Whiskey Bargain (Foster House Book 1), page 1
WHISKEY BARGAIN
A Foster House Novel
WALKER ROSE
LE Publishing
Copyright © 2025 by Walker Rose
Editing by Razor Sharp Editing
Proofreading by Fairy Proofmother Proofreading, Deaton Author Services, Judy’s Proofreading, and Bookcase Media
Cover design by Ever After Cover Design
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.
No AI Training
Formatted with Vellum
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Walker Rose
I thought I’d be miserable planning my ex’s wedding, but a rugged cowboy turned distiller knows just how to relieve the pressure.
Coming home to Huckleberry Springs, Montana, is hard enough. Begging my family for a job because I’m blacklisted up and down the West Coast? That’s tough. Patching up a broken heart after my cheating ex made me a spectacle? Stinks so bad. Drunkenly puking on Durban Hennessy, the hottest cowboy to ever work my daddy’s ranch? That’s just classic Campbell Hawthorne.
But even Durban doesn’t blame me much for that last one, because my first job as Daddy’s event coordinator? Planning my cousin’s wedding to my cheating ex at the family guest ranch. Because if I don’t, my uncle won’t sign over his share of the business.
The only bright spot? Durban is now part owner in the local distillery, and while he doesn’t do drama, distractions, or hot messes that just threw up on his boots, he’s not averse to saving damsels in distress. Once a ranch hand and now a distiller with a superiority complex, he’ll provide wet bar service throughout the wedding festivities—and some steamy, no-strings stress relief between events.
In return, I’ll help him patch up his own ego after getting dumped by his long-distance girlfriend. But when impromptu hookups turn into sleepovers that include intimate pillow talk, I know I’m in trouble. Because our whiskey bargain is set to end when the bride says I do.
CHAPTER ONE
Durban
This night went to hell long before a tornado with sun-kissed skin walked into Bootleg Tavern. But babysitting the woman with chestnut hair so long a guy could wrap it around his fist isn’t cheering me up.
Behind where I’m sitting at the bar counter, Campbell Hawthorne whoops with some women who must be tourists. “Rack ’em up!”
Her sultry rasp goes straight to my dick.
Dammit, I came to drown my sorrows, dump a little alcohol on my pride, before I get back to business as usual. Not listen to vocal cords formed straight from every man’s wet dreams.
She’s not mine, she’s not for me, and I don’t want her to be, but as inconvenient as it is, she’s a beautiful woman with a voice meant for sin. That’s probably how she sounds when she recites her grocery list.
Before, I could ignore it. I was taken. I had a girlfriend, and it didn’t matter that she was two thousand miles away. But now, my brand-new single-guy status makes me aware of it—and irritated. I pinch the bridge of my nose as snippets of my recent phone conversation run through my head.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to each other anymore. I think we need to break up.”
“I’m sorry. The jokes are cute, but they’re distracting, and I can’t have that.”
“I know you don’t get what it’s like. College. Graduate school. Research. This program is the most important thing I’m doing, and I’ve got so much invested.”
“I knew you’d understand. You have that laid-back lifestyle. Easy breezy.”
Easy fucking breezy. And my jokes could not have been that bad of a distraction. I’d waited for Natalie for almost four years. She’d assured me she was ready for a long-distance relationship and we’d figure out the rest when it was closer to her graduation.
With her graduation imminent, I’d been asking about where she planned to find a job, if she’d like me at her graduation, and I’d reassured her that I’d give her transition time. Assuming her vague answers were from the stress of planning her thesis defense, I’d quit asking questions and started sending her jokes. Simple science ones to lighten her day.
Too simple. Too easy breezy.
Her words have been on constant replay since I hung up. Mostly, I can’t shake the sound of a guy laughing in the background. She might’ve been around friends. Is that better or worse? To get dumped in private like it was a long, agonizing decision? Or to get dropped while out for a good time?
Is he her study partner?
Why do I care?
Because I waited like an optimistic, proud-as-hell dumbass for four years so she could pursue her second PhD. I was just happy to be in her orbit. Now I’m not.
“Silas, another round,” Campbell calls.
I ignore the heat the sound of her voice sends curling through my veins. It’s frustration and heartbreak. Nothing more.
Campbell laughs and shimmies, the skirt of her loose dress swinging around her hips and tickling the tops of her cowboy boots. That woman does not need another shot. She’s had four since she arrived. I might want to go home and let her fuck around and find out, but my ass stays planted on my stool. Someone has to be responsible, and as soon as I saw her tonight, I knew it wasn’t going to be her.
