An Intimate Bargain

Three

The Craig Mountain Brewery was tucked in the mountains above the picturesque shores of Lake Patricia, an hour north of Lyndon City. Built of stone and mortar, around 1850, in the style of British castles, Craig Mountain had started life as a manor house for a British lord, a remittance man, a reprobate whose family had paid him handsomely to leave England and never return.

The brewery manager, Lucas Payton, shared the story of Lord Ashton with Zach while the two men made their way along the covered pathway that connected the original castle, which was now mostly offices, to the newer industrial complex housing the warehouse and brewery, with its tanks, filtration systems and bottling line.

“They say Ashton bribed a railroad official for information on the planned railway line,” Lucas continued, tone animated. “Whether the official didn’t know the real route, or he simply lied for reasons of his own, nobody ever found out. But he took the money and left the state, while Ashton built his house a hundred miles in the wrong direction.”

“You a history buff?” asked Zach.

Lucas had worked for DFB for three years now. The two men had met on several occasions when Lucas traveled to Houston for company meetings. But they’d always talked shop, and it had always been amongst a larger group of people.

“You know how it is,” Lucas answered, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “I’m an orphan. So I’ve adopted somebody’s else’s ancestors.”

“Never thought to do that,” said Zach. Interesting, though, choosing a family history based on interest and convenience instead of strict genealogy.

Like all DFB employees, Lucas had come through the foster care system. When Zach and Alex founded the company, they’d promised each other it would be for the benefit of orphans like themselves, people who had no families and few chances in life.

“You should prowl through the top floors of the castle sometime,” said Lucas, pulling open a door to the cinder-block warehouse. “There’s some absolutely fascinating stuff up there.”

“I’m not going to have time for that.” Zach stepped inside the cool, dim building, and the familiar tang of hops and malt hit his nostrils. Supplies were stacked twenty feet high on steel shelving, on either side of a wide aisle that bisected the big building. A forklift rumbled unseen in the distance, its backup alarm sounding intermittently with the whir of the tires and hydraulics.

“Going right back to the big city?” asked Lucas. “I suppose there’s not much to keep you here.”

“Not much,” Zach agreed, even as his mind slipped back to last night and the incredible encounter with Doll-Face.

When he woke up this morning, the sexy and mysterious woman had already slipped out, leaving him there alone. He’d told himself to let it go. She didn’t want to know him, and she sure hadn’t wanted him to know anything about her.

It was disappointing, and for a few seconds he’d been tempted to hang around town looking for her. But orphans learned one lesson very early in life. Anything good could be snatched away in a millisecond. It was probably better that it had happened fast this time. Something told him, given half a chance, he could have fallen dangerously hard for the beautiful, intelligent, engaging woman.

He came back to the present as Lucas started through the center of the warehouse.

“It’s not the renovation costs that’ll get you,” said Lucas, turning the conversation back to the reason for Zach’s visit. “And there’s plenty of room to expand out back toward the hillside.”

He pressed a red button on the wall, and a big overhead door clattered its way open. He pointed outside to the vast gravel parking lot, past two semitrailer trucks that were positioned for unloading. “We can build a new warehouse over there, free up some space for more production. The bottling plant and the brewery will have to stay put, but we’d have some options around the coolers and the fermenters.”

“If it’s not the renovation costs, what is it that’ll get me?” asked Zach, used to cutting directly to the chase.

“The water,” said Lucas.

“Something wrong with the water?”

“We’ve maxed out the water license. I asked around after your call on Friday, and it’s going to be tough, if not impossible, to get permission to increase our usage.”

This was very bad news. Zach frowned. “Why?”

“Moratorium on water-use licenses all across the region.”

The unique underground springwater of Craig Mountain was a key ingredient in the beer. The springwater was also the cornerstone of the marketing campaign for C Mountain Ale, the most popular brand in DFB’s iconic Red, White and Brew six-pack.

Red, White and Brew contained one beer from each of DFB’s six breweries, and it was taking their international markets by storm. Production was already on pace for the new orders at the other five breweries in Montana, California, Michigan, South Carolina and Texas, but Craig Mountain had to catch up.

“The water-rights battle has been going on for months. It’s the ranchers versus everyone else, and the ranchers are a very powerful lobby group.”

