Honey Red (13 page)

At one point she looked over at him as he stared into the dark, one hundred twenty degree sugar water swirling around in the huge vessel. His eyes were haunted, his hands shook as he dipped the long thermometer into the liquid. Something was not right with him. She let him boss her around, watched as he ran the almost-beer through the heat exchanger, super cooling it to less than fifty degrees in a matter of minutes. He made her add the yeast at the bottom of the giant vessel, frowning when she screwed up and the stuff spewed all over her face. “Sorry,” she muttered. He cursed and went into the cooler for more yeast in solution.

“Here, damn it, move, let me do it.”

She stood, wiping the sweat from her forehead, pissed but unwilling to let on how much. His shoulders flexed and she bit her lip watching as he hooked everything up, shifting hoses, clamps and other random shit she was only just understanding until the yeast was “pitched.” He adjusted the temperature gauges and propped both hands on the vessel. It took her a half a minute to figure out his shoulders were heaving. She put her palm on one, loving the play of musculature under his shirt. But when he turned to face her, agony etched in every line of his handsome face, she gasped.

He grabbed her, yanked her to him and buried his face in her neck. She gulped, patted his back, nervous and unsure, then took a chance and touched his hair. He felt so flawless in her arms it made her nearly choke. “Sorry,” he muttered, but kept holding her close, too close, making her react in an entirely scary way. He tightened his grip, molding her into his tall, strong frame.

Oh, yeah, this was totally bad. But she closed her eyes, threaded her fingers in his thick hair and let herself have the moment.

He pulled away and stared into her eyes but kept his amazing arms around her. She felt herself sink into him, until his next words. “I think I’m in love,” he muttered.  “And he, uh, well, he tried to kill himself last night so I’m kinda doubting my existence. And you…you’re here and I, I’m…shit. Sorry.”

“Oh, well, um…,” Hannah heard herself stutter, unable to respond in any coherent way. So she shut her mouth, disentangled from him, and allowed herself time to stare at his wide shoulders, strong arms, large hands at the moment resting on his hips. He was probably six foot four or five she’d guess, and didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on him anywhere.

And. He. Is. Gay, Hannah, snap out of it. He just told you he was in love for Christ’s sake.

“So, now we clean,” he said, startling her out of the fantasy loop in her head—one starring this amazing man and herself. She shook her head and took the giant shovel-looking thing he held out. “Let’s go, this is the really hard part.”

Ian dropped onto a ratty barstool and watched the young woman struggle with the trowel and wet, heavy spent mash they’d created when they drained the sugar water off the malt. He raised an eyebrow when she dumped an entire shovel full of the sticky stuff down her front, but stayed put, let her learn. That was the point of this—well, that and he had planned to seduce her. He groaned and put his head in his hands. When his phone buzzed on the worktable, he nearly fell off the chair.

“Hey,” He said, dreading what Gavin was going to tell him.

“Nice disappearing act. What the fuck was that about?”

Ian sighed.

“What are you a teenager? Seriously man, why did you just walk out?”

He could hear hospital noises, and the guilt nearly bowled him over. “Sorry. I, uh, well….”

“You are a lame fucker is what you are. Jesus.”

“How is he?”

“Why do you care? Alyssa was ready to come after you and gouge out your eyes. And I wasn’t inclined to stop her.”

“Gavin, listen….”

“No, you listen. This guy is damaged. We all know it. And you seducing him then bolting when things get messy is….”

“I didn’t do that Gavin. Jesus. He…I…fuck.” He put his head down on the desk and let his brother berate him a few more minutes. “Can I see him?” Suddenly he wanted that almost as much as he wanted to get the hell away from the whole scene a few hours before. He was running on exactly zero sleep, his nose and jaw were killing him. His whole world was upside down. He wanted Nick, so badly, wanted to help, but something about that moment when Alyssa had looked up at him, wild fury in her eyes as she knelt over Nick’s lifeless form had triggered the sort of flight response he’d not experienced in years. He was not that guy anymore. He couldn’t be. He was a father, a responsible adult. Suppressing a groan he leaned over on his shaking hands.

“Ow! Um…help?” He looked up to find Hannah nearly doing the splits, hanging on to the opening at the back of the mash vessel. She had one leg on the pallet holding the garbage bins and it must have slid in all the mess she’d made trying to empty the thing.

“I’ll be by later if you think it’s okay. He’s okay, right?” He kept talking as he walked over to the woman now completely covered in spent malt and grabbed her around the waist with one arm before she split herself in two and set her on the concrete. She glared at him and tried to brush some of the grains off her. But he knew from direct experience that was a lost cause.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine. But I can’t promise you that Alyssa will let you anywhere near him.”

“Fine. I’ll be there though, I’ll deal with it myself.” He tucked the phone in his jeans pocket and stared at Hannah. Reaching out, he brushed the trickle of grains off a strand of her fire red hair that had escaped from the hat now sitting cock-eyed on her head. She smacked his hand away and turned around to finish. He spent a half second admiring her jeans-clad ass, remembering his original goal for today. His body tingled but his brain was on serious shut down when the phone buzzed again. He looked at the screen and groaned. Jamie had stayed over with Gavin’s nanny and his twin cousins.  And the call was coming from Gavin’s house phone.

Gavin’s sons were slowly getting detoxed from their spoiled ways now that their father had them more often. Since their mother was gallivanting around with her NFL-trainer boyfriend, never home for more than a few days at a time, Gavin was pushing for full custody. Alyssa had eased into her future role as step mother nicely, and after some initial drama the boys had settled into their new reality.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s up sport?”

