Enemies on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 1)

“Oh you’ve given him a chance before. Did he come to your defense then? Or did he just take the that-a-boy pats on the back while you were shunned?”

“That was a long time ago. He’s grown up. I’ve grown up.” She resisted the urge to bang h

er head on the table in frustration. “I know a roll in the proverbial hay without benefit of a relationship is beyond the pale for you, but I know the score. Logan knows the score. It was hot, no-strings sex, and that’s it.” Yeah, sure it was.

Natalie pursed her lips and drained her lukewarm tea. “You two talked about this and agreed to it?”

Staring intently at the hand-painted flowers on her coffee mug, Miranda avoided her sister’s surely skeptical gaze. “Not in so many words.”

“Uh-huh.” Natalie stood up, took her dishes to the sink, and flipped on the water. “This isn’t going to blow up in your face at all.”

Like a four-year-old caught with her hand stuffed in the cookie jar, Miranda wanted to ignore the whole situation. “Will you just give me a ride to Fix ’Er Up so I can pick up my car without lecturing me the entire way?”

“Lecture?” Natalie turned and grinned. “I never lecture.”

The Fix ’Er Up Auto Repair and Body Shop sat a few miles outside of town on Highway Forty-Eight, a stucco monument to rebuilt carburetors and oil changes. Hud Bowden had gone straight from the Salvation High School football field to the garage bay right after graduation. Today, he had his head under the hood of a cherry red Ford Thunderbird. Miranda would have admired the view more, if it wasn’t for the fact that, even after a shower, she could still smell Logan’s woodsy cologne in her hair.

“Hey, Hud.”

The former linebacker straightened up, wiping away the black grime from his hands with a rag. He didn’t glare at Miranda and her sister, but his look wasn’t exactly welcoming either. “Sounds like you had an eventful evening last night.”

Her feet froze to the garage’s concrete floor, and her toes curled up in her ballet flats. “What do you mean?” She coughed to cover the embarrassed squeak in her voice.

“It’s not every day that someone in town makes the mayor blow his top and has her tires slashed.” He cocked his head. “Why, what did you think I meant?”

Oh, getting freaky in the yacht with your best friend. “That pretty much sums it up.” She resisted the urge to fan her heated cheeks.

Natalie shot her a told-you-so smirk. Sisters.

Hud stuffed the rag into his back pocket and jerked his head toward the next bay in the garage. “I’ve got your car up on the lift now. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it all finished. You and your sister can wait in the sitting area, if you’d like.”

She backpedaled at a fast clip toward the waiting room. “Will do. I really appreciate your help with my car.”

“No worries. Logan told me about your offer on the road. Tyrell is a real ass for reacting like he did. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

That stopped her cold. Hud’s grandfather had been the country sheriff and had spent a decade chasing after her father for illegally brewing moonshine in the back woods. Before her parents had retired to Mexico, they’d operated like the Bonnie and Clyde of bootleg white lightning in Hamilton County. Hud’s grandfather had caught her parents more than a time or two and thrown them in jail, giving them the criminal records that made it impossible for them to be involved directly with the Sweet Salvation Brewery. Like the rest of the town, Hud and his family expected the Sweet triplets to follow in their parents’ footsteps and treated the girls as mini-me criminals and outcasts. An apology from Hud was tantamount to a pardon. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve it, but she’d bet Logan had something to do with it.

“Thanks, Hud.” She swallowed past the tightness in her throat and followed Natalie into the spartan waiting room, populated by one couch, two plastic chairs, and a TV.

She flopped down on one end of the olive green pleather couch, and Natalie hunkered down on the other. Miranda’s phone vibrated in her purse. It took three rings before she found it at the bottom. Patilla the Hun’s name flashed on her caller ID.

Ignoring the warning sirens blaring in her head, she forced herself to smile as she answered. “Pat, good to hear from you,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the worry in her voice.

“Miranda, I’ll get straight to the point. After careful deliberations, Mr. DeBoer has decided that I’ll be overseeing your attempt to get Sweet Salvation Brewery up to snuff.”

She stood up, and her stomach hit her toes. Since she couldn’t reach through the phone and smack her immediate supervisor, she paced the eight-by-eight room. Pat had outflanked her deftly, completely, and without her ever having a clue because she was off the corporate grid in Salvation. Being out in the boondocks wasn’t an excuse. Her cubbie-mate had warned her that something was going on, but Miranda had been too distracted by the ins and outs of the brewery—not to mention fantasies about Logan’s hard abs—to protect her home turf. She might be winning the brewery battle, but she had a sinking feeling she was about to lose the war.

“I have to tell you,” Pat continued. “I’m looking over your latest report now, and I peg your chances of success as worse than a snowball’s chance in the desert during a 100-year drought.”

“That’s not true.” She fought to maintain an even tone.

“You’ve made progress on the operations standpoint, I’ll give you that, but you’re sucking wind on getting distribution channels.” He laughed a weasely little nasal chuckle. “I warned Mr. DeBoer nothing good would come from this. When I show him this report, he’ll have no choice but to agree.”

Her hands shook and the phone slid in her slick palm. “We’ve hit a few roadblocks when it comes to folks signing on the dotted line to carry the Sweet Salvation Brewery beer. But we have a solid number lined up for delivery after our next brew day in a few weeks, and I’m in the process of getting a meeting set up to talk with the manager of the Boot Scoot Boogie, one of the biggest venues in the region.”

“I don’t think you’re really grasping what’s on the line here, Miranda.” He sneered her name, emphasizing each syllable. “If you can’t get a big distributor lined up, this deal will fall apart, and so will your shot at a promotion. In fact, I’d have to talk to Mr. DeBoer about your position within the company. The economy isn’t what it used to be, and every department is tightening its belt, including us. Having you out of the office has shown just how well we operate without you.”

Her vision turned black, and blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the rest of his words. “Why are you doing this?”