“We’re miles and miles from the nearest ranch.” Zach gestured through the big doorway. “How can our water use possibly impact them?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Lucas, shaking his head. “People have grazing rights nearby. There’ll be no new water licenses. No variances to existing water licenses. No temporary permits. Nothing until the new regulations are drafted and they go through the state legislature.”

Zach swore.

“You got that right.”

Zach smacked the heel of his hand against the doorjamb. He gritted his teeth. Then he straightened and squared his shoulders. “All right. Who do I talk to?”

“Beats the hell out of me. I do beer, not politics.”

“Well, who does politics?”

“You could try a lawyer. Someone local, maybe.”

Zach nodded. He supposed that was a logical place to start. “Who do you use locally?”

Lucas gave a shrug. “We’ve never had any legal problems.”

“Are there law firms in Lyndon?”

Or maybe he should fly back to Denver. If this moratorium thing was broader than the immediate Lyndon area, he might as well go to a big firm with plenty of capacity.

And his clock was ticking. If the Craig Mountain Brewery construction didn’t get started in the next couple of weeks, they’d end up with a shortage of C Mountain Ale, and they wouldn’t be able to fill their spring orders for Red, White and Brew. That would most certainly mean the downfall of DFB.

“There are definitely law firms in Lyndon.” Lucas answered the question. “Sole proprietorships mostly. And I don’t know if they’ve been involved in the issue. Honestly, if I was going for the greatest concentration of knowledge on this, I’d be going to the Ranchers Association.”

“Didn’t you just say they were on the other side?”

“I did.”

“So, then, that would be a foolish move.”

“Well.” Lucas scratched the back of his neck. “If you don’t want to go to the Ranchers Association, you can try Abigail Jacobs.”

“Who’s she?”

“The daughter of one of the ranching families. I was told she has an encyclopedia for a brain and a passion for the water-rights issue.”

“She’s still the enemy.”

“Maybe. Technically.”

“So she’s not going to help us.”

“You can always get creative. You don’t have to tell her exactly what you’re looking for. Just meet her and, I don’t know.” Lucas looked Zach up and down. “Tell her she’s pretty or something, take her out for dinner and a movie, then ask a lot of questions.”

“You want me to romance the information out of some unsuspecting woman?”

“If she’s a research geek, maybe she hasn’t had a date for a while.”

“Did we not give you an ethics quiz before we hired you?”

“I had a dysfunctional upbringing.”

“So did I, but I still have standards. I’m going with the lawyer.” The clock might be ticking, but Zach had absolutely no intention of lying to this Abigail Jacobs for his own ends.

The Jacobs ranch covered thousands of acres in the Lyndon Valley of western Colorado. As it had become more prosperous, Abigail’s grandfather, and then her father, had purchased more and more land. The main house was two stories high, with six bedrooms, overlooking the Lyndon River to the east. To the west the Rockies rose, their peaks jutting to the blue sky behind the three main barns, several horse corrals and a massive equipment garage.

Staff cottages and two low bunkhouses snaked along the riverbank, forming a semicircle around the big cookshack that welcomed cowboys and farmhands with wholesome food and pots of brewed coffee any time of the day or night. Born and raised here, Abigail knew there were many things to love about the Jacobs ranch, and she now spent her days reminding herself she could be happy here. She climbed the front stairs, the summer day’s sweat soaking through her T-shirt, dampening her hairline and wicking into the band of her Stetson. As she started across the porch, she heard male voices through the open living-room windows. The sun was slipping low in the hot August sky. The breeze had dropped to nothing. And a dozen horseflies buzzed a lazy patrol pattern beneath the shade of the peaked porch roof. She slapped her hat against her leg, brushed the excess dust from the front of her jeans, then checked her boot heels for mud.

The voices grew louder, more distinct. One was her brother Travis. The other was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“And you expect us to help?” Travis demanded.

“I could have lied,” the other voice returned reasonably. “But in the interest of-”

“Is that supposed to impress me? That you stopped short of lying?”

“I’m not looking to impress you.”

Wondering who her brother was arguing with, Abigail moved toward the door. In the week since she’d returned to the ranch, there’d been a steady stream of friends and neighbors stopping by, expressing their congratulations on Seth’s victory and inquiring about Abigail’s father, who was expected home from the Houston rehab center in the next few weeks.

