1 The Eye of the Storm "SIRI, I HAVE NOT ARRIVED!" GRACE GORDON TUCKED A lock of her windblown blond hair behind her ear and sighed. "This is getting super annoying." She held the phone close to her mouth and spoke slowly and clearly, "Walking on Sunshine Bistro at Mayfield Marina, Cricket Creek, Kentucky." "The destination is on your left. You have arrived." "No! A big red building is on my left! There isn't a bistro or marina in sight." With her free hand, Grace gripped the steering wheel of her rented convertible and teetered on tears of frustration. "You suck," she said to Siri, but then winced. "Sorry," she said quickly, and then remembered that she was talking to a computer-generated voice. But still, no need to be rude. "No need to be sorry," Siri assured her. "Okay, that was a little creepy," Grace mumbled, and tossed the phone over onto the passenger seat. Pressing her lips together, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands while wondering what to do next. When her phone pinged, Grace reached for it, hoping it was her sister answering the million texts she'd sent her over the past hour. "I should have known," Grace said as she read a message from her mother asking if she'd arrived safely. "No! I'm completely lost," she said while she typed with her thumbs. Of course, her mother immediately called. Becca Gordon always stepped in when her children were in distress, and she had an uncanny way of knowing even without a phone call. She could usually calm down Grace's mild-mannered sister, Sophia, but Grace was more like her half brother, Garret...a handful and then some. And, oh, how she missed Garret too! "Gracie, love, you should have been there by now. Am I right?" "Mum, what don't you understand about I'm lost ?" Grace drew out the word lost for a few seconds. "As in I don't know where in the world I'm at except it's somewhere in Kentucky." Her mother chucked softly. "Oh, Gracie..." "It isn't funny!" Grace tipped her face up to the sky just as a bird flew by and pooped on her jeans leg. She let out a squeal of anger. "Oh, come on, darling, it's not that bad." "Really? A bird just...just had the nerve to crap on me!" She looked around for a napkin from her unhealthy fast-food lunch. Right, the napkin and wrapper had fluttered out of the convertible like butterfly wings, making her feel all kinds of guilt. Her mother laughed harder. "Mum! Seriously? What's so funny about my misery?" "Well, for starters, you revert to an English accent when you get angry or upset. I'm sorry. I just find it rather amusing." "Seriously? Have you forgotten that you're English and I've lived with you in London for the past two years? That I've traveled back and forth to England all of my not-so-normal life?" "Your not-so-normal life made you into the amazing and successful woman you are today. Would you have it any other way?" "Well, when you put it that way..." Grace had to grin. "Of course not." "I thought so. And, darling, to answer your question, I might be in my fifties, but I'm not forgetful yet. And I've not forgotten that you can get turned around in your own backyard." "It makes going on a holiday an adventure, and I've discovered some really cool places taking the road less traveled," Grace said a bit defensively, but she had to grin again. "And you were often with me." "Fair enough. You get your lack of sense of direction from me. Sorry about that." Grace looked down at her soiled thigh and then cast a wary glance skyward. "Aren't you using your GPS?" "Siri is being rather difficult, I'm afraid. This was only supposed to be a two-hour drive from the Nashville airport to Cricket Creek. I'm well beyond that now." "So I gather that you rented a convertible like you wanted to?" "Yes, and it was nearly instant regret. I thought it would be fun rolling through the countryside in the late days of summer with the top down. But driving on the interstate was scary as hell! Everything was super loud. Trucks were terrifying, kicking up rocks and so on. And I littered by accident." She wasn't about to tell her mother it was a cheeseburger wrapper. Even though her mother's modeling days were over, Becca Gordon still consumed only healthy food. "Now I get the whole Thelma and Louise ending." "Put the top up, silly girl." Grace winced. "Um, I might have zoned out when that whole part was explained to me. Something about a switch and clamps." She looked around, nibbling on her lip. "I was distracted by the cute guy who rented me the car." "Well, good." "That I don't remember how to put the top up?" "No, that you were distracted by a cute guy. You've been all work and no play for far too long, Gracie." "Ha! I could say the same thing about you. When was the last time you went out on a date?" Her mother sighed. "Like they say, all the good ones are either taken or gay." Gracie couldn't really argue with that one. "Sophia will know how to put the top up." "Right, I know, she's the smart sister. I'm the creative one. La-de-da." "Oh, that's rubbish. All three of you are smart and creative and gorgeous. Sophia had a convertible, remember?" "Yes. Well, at this rate, by the time I find the bistro it will be dark and she might have already gone home." "Have you called Sophia or Garret?" "Are you kidding? I've blown up their phones. Sophia's goes straight to voice mail, so her phone must be dead. Garret isn't answering, so I'm guessing he might be in the recording studio or taking care of Mattie. I can't wait to see her baby bump." "Yes, poor little thing was put on bed rest. Garret has been sick with worry. I will be so happy when the baby girl is finally here." "Me too! I am going to be the best aunt ever. Hey, but speaking of dead phones, my phone is getting there too. I'm going to give Siri another go before my phone peters