When a fork of lightning hit the ground in front of them, Zelda reared up with a loud cry of terror. Lindsay held on tight, using every muscle she had to keep from tumbling off and hitting her head, and very possibly under the full weight of her horse if she couldn’t get her balance. She dismounted to one side, gripping Zelda’s reins and trying to calm her.
Rain blinded her. Thunder deafened her. She was screaming now, trying to be heard over the weather and the horse’s wild neighing. Within minutes, the huge animal had calmed, but her nostrils kept flaring and she trembled all over.
Guilt over putting her one remaining horse in direct danger washed over her. “I’m sorry,” she said into Zelda’s warm neck. “I’m sorry!” she screamed up to the sky, letting the rain pelt her upturned face. “I can’t.” Her throat hurt. Her chest ached. She was shaking as much as Zelda while they stood huddled together.
The sound of loud galloping made her brush her dripping hair off her face. A figure was approaching fast on one of the farm’s quarter horses. She couldn’t make him out at first, and figured it was Frank, the only brother who gave a rip about her.
“Come on,” a deep, gravelly voice boomed. “Get on and follow me. Hurry.”
She nodded and mounted the slippery saddle, patting Zelda’s neck to encourage her to go forward, to not stay still and hope the terrible noises and cold rain would stop. Finally, as though she trusted the man on the horse in front of her, Zelda trotted after him, picking up speed when he did. Lindsay focused on Anton’s broad shoulders, staying close enough that he was visible in the downpour. She didn’t care where they went, as long as it wasn’t back to the Halloran barns.
They rode alongside the Lucas River for a while. Then, from one moment to the next, the rain was gone, though Lindsay’s ears still rang from the cacophony. She shook her head and clucked for Zelda to follow Anton across the river at a shallow point, amazed when the animal obeyed. She’d tried to cross here before with no luck.
When they emerged from woods, they were on the outskirts of downtown Lucasville, the small burg to the south of her family’s farm. The horses skittered on the asphalt, but Zelda kept following Anton’s lead. He stopped at the edge of Main Street and dismounted close to a small building behind the main one. Throwing open the doors, he led the quarter horse in and gestured for Lindsay to follow him. She did, marveling at how sober she felt in spite of all the booze she’d guzzled that day.
It was warm in the building, and it had a funny, yeasty smell, akin to bread baking. There were wooden barrels stacked floor to ceiling along one wall, and a few bales of hay along the other. Wincing when she heard the wind pick up speed, she led Zelda to where her barn mate stood.
Anton whistled, two low quick notes, and Zelda’s ears perked up. She jerked her reins out of Lindsay’s wet hands and walked over to Anton, who was holding out a carrot. Once both animals had calmed, Lindsay wrung out her sopping hair and dropped onto a hay bale. Anton joined her, holding two brown, unlabeled bottles. She took one, clinked to his, and drank. The rich, honey-flavored beer surprised her.
“Wow,” she said, putting her nose close to it to see if she’d imagined the honey thing. But she smelled it, along with a citrus-tinged astringency. “Nice work. Assume it’s another one of yours.”
“Yep,” he said, tipping up his bottle for another drink.
“Not a bad hobby, then.” Something about this strangely peaceful moment, both of them soaked to their skins, the whole place reeking of wet horse and a tang of danger, comforted her.
“Not so much a hobby I’d guess.” He pushed his ratty cowboy hat up off his forehead. His grin shone in the dim light. “Take a look at that.” He pointed to a bunch of stainless steel kegs near the door, next to the tall stacks of wooden ones.
She got up to see what he was talking about. There was a large, red, oval-shaped label on every one of the metal containers. She squinted to see the words “Love Bros. Brewing Co.” superimposed on a giant heart with an arrow through it. “Lucasville. The Heart of Kentucky.”
Frowning, she turned to find him right behind her. She took a breath. “These.” She pointed to the kegs and the stacks of barrels. “All this.” She swept her arms wide open. “It’s yours?”
“Well, yeah, but this is just storage.” He slid the door open about a foot, letting wind-blown rain patter onto the concrete floor. “That’s the brewery up there.” He jerked his chin up toward the building that fronted the main street. It was lit, she could tell, but the parking lot was empty.
“A brewery,” she said, savoring the word. “How?
“My uncle Dom won a bundle at two races last year. He’s sort of a drunk, and has little use for that much money, so my oldest brother Leo talked him into a kitchen table loan. He and I have been brewing for …” He stopped and scratched his head. “Oh, at least ten years between us. It’s our dream.”
“Your dream is to make beer,” she said, trying not to sound incredulous.
“Yeah, but not any old beer. This kind of beer.” He held up the bottle. “Great beer. Unique beer. Beer you go out of your way to find and drink, to have with the right kind of food.”
She stared at him, noting how his eyes sparkled as he gazed up at his dream that was apparently coming true. “Wow. That’s pretty … great.” She sipped, standing next to him, their shoulders almost but not quite touching.
“Don’t marry him.” His low, firm voice shocked her.
She blinked, thinking she must have misheard. But he turned, took the beer from her and gathered her close, filling every one of her senses with all that was Anton, all she’d been fantasizing about for weeks. His lips hovered over hers, tempting. She put her arms around his waist, sure of what she wanted right then.
“Why not?” She smiled at the look on his face—a combination of lust and resolve.
“Because you’re going to marry me.”
“I’ll drive you insane. I’m spoiled. I can’t cook a lick. I don’t know if you can—”
But his lips shut her up. They were soft at first, then firm when he went deep, not letting her go, closing her mind and heart to anything that wasn’t of him, of Anton. Anton Dominic Love.
Gasping, he stopped and dropped his arms. On fire with a need that almost hurt, she moved closer, tracing her fingertip across his stubbled jaw to his lips.
He closed his eyes and grabbed her hand, kissing the palm. “I love you, Lindsay. God help me, but I do.”
She bit her lip. Love was not a word she’d had occasion to use very often. She wasn’t even sure she understood its full meaning yet or if she could associate it with this man. “I … I don’t know what to say.” She circled his neck with her arms and snuggled close, feeling every inch of him, including the press against her hip of something she wanted. “I don’t know what to do, either, Anton. Will you show me? Please?”
He kissed her again, cupping her breast through the sopping wet, now-ruined dress. Fumbling, unsure and yet somehow sure, she reached for his belt, keeping their lips locked, loving his touch and wanting to finish it. To do the deed, but not with Will, with Anton.
“Not here,” he said with a sigh, grabbing her hand before she could get him unzipped. “I won’t do this here.”
“Then where?” She was practically panting. She felt on fire, burning up, aching and empty and confused. “There is no place else.”
He bracketed her face between his rough hands. She stared into his eyes and sensed something in her melting. Tears ran down her face. “I don’t know if I love you. But I … I …”
“Shh …” He kissed her softly then let her go, wincing and adjusting his zipper in a way that fascinated her. “We should take the horses home. Storm’s passed.” He slid the door open wider so the remaining rain could cool their faces.
She turned to study him. His shirt was molded to his body, hugging his torso, and making her mouth water.