Page 15 of The Dravenhearst Brides

There are four things you must always remember, Merrick.

First and foremost, all bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon.

And all whiskey that’s not bourbon is a waste of a barrel.

—Excerpt, a letter from Richard Dravenhearst’s Last Will she wanted it. Couldn’t explain it, just knew she did.

Rickhouse One was next door. Was it also filled with barrels? Margot had to know. She walked toward the entrance. When she reached the doors, she yanked.

They didn’t budge.

She gave a second pull before noticing chains wrapped around the handles. She ran her fingers along them, curious. They were bound tight, sealing the doors. She rattled them in annoyance, then sighed.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Margot whirled with a startled screech, swinging her stolen plank in defense.

“Whoa, there.” A tall man wearing a three-piece suit and a fedora jumped back. He released her shoulder and raised his hands in peace. “Didn’t mean to startle ya, Miss…?”

The man had an oily look to him, finely dressed though he was, with his shiny shoes and T-bar chained pocket watch. He looked like a city rat, wholly out of place in the Bluegrass.

Margot was instantly distrustful.

“Greenbrier.” A partial lie. She kept a firm grip on her plank, prepared to swing if necessary.

“Miss Greenbrier.” The man’s mouth twisted into a sunny grin, and he touched the brim of his hat. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She lifted her eyebrows, unable to honestly return the sentiment. “And you are?”

“Hey!” A shout rang from the stables. A lanky, dark-haired man began to cross the property. For a moment, Margot fooled herself into thinking it was Merrick.

Beau emerged from the neighboring rickhouse and began to bark.

“Hey!” the man shouted again, gaining ground. “What’d Merrick tell you ’bout showing your face ’round these parts, Toni?”

“I was in the area.” Toni snorted, then spit into the dusty ground near his shined shoes. Margot wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Is he around?”

“I’ll tell ya the same as Merrick did—we got a telephone and a mailbox. They work jus’ fine. Use ’em.”

Toni frowned but began to back away. He touched the brim of his hat again and lowered his voice so only Margot could hear. “You’ll tell him I stopped by, won’t you, sweetheart? If you are who I think you are, it’ll mean more comin’ from you.”

Margot’s stomach twisted when he winked. Before she could reply, he turned tail and headed uphill.

“All right there, Mrs. Dravenhearst?” came a slow, drawling voice. The dark-haired man had finally reached her, his lips turned down, posture tight. The country burr of his speech was deep, but his eyes were young and unlined. Close to Margot’s age, she’d venture.

“Reckon so.” She straightened her spine as Beau settled by her side. “Or I will be once you tell me who in heckin’ hell you are.” Her grip tightened again around the wooden plank. It would make a decent weapon should this cowboy move even a single step closer before identifying himself.

“Goldarn it.” He tossed his head back and laughed. “Tha’s right. You hit the deck that day before we were properly introduced. I’m Julian—stableboy and jockey most days, bourbon apprentice anytime your husband isn’t too crotchety to have me.”

“Oh. Julian.” Margot’s shoulders sagged with relief. She’d barely looked twice at the jockey on her arrival day, intimidated as she’d been by his mount. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“Clearly not. My apologies. I don’t much fancy takin’ a stave to the face for sneakin’ up on a woman unprepared.”

“A…a what?”

“They’re called staves, that there wood you’re carryin’. They’re used to make bourbon barrels.”

“Oh.” She held the plank higher to look at it, abashed.

“That’s pure American white oak you’re holdin’ there, Mrs. Dravenhearst. Real good stuff too. Merrick only sources the best.”

“Yes, I’ve been so curious,” Margot admitted, running a hand over the wood. She pointed toward the locked rickhouse, then began to walk around it. “I was just looking for—”

“Wouldn’t chance explorin’ back there if I was you,” Julian interrupted. “There’s a sinkhole ’round back. Didn’t Merrick tell you?”

Margot shifted her weight. “He might’ve mentioned it.” Or maybe Xander or Evangeline, Margot couldn’t remember. She’d all but forgotten the warning.

“It’s pretty dangerous. Would ya like to see?

” Julian asked. “I know Merrick doesn’t like people nosing ’round his rickhouses, but it’s probably safer to show ya upfront, keep ya from tumbling unawares one day while you’re out pickin’ wildflowers…

or whatever it is ladies of leisure do with their time. ”

She cracked a smile. “Show me.”

“Beau, stay here,” Julian commanded.

Margot tailed the young man around the rickhouse. The back wall was covered with rising vines of ivy and purple wisteria. The brick was crumbling badly back here, and a long crack ran down the length of the wall through the foundation.

“Watch your footing,” Julian advised, reaching out to grip her arm. “One wrong step and it’s curtains for us both.”

The ground behind the rickhouse sloped gently downward to form a shallow basin.

“This is it. The sinkhole.” Julian picked up a chunk of brick and tossed it ten feet into the nadir of the pit to demonstrate. It landed with a soft squelch, sinking halfway into the earth.

Kentucky was no stranger to sinkholes, something about groundwater drainage and soil composition…

at least, that was what Margot recalled from the newspapers.

Every year or so, they’d inevitably run an article whenever one cropped up in the state.

Sinkholes could cause real damage, destroying roads and taking down houses.

Margot glanced nervously at Rickhouse One, perched precariously at the edge.

“It looks ready to swallow the rickhouse,” she observed. “Is the building secure?”

“Er, well…” Julian rubbed the back of his neck. “This here’s Rickhouse One.” He offered nothing more.

“Yes…Rickhouse One,” she repeated. “Is it safe? Are there barrels inside? Bourbon?”

“Oh, there’s bourbon in there.” Julian chuckled. “Some real fine bourbon, been aging for goin’ on twenty years. A real rarity.”

“And…and you think that’s wise?” Margot gestured to the crumbling foundation. “This building could cave in at any moment. Surely, if there’s product of high value within, it should be moved—”