“Daddy.” The little boy’s voice was quivery. “Where are you?”

“I know, I know,” he glanced at the phone and saw it was nearly eleven. Jamie was a stickler for timing and when any plan went awry, he lost it. “Put Tracey on the phone please.”

“No!” he heard the boy running.

“James Donovan, put Tracey on the phone right now!”

“Here! Want pancakes!” The boy’s voice faded.

“Hi, Mr. Donovan.” Tracey’s voice was chipper. “Sorry about that. He grabbed and dialed before I knew what he was doing.”

“I’m sorry. I’m late.”

“Yeah, well, I would be okay with it but the other boys need me to take them to soccer since your brother is ….”

“I know, I’ll be there,” he ran a hand through his hair, noted how fucking messy everything still was in his brewery and tried not to sigh too loudly. He looked up and saw Hannah staring at him, then turned away, face flushed with anxiety. He needed to see Nick. He had to pick up his son, and the brewery was a fucking pigsty.

He hung up and calmed his breathing, trying to compile a mental plan of action. He jumped again when she put a hand on his arm. “Hey, can I help?”

“No.” He grabbed the hose and started spraying everything down. “Just move out of the way.”

“Well, you don’t have to be an asshole about it.” She muttered.

He stopped in his tracks. “You’re right. I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for dragging you out this morning, being late, losing my cool, all of it.”

“It’s okay. Sounds and looks like you had a shit day.” She rolled the last of the full bins of malt out the back door to be picked up by a local farmer who used it for his cattle.

“And for the record,” he kept talking, blaming exhaustion for the
words that came next.
“I had plans to brew with you but wanted more. I wanted to seduce you if you must know. You’re hot. I was lonely. I had ulterior motives and I’m sorry for that too.” He switched off the water and ignored her gaping stare.  “So, now you know.”

“Uh, okay.” She took her hat off and he had to force his eyes away from the long red hair that flowed down her back. Her shirt was wet, too, which didn’t help. “I thought you were…that I wasn’t your type, you know, of gender?”

“I’m bi. And now I have to go pick up my son. Can you just…” He waved around, feeling helpless and stupid, not even positive he’d just spilled so much of his own truths to this woman.

“Tell you what,” She crossed her arms. “I am a certified caregiver, I mean, I worked at daycares all through college. I was an ace babysitter. And it sounds like you need to go visit…um….”

He narrowed his eyes at her, contemplating it. “Jamie is a handful. He’s a couple of handfuls with some leftover if you must know. I’m not sure that would be fair to you.”

“Someday, I’ll tell you about the summer I spent with twin three-year-old boys whose favorite thing to do was to smear their shit on the kitchen floor, just so I could clean it up.”

The laugh felt good and suddenly the air was clear between them. He put a hand on her arm, felt her flinch, and then relax. “Okay, you win. I’ll pay you the going rate. But I’m not really sure how long I’ll be.” He texted her Gavin’s address and his. “Thanks, Hannah. That’s really great, especially considering what I told you.”

She leaned back on the worktable and the look in her eyes made him shiver a little. “No worries. For all you know I had the same plans for you.” She winked, and before he could blink had whipped off her damp shirt. The black sports bra highlighted the creaminess of her skin.

Ian gulped and looked away. “Uh, yeah, so that’s cheating.” He tried to paste a neutral look on his face.

She grabbed a spare brewery shirt from the swag closet and tugged it over her lush, too-tempting torso. Ian shook his head.
Nick, remember? The guy you fucked last night? Lying in a hospital bed right now?
The memory of the other man’s flesh under his hands, and utter agony on his face later made Ian’s eyes burn. He needed to get a grip. “Thanks, Hannah.”

“No problem Ian.” She tossed over her shoulder as she left. And something about the way she said his name made him want her all over again.

Jesus H. Christ, Donovan, you are a mess
o
r perhaps merely a sex-crazed idiot
.

He hosed down the rest of the brew house and grabbed his keys. He had to see Nick. Get some things straight with Nick’s sister. Then he needed to sleep for two days. The fact that he was turning his only son over to a woman who for the last two months meant nothing more to him than a potential sexual conquest didn’t give him much pause. Something about her oozed confidence and he needed backup. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a terrible mistake for everyone concerned.

Chapter Fourteen

Hannah followed her smart phone’s GPS and found Gavin’s house in the middle of a neighborhood of gargantuan brick homes. She whistled to herself when she pulled into the semi-circular front drive of the biggest one on the street, glanced at the number to confirm it and got out. She tucked her sunglasses up on her head, brushed her still sticky jeans off and walked up the huge oak front door. After ringing the doorbell a couple of times, she crouched down to peer in a sidelight, bracing herself for a whirling dervish, bratty miniature Ian.

A huge pair of watery green eyes met her stare. The little boy had his nose pressed to the glass and his face was fixed in a very unhappy frown. She put her finger against her side of the glass. He shrieked and jumped back, giggling. Hannah saw a pair of dark haired identical twin boys who looked an awful lot like the man who’d hired her appear behind the still laughing kid. They grabbed him and yanked him away from the door yelling what sounded like “stranger danger” and “Tracey!”

She stood up, just as the door opened. “Oh, hi, you must be Hannah,” the girl said, smiling. The little boys peered out from behind Tracey’s legs but the mini-Ian marched around the trio and tapped her leg.

“Yes, I am.” She said to the nanny. “And you,” she knelt down. “Must be….Sponge Bob.”