out." "Don't you have a car charger?" "I forgot it." "Is there someplace you can stop and ask for directions like we did back in the good old days?" "No, it's all country roads...trees...cows." She angled her head. "There is a building in front of me, and I think there might be lights on. Maybe I should check it out." "Gracie...," Becca said in her worried-mother voice. "I don't recommend going into a random building," she said, which really meant don't you dare go in there. "Don't worry, Mum. I have to be close to the bistro at this point. There's water to the right of this building, so I have to be somewhat near the marina too. I'll be fine," she said, but the woods suddenly looked a bit sinister. She squinted, looking for beady little eyes. Sometimes having a vivid imagination wasn't fun. "Okay. Well, text or call me as soon as you can. Promise?" "I will. I promise. I love you." "I love you too. Give everyone a big hug for me. I'll be there as soon as Garret and Mattie's baby girl is born next month. I've already cleared my schedule for most of the summer." Although her mother was still CEO of her own clothing company, as soon as she'd found out that she was going to become a grandmother, she'd put the wheels in motion to turn the reins of her company over to capable people. "Sure thing. Bye, Mum." "Do be careful. Bye now, Gracie." After ending the call, Grace got a bit teary-eyed. Her mother and Garret were the only ones who still called her Gracie. Funny, but she often thought that her vintage name didn't fit her outgoing personality and that she and quiet little Sophia should switch names. Grace closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. Oh, she wanted to see her sister! And Garret too. She'd gotten to know Mattie while Garret was in London filming the popular talent show Sing for Me . Grace was so happy that her former wild-child musician half brother had settled down with such a wonderful girl. And Garret was going to be a daddy soon. Unbelievable! Grace dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She wasn't much of a crier, but the sheer frustration of being close and yet so far was getting to her. A glance into the rearview mirror made her cringe. "Oh wow, that can't possibly be accurate." The gold clip had given up on keeping her long blond hair under control hours ago. She ran her tongue over her teeth and felt a little something. Oh, please let it be a sesame seed. Wide-eyed, she looked at her teeth in the mirror and saw a black speck. "Dear God, is that a bug on my tooth?" Grace rubbed at it with her finger and then checked it out. Okay, just a tiny gnat, but still...ew. Grace desperately wanted to rinse her mouth with water. She groaned and then remembered that she had a couple of bottles in her carry-on bag in the trunk. The water would be warm, but at this point she didn't care. Besides, stretching her legs would feel amazing. And she needed to find a leaf or something to wipe the bird doo off her jeans. Just as Grace opened the car door, she heard a rumble of thunder. "Don't even..." She tilted her face upward and peered at the sky, which had gone from cheerful blue to gunmetal gray. Maybe it was just getting dark, she hoped, but then a raindrop splashed on her forehead. Just one. "Please...God, no." She held her breath and waited. Nothing. Sweet, false alarm. "Okay, time to figure out how to put the top up," Grace said, thinking it couldn't be that difficult. And then, without even another clap of thunder for fair warning, the heavens opened and it started pouring. Wind whipped her hair across her face and she became instantly soaked to the skin. With a shriek of alarm and a glance of regret at the convertible, she ran for the empty building, hoping for an open door and no rats, spiders, or creepy things. Luckily, the door opened and she hurried inside, dripping wet and thoroughly pissed off at Mother Nature. "Is there no end to this crappy day?" she wailed. "You've still got a few hours left," said a deep voice laced with the South. Startled, Grace looked around and saw metal tanks, lots of them, and it smelled...weird. Dear God, what had she walked into? Some kind of drug-making thing? "Got caught in the storm?" he asked, but failed to appear. Grace spun around, but still didn't see anyone. "Just a little pop-up thunderstorm. Trust me. It'll soon pass over." "If you're God, you can stop with the practical jokes." "Practical jokes?" "You know, the bug on my tooth, the bird doo on my leg, and now the unexpected rain." She looked around but didn't see the man behind the voice amid the tall tanks and coils. Something hissed and sputtered. To her right was a large vat with something thick and frothy floating in it. "I'm glad you found shelter. It's coming down hard out there." "Yes, it is." But Grace didn't know whether to be glad or not. Perhaps she should have listened to her mother. Because Grace had grown up in big cities, she'd been taught to be wary, but her curiosity usually trumped the need for safety. If she were a character in a haunted-house horror movie, she would be the one going into the basement with a flashlight. Her mum would be the one ushering people to safety, and Sophia wouldn't have ventured into the house in the first place. Grace looked around, thinking it was rather odd finding this whatever-it-was factory out here in the middle of nowhere. Although she was intrigued, her fight-or-flight instinct was starting to kick in, with flight winning. Swallowing hard, she took a step backward, thinking she might need to make a quick exit. "Well, I'm sure not God, so I have to ask, who are you and where did you come from in the pouring rain?" "I think that's my line." Grace always resorted to false bravado when she was scared or intimated. When something clanked, she