Kenny with his wife and three young children. “He’s a busy family man now, not playing much baseball these days. But he’s got my oldest grandson playing local tee-ball.”

  “Good stuff,” Sullivan said.

  Before he could even sit down, the door next to Mrs. Winters’ desk opened. Dr. Elizabeth Stevens was younger than he was expecting, but still older than him. He guessed mid-to-late forties, with shoulder-length brown hair that was lighter on the ends and hazel eyes that seemed far too clever for her years. “Mr. Keene, please come on in.” Elizabeth moved aside for Sullivan to enter the room consisting of a large desk with a computer and telephone, along with a seating area.

  Sullivan waited for her to close the door, feeling ready to climb out of his skin. “Listen, Doc, I’m new to all this.”

  “That’s all right,” Elizabeth said with a gentle smile, moving to the far seat next to the beige leather sofa. She picked up her notepad and then kindly but firmly pointed to the couch. “Please take a seat, Mr. Keene. I’m here to listen. It’s really as simple as that.”

  He took his seat, forcing himself not to fidget as they shared quick niceties. Then a beat passed. Her stare was patient and calm and intrusive. They stayed that way for a good minute until the silence became dauntingly heavy. “I have no idea where to start,” he admitted.

  Elizabeth’s trusting eyes warmed. “Why don’t you tell me about why you decided to move away from River Rock?”

  Sullivan considered her carefully, even if everything told him to look away. Small towns had a way of spreading gossip at hyper speed. A few talks with the local mothers around town, and Elizabeth had likely heard his history. He just hoped she had a code of conduct and didn’t talk about her clients. “You haven’t already heard about me?”

  She held his gaze. “The story from your mouth is the only one I care about.”

  Her answer gave immediate comfort, and he felt his muscles slowly relax. “Why do you want to know about why I decided to move away?” he asked, honestly curious.

  No emotion showed on her face. “I figured it’s a good place to start, but feel free to begin wherever you feel more c
omfortable.”

  Either her intuition was spot on, or his former concern about gossip was true. He drew in a deep breath, wondering what would be an easier place to start. As he glanced to the window behind her desk, his mind drifted to a long-ago memory.

  The sun was just beginning to set as Sullivan walked toward his house. He left his bicycle in the front yard long-past needing mowing. Two days ago, he’d turned twenty-one, and on his birthday, a day after graduating from the University of Denver on a full baseball scholarship, a scout had approached him. He hadn’t been home for years now, staying with the local police chief and his son, Hayes, but he figured the news needed to be shared in person. Part of him hoped the good news would bring back a glimpse of the father Sullivan had once loved, the man who’d been at every game, cheering him on.

  The house his mother had once loved was unrecognizable now. Her beloved gardens were dead, weeds overrunning everything. He headed up the porch steps and knocked on the door. “Dad?” he called.

  A loud bang followed by a few more echoed in the house before the door whisked open. His father stumbled into the doorway, and Sullivan had to brace himself against the shock. He barely recognized this man. His father had to have lost fifty pounds, and his face was sunken in and hollow. He smelled like rotten tequila and had dirt covering his hands and face. His brown hair was greasy and long, and his once-brown eyes now looked nearly gray and lost. So damn lost. A quick look inside the house, and Sullivan spotted glass on the floor, the smashed family pictures in the hallway.

  “Why don’t you fucking listen?” his father roared, snapping Sullivan’s gaze up. “I told you to stop coming here. You’re not fucking welcome.” Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth.

  Sullivan knew why. He took after his mother’s side of the family, and he suspected when his father looked at him, he saw a painful reminder of all he’d lost. “I’ve got some good news—”

  “Get off my property.”

  Sullivan took a step forward. “Dad, I—”

  “You never fucking listen.”

  His father lunged then, and completely caught off guard, Sullivan took a direct punch right under his eye. He went soaring back to land on the grass below the porch steps, feeling the blood flowing down his face.

  “Was that the first time your father hit you?”

  Sullivan blinked, yanking himself out of that dark time in his life. He didn’t realize he’d spoken the story out loud. He rubbed his arms, trying to fight the chill. “No, but it was the last.”

  Elizabeth gave a soft, sympathetic smile.

  He forced himself to continue, and it all flowed easily. They talked more about that day, about his mother’s death, and more about the abusive man his father became. Each minute felt longer than the one before it, and when he finally got to leave, he’d nearly gulped at the air outside.

  As he walked to his car, his head started to pound, and he kept thinking he should feel something, but all there was in his chest was emptiness. He’d left his truck parked at the curb and walked downtown. People were everywhere, shopping and enjoying the day, but Sullivan couldn’t shake the haunting darkness shadowing him. He stopped at the local coffee shop; Hot Brew and Eats, the signage read. The shop definitely hadn’t been there when Sullivan lived there. It used to be a breakfast hotspot, but they’d kept the old retro-style booths, refinishing the seats in brown leather instead of the red he remembered. He made it to the counter, where a young brunette stood wearing all black with a black apron. Her eyes went huge when she saw him, indicating she watched baseball.

  “Hi!” she said, excitedly. “Um, what can I get you?”

  “Coffee with cream,” he said.

  “Sure, coming right up.” She blushed, then hurried to process his payment. As she did so, a couple of women entered the shop, behind him.

  “We’ve got ten minutes before school is out.”

  “We’ll make it,” the other woman said. “Besides, I need caffeine if I’m going to get through the meeting with the principal.”