“Lucky for you that you’re not,” scoffed Travis.

“I just want some information, and then I’ll be on my-”

“You’ll be on your way right now.”

“Not before I talk to Abigail.”

Abigail stopped short. Who was that?

“Abigail’s not here.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“I don’t think so.”

Well, whoever it was, he wasn’t going to have to wait long, and it was going to be a pretty short conversation. Abigail had a hot shower in her sights, followed by dinner and maybe a nice glass of Shiraz. Then she was falling directly into bed. She wasn’t exactly out of shape, but it had been several months since she’d done full-time ranch work, and her long shift on the oat field today had been exhausting.

“Nobody gets to Abby unless they go through me,” Travis stated.

From the entry hall, Abigail could picture her brother’s square shoulders, his wide stance, the hard line of his chin. He was endearingly, if unnecessarily, protective. She pushed down the door latch with her thumb and silently opened the door.

The unknown man’s voice came from around the corner, inside the big living room. “Craig Mountain’s new usage will be negligible in the scheme of things.”

“And what better way to set precedent?” Travis responded. “You’re the thin edge of the wedge.”

“I’m brewing beer, not setting precedent. It’s one little underground spring.”

“It’s still part of the aquifer.”

Abigail dropped her hat on a peg by the door and raked back her damp, dusty hair. Her ponytail was definitely the worse for wear. Then again, so were her dirty hands and her sweaty clothes. But she was back on the ranch now. And she wasn’t looking to impress anyone. So who cared?

During the local-water-rights hearings a few months ago, she’d listened to every argument in the book. It wouldn’t take her long to send this guy packing.

She rounded the corner. “Hey, Travis.”

Her brother scowled.

The broad-shouldered man in the expensive business suit pivoted to face her.

As he did, she went stock-still. Her stomach plummeted to her toes, while waves of sound roared in her ears. “Lucky?”

His dark eyes widened.

“Lucky what?” asked Travis, glancing from one to the other.

Abigail’s brain stumbled, and an exaggerated second slipped by. “Lucky I got here when I did,” she managed to say on a hollow laugh.

Where on earth had he come from? What was he doing standing here arguing with her brother?

Before she could formulate any kind of question, Lucky stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Zach Rainer. You must be Abigail. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mr. Rainer was just leaving,” Travis put in with finality.

“I own the Craig Mountain Brewery,” Zach continued, his voice betraying none of the recognition evident in his expression.

“I…uh…” Her throat closed over. “I’m Abigail,” she managed to rasp, giving his hand a perfunctory shake. The sizzle of his brief touch ricocheted up her arm.

“Then you’re the woman I’m here to see. I understand you have some expertise on the regional-water-rights issue.”

Travis stepped forward. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“I’d like to talk to Abigail.”

“But Abigail wouldn’t like to talk to you.”

“I think Abigail can speak for herself.” Lucky raised his brow.

She struggled to shake off the shock. So far, he was keeping their night a secret. Although she had to find out what he was up to, and quickly.

“It’s okay, Travis,” she said with a quick glance to her brother.

“No, it’s not okay. He doesn’t get to waltz in here and-”

“I’m not out to harm you.” Though Lucky was responding to Travis, he kept his gaze fixed on Abigail.

“You’re a liar,” said Travis.

Abigail agreed with her brother. Lucky’s being here couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. Had he set her up from the very beginning? A wave of disappointment and humiliation washed over her.

“I’m not lying,” said Lucky.

The odds were overwhelming that he was lying through his teeth, but one thing was sure, she needed to talk to him alone. Bad enough that she’d slept with him, but in the wee hours of the morning she’d also confessed embarrassing secrets. She’d told him how badly she wanted a career in business, that she didn’t want to work with her brother on the ranch. She’d said some things that, in retrospect, were downright disloyal.

“It’ll be fine,” she assured Travis in the calmest voice she could muster.

“You don’t need to be polite,” Travis pointed out. “This guy’s the enemy.”

Lucky heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m a grown woman.” Abigail was firm. “I think I can decide who to talk to.”

“Don’t start with me,” said Travis.

“Can we step outside?” asked Lucky, taking a step toward the door.

Travis barged between the two, facing Lucky, his back to Abigail. “Leave,” he commanded.

