Page 116 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“I’ll say,” Jagger said, holding out his free hand to shake Owen’s.

They all shook hands with him.

“What’s in your cup?” Bennett asked, pretending to peer into Owen’s red solo cup.

A wide smile curled the man’s mouth. “None of this shit, I’ll tell you that. Went to my car and splashed some of our rye into some tonic I grabbed from the table.”

“We should have done that,” Dom said, shaking his head then making a face as he glanced back down at the swill that filled his cup. “This is disgusting. Pretty sure it’s just fermented swamp water.”

“From what I understand, Bonn didn’t want anyone to think he played favorites. He knew his land would be a hot commodity, and by using any of the local businesses, he feared it could show preference.” Owen took a sip from his cup. “I’m fine with that, but did they have to buy such garbage drinks? There are decent distilleries and breweries in Seattle.”

“Maybe Bonn didn’t specify, he just said, don’t use local businesses. Then whoever handled the party bought the cheapest and most garbage booze they could find.” Wyatt made another face of disgust, then took two steps over to some bushes and subsequently dumped out his cup. “I’d rather wander around with an empty cup than accidentally drink that again.”

“There’s ginger ale,” Owen said with a deep chuckle that made a few people turn and look. He pointed to the non-booze table.

Wyatt nodded and headed over to grab a can of soda. Jagger and Dom followed, leaving Bennett and Clint standing with Owen.

“So, Trace told us you guys are interested in Bonn’s land,” Clint said, resisting the instinctive impulse to take another sip. When there was a glass in his hand, he felt compelled to drink from it. Not tonight. Not until he found something drinkable to quench his thirst.

Owen’s head bobbed, his brown eyes gleaming under the overhead strings of lights. “Yeah, just like everyone else on this island, business is booming and we need more space. We want to set up a tasting room. Right now, all we have is a production house, but people want to come and sit and try out our stuff in signature cocktails. We don’t want to leave the island, but we need to expand.”

Clint and Bennett simply nodded.

Owen was happy to keep talking. “I hear Westhaven is looking to expand their vineyard and interested in his land, same with those women who opened up the cidery last year. The island is only so big.”

“They have a whole orchard,” Bennett said, possibly a little too loudly. A few heads spun in their direction again. He brought his voice down. “What could they possibly need that land for?”

Owen shrugged one broad shoulder beneath his off-white linen shirt that had the top three buttons undone. “No idea.” His attention was pulled away from someone across the field, and he lifted his head in acknowledgment before turning back to Clint and Bennett. “I’m being summoned, but we need to get the girls together. Maude and Lottie have been asking for playdates with Talia, Emme and Aya. So we’ll have to make that happen.”

“For sure,” Clint said, accepting Owen’s handshake again. Owen gave Bennett a friendly slap on the shoulder, then took off toward the buffet.

“We knew about Westhaven and Hardwood, but Twisted Witches Cidery, too?” Bennett exhaled and shook his head. “We’ve got steep competition.”

“Yeah, but besides Hardwood—which has the least amount of land already—the other two and us have the most.”

“You think that’s going to work against us?”

“Why would they give us more land? The winery has a whole fucking vineyard right on the cliff, and the cidery has an orchard. Acres and acres of fucking trees. Hardwood has that dinky little warehouse. They need a bigger space. It could be said that the rest of us just want the space.” Clint glared down into his solo cup, then taking a page from Wyatt’s book, he wandered over to the bush and dumped the beer—if you could even call it that.

Yes, he was a beer snob. An alcohol snob, really, and he wasn’t ashamed of that. He wasn’t twenty-one anymore and able to consume any swill that was on sale at Fred Meyer. Now, with a mature palate and some refined taste, he had some fucking standards.

He also didn’t have the metabolism he once did, so if he was going to consume calories from beer, it was going to taste fucking good. He didn’t drink to just get drunk anymore. He drank to enjoy what he was drinking and relax. And no way in hell could that horse piss help him relax.

Scanning the vicinity, he made a note of where his brothers each were. Wyatt and Dom were chatting up two of the island elders, while Jagger seemed to be in what looked like a heated argument with Raina Aaronson, one owner of the winery.

“Shit,” Bennett murmured, taking in Jagger and Raina at the same time as Clint. “I don’t know what’s going on, but our normally cool as a cucumber baby brother looks about ready to blow a fucking gasket.”

They both booked it across the field, almost stepping in time with the beat from the folk band on stage.

Clint snagged eyes with Wyatt and Dom, who excused themselves from the elders they were speaking with, and soon all four of them were approaching Jagger and Raina.

Gabrielle, Danica and Naomi—the other three owners of the winery—arrived at the quarrel at the same time.

“What would you call it, then?” Jagger asked, staring down at the pretty redhead. “Because I call it bribery.”

Raina scoffed. She already had her hands on her shapely hips, but her fingernails curled harder into her sides. She glanced away, shaking her head. “Or maybe, it’s called paying my respects in private? Maybe it’s called being a good neighbor. A good friend. I knew Bonn.”

“We all knew Bonn. If you didn’t know Bonn, you were living under a fucking rock,” Jagger snapped back. “And furthermore, if you didn’t know Bonn, you shouldn’t fucking be here.”

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