  “Girl, you’ve got this. Get your Mama Bear claws ready.”

  Sullivan smiled to himself at their conversation, and he glanced down at his watch. Three o’clock in the afternoon. He remembered when his mother watched over him like that, when she would meet him at the elementary school to walk him home, and sometimes have baked cookies waiting for him. He missed those moments with her.

  “Here’s your coffee.”

  Sullivan jerked his gaze up, finding the young woman offering him the paper cup. “Thanks.”

  She blushed again and held up her cell phone. “Can I get a photo? No one will believe me when I tell them I met you.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” he said with a smile, angling his body to get closer to her over the counter.

  After she snapped her photo, he said his goodbyes, smiled at the confused women who obviously wondered who he was, and left the coffee shop. He planned to go left and head back to his rented truck. Instead, his feet had him moving right while he sipped his coffee. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to make eye contact. Fame came with the job; he never minded it. Hell, he liked the kids. He just didn’t think they should look up to him. Many of his teammates had it all together, wife, kids, the perfect modern-day family. Sullivan felt stuck in a Groundhog Day scenario where he carried on numbly, feeling nothing, until all of a sudden, he felt everything. It never ended well.

  Eventually, he ended up at River Rock’s Elementary School. The old schoolhouse with the large silver bell above the door had only a hundred or so students a year. Last night, Sullivan thought about packing his bags and getting far away from this town—from the nagging feeling that Clara’s one-night stand story didn’t add up. Even as he waited by the light post, sipping his coffee, he knew he should leave. What if her story seemed off because this kid was his? What was he going to do about it? Be a dad? The thought was damn near laughable. He was failing at keeping his own life together and his anger in check. But there he was, at the schoolhouse, waiting for…he wasn’t quite sure.

  People passed by him on the sidewalk, moms and dads picking up their laughing and smiling children. But when Sullivan spotted Clara parking and then exiting her practical sedan, a car he couldn’t even imagine her owning, his feet remained rooted to the spot. She’d always been responsible and had a good head on her shoulders, but she hadn’t been uptight or practical. She moved closer to the school, a huge smile on her face, the noise of the children near deafening. Sullivan scanned over every little face until he stopped at one, and he felt the ground drop from under him. The boy had light brown hair, a shade Sullivan recognized because the same color was on his own head. He saw a blur of jeans and a red backpack as the boy ran into Clara’s arms and she squeezed him tight.

  Time slowed. Sullivan had seen that smile on her face before. She used to smile at him that way. But then she caught sight of him, and she straightened up, her pretty eyes instantly becoming guarded, her smile disappearing.

  Walk away now. He repeated it in his mind again and again, but his feet decided otherwise. He took the final steps to reach Clara and Mason then went down to his knees, feeling like the air had been sucked right out of his chest.

  Mason watched him closely then his eyes slowly widened. “Whoa, you’re Sully.” He blinked. “And look, our eyes are the same.”

  Sullivan breathed past the tightness invading his chest. Now closer, Sullivan swore he was looking into his mother’s eyes. Same shape. Exact same color, a little lighter than his. “Yeah, little man, they sure are.” He glanced up at the woman who owed him answers. One look at Clara’s face was all Sullivan needed as she wrapped her arms around Mason, drawing him back into her safe hold. Damn. The world shook beneath him when he saw her expression. Something he’d never seen on her face when they were together. Distrust. Caution. Sullivan knew then. Clara perceived him as a threat to Mason.

  Sullivan had failed at many things, but this, there was no failure worse than seeing C
lara feeling like she needed to protect the kid—his kid—from him. Hot anger pulsed through his veins, and crippling shame coursed through him until he couldn’t even identify how he felt about this. “Care to explain?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

  Clara sighed then kissed the top of Mason’s head. “Come to the house tonight at seven thirty.”

  “Why not now?” Sullivan barely held onto his composure, rising again.

  She rubbed her hand through Mason’s hair, making him laugh. “Because this little guy needs dinner and a bath before bed.”

  Right. A routine. “All right, seven thirty it is.”

  Clara gave him a nod then turned to Mason and clearly forced a smile. “Say goodbye to Sullivan.”

  “Bye,” he said and then whirled around, booking it to the car.

  Clara followed like a bomb hadn’t been dropped on Sullivan’s life.

  5

  Most days, Clara knew exactly how her day would go from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to bed. She had a schedule. A plan. Life never really changed much. But all her years spent worrying were finally coming to a head, and her worst fears were coming true. Her structured life was about to be blown to pieces…. Because Sullivan knew. She had no idea how he found out, or if it was a coincidence that he was walking by the school. Truth was, it didn’t matter how he knew, only that her secret had come out. Clara could only sit with bated breath, hoping—praying—that Mason stayed safe through all of this and that Sullivan wouldn’t insert himself in their son’s life only to vanish without a word. As she watched a freshly bathed Mason jump into his single bed with the quilt made of patchwork in his room with pictures of baseball players on the walls, the ground felt unstable beneath her feet.

  When Mason settled his damp hair against the pillow, he asked, “Mommy, how do you know Sully?”

  “His name is Sullivan,” she said, pulling the blankets up to Mason’s chest.

  “Yeah, Sullian.”

  “It’s Sulli-v-an, sweetie,” Clara said with a laugh. “You’re missing the ‘v,’ and he’s mommy’s old friend.”