“Travis,” she said from between clenched teeth. “You have to back off.”

“No.”

“We’re only going to talk.”

He rounded on her. “I don’t understand. Why would you give this jerk the time of day?”

“I’m giving him five minutes.”

Travis spread his arms in obvious frustration. “I’ve already given him ten.”

Fine, Abigail was frustrated, too. When Travis got like this, there was no point in arguing with him. But she didn’t dare give in, not until she knew what Lucky was up to. She held her palms up in surrender and took a backward step, then another, and another.

When she was clear, she turned for the door, stomping her way outside, assuming Lucky-no, Zach-would have sense enough to follow. Her brother was a tough, intimidating man. But Zach seemed as if he could hold his own. And she was hoping against hope they were too civilized to engaged in a fistfight in the living room.

She banged her way through the front doorway, stomped across the porch, down onto the gravel driveway, taking a few steps out onto the turnaround. She pushed back her hair, acutely aware of her disheveled appearance.

She shouldn’t care. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. Zach had seen her at her best last week, dressed up for the party. Okay, so he’d also seen her naked. But she didn’t think she looked that bad naked.

Right now her shirt was wrinkled and covered in grit. She was pretty sure there were dust streaks marring her face. Her hair looked like something out of a horror flick. And she smelled like the rear end of a heifer.

“Abigail?” came Zach’s voice, followed by his swift footsteps crunching on the gravel.

She squared her shoulders and turned to face him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked shortly.

“I need your help.” He came to a halt a few feet away.

“No. I mean, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t get the distinction.”

“How did you find me? Did you know who I was all along?” She feared she already knew the answer, but she wanted him to admit it out loud.

“I didn’t find you. I didn’t even know who you were.”

“Right,” she scoffed. He had to have targeted her from minute one. She could only imagine he’d been laughing at her all night long.

“I didn’t know your name,” he insisted with remarkable sincerity. “I met Doll-Face. I liked Doll-Face.” He paused, and an emotion flicked through his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you tell me your name?”

“Apparently I didn’t need to.”

“I didn’t know your name,” he repeated. “It was only later I heard that Abigail Jacobs was the best person to help me with the water license. I put those two things together exactly two minutes ago.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Had she come across as completely stupid and gullible? What a depressing thought.

“Yes, I expect you to believe me.”

“I believed you were leaving town,” she challenged. “That was a week ago, Zach. You haven’t left town.”

“I told you I was passing through.”

“What kind of play on semantics is that?”

“I am passing through.”

“You set me up from the start.” There was no other explanation.

He spread his legs, firming his stance. “I did not know who you were that night.”

“Bull.”

“I didn’t. If I had…” He paused. “Hell, I don’t know what I would have done if I had. That night was pretty great.”

“You don’t get to talk about that night.” Not now, not ever.

“It doesn’t matter if I talk about it or not.” His gaze smoldered for a silent second, transmitting the unspoken message that he remembered it as well as she did.

“It’s nothing more than a blur to me,” she bluffed.

He eased closer. “You can’t lie worth a damn.”

“Yes, I can.” The protest was reflexive. She didn’t want to be a good liar, and his opinion meant nothing to her.

“I need your help, Doll-Face.”

She leaned in, pointing an index finger at his chest. “You can’t have my help.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can.” His tone was mild, but his eyes had gone hard as flint.

A cloud moved over the setting sun, cooling the air and darkening the world, while a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

“I saw your look of panic inside the house,” he finished.

“That wasn’t panic,” she lied again.

“You don’t want your brother to know about us,” Zach stated.

As if on cue, Travis appeared in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.

Abigail didn’t dare let Zach know he had the upper hand. “Believe me when I tell you, you don’t want my brothers to know about us.”

“I’ll take my chances with your brothers.”

Did she dare call his bluff? Was it a bluff? Was he willing to risk her brothers’ wrath over a water license? Her skin prickled and her heart rate doubled.

Okay, this might be the beginning of panic.

“I am certain,” he continued, voice lower, leaning ever so slightly toward her, “that you want to keep every damn thing we said and did that night a secret.”

She refused to answer.

“And that gives me a whole lot of bargaining power.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” she demanded.

“Yeah,” he admitted. Again, something flickered across his face. It could have been regret, but that seemed unlikely. “Sorry about that. But I’m in a hurry, and I need your brain.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” she demanded, arms reflexively crossing over her breasts.