edged another step toward the door. "Well, this brewery is mine, so I think it really is my line, if you don't mind me sayin' so." "Beer?" Grace looked around and felt a measure of relief. "So this is a brewery." She looked around again. "Wow...and you're the beer guy." "Brewmaster, thank you very much. And considered a god to some, so you weren't too far off base," he said with a hint of humor. "By the way, I'm up here." Grace tilted her head back and saw the source of the voice up on a ladder doing something to a big tank that looked kind of like the world's largest teakettle. He'd poked his head around the side so she could finally see the man with the Southern Comfort voice. "So, there you are." "Here I am. Not heaven, but close enough." He gazed down at her, and Grace simply couldn't look away. Longish dark hair framed a handsome face. But he was no pretty boy. Oh no, he had a strong jawline, Greek nose, and high cheekbones. His rugged good looks were heightened by a sexy five-o'clock shadow. Oh, but it was his mouth that captured her attention. Looking at those full lips made her feel warm and tingly, like she'd just taken a shot of potent whiskey. Realizing she was staring, Grace lowered her gaze and looked around. "A brewery, huh? I could use a pint about now." "Welcome to my world." "Thank you. It appears quite interesting." When Grace looked up again, he gave her the slightest of grins, almost as though he didn't smile too often, and then descended the ladder so quickly she wondered how he didn't fall. As he walked her way, Grace noticed how his wide shoulders tested the cotton of a standard black T-shirt tucked into faded jeans riding low on his hips. She just bet he had an amazing butt. "You look lost." "Perhaps because I am..." At five foot nine, Grace was rather tall, but she had to tip her head back to look at his face. She could see that he had light blue eyes framed by dark lashes. Wow... "Am what?" "Lost. Sort of, anyway." Grace was about to ask him the location of the bistro, but a loud crack of thunder had her jumping, sending droplets of water into the air. "Oh! My top is down!" "Your top isn't down. Trust me--I would have noticed." There it was...that ghost of a grin again. "No!" Although it made her realize that her wet pink shirt was clinging to her skin. She plucked at it. "I mean the top of my car...convertible. I hate to ask, but could you help me put it up?" "Sure." With a quick nod he hurried out the door and ran right out into the wind and rain like it was nothing. Feeling a bit guilty, Grace watched from the doorway while the top slowly rose and then folded downward against the windshield. He swiftly latched it down and then hurried back to the building. "Here, I thought you might want your purse. It was under the dash but getting wet." "Oh." Grace took the Coach purse and hugged it to her chest. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry you got drenched." But Grace wasn't sorry she got to see the black shirt clinging to him like a second skin. He was muscular, but not in a beefy iron-pumping way; it was more like his physique was a result of physical labor. "No big deal." He shoved his fingers through his wet hair. "The car's a rental, so I didn't know how to put the top up." Grace felt her cheeks grow a tad warm, but she lifted her chin. "I should have paid more attention during the demonstration." "There must be instructions." "Oh, I guess there's a manual in the glove box. I was about to figure that out when the rain started coming down." Grace shrugged and then winced. "I just hope the interior dries out." "Well, it's definitely soaking wet, but it's going to be warm and sunny tomorrow, so you can put the top down later and it will dry out just fine." He extended his hand. "By the way, I'm Mason Mayfield." "Grace Gordon. Oh wait, Mayfield? You must be Mattie's brother!" She shook his hand, relieved that she was finally on the right track. "I simply can't wait for the baby to be born." "I am Mattie's brother. Nice to meet you, Grace. And I'm looking forward to being an uncle too. Although the thought of holding a tiny baby terrifies me. Welcome to Cricket Creek." "Oh right, come to think of it, I did see pictures of you in the wedding album that Mattie showed me while she was in London when Garret taped Sing for Me ." She thought that Mattie's brothers were both super hot in a tux. "I'm Garret's half sister. Sophia's sister." "Wow." Mason tipped his head to the side. "I wouldn't have guessed that you were Sophia's sister." "I know. We don't look alike at all." Grace gave him a sheepish grin. "Or act alike." "Or sound alike." "I spent way more time in London than Sophia, especially recently. The accent kind of comes and goes depending upon my mood--according to my mother, anyway." "I did meet your mother at Mattie and Garret's wedding. Lovely lady. I'm surprised that you weren't there." Grace shook her head and groaned. "I got snowed in at the Denver airport and missed my flight. Trust me--I tried to find a way to get there, like Steve Martin in Planes, Trains and Automobiles . I would have ridden in the back of a truck full of clucking chickens. But it was a total fail." "That's too bad. The wedding was a good time. So, were you in Denver skiing?" The question was innocent enough, but the slight arch of his eyebrow got under her skin a little bit. Now that he knew who she was, Mason most likely thought she was a spoiled diva going on endless holidays and shopping sprees. She couldn't blame him, really. After all, she was the daughter of a former fashion model once married to one of the most famous hard rockers of all time. But although Grace loved to travel, her journeys were usually business related in some way, inspiration for whatever new project she happened to