Silas steps in front of me to line up three shot glasses with scratched images of a cowboy boot on them. His weathered expression is impassive as he selects the tequila bottle Campbell’s group has been drinking from all night.
“You should water them down,” I say. “At least hers.” One of the women Campbell linked up with only sipped her last shot, then gave it to Campbell to down the rest.
Silas doesn’t have to ask who I mean. “She can hold her liquor.”
Another whoop in her dulcet tones rings out. I cock a brow at Silas, and he shrugs. As long as the cops aren’t called, he doesn’t care. He also isn’t worried about cutting customers off or taking keys from them. He wouldn’t twitch unless they drove drunk right into the bar.
Silas slides the little glasses toward the open spot next to me. “Got yer order, Campbell.”
I hunch over my whiskey on the rocks. The half-melted ice gives it the mellow flavor I prefer, bringing out the vanilla and smoothing over the bite, but I don’t take a drink. A cloud of tequila and the sweet floral scent of huckleberry blossoms surround me.
“Thanks, Silas.” Campbell tries to gather them all at once and fumbles, almost tipping one.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
She thumps against the counter, draping a little too far across it. “Got a problem, Durban?”
“I’m trying not to have one.”
Usually, she rolls her eyes when I call out her antics. Ever since I’ve known the youngest Hawthorne sister, she’s been carefree, flitting through life on her daddy’s money and her sexy looks. A smile and a giggle, and she got her way. My oldest brother married her oldest sister five years ago, and they’re the reason I’m here. Iverson and Jamison don’t need Campbell breezing into town and getting herself into trouble when Jamison is having some health concerns with her second pregnancy.
But there’s no eye roll. She’d probably get too dizzy. Defensiveness puffs her lips out. Is she trying to look tough? Or like a trout asking me to put it back in the water? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that maybe you should skip this round.”
“Durban knows best,” she mocks.
“Do I have to keep proving it over and over?” I should stop. This is only going to get her riled up, but I can’t help myself. I hold a finger up. “The day trip on the river after the wedding?” She was late, and our party of six lost their booking.
Guilt flashes in her eyes. “I told Jamison to go without me.”
I tick up another finger. “At the opening of the distillery, I told you to take a small sip, and you gulped it.” We practiced our tasting presentations on friends and family. She spewed a mouthful all over me and my youngest brother, Haven.
“I did take a small sip. It was, like, a hundred and forty proof!”
It was a cask-strength whiskey, but it was one of the last lines we served for tasting. The strongest was saved for the end when her palate should’ve been conditioned, had she listened. I add a third finger. “And then there’s Kacey’s dog.”
She glares at my offending digits. “I was told Coal would be a midsized dog.”
The rescue mutt puppy grew bigger than our niece by the time he was six mon
“And I hate to be blamed when others lie to me.” Her glassy eyes flare, and she hiccups. She puts the back of her wrist against her mouth.
“Maybe skip that shot.”
She narrows her eyes and brings the little glass to her lips. She doesn’t throw it back. Instead, she slowly tips her head. Those lush lips of hers open, and the golden liquid flows into her mouth. She swallows without wincing, but the fight of her life is happening in her eyes.
“How’s that burn?” I ask smugly.
She inhales sharply, but it’s to cover a gasp. “Smooth,” she rasps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to have a good time, and you’re a bit of a downer.”
I’ve heard I’m a distraction. “Sure.”
I riled her up, and I shouldn’t have. She’s going to retaliate and drink more. She’s like that. Jamison tells her to slow down on horseback, and Campbell gallops faster. Her daddy tells her to find a stable job, and she goes into event planning. I tell her to sit down, and she dances around me—after she picks a song she thinks I won’t like.
She did that at her parents’ anniversary party a couple of years ago and asked the band to play “Barbie Girl.” Too bad for her, I know all the words. I have a good memory, and the guys would play it during poker nights when I lived in the bunkhouse on Hawthorne Ranch, back in the days when I was nothing but a hired cowboy.
Now I’m a businessman and a distiller.
I take a sip of my whiskey, rolling the rich Foster House Gold over my tongue. This is one of my batches. I used locally grown corn and wheat, and we sell it as a special barrel line. One of the first made in Foster House’s new location, right here in Huckleberry Springs, Montana.
I understand a whole lot, Natalie. And I didn’t need school to do it. I didn’t have a chance to get one degree, much less the third or whatever she was on.