“What joke?”

“That you’ve already had my body?”

“I never said that.”

“You thought it.”

“You’re paranoid.”

She swallowed convulsively, attempting to moisten her throat. “How can you do this to me?”

“I wish I had a choice.”

“You have a choice,” she rasped. “You can walk away right now and forget any of this ever happened.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Forget about today or forget about that night?”

“Go to hell.”

Zach didn’t flinch.

Travis stalked out onto the porch, and she knew he was about to intervene. He couldn’t break this up. Not yet. Not until she convinced Zach to go away and never come back.

“Follow me,” she told Zach, turning for the path that led to the river.

With a glance at Travis, Zach fell into step. “Is he going to let us leave?”

“Fifty-fifty,” she allowed, wondering the same thing herself.

They cut off the edge of the driveway, moving onto the narrower path, where willows would partially screen them from Travis’s view. She took a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, making sure her brother wasn’t following.

“It’s not like I’m asking you to knock over a bank,” said Zach.

“You’re asking me to betray my community.”

“Don’t be melodramatic. Nobody even has to know you’re helping me. It’ll be a secret.”

“So you can blackmail me with it later?” she challenged.

He gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“How is that ridiculous? You’re blackmailing me now.” Her voice came out more shrilly than she’d intended.

“There’s only one thing I want from you, Abby.”

“Don’t call me Abby.” That nickname was reserved for her family.

“I like it.”

“You don’t get to like it.”

His gaze stayed on her, while he obviously regrouped. “How can we make this work?”

“You can go away and never come back.”

“I’m definitely not going away. I need a variance on my water license. Nothing more, nothing less. Hundreds of jobs depend on it. And from everything I’ve learned in the last week, you’re the only person who can help.”

“I’ll email you my research,” she offered out of desperation.

“I need more than your research. I need to know who to ask, what to ask them, how to write the application and how to fight my way through the bureaucracy.”

“My brain is not for sale.”

“Yeah? Well, when it comes to my employees, my morals and values are open to the highest bidder.” Passion and determination moved into his tone. “Don’t push me, Abby. I’ll do anything, anything to keep them from losing their jobs.”

“If I help you set a precedent for varying a nonranching water license, my family’s cause gets set back by miles.”

“You’ll have to gain the ground back later.”

“You couldn’t care less about me, could you?”

He didn’t answer.

Then again, maybe he did. His silence said it all.

She clamped her jaw against her anger, realizing there was nothing left to say, no argument she could make that would change his mind. Zach had given her an impossible choice. She could be secretly disloyal, or blatantly disloyal.

If she was blatantly disloyal, there was no going back. If she secretly helped Zach, maybe, just maybe, the fallout would be manageable. At least she’d know the ins and outs of his strategy for getting around the water license. Maybe she could use that later, in some kind of political counterattack. Maybe.

“Well?” he prompted, and she knew her time was up.

“Fine,” she ground out, accepting that she was trapped. “I’ll do this for you. But if you ever dare tell my family anything-” she lifted her index finger, jabbing it against his chest “-and I mean anything about anything, I swear I will hunt you down and shoot you dead.”

“Not a word,” he vowed.

She paused, shaking off the sick feeling of disloyalty. “We can’t talk here.” And meeting in town was also a risk, with Seth and his staff all there.

“Come out to the brewery,” Zach suggested.

It wasn’t her first choice. But at least it was out of the way.

“It’ll take me a couple of days to pull things together,” she told him. “And I’ll need to come up with an excuse to leave the ranch.” She’d only just returned home to help Travis. It was going to take some fast talking to get away again. And she’d be leaving all the work to him. “I hate this.”

“I’m not crazy about it either.” Zach’s eyes unexpectedly softened. His lips parted. A breeze washed over them, rustling the leaves.

He reached out, grazing the top of her hand with his. “You know, I really wish we could-”

“Don’t,” she warned him, darting away, even as her pulse leaped at his light touch. “Don’t you dare try anything. I am not going to sleep with the man who’s blackmailing me.”

He dropped his hand. Then he blinked his expression back to neutral. He gave a sharp nod of acceptance. “Of course you’re not. The brewery, then. Thursday morning. Be there.”