Page 31 of Bourbon and Secrets

Ace stares into the flames for a minute before he answers. “It bends the rules.”

“Exactly.” I point at him. “Bends, not breaks.” I’ve had enough of hearing how shitty my ideas are lately.

“You wanted to pitch your concept. Now that you have, I’m telling you no.” He stands and walks to the bar cart and pours two fingers of the Cowboy Edition bourbon that Grant developed.

“I don’t think that’s your call, Ace,” Grant says.

“Really, Grant? You’ve been doing this job for, what, a year now? And you have all the answers?”

Grant gives me a tight-lipped smile, and I know what’s coming next. He has the luxury of leaving. The luxury of being the one who can check out and say he’s not going to engage. I’ve never had that luxury. Ever.

“Fine. You two figure it out.” He stands from his seat around the fire, looking inside at the rest of our family laughing in the living room. Turning back, he locks eyes with me before he opens the slider to move inside. “I know my opinion might not matter here, not as much as his”—he nods to Ace—“but it’s a smart idea. We don’t have any blends finished in anything other than our oak. If we don’t try new things, then we’re not getting any better. You and I both know it’s not living if things stay the same all the time. You have my vote, Linc.”

I take a taste of the burned sugar old-fashioned that Hadley whipped up. It’s sweeter than what I usually like, but it’s warm and comforting during a cold night and even colder discussion.

“You can do better,” Ace says, interrupting my thoughts. “You can do so much better than what any of us can do, Lincoln. You’re making great bourbon. You’ve perfected combinations ofgrains. Don’t take the easy way out and make it all about the ending.”

I exhale and try not to feel instantly annoyed at where this conversation might lead with my older brother.

Ace hands me a tasting pour of the Cowboy Edition. “That is what good bourbon tastes like,” he says.

As it coats my palate, I can taste the small adjustment of barley instead of rye that Grant chose in our newest best-selling blend. Where his barrels were aged made the wood expand differently. The sugars had broken down in a way where it really tasted beautifully original. Grant had time to work through loss on his own, figuring out what would make his life have meaning again. This bourbon helped him do that. I didn’t have that same kind of space.

Hadley throws open the slider. “I can’t do it anymore,” she says dramatically. “I might actually die.” Releasing the loudest, most exaggerated sigh, she drops into the oversized chair that Grant just left.

After a few beats of silence, Ace asks her hesitantly, “You alright?”

She turns her head to him and smiles. “Yeah, Daddy, just fine.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs out and stands up. “Quit it with that shit.”

I lean back and give my best friend a look that she knows pretty damn well.

“What?” She laughs. “Don’t give me that look.”

“You’re even more over the top tonight,” I tell her. She’s always the one to make all of us laugh and lighten up. “Everything going okay?”

She twists a curl of her dark chestnut hair and stares at what’s going on inside. “Midnight Proof is great. The biggest headache lately, as usual, has more to do with my father.”Hadley’s dad, Wheeler Finch, went ahead and made himself a very rich and very famous man when it comes to thoroughbreds and racing. If there’s a princess of the racing world, it’s Hadley Jean Finch. Between her love of horses and her father’s penchant for finding the best, from jockeys and trainers to mares and stallions, the Finch family is Kentucky’s version of power. An industry that’s grown to intense levels of influence, with horse racing raking in billions.

“What’s he asking you to do?”

She crosses her arms and speaks softly, only for me to hear. She knows that if Grant catches wind of it, he’ll step up on his proverbial high horse and start talking about it with his old cop buddies. It’s one of the many negatives about having someone from law enforcement in the family. Even though he quit, his moral high ground is stories higher than where the rest of us play.

“My horses are my horses. That’s always been the case. Now he’s telling me that whatever I own is rightfully his. And that he’ll help himself to it whenever he damn well pleases.”

“I’m sure that went over really well.”

“Yeah, well, I cried.” She gives me a side-eye. “The disappointment billowed off of him when I told him thatIbought, housed, and cared for my horses the same way I do Midnight Proof.” She puffs her cheeks and blows out air. “He wants to cash in on the breeding potential that my horses have. He wants to stifle anything that I remotely consider mine. It’s not fucking fair.”

I agree. “No, it’s not fair. He has no fucking right.”

The door slides open and Lily spills outside with Lark on her heels. “Dad, that’s going to round today at twenty-five.”

Hadley wipes the corner of her eye and brushes away the lingering conversation about her father to focus on Lily who decides to sit on her lap. “Twenty-five what?”

“Dollars,” Lily answers.

“You’re still paying into the...What do you girls call it?” Hadley asks.

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