Love Brewing (Love Brothers #3) (4 page)

Dom glanced at her then at his father. The man practically
quivered with rage. Frankly, Dom had never seen him this worked up. He
attempted to deflect his own extreme terror at the confrontation with a
fake-casual stance, reared back, one leg over the other, ankle to knee.

The tension shimmering in the air rivaled anything the
family had experienced, and Dom silently acknowledged that implied something
pretty significant.

“As a matter of fact, Lindsay, I do.” Anton’s voice matched
his wife’s—calm, cool, collected—which scared Dominic more than any ranting and
raving. Anton opened the box and started pulling out clothing, laying them on
the table in untidy clumps. “I found these in the abandoned apartment over the
old brewery. I’m having the place cleaned and fumigated. Gotta find a new
renter.”

Dom’s clothes kept piling up in the middle of the table. By
the time his father had emptied the box, the pile of denim, flannel and cotton
was so high he couldn’t see Anton, Margot or Kieren anymore. A pair of boxer
briefs fell off the pile onto the patio.

“A new renter.” Lindsay’s voice was distorted through
clenched teeth, still glaring down the table. “Cleaned and fumigated.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, since your son took off and left all
this stuff….” Anton shrugged. “Also decided not to show up to work for the last
week. I figure…well, I figure on finding another brewer and tenant.”

Dom blinked, trying to square the strange, surreal
conversation with how he’d thought the confrontation might go. Aiden cleared
his throat. Rosie rose and started clearing Dom’s laundry off the table in
silence.

“Don’t touch that.” Anton’s voice dropped even lower than
its usual timbre. Aiden put his hand on top of the pile of clothes. “Don’t get
in the middle of this, Little A. I mean it.”

“Daddy, this is pretty silly, don’tcha think?” Aiden spoke
slowly.

“No, I don’t.” Anton met his wife’s gaze. “I have another
announcement.” He bent down and picked up a box labeled
Love Brewing Whiskey
Batch #1
.

Dom clenched his jaw. “You can’t,” he blurted out. “It’s not
any good.”

Anton pulled out a bottle and held it up to the afternoon
sunlight. “This will be our new focus for the fall.” He plunked the bottle on
the table, making a point not to look at Dom. “I already have the marketing gal
working up press releases and the graphics kid making labels.”

“You can’t
do
that,” Dom repeated. But the words
sounded like they came from someone else’s mouth. Dizziness, like he’d been on
bender but without the bonus of actual drinking washed through him. His mother
touched his arm, but he shook her off without thinking. In the time it took for
him to blink, his father had him out of his chair and pressed up against the
sliding-glass door, a huge, dark-skinned forearm pressed against his windpipe.

“I get to do whatever…” He pressed harder with every word,
his spit peppering Dominic’s fevered skin. “I fucking well please. And you will
not ever,
ever
disrespect your mother like that.”

His brothers were arrayed around Dom’s peripheral vision,
tugging and making noises he barely heard. Dom didn’t protest or even move. He
welcomed it. He wanted the last thing he ever saw to be his father’s dark,
furious eyes. The world went gray at the edges. His mother’s terrified scream,
calling his father’s name, echoed through his rapidly darkening brain. His
vision registered her scratching at Anton’s arms and shoulders. But his father
never wavered, not once.

Do it
, he thought.
You’ve been wanting to for
years
. He sucked in the last remaining bit of air he could find, forcing
his arms to go limp, not to defend himself, even though his
fight
instinct had kicked in hard.

A strange vision appeared to him then, even as the yelling
and screaming faded. A small boy with golden-blond hair ran across the yard,
clutching a balloon and a water gun. He laughed, but Dominic couldn’t hear it.
A woman scooped him up, kissed his cheek, then set him down so he could run
again.

The pressure on his throat increased, but Dom barely felt
it. The boy in his vision whirled and looked straight at him and he knew, in
that split second, it was his son, the one he’d let go when he’d allowed Gina
to run off to New York and out of his life. Just as he welcomed the encroaching
darkness, he stumbled forward, dropping onto the patio concrete.

The air rushed into his lungs fast, so fast it hurt. His
throat ached like someone had whacked him in the throat with a baseball bat.
Something pounded his side. The something came at him again, like a bull goring
him over and over. He groaned and tried to escape the animal attacking him. He
sucked in more air, trying to blink away tears of pain clouding his vision.

“You are not my son, do you hear me?” His father loomed over
him, blotting out the sun and sky. “Get the fuck off my property.”