be working on, if nothing else. "Business, actually," Grace answered, rather crisply, but then she felt as she as if she was being a bit rude. After all, he'd just run out into a raging storm on her behalf. "I'm a horrible skier. The fact that my name is Grace is kind of funny, actually. I'm prone to accidents, mostly because I'm looking somewhere other than where I'm going. And I don't always know where I'm going." "Well, be careful in here. There are some things you don't want to fall into." He pointed to the big vat full of frothy stuff. "I will." Grace hated that she and Sophia were usually thought to be rich, spoiled brats. Neither she nor Sophia rode on the coattails of anyone--including their biological father, who worried more about making money than spending time with his daughters. She was about to tell Mason what she did for a living when lightning flashed through the windows, followed by a deafening boom of thunder. Grace yelped and then shivered. "Oh, hey, are you scared of storms?" "Not so much, but this seems to be a quite a doozy. I am a bit cold, though. I have dry clothes in my suitcase if you wouldn't mind getting it for me, but I have to warn you that it weighs a ton." "Hey, don't worry. I don't want to get your suitcase wet, and it's getting muddy out front. I've got a better idea. I'll be right back with something dry for you to put on." "Thanks, but I don't want you to go to any trouble." Mason shook his head. "I'm not about to watch you shiver." He flicked a glance toward the front window. "And the storm doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon." "Okay, then, something dry would be splendid." "I'll be right back." Grace watched Mason walk away, finally getting to admire his jean-clad butt. Yep, very nice. She took a deep breath, able to calm down a little bit. Grace looked around, intrigued by all of the machinery. While she did enjoy drinking good craft ale now and then, she'd never given much thought to the actual brewing process. From the looks of things in the huge room, brewing beer was much more complicated than she would have imagined. Rain pounded on what she vaguely remembered was a tin roof, and in spite of feeling a damp chill, she thought the sound was somehow soothing after her rather stressful drive from the airport. Normally she loved to drive. Having lived most of her adult life in London, she commuted by the Tube, walked the streets, or traveled by taxi. So driving through the countryside had always been one of her favorite pastimes on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Grace grinned, thinking, yes, she often got lost, ending up in a random village where she explored shops and dined at local restaurants, sometimes with her mother, who would come along for a ride that was always bound to turn into an adventure. But Grace hadn't had a lazy or carefree day in a very long time. Of course, all of that had changed as of last week, and now she had more time on her hands than she knew what to do with...and it felt rather odd. Grace noticed that the metal machinery gleamed and the smooth concrete floor appeared spotless. Curious by nature, she glanced around, thinking that she'd never look at a pint of ale the same way. Lost in thought, Grace turned when she heard his boots clunking across the concrete floor. Mason walked toward her with long strides. He'd changed into a dry white T-shirt that had the Mayfield Marina logo scripted in green across the front. His jeans were replaced by gray sweatpants, and he carried a big plastic bag. He handed it to her. "We sell a few racks of clothes over at the marina. Should be everything you need in there." "Thanks. Wait--you went all the way to the marina?" "It's just a short jog down the road. I was already wet." The slight grin returned. "Really? So where is Walking on Sunshine Bistro, then?" "Across from the marina, up on the hill a little ways." "Wow." Grace shook her head slowly. "So I've been this close the entire time?" She held her thumb and index finger an inch apart. "Yeah, you weren't too terribly lost, if that makes you feel any better." When Mason handed Grace the bag, she felt a little tingle at the touch of his fingers. "No! I feel worse. I've been right here all along. How silly is that?" "You must have missed the right turn. Did you drive by some cabins by a lake?" "Um, yeah." Grace nodded. "Like, three times. Don't tell me. Is that where Mattie and Garret live?" "No, they live in a cabin overlooking the river. It's actually within walking distance from here too." Grace groaned. "Hey, don't feel so bad. GPS and cell phone reception can be sketchy out here, especially when the weather gets crazy." "Crazy? I thought you said this was a pop-up thunderstorm." "Late-summer weather around here is hard to predict sometimes." Mason shrugged his wide shoulders. "I was wrong," he said, and as if on cue, lightning flashed, followed by another deep boom of thunder. "A tornado watch was just issued a few minutes ago. Cold fronts moving through can cause havoc with the weather. "What?" Grace swallowed hard, wondering if the tin roof would handle a tornado or peel back like the lid of a sardine can. "Should we go for cover or something?" "I have an alert system on my phone. If we get an alarm or siren, we'll head into a closet or the bathroom. We don't have a basement." "Oh boy. And to think this day started out so normal. Well, normal for me, anyway." "It's only a tornado watch, not a warning. It'll be fine." "It's been my experience that when people say it will be fine is when all hell breaks loose." "Is that so?" Mason actually full-on smiled, softening his features. Grace wondered if he knew that his smile was a lethal weapon rendering the female population defenseless. "Well, if all hell breaks loose, I'll