Blame it on Texas: Lightning in a Bottle (Kindle Worlds) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Carolyn Brown. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Blame it on Texas remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Carolyn Brown, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Lightning in a Bottle

  A “Blame it on Texas” Kindle Worlds Novel

  By

  Gina Ardito

  The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Art by Elaina Lee of For the Muse Designs

  Dedication

  To Kevin Corrigan, with thanks for all the help and research on craft breweries and for not teasing me about my poor measurement skills. I’m thrilled to consider you part of our family!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 1

  Bo McKenzie stepped off the bus and onto the ground. A cloud of red dust erupted around her feet to cover her suede boots. The heat blasted her face with the force of a blow torch. This was an omen, a symbol of the coming Apocalypse.

  Turn around, girl. Go home. You don’t belong here.

  What the hell was she thinking, agreeing to open her new business in Texas, anyway? Already, she missed the hustle and bustle of New York City, the people rushing by, the ability to get an iced latte on any corner at any time of the day or night—the anonymity she didn’t truly enjoy until it was gone.

  The only thing she spotted rushing here was a rabbit that darted out in front of the bus wheels then second-guessed his decision and raced back to the brush, unscathed. Unlike that lucky rabbit, though, Bo hadn’t escaped New York without a whole lot of bumps and bruises.

  The bus door creaked shut, and the engine roared. Panic blared a red alert in her skull.

  Get out. Before it’s too late. You aren’t ready for this.

  She whirled to stop the driver from leaving her here—a second too late. On a puff of acrid black smoke, the bus pulled away from the Silverton station. A ton of self-doubt, gift-wrapped with a big ol’ ribbon of self-recrimination, sat on her shoulders, but she shifted on her feet to balance the invisible weight, as well as the weight of the hard-shell black satchel she carried in her left hand.

  Six months into this project, with only weeks ‘til the grand opening, was not the right time to second-guess herself. Maybe, if she’d taken a step back, thought about the events and the consequences when everything had first started to snowball, instead of pulling the trigger on her entire life…

  “Bo! Over here!”

  Her posture sagged with relief when she spotted the burly figure waving to her from across the dusty road. Thank God. A friendly face. Her second thought wasn’t quite as charitable. Where the hell is the car?

  “Mitch. Please tell me I don’t have to walk from here.”

  Her associate chuckled, his round and robust face turning ruddier in the excessive heat as he hurried across the street toward where she waited. “The car’s on the other side of the lot, air conditioning on high. I didn’t want the strong sun to warm up the interior again, so—”

  “You left the keys in it, engine running?” Of all the stupid…

  “Relax. It’s perfectly safe. This isn’t New York.” He reached for her satchel, but she shielded it with both arms.

  She glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Now, Bo, I know you don’t go in for all that chivalry stuff, but here, it’s expected that a gentleman will hold a lady’s burden.”

  Her exasperation erupted in an indelicate snort. “Lucky for you, I’m no lady. I’m a he-man with lady parts.”

  “Jeez-us.” His jaw dropped. “Did Rob say that?”

  The shock in his tone hurt her more than the insult had. Instead of replying, she kicked a rock in her path and watched it skitter a dusty trail to the curb. Did Mitch really think anyone who got a good look at her would see her as someone who required a man’s assistance? Years of cleaning tanks, schlepping water buckets, and hauling barley had given her the physique of an Amazonian war goddess. She topped Mitch by a good six inches and would probably stand out like a sunflower in a field of daisies when surrounded by delicate Texas ladies. No amount of men holding her belongings would change the optics.

  “It’s not true, you know. You’re every inch a lady. Rob was the monster, not you. Never you.”

  “Don’t.” The slightest softness right now would wilt her resolve. She needed to remain tough, prove she was up to this challenge. Since Mitch continued to give her sad puppy-dog eyes, though, she relented on a sigh and handed her case to him. “Fine. Be careful with this. My whole life is in here.” She had to stifle a laugh when he cried out and stumbled under the weight. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I keep forgetting how freakishly strong you are,” he grumbled. “For a lady.”

  Rather than take offense, she laughed and slapped him on the back, causing him to stumble again. She took his elbow to steady him. “Okay, fine, but let’s go. I want thirty minutes to prepare for the meeting before the lawyers get there. At this stage of the game, everything has to run smoother than polished glass.”

  They’d never take her seriously if she appeared before them wrung out or emotional. She needed to be cool, knowledgeable, and all-business. Her mobile laboratory, her recipes, and her certification from Berlin’s VLB Institute should take care of the knowledge and business parts. The cool would have to come from a steady blast of icy air conditioning during the car ride and a quick fix to her melting makeup in the rest room.