Dom rolled over onto his hands and knees onto the grass
between the patio and the pool deck. People clutched at him, trying to pull him
up, but visions of the boy suffused his brain again. The kid regarded him with
those eerie, dark-brown eyes, accusing him. Dom focused on it as he crawled
from the scrum of brothers, sister, sisters-in-law, his mother…oh, God, his
mother.

He leapt up, then dropped to one knee when the earth buckled
beneath him. “Mama,” he croaked out, reaching for whichever brother was
closest. “Get Mama for me.” He managed to get to his feet with Kieran’s help.
“I’ll be in the driveway.” He half-ran, half-stumbled, forcing the kid out of
his brain.

By the time his mother appeared, he had his breathing almost
back to normal and sat on the bike, head bowed to the increasing late-summer
heat. The empty sensation in his chest had expanded and filled his body,
suffusing his limbs with lethargy. He wanted to go to sleep for days, maybe
weeks.

Lindsay put a cool palm on his arm. Her arm draped over his
shoulders and her lips touched his temple while she ran her fingers ran through
his hair. He leaned into her, but tried to remain free and clear of anything
resembling emotion.

“I…I’m not….”

“Shush, honey. Not now. I have to figure out what I’m gonna
do with your daddy.”

He raised his head. “Don’t kick him out on my account.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Dom swiped at them, desperate
to make her happy, terrified she would abandon him.

“I’ll bring your things. Kieran says he found you out at the
Brantley’s.” She smiled at him. “I always did like that girl. The younger one.
You know.”

He averted his gaze. “Yeah, Mama, I know.”

She yanked his chin to force him to face her, her jaw set in
a very familiar way. “You are somebody special, Dominic Sean.” Her grip
tightened. “Don’t ever forget that. I don’t know that I understand why, or
what, or….” She dropped her hand, looking helpless, as if she no longer knew
him. His heart sank at how very old she seemed right then.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be sorry.”

He shook his head and glanced behind her at his brothers,
standing shoulder to shoulder a few feet away. The extreme urge to escape
stabbed him square in the gut. She held out a bag and he stared at it, confused
for a moment.

“Please take your medicine. You know good and well you
require it.”

He nodded and took the bag. The moment felt final in a way
that hurt worse than anything his father had done to him. He tried to smile.

“Let me know if he decides I’m back in his will.”

Lindsay sucked in a breath.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he repeated. “Don’t cry anymore. Please.”

Kieran appeared at her shoulder. “Go on. He’ll calm down.
I’m sure of it.”

When his mother slumped against Kieran’s side, Dom leapt off
his bike, determined to pound his father so hard the entire goddamn Amatore
family would feel it in the old country. He got as far as the crest of the
grassy hill where the pool deck had been installed when Antony stepped in front
of him.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

“It isn’t the place,” his oldest and much-bigger brother
insisted. “Not now.”

“You don’t get to decide anything about this.”

“No, but
you
do.”

Dom stared into Antony’s face, so like their father’s. He
cursed and squared his shoulders.

Fuck this. Fuck my father. I don’t require the Love
family’s approval for anything. I never have.

He shoved his way past the wall of Aiden and Kieran, jumped
on his bike, and peeled out onto Hunter Street. The wind whipped his hair, the
sun beat on his shoulders, and his mind went completely, alarmingly blank.

Diana focused on the flashing silver of her knife,
concentrating on chopping the rest of the tomatoes and not her fingers. The
kitchen smelled like the inside of a salsa bowl already. Piles of bright
cilantro, rich tomatoes, nasal passage-clearing jalapeno and poblano peppers
lay along the stainless steel counter to her left. Odors of grilling meat
floated through the open windows. The rest of the ingredients for her mama’s
recipe chicken salad sat in one of the many huge metal bowls to her right.

She paused and wiped her forehead with her wrist. Thanks to
getting distracted by Dominic’s reappearance in her life, she’d gotten behind
on pretty much everything. Jen was due out any second to pick up the salsa and
she hadn’t even touched the stack of cukes—their secret ingredient that gave
Brantley’s salsa a rich, gazpacho edge. It didn’t take much, but the quantities
she dealt with meant
not much
translated to a dozen cucumbers’ worth of
work.

Jen’s catering van horn honked so loud Diana jumped and
cursed, nearly skewering her hand. She noted the mild tremors she’d been
experiencing since Kieran had dragged Dom out for the Big Family Confrontation
had graduated to full-on shakes.

Leaning on the counter, she watched while Jen unloaded the
two plastic containers for the salsa, and the smaller, metal one for the
chicken salad. The dogs ran out to her, barking their usual enthusiastic
welcome. Jen plodded through the canine scrum, headed for the porch. Diana
winced when her sister frowned at the grills loaded with half-cooked meat.