keep you safe." The smile faded and she could tell that he meant business. "Good to know," Grace said in a breezy tone, but she believed him. Although Grace had been taught by her mother to be independent, something about having Mason protect her made her feel warm in spite of the damp clothing. "I'll keep an eye on the weather." "Keep both eyes on the weather." Mason chuckled. "Okay, I will. I think you'll find everything you need in the bag. The bathroom is over there on the left." Mason pointed over his shoulder. "As a reward I'll get you a bottle of ale while we wait out the storm." "A storm that could spawn a tornado. I guess if I'm going to go flying into the sky, I might as well have a beer in my hand." "I'll drink to that. So what do you prefer? Something mild? A brown ale? An IPA blonde?" Grace had to hide her grin. She could tell by his expression that he thought she was a wine or martini kind of girl, and he was right, but about a year ago she'd gone to a beer-tasting festival with some girlfriends and she'd been surprised at how many she'd enjoyed. "Actually, Mason, I'm a fan of something dark and more intense." "You don't say." He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his boots. Since when did she find work boots sexy? Since right now. "Do you like chocolate?" "More than breathing." "Well, then, I've got you covered. I'll bring you a light medium-body porter that delivers lots of chocolate flavor." "Sounds amazing." "It took me a few tries to come up with something I was satisfied with," Mason said, and then turned away. "The chocolate part was tricky," he said over his shoulder. "Hope you like it." "I'm sure I will..." Grace's voice trailed off softly as she watched his progress. Something warm and delicious washed over her, and she was startled to realize that the foreign feeling was desire. Her mother had been right. She'd been working so hard for the past two years that romance hadn't entered her mind all that much, but it had just resurfaced with a vengeance. Grace was surprised her clothes didn't steam dry right there on her body. Grace was intrigued by her instant reaction to Mason Mayfield. She usually took a while to warm up to a guy, starting with mild attraction that led to conversation and then maybe a date. As she walked toward the bathroom, she mulled over why she was so drawn to Mason. Perhaps she was used to city-living metrosexual men, who, by contrast, made country-boy Mason seem so virile. Just hormones, Grace thought, trying to shrug it off. Regardless, Mason was one sexy man. She opened the door and flipped on the light, but then made the mistake of looking at her reflection in the mirror. "Holy hell, I look like I've already been through a tornado," she said, thinking that the instant attraction most likely wasn't mutual. "Oh, stop," Grace said, reminding herself that she was in Cricket Creek only to help Sophia out at Walking on Sunshine Bistro and to visit with Garret while they all waited with bated breath for his baby girl to arrive. According to her mother, Garret and Mattie hadn't settled on a name yet, even though her mother had tossed endless suggestions at them. After the birth of the baby, Grace would most likely move back to London, where she would start up another company now that she'd sold Girl Code Cosmetics, her wildly successful line of edgy urban makeup. Getting involved with anyone local, including sexy Mason, wouldn't work out in the end, and she needed to remember that important fact. With a groan Grace peeled her wet clothing off and then dug inside the plastic bag to see what he'd brought for her to change into. She located white sweatpants with Mayfield Marina scripted in green lettering down one leg. A scoop-neck light green T-shirt and matching hoodie were in the bag as well. "Nice," she said with a smile. After slipping into the dry clothing, Grace dug around in her purse for a comb and any cosmetics she could find. A few minutes later she'd pulled her hair back into submission and added some eyeliner and lipstick. Wrinkling her nose at her reflection, she said, "Well, that's as good as it's going to get." And then the lights went out. For a moment Grace simply stood as still as a statue, while thinking in a rather calm manner that she'd never experienced such pitch-black darkness. Surely her eyes would adjust and she'd be able to see enough to make her way out of the bathroom. She blinked and then squinted, but she couldn't see anything. She did the classic test, holding her hand in front of her face. Nope...nothing. Grace considered herself to be a pretty brave person, but she'd never been a fan of the dark. To this day she had a night-light in her bathroom. Grace swallowed hard and her heart thudded. Should she yell for Mason? No, surely he'd come looking for her in a few minutes. After all, he knew where she'd gone, Grace thought, and then snapped her fingers, remembering that she had the flashlight app on her phone. She fumbled around, bumped into the sink, hit the toilet seat, and came up against the wall before finally locating where she'd dropped her purse. "Yes!" she said when she found her phone, but her triumph was short-lived when she realized that her battery was dead. With a growl of frustration, Grace decided she needed to exit the bathroom and give a shout out for Mason. She dropped her useless phone back into her purse and fumbled around for the doorknob, somehow thinking that when the door was open she'd have at least moonlight shining through the windows or something to guide her along. Nope...just thick black darkness. "Oh, well..." Grace hefted her purse over her shoulder and took a baby step forward, but then remembered the big vat of frothy stuff and decided to stay put and shout for Mason. She inhaled a deep