Page 61 of No More Secrets
“Sounds like you’ve thought a lot about this,” Carter said.
“The idea is all well and good. But there’s a hundred other things that have to be looked at,” Beckett reminded him. “There’s permits, construction, suppliers, equipment, start-up capital, ownership.” He ticked them off on his fingers.
“We’d own it outright. The three of us together. I’ve got capital. I’ve got more than enough cash.”
Carter tipped his beer at Jax. “We could grow some of the hops here,” he mused.
“Yes, we could.” His brother grinned.
“This is something we’re going to have to think about, talk about,” Beckett said. “I need some time to wrap my head around all this.”
“It’s a big decision.”
“And there’s the question of how do we know you’re not going to bail again?” Beckett asked.
Jax leveled his gaze at him. “I’m sticking.”
“Then we’ll talk about it,” Carter decided.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Since when did you start wearing lipstick?” Sheriff Donovan Cardona asked, as he dumped two bags of chips on the island.
Carter swiped a hand over his mouth and swore. He’d spent the last thirty minutes with Summer’s lip gloss smeared all over his mouth and neither of his brothers thought to mention it. Beckett and Jax snickered.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot, dicks.” Carter grabbed a paper towel and started scrubbing.
“It’s a nice color on you,” Fitz offered.
Bill “Fitz” Fitzsimmons was closer to Franklin’s age than the rest of them. Bald on top, he had an impressive braided rattail that hung down the back of his Save the Whales t-shirt. He owned and operated Bill’s Books, a used bookstore that trended toward conspiracy titles. He had also smoked more than his fair share of pot back in the day.
Donovan had a theory that in its earlier days Bill’s Books sold more weed than books. But after a short jail stay courtesy of Uncle Sam and the IRS, Fitz claimed to have righted his ways ... mostly.
Donovan cracked open a soda.
“You on call tonight?” Carter asked his friend.
“Yeah, ‘til midnight.”
“I should have pocketed all of your money by then,” Beckett said, tearing open one of the bags of chips.
“You wish,” Donovan said, slapping the chips out of his hand and sending them flying.
“Hey! Keep it clean in here,” Carter warned them.
“Yeah, he’s got a live-in lover to impress now,” Beckett said.
“You talking about Summer or Jax?” Donovan asked blandly.
Carter sighed. So much for secrets.
The doorbell rang and everyone yelled, “Come in.”
Franklin, in a loud Hawaiian shirt and khakis, bustled in carrying six to-go boxes that smelled gloriously of garlic.
“I hope everyone is hungry,” he said sliding the containers on the granite.
“Thanks for coming, Franklin,” Carter said.