Unable to pick up the knife again, Diana cursed Dominic Love
for the zillionth time in her life.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jen shoved her out of the way
and started scooping the massive pile of chopped tomatoes into the mixing bowl.
Frozen in place but still shaking, Diana decided to sit before she fell down.

Fucking Dominic
.

Her sister started on the cucumbers in silence, making short
work of them. After dumping the final ingredient into the massive bowl, she
grabbed one of the oversize mixing spatulas and began folding everything
together. “Get that chicken done,” she demanded in a tight, trying-not-to-yell
voice. “Hurry up. Please.”

Diana got to her feet and slouched outside. Visions of
Dominic wouldn’t leave her in peace. His hair, that wild ink she’d seen when
he’d mesmerized her washing the dogs in his nothing but his worn blue jeans,
his lips when he smiled or laughed—it had to be her ultimate curse that she’d
never get over him.

The raging rat bastard.

She stomped down the wood steps and started flinging the
chicken thighs and breasts around on the grill’s surface. The heat stung her
skin, distracting her for a while, until yet another memory came at her—a
smoker, the venison she’d prepped, Dom sitting and drinking an illicit beer in
the shadows the morning after her own sister had lured him into bed.

“Get the hell out of my head,” she muttered, stabbing a
breast all the way through and snagging the tongs on the grate.

“Give me that.” Jen reached across her. “I told you having
him here was a bad—”

“You know what?” Diana whirled, brandishing the greasy,
sharp utensil like a sword. “You don’t get to tell me what to do relative to
him. I’m pretty sure we established that a while ago.”

Jen sighed and crossed her arms over her giant, pregnant
belly. “Can we please not go there again?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Diana knew how sullen she sounded
as she tried to focus on the task. “Bring me the pan.”

Jen disappeared then returned with a large stainless tray.
She dropped it on the stand next to the grill. “I just don’t want you to get
hurt.”

“What? Again? Third time’s the charm, I’d say. Oh, wait, is
the fourth?” Diana plopped the thighs into the pan and flipped the breasts
over. She blamed the smoke billowing up at her for the way her vision clouded
over.

The Dominic Topic had been forbidden between them for a good
long while. By the time he’d taken his second powder and bolted after
graduation only to be found drugged up and sexed out in his teachers’ backyard
Airstream, Diana had lifted the moratorium, mainly because Jen was the only
human she could stand after that.

“Okay, those are done. Dump ‘em in here. We’ve gotta get the
salad done. I have customers waiting.”

Diana closed up the grill and followed her sister into the
kitchen. They worked side by side in silence, which calmed her racing pulse.
The minimal amount of conversation required between them soothed by its
predictability. She chopped the chicken while Jen sliced grapes, celery and
pecans. Diana mixed up the yogurt and honey dressing they used in lieu of mayo
and dumped it into the mix, strong-arming the giant wooden spoon to blend
everything.

“All right, done.” She raised both arms. “I’m beat.”

“I’m bringing the contractor out later,” Jen said as she
loaded the salad into the large tray. “Can you make sure Mr. Love’s not still
hobo-camped up the hay mow?”

“I am not making Daddy’s barn into some kind of hipster
banquet hall, Jennifer. I already told you that.” Diana slumped over the cup of
coffee Dom had left on the table, exhausted in body and mind, worried sick
about what might be happening at the Love house.

Jen slammed the chicken salad container down so hard the
oldest dog lazing by the door leapt to his feet and barked.

Diana put her head down on her arms. “I’m not in the mood to
fight about it. The horse is lamed up again, the goat needs to be milked, the
cow’s about to drop her calf, the sink’s leaking—hey! Cut it out!” She yanked
her arm away from her sister’s hard pinch.

Jen’s eyes, a shade lighter blue than her own, were hard.
Her jaw set. “I’m about five seconds from finally having this baby.” She rested
a palm her stomach. “I’ve got a three-year-old home screaming her fool head off
and a husband who’s decided that
now
is a great time to
expand
our business.” Diana stood up and went to her, noting the tears slipping down
her sister’s alarmingly red cheeks.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I know y’all are just trying to….”
She patted Jen’s shoulder, letting her sister cry it out.