breath, thinking she needed some volume, and then spotted a beam of light coming her way. "Oh, there you are! Thank goodness!" "Sorry. I had to look for a flashlight," Mason said as he reached her side. "I hope you weren't too scared." "Oh, of course not," Grace said, barely resisting the urge to grab his arm and cling. "It's still just a warning, right?" And then she heard the wail of sirens. "Oh no!" Grace pictured a funnel cloud twirling toward them like in The Wizard of Oz . "Is this the real deal?" "Maybe." Grace could hear the howl of the wind and then pinging against the windows. "What's that?" "Hail," he answered gravely. "Crazy." Grace didn't panic often, but when she did it was full-blown anxiety. "Mason, what should we do?" She wanted to fist her hands in his shirt and pull him close, but she stood there and tried to appear calm. "Go into the bathroom for shelter." Grace nodded and then heard something that sounded like a freight train coming their way. She reached for Mason's arm this time. "What in the world is that horrible sound?" "I'm not sure, but let's hope it's not a tornado." "Oh my God!" "We really need to head to the shelter of the bathroom. Let's go." 2 Bring on the Rain MASON USHERED GRACE INSIDE THE BATHROOM AND shut the door. Although outwardly calm, he felt uneasy. If the electricity stayed off for very long, the backup generator would have to kick in. And what if a tornado hit the building? He groaned, not wanting to think about it. "What was that noise for?" Mason pointed the flashlight at her. "You mean outside? It's still hailing." "No, I mean the groan that just came from you. Groans are never a good sign," she said, although Mason couldn't quite agree with that statement. "Are we in for something horrible?" She sat down on the floor and looked up at him with a wide-eyed, wary expression. "I'm sure we'll be fine and this will blow over," Mason said with more assurance than he felt. The weather station had predicted a cooldown, and he believed it. "Okay...okay." She gave him a jerky nod. "You don't have that chocolate ale on you, by chance?" Grace asked with an edge of humor. "No, I thought the flashlight was more important at the time. Now I'm having second thoughts." Mason tried to grin, but the loud boom of thunder made him wince. He sat down beside Grace, ready to shield her with his body if necessary. "I'm sure we'll be safe. This building used to house boats, and it's built like a fort. I just don't want any damage to the roof or windows. I've sunk my savings into this brewery, and I don't want to lose my ass from an act of nature." "You have insurance, right?" "Of course I do," Mason replied, wondering if Grace thought he was some sort of country bumpkin without a clue. His look must have telegraphed his thoughts, because Grace winced. "Sorry. It's in my nature to immediately start thinking about that sort of thing. I didn't mean anything by it." Mason gave her a small nudge with his elbow. "Yeah, just when I was going out into the danger zone for the chocolate porter." "No! Stay right here!" When Grace put a restraining hand on his bent knee and squeezed, he thought it was kind of cute. "There might be a cow flying through the air or something." Mason chuckled. "I'll just dash out and be back in a minute." "No!" Grace repeated, but in truth Mason wanted to know what was going on out there. "Are you crazy?" "All country boys have a little crazy in them. My brother, Danny, is worse, but I have my moments of hey, watch this ." "This isn't going to be one of them. I'll block the doorway." "Yeah, like that will work," Mason said with a chuckle. "You might be surprised. I'm tougher than you might imagine." "So you're a rather-be-safe-than-sorry kind of girl?" "Ha, not hardly. I'm always up for a new challenge. I'm all about the bigger the risk, the bigger the reward theory." "Or the opposite can be true." Mason barely held back another groan. "I really think I want that beer now." "We'll drink to our safety after the whatever-it-is going on out there passes over." "I'll leave the flashlight for you." "Are you kidding? What if you fall into that vat of foamy stuff? Or--" "I'll use the flashlight on my cell phone. Plus, I know my way around this building even in the dark. I'll be right back." Odd, but Mason felt the urge to give Grace a quick kiss of reassurance--but of course he didn't. He pointed the flashlight at her face and thought that her eyes appeared a bit big with fear. Maybe he shouldn't leave her. "But don't you move." "Don't worry about that! I don't want to get hit by a flying cow or land up in Oz." "Okay, well then, stay put. I'll be right back." In spite of her squeal of protest, Mason hurried out into the taproom, where he located a couple of bottles of chocolate porter and hooked two of them through his fingers. Lightning flashed like strobe lights and the wind howled, but if a tornado had indeed touched down, it had thankfully missed his brewery, at least for now. But his phone still indicated that the storm warning was in effect for another hour, and although funnel clouds were spotted during these late-summer storms where fronts collided, having a tornado actually touch down was rare. Still, after having been caught in a nasty storm out on the lake when he'd been so hell-bent on winning a fishing tournament that he'd not taken heed of the weather warnings, Mason now took the sirens seriously. Mason paused to text his mother to make sure everybody was okay. Her positive response made him feel much better. But when thunder boomed again, he felt a fresh flash of apprehension. He hoped to have enough stock to have a beer-tasting party for friends and family in a couple of weeks, and having a storm do damage would just suck big-time. "Come on, Mother Nature, give a guy a