  Mitchell hefted her case against his belly with two hands and staggered down the street, duck-walking, while she had to shorten her strides so as not to get a mile ahead of him.

  “This is silly,” she said. “Let me take the bag.”

  “Unh-unh. Appearances are important here. Trust me.”

  Appearances? Who was around to judge? The gray and white birds resting on the awning over the bus station? There wasn’t another human anywhere else in sight. Maybe everyone remained indoors ‘til the sun went down since it was so damn hot. They strode past a storefront with a large window, a steel counter, and a sign advertising snow cones. The lure of a sweet frosty treat tempted her under the blazing sun, but with her luck, she’d wind up dripping cherry j
uice on her shirt or staining her lips blue—neither the professional look she hoped to present to her lawyers.

  Across the street stood an imposing, tan brick building of graceful columns and a sweeping stone staircase, advertising itself as the town hall. Still, Mitch kept walking, past a small general store and a beauty salon...

  “Where’d you park? Oklahoma?”

  He glanced left then right then left again. “No. It should be around here somewhere.”

  A ball of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. Two beat-up pickup trucks sat parked in front of a feed store. A rusted bicycle lay in a patch of dry grass. That summed up the various modes of transportation in sight. No sleek black car with engine running and fogged up windows waited for them. She stood stock still in the middle of the street, tossed her head back and groaned. “Dammit, Mitch, what are we supposed to do now?”

  He had the grace to look sheepish. “We could walk it.”

  “How far?”

  “About three miles.”

  “Three miles? In this heat? Are you insane? I’ve got…” She glanced at her men’s waterproof sports watch and noted the time. “…forty minutes before my meeting and a ton of things to review and prep before the bloodsuckers arrive.” She rotated slowly, scanning the few buildings around them. “I’ve got a better idea. You walk it—after you report the theft to the police. I suggest you start at that fancy-looking building over there. In the meantime, give me my bag so I can call a cab.”

  “Umm…” He lowered his head, his gaze staring at his feet. “There are no cabs here.”

  “No cabs?”

  This just kept getting better and better. Okay, don’t panic. Focus. You need this to go well. You can’t go off the deep end whenever something goes wrong. That’s what they expect you to do.

  For all she knew, her brothers had paid Mitch to lose the car, hoping to throw a monkey wrench into her plans. Practical jokers, the whole bunch of them, sometimes funny, but not always. Especially not today. Well, she wouldn’t let them win. She wasn’t about to let anyone get the better of her again. Not today, not ever. She took a deep breath for inner calm. Heat and dust clogged her lungs, and she coughed. When the tears dried in her eyes and she’d recovered the use of her throat, she yanked her case from Mitch’s grasp and strode with purpose toward the government building.

  “Bo? Where ya goin’?”

  “To find a ride. You should probably come with me so you can file a police report while we’re there.”

  As she strode over the rutted path, her heeled boots became a handicap she refused to acknowledge, twisting her ankles at near-impossible angles on the uneven surface. She didn’t care if she broke a bone. She had a meeting to get to and would risk just about anything to get there. Her entire future depended on it.

  At last, she reached the sidewalk and without a care if Mitch followed her or not, took the stairs two at a time to get to the circular door and the building’s interior. Inside, cool air kissed her skin, and she said a silent prayer of thanks for modern air conditioning.

  A uniformed guard who had to be close to seventy climbed off his chair behind the reception desk and hobbled toward her on arthritic limbs. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Umm, yeah, hi. I was hoping I could find the sheriff’s office in here somewhere?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Second door down that hall.” The septuagenarian security guard raised his chicken-wing arm and pointed to her left.

  “Thank you.” A glimmer of hope flickered in her brain, feeble but evident nonetheless, and she turned to walk in that direction.

  “You can leave that bag here, if you like,” he called after her.

  “Not on your life,” she muttered so he couldn’t hear. Aloud, she said, “Thanks, but I need to keep it with me.” All she had left in the world was in this case, and she wouldn’t let it out of her sight for a second. Besides, the weight would no doubt separate the old geezer’s shoulder from its socket.

  She expected an argument, but the guard shrugged and toddled back to the scarred wooden reception desk against the back wall. “Suit yerself.”

  Bo bit back a laugh. At home, she wouldn’t be allowed past the door with a case like hers. Clearly, Dorothy was not in a metropolis anymore.

  She headed down the hall and found the second door with “Sheriff” in bold black lettering and a gold star etched into the glass. Outside, she hesitated. Should she knock? Back in New York, she’d just walk into a police station. At least, she figured she could. She never had reason to walk into a police station.

  No, they’d come to her.