“Not
you all
.
We
.” Jen stepped away and swiped
at her tear-stained face. “You
and
me, Diana, remember? This is ours.”
She stamped her foot on the floorboards. “This house, and farm, and the
Brantley name. We built ourselves out of nothing. Remember all that
nothing
Daddy left for us? Those stupid tobacco contracts he never signed? All those
dang credit cards?” She winced and rubbed the small of her back, and Diana
instantly felt like ten loads of shit for whining. Nobody worked harder than
Jen and her husband, Dale. Hell, they all worked like dogs, but the Brantley
reputation for top-quality meats and cheese had grown by leaps and bounds in
some pretty rarified restaurant circles, not to mention Jen’s white-hot
catering business and small deli.

“I know.” She kissed Jen’s flushed cheek. “Calm down. I
can’t have you popping that brat out on my kitchen table or something equally
gross.” She fell into her chair, exhaustion flooding her nerves once more. “I
just don’t
want
to do the banquet-hall thing. It doesn’t make any sense.
We’re way too far out in the boonies. All those rich ladies won’t wanna trek
out here for their club lunches or daughter’s weddings. Besides, where am I
gonna put my horse? And the goats that give the milk that make the expensive
Brantley cheese? Where do they get to live?”

Jen picked up the chicken salad container. “I have to get
this into the fridge. Can you?” She elbow-pointed to the vats of salsa.

After getting everything loaded, Jen slammed the catering
van doors and turned, a familiar, infuriatingly patient gleam in her eyes.
“Dale’s building you a new barn, bigger, just farther back yonder.” She pointed
toward the rear of their property. “For production and with a paddock for your
stupid horse.” She grabbed Diana’s shoulders. “We talked about this, remember?
Dang it, Di, that man’s got you more addled than our Aunt Betsy. I hate him. I
swear it. I hope he stays away this time.”

Diana stared down at her feet, encased in their work-worn
cowboy boots. She wore them every day, even on a hot day like this one when
she’d pulled on a tank top and jeans shorts, they were that broken-in and
comfortable. Resentment bubbled up in her chest, but she held her tongue.

If it weren’t for “Brantley’s” and her crucial place in its
small hierarchy, she’d have nothing, no job, and no real hope for one. She’d
dropped out of college after three-and-a-half semesters of hard partying and
class-skipping, and slunk home to wait tables at the Love Pub like she’d done
in high school. By the time their parents had been killed in a car accident,
her sister had married Dale and was already running a successful catering
business out of a tiny storefront downtown. She’d snagged Diana to help her and
they’d been working together since, even through all Diana’s ex-husband’s lies
and thievery of her small inheritance.

“Whatever. I doubt he’s coming back.”

“Good.” Jen gave her a not-so-friendly smack to the face.
“Besides, aren’t you going out with….”

“Shush.” Diana held up her hand. “My love life. Not your
business. End of discussion. Besides.” She patted her sister’s giant belly.
“You have enough to worry about, right?” She winked, to show she’d forgiven Jen
the guilt trip, knowing it would be just a matter of time before she got to
take another one.

“Contractor tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

Diana waved without acknowledging that. She stretched her
arms over her head and looked out across the late-summer dry lawn, making
mental lists for the next couple of days that included getting the boar’s ribs
prepped and smoked. She’d bagged that sucker on a trip down to Arkansas this
past spring and couldn’t wait to taste it, although most of the meat would be
sold through
Brantleys.com
and for way more than it should be. It
boggled the mind how much city folk would pay for things labeled
guaranteed
farm fresh
, or
organic
, or even
locally cured
, which was
euphemism for
shot with a gun not far from where you sit
.

The dogs circled her feet, whining and fussing. Diana patted
rumps and scratched chins then shoved them away. “Y’all should best just get
used to him not being here. It’s pretty easy, once you realize that he’s
forgotten you already.” She bit her lip. Pepper neighed and trotted over to the
fence. She leaned in, rubbing the animal’s velvety nose, willing thoughts of
Dom as far from her as she could get.

When Diana propped her boot heel on the lower paddock fence
rung, Pepper blew into her hair and shoved her shoulder. The house where she’d
grown up and come home to time and again seemed smaller, less substantial than
it had even a week ago. Smoke rose from the grill, the sheets Dom had hung out
on the line that morning waved in the wind. Her stand of sunflowers nodded and
dipped. The goat’s loud call of discomfort jarred her off the fence and toward
the barn.

“Hang on, Polly.” She snagged the buckets from the wall. Dom
had cleaned all the milking supplies the night before. If she tried hard, she
could smell him here, his malty, leathery, sweaty maleness. She shook her head,
grabbed the stool and sat, collecting the primary ingredient for the pricey
Brantley goat cheese that had orders coming in from as far away as New York and
Chicago.

Polly flinched and raised her foot. Diana patted her flank and
apologized for squeezing too hard and focused on all the things she should be
doing, and not on the one thing she kept trying to let go.