break." Mason's family owned Mayfield Marina. But like his sister, Mattie, with the bistro, Mason had invested his own savings in the brewery. He'd been pretty much telling Grace the truth about sinking his last dime into converting the boathouse into a brewery. Mason's nest egg from his pro fishing days was nearly depleted. Plus, he wanted to protect his friend Shane McCray's sizable investment in the brewery. Losing his own money would suck, but even though Shane was a country music superstar, he didn't want him to lose his investment either. "Mason? Are you okay out there?" Grace shouted. When Mason rounded the corner he could see the beam of her flashlight shining here and there, as if searching for him. "I'm fine!" Mason hurried her way and met her just outside of the bathroom. "You're not very good about staying put." "I was getting claustrophobic in there." Mason had to chuckle. "Right. I think you're just what my mom would call a busybody." "Who, me?" she asked, but when thunder rolled like angels playing bowling ball, she backed up toward the bathroom. "Yeah, you." "Okay, I confess that I always want to know what's going on. I was concerned for your safety too, if you must know." "Were you going to come to my rescue?" "I would have made a valiant attempt that would have most likely ended with an epic fail, but it's the thought that counts, right?" Mason was about to give her a comeback, but he realized that she was being serious, and he believed her. "Good to know, I guess. We have about another hour before the warning is lifted. Hopefully the lights will come back on before then." After she sat down, he handed her a bottle of beer. "Oh, I love the swing-top cap. So cute!" "My beer isn't cute." Mason sat down beside her and bent his legs. "It's robust...manly." "Please don't pound your chest." "Just sayin'." "We'll see about that." Grace opened the swing top and took a sip. "Oh, wow, this is so good." "It should be served in a snifter beer glass so you can put your nose in it." "I want to put my whole face in it." She licked her bottom lip. "So, what do you taste?" Grace took another sip. "Chocolate, of course...mmm...oh...cinnamon!" She took another lingering sip. "A hint of coffee, perhaps? Am I right?" "All of the above." His tone was casual, but he really wanted to know. "So, are you serious? You really do like it?" "Let's make sure." She took another sip. "No, I don't like it." Mason let out a breath. "Okay...what don't you like? A little too much for you, huh?" Grace put a hand on his forearm. "You didn't let me finish, O so lofty brewmaster." "Sorry. Go on." "I love it, Mason. Rich and dark...with a sweet aroma that comes through, even without a snifter glass." "How does it feel in your mouth?" The question was common in beer-tasting lingo, but the suggestion took his thoughts in another direction. God... "Mmm, velvety in my mouth...Does that make sense?" "Absolutely. You have a sensitive palate." "Dessert in a bottle!" She arched an eyebrow. "Now, you must admit this is kind of a girly beer." She shined the flashlight on his face. "I don't admit any such thing." Mason reached over and took the flashlight from her and tilted it upward, shedding soft, shadowy light on the room. "Well, watch out, the ABV is seven point eight percent. It will knock you on your very girly-girl can." "I'm not a girly-girl. And I can handle any...BAV you throw at me." He grinned. "ABV, or alcohol by volume." "I knew that. I was just seeing if you were paying attention," she said, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. "Right." When he took a swig, his arm brushed against her shoulder, making Mason keenly aware of how close they were in the muted darkness. Her floral scent mingled with the chocolate porter, and both went straight to his head. "Girly...," he muttered, trying to shift his brain in a different direction. Grace lifted one shoulder. "Just sayin'. You could market this toward women, for sure. Lots of ladies still don't know about craft beer and how delicious and decadent it can be. I only found out that I was a fan when I went to a beer-tasting festival with friends. You should think about bringing women into the fold. Market toward them and capture a demographic that's being ignored." "Nah, my taproom is going to be geared toward dudes," Mason said, but he was pleased that Grace seemed to really enjoy the porter. "The other side of the main brewery is where I'll have the taproom. My brother, Danny, is going to help me build a really sweet bar that will run the length of the room." "Will it be a restaurant as well?" "No, I won't be serving food, at least not at first, but Walking on Sunshine Bistro is just up over the hill. Mattie will cater some events and I'll do pig roasts and stuff like that for special occasions." He took a sip of his ale, thinking that he was damned good and chocolate porter wasn't an easy beer to brew. "Maybe tailgating for big ball games or bonfires in the fall. I'm going to have a few flat-screen TVs, darts, maybe some poker games, and of course corn hole." "Um, what in the world is corn hole?" She tilted her head in question. "A beanbag toss into slanted wooden targets, but the bags are actually made with dried corn kernels. So you've never even heard of it?" "Nope. Is it something unique to Cricket Creek?" "Supposedly corn hole started in the Cincinnati, Ohio, area, then trickled across the river into Kentucky and has made its way south and throughout the Midwest. The corn-kernel-filled bags is where the name of the game came from." "Oh. Makes sense." "But, yeah, popular around here too. We have tournaments at the marina now and then." Mason usually wasn't much for small talk unless it was about fishing or brewing beer, but he could hear the wind blowing, and rain pelted hard against the windows and roof. Grace seemed a little bit uneasy, so he wanted to take her mind off the storm. "Are you good at it?" "At what?" "Corn hole." "Of course. Maybe you would be too." "As I mentioned, I'm not athletically inclined." "All you have to do is toss the bags into the hole. It's pretty easy. I'm sure I could teach you." "Ha, not likely. The fact that my name is Grace is a bit of a joke. I was a little-bitty thing until junior high school, when my legs seemed to grow overnight like my mum put me on a stretcher or something. My body never did figure out how to respond. I still trip over my own shadow." Mason had a hard time believing that Grace was clumsy. And he had to admit that he was surprised at her modesty. Grace Gordon was one pretty woman. And that throaty voice with the hint of a British accent was quite a turn-on. And those endless legs..."Oh, come on, you look a lot like your mother, who, um, just happened to be a famous fashion model. Didn't you ever want to follow in her footsteps?" Grace took a sip of her ale. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I love fashion, but to this day I struggle with wearing heels, making following in her footsteps rather difficult," she said, and nudged him to make sure he got the joke. "There was brief talk of me doing some modeling for BGC, my mother's company, but I can tell you that having me walk down a runway would have been a total disaster. And I know I resemble my mum, but I'm not the stunner that she still is at fifty-five. And she isn't vain or anything, but she has that certain...you know, thing , like Audrey Hepburn. Just so effortlessly classy." She leaned closer. "Plus, don't tell my mother, but I have a weakness for junk food," she whispered. Mason had to grin at the horror laced in her voice. "So what's your biggest weakness? Cheeseburgers? French fries?" "Just about all of it," Grace continued in a stage whisper. "I brake for the Golden Arches." She shook her head and sighed. "Sophia is like my mother. They eat, you know, clean , or whatever." "Did you just roll your eyes?" "No!" "So you're the black sheep of the family?" "Well, I think Garret wins that dubious honor. Or at least he used to until he married your sister, Mattie. But, yes, sort of, I suppose. I just can't...always behave , you know?" "Well, like I said, from what I know of Sophia, you two seem to be opposites." Mason took another drink of the ale, liking how it took the edge off. He'd been so stressed lately that in an odd way this little unexpected break felt kind of nice...well, as long as there wasn't any damage. "She seems almost shy whenever I go into the bistro for breakfast." "Yeah, Sophia was always quiet and studious, while I ended up in detention at least once a week." "And what were you being punished for?" Grace pulled a face. "I tended to be late for class. But mostly because I couldn't shut up. Isn't that a bunch of rubbish? I mean, what crime is there in talking? Can I help it if I have the gift of gab?" "Maybe you had more fun than Sophia. Ever think of that?" "Ha! Sweet little Sophia is a prankster with a wicked sense of humor. No, it's just that the quiet ones get away with everything. For example, if there was something broken, I would get blamed instead of my sister. She's got those big brown doe eyes that make her appear so innocent. And she had Garret wrapped around her little finger. Still does, the little minx." "So you were always being wrongly accused?" She flicked a glance at him. "Well, no...I was almost always to blame...you know, clumsy and all that, but I at least deserved the benefit of the doubt, wouldn't you say?" She took a long pull from her bottle and then gave him a sideways look. "Oh, I just bet you're the good egg too. Strong, silent type. Hard worker. Dependable." She gave his knee a little shove. "Come on, fess up. I'm usually pretty good at reading people right off the bat." "Think so, huh?" Mason thought he could read people too, but Grace was a bit of a mystery that he found himself wanting to explore. He chalked up his instant attraction to being so busy with the brewery that he had neglected his social life; being with her laughing and flirting had him realizing that he missed the company of a woman. And it wasn't easy to make Mason laugh, at least not lately. "Well?" Mason shrugged and took a swig of ale, thinking he'd like another bottle after this one. "Thought so." She nodded slowly. "Don't be so quick to judge," Mason said, but in truth Grace had pretty much nailed his personality. Birth order had something to do with it--he was the oldest. "I might have a few surprises up my sleeve." "I'm not judging. I despise judgmental people. Oh wait, is that being judgmental?" Mason chuckled. "Really? Then what are you doing?" "Assessing, maybe." "Oh, sizing me up, huh?" "Let's go with getting to know you. You're avoiding the question, Mason." "Do you really think I'm that boring?" "Hey, those were all good qualities that I mentioned." Grace gave his knee another nudge, harder this time, making him think that the porter was kicking in. "I didn't say anything about you being boring, now, did I?" "Not in so many words." "I didn't say it in any words. Are you kidding? I'm fascinated by the whole brewing process. Especially those giant teakettles out there." "Ah, that's the mash tun and boiling kettle." "The who and what kettle?" "It's where the malted barley is soaked to release the sugars. This is important because the sugars are what the yeast eats during fermentation. When people refer to a malty beer, it really means it's a sweet beer." He liked the direction of this conversation much better. Excerpted from Written in the Stars: A Cricket Creek Novel by Luann McLane All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