  Shoving that memory into the back of her brain with a growl, she pushed open the door with more force than necessary and tumbled into the room on the other side. Two men seated inside veered to stare at her sudden intrusion, slack-jawed. The one behind the desk got to his feet as she straightened and smoothed her hair with feigned cool aplomb.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  She took a minute to catch her breath before replying, “Umm…hi there. I’m in a bit of a jam and I’m hoping you can help me.”

  ****

  She was tall, her legs encased in baby blue denim that seemed to go on for miles, ending at a pair of blue suede boots that added an extra few inches to her extraordinary height. Above the jeans, she wore a white tank beneath a sheer red-and-blue-striped blouse, which was unbuttoned to her mid-section. Platinum blond hair framed an oval face with fern green eyes and lush, sooty lashes.

  Drew Garwood’s mouth went dry. If she wanted to be noticed, she’d succeeded admirably. She had his full attention. In her right hand, she held a large black boxy carrier of some sort, wider and deeper than a briefcase, but without the wheels of a standard suitcase.

  Well, well, well. What have we here? The foul mood he’d suffered through since Cooper’s phone call telling him they needed to talk about Wade’s latest antics lightened considerably.

  He got to his feet, ready to introduce himself to this golden goddess, but the sheriff beat him to the introductions. “Ma’am. I’m Sheriff Cooper Wilson. How can we be of service to you?”

  “You’re the sheriff?” She scanned his wardrobe with a dubious eye. Drew understood why. Cooper wore a blue flannel shirt and old blue jeans instead of his uniform.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m off-duty at the moment, but I assure you, I am the sheriff. What can I do for you?”

  “My idi—my assistant left our car running when he came to meet me at the bus station, and now, it’s gone.”

  “He left the keys in it?” Drew asked, incredulous.

  He bit back a smile when the woman’s vivid eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, then flattened again. An expert on body language, he understood what she didn’t say. Her need to defend her idiot assistant warred with her whole-hearted agreement that her assistant was, indeed, an idiot.

  “Car thefts don’t happen often here in the canyon,” Cooper remarked in an apologetic tone.

  True, Drew thought to himself, but most residents weren’t foolish enough to leave their keys in the ignition, either.

  “Probably the Patterson kids playing a prank,” the sheriff added. “Have a seat, and we’ll get this straightened out quick.”

  Drew headed toward the door, wondering if he should hang around, or if Cooper would toss him out, when her voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “No, wait. What I mean is, I’ll let my associate handle the details about the car. I have a more urgent matter I need help with.”

  “Okay, Miss…? Mrs…?”

  “Beau,” she replied, shifting the bag in her hand.

  “Mrs. Beau,” Cooper said.

  Her glare cut through anything else he planned to say. “Beau. Just Beau. Not Miss, or Mrs., or Ms., or anything else. Just plain Beau.”

  Drew bit back a grin. She sounded adamant, but the truth was there was nothing plain about her. She was fire and spice and iron, without a hint of vulnerability. No matter what her lips said about needing
the sheriff’s help, her posture said she kowtowed to no one.

  Cooper must have sensed the same vibe from her, because he held up his hands, nice and easy. “Okay, Beau. What is it we can do for you?”

  Her stormy expression cleared, and she raked a hand through the glorious mane of spun silver that cascaded to the middle of her back. Drew’s fingers itched to do the same, and he bet it would feel like silk.

  “God, you probably think I’m nuts,” she murmured.

  “Now, no one said that, Miss—Beau. We just want to help.” Cooper talked to her as if she had an incendiary device in her big, black case.

  Wait. Did she? He hadn’t thought of that.

  She sighed. “Look, Sheriff, I don’t have rabies, I didn’t just escape from the insane asylum, and I’m not on drugs, I swear. I’m overheated, desperate, and late for a meeting. My associate, Mitch Underhill, is probably in the hallway by now. He’s either headed here, or the unemployment office. Anything else is unacceptable, and he knows it.”

  Understanding dawned for Drew, and he relaxed. “Oh. You work for Mitch?”

  “No, Mitch works for me.” A smirk sharpened her overly generous, kissable mouth. Lord, he should’ve worn a parachute today. He was falling fast. “Maybe I should try introducing myself again. I’m Bo McKenzie, the owner of Empire Brewery.”

  Whoa. Drew did a double-take when he recognized the name. Not Beau. Bo. “You’re Bo McKenzie?” At her nod, he let out a low whistle. “Beg pardon, miss, but we were expecting a man.”

  “So were my dad and four brothers. Guess you’re all doomed to disappointment.”

  Quick wit. Put another tick on her scorecard in the yes column.

  “What I need right now is a ride to the brewery. You gentlemen obviously know where it is.” They both nodded. “Would one of you be kind enough to drive me there? I’ll gladly pay you for the inconvenience. I’ve got a very important meeting in a little more than thirty minutes, and I don’t want to be late.”