An hour ticks by. I scroll through my phone, making notes for new recipes and shoring up details for a meeting we have at Hawthorne Ranch tomorrow. Campbell doesn’t return to the counter. Silas leaves me alone to nurse my whiskey. People come and go. The ones I know toss me a wave and a few come over to chat—about the weather, the distillery, and my brother’s soon-to-be new arrival. People I don’t recognize come and go. Tourist season is gearing up now that spring has officially hit Montana.
A few guys enter. I tense as they look for a seat and eye Campbell’s group. Seasonal workers. They could be in town to work at the Hawthorne Ranch, in which case, Campbell is very off-limits. Iverson learned that the hard way when he hooked up with Jamison, not knowing she was our boss’s daughter.
Campbell can do what she wants as far as I’m concerned, but she’s drunk. So those guys cannot do what their overly interested gazes say they want to do.
The cloud of huckleberry blossoms returns. “Silas,” she says in a singsong voice and kicks a hip out.
All I have to do is lean back, just a few inches, and I can see the way her ass pushes against her dress material. She’s got a purse strung across her body, and the strap only clamps the dress closer to her lush, round butt cheeks. Heat punches low, and my long-neglected dick wakes up.
Down, boy. I’m not interested. I’m just deprived.
I look at my phone. The screen is a snapshot of my palomino, Duke. No new messages. There won’t be, unless it’s from my brothers. I set it on the counter so I can monitor the Campbell situation.
Silas hobbles to her. The guy glowers at everyone else, but she gets an indulgent smile. She’s a Hawthorne, so she probably tips him more than anyone in town.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
“A nice cold beer.” She sings that too—off-key.
“Aw hell, you’re mixing drinks?” I can’t mind my own business. I’m here to mind hers.
Silas ignores me and taps on the counter to get her to quit glaring at me. “Any preference?”
“Shurprise me.”
Fuck me. “Campbell, you can’t mix drinks.”
“It’s nooo problem.” She turns to face me and has to adjust her stance. Her eyes are even glassier, and her cheeks are a rosy red. Even the tip of her nose is red.
“You’re going to make yourself sick,” I insist. “A mug of beer is more than one serving, and since you’ve already been drinking—a lot—you’re going to consume more beer than you think.”
She lets out a frustrated snort. “Ever get tired of trying to be smarter than everyone?”
“Ever get tired of going through so many jobs?” That’s a low blow, but I wanted a quiet night at home, to have a whiskey on the deck and read while the birds chirped, and it got too dark to see the words.
The view from Bootleg Tavern is not as nice as my deck, and it’s not every day a guy gets dumped from across the country.
She lets out an indignant gasp and sways backward before catching herself. “Ack-tually, no. I get tired of horrible managers.” She smacks her lips. “And I’m home for a job.”
“Your dad hired you?” Jamison said Campbell was in town, but she didn’t know why or for how long. Campbell, oddly, wasn’t talking, and neither were her parents. As long as I’m not dragged into the drama. I like the calm life I have now. I’d just like to spend it with someone.
A flash of anguish passes over her features so quickly, I might’ve imagined it. She cocks that damn hip again. “Yes, and I have a client.” She swallows hard and looks away.
There, I’m not seeing things. Something’s bothering her. Is that why she’s on a one-woman mission to drain the bar dry?
“Campbell!” one of the women calls. “Gonna shoot some more balls?”
“There are a few balls I’d like to shoot,” she growls, and the corner of my mouth twitches. She’s drunk, but if she can still insult me, she’s not that far gone.
Silas slides a frosty mug that probably should’ve been run through the dishwasher one more time in front of Campbell.
“Well, Durban.” She purrs my name, and goddamn, there’s no need to like it that much. “It’s been fun as always. That stick up your ass is really holding firm.” Just then, my phone screen flares bright, and her gaze dips down. Her eyes light up when she sees the name. “Natalie? That’s your girlfriend, right? The schuper smart girl you’re seeing?”
I’m a grown man, but I’m going to lie to save my pride. It’s too soon to come clean, and it won’t be in front of a sexy, drunk woman. “She lives across the country. Getting her second PhD. I send her science jokes,” I tack on like I want to be awarded for my efforts.
“That’s cute.”
Right? It’s a goddamn good boyfriend move. But I keep my mouth shut.
“Does she have a full . . . juicy . . . IQ?”
I nearly groan at the way she says it, all tease and temptation. I take a bