Enemies on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 1)

The muscles in his shoulders tensed up. And so the lecture on propriety and maintaining the family name began. They’d been having this conversation on a weekly basis since his father had gotten back on the wagon almost ten years ago—right in time for all the gossip after his one night with Miranda. Best to cut the old man off at the pass before he really got going.

“Yep.” Logan scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs while still staring at the way Miranda’s blue eyes lit up each time she smiled at Ruby Sue. What would it be like to have her look at him like that again? A spark of unwanted jealousy skittered down his spine. “I turned her down.”

His father snapped his fingers. “Earth to Logan.”

He blinked and turned his attention to the man sitting across the table from him. Something more than a little bit ugly burned in his father’s eyes. “Don’t let a pretty bit of fluff make you lose focus. Her people have always been trouble, and she’s no different.”

But she was trouble, and that was what made her so damned interesting.

“I’m like a laser beam, Dad.” He shoveled the eggs into his mouth, chewing them with the force of a lion tearing out a gazelle’s throat.

“Good. The faster you get her out of town, the better.”

“All we need to do is wait her out, Dad.” The way the old guard in town carried on, he’d almost believe Miranda carried the plague with her. For him, it wasn’t personal. It was business. That meant taking risks, sure, but measured risks. He was a betting man, but he wasn’t a fool.

“No. I’ve spent years watching how the Sweet family operates. You think they’re just buffoons, but they have a cockroach’s ability to survive just about anything.” The old man leaned forward, the fork jutting from his white-knuckled grip like a weapon. “Get her gone. Now.”

“Dad—”

“If you don’t, I don’t think I’ll be able to trust your judgment enough to retire at the end of the year as we’d planned.” He glanced down and his eyes widened as if he didn’t realize he’d nearly bent the fork with his ferociousness. With exacting care, he placed it on his now empty plate. “I’m just not sure you’re ready for the responsibility that comes with running the Martin Bank and Trust.”

“Are you trying to blackmail your own son?” He bit the words out in an angry whisper.

His father shrugged dismissively. “Call it what you want, but I’ll follow through. I’ll stay at that desk until they cart my dead body out, and I’ll leave my shares to be distributed to the board of directors, not you.”

Larry Martin had been dangling retirement in front of Logan since he first came home from college. When the doctor told his father to cut back on work or else, the old curmudgeon had finally stepped back. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to his father—no matter how much of a giant pain in the ass he was—but it was past time Logan took over the family business.

“Well, if the doctor’s right, that won’t be long if you don’t start taking care of yourself. Years of hard drinking take their toll.”

“I’m a stubborn son of a bitch.” He smiled, but the gesture was anything but fatherly. “You really want to take that bet?”

Miranda sat down at the counter next to Harold “Red” Gaines, who just happened to be in charge of all the county road projects. She’d been waiting all morning for Ruby Sue’s call saying he’d shown up for The Kitchen Sink’s Saturday brunch. It was the perfect spot to plea her case for fixing the pothole-laden country road leading to the Sweet Salvation Brewery. The guys who brought everything from bottles to barley had threatened to halt their deliveries if it didn’t get corrected soon. If it wasn’t the hops, it was the road. If it wasn’t the road, she was scared to contemplate what would happen next. A plague of locusts didn’t seem out of the realm of possibilities.

“Heyya, Red.” She hopped up onto the seat next to him and picked up the menu like it was any ordinary Saturday.

He tipped his Salvation High School football Saints baseball cap. “Miranda.”

He didn’t smile, but he didn’t shoo her off, either. That had to be positive. Right? Her stomach gurgled. Okay, time to go all in.

Swiveling her chair, she turned until she faced him. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”

“Sorry.” His namesake’s color rushed up his throat. “I meant to return your calls.”

“Not a problem. I know how busy this time of year can be.” Since grabbing him by the collar and shaking him until he did what she wanted wasn’t an option, she gave her most indulgent smile. “I wanted to chat about the road leading to the brewery. I understand it’s been on the repaving list for the last five years, but it never gets done.”

He folded his napkin over and over until it formed a tiny triangle. “That happens.”

“I’m sure it does.” She put her hands close to the counter and lifted her pointer fingers and thumbs to form a mini-goal post. “But there’s going to be a lot more traffic on that road soon what with additional delivery trucks, supplies coming in, and people going on brewery tours.”

“Uh-huh.” Red flicked the paper football, sending it sailing through her fingers.

She picked up the triangle and handed it back to him. “I’m hoping you can make sure the road doesn’t get skipped again this year when it comes to repaving.”

He gave her a half grin and a nod. “Let me see what we can—”

“Red, how’s the kids?” Logan elbowed his way in between them, leaning on the counter with his back to her.

Miranda’s blood pressure spiked as she got an up-close and personal view of the cowlick in the back of Logan’s mahogany hair and his still-worth-mooning-over ass brushed against her knees, making her legs tingle from angle to hip. Damn the man and her own mutinous body for reacting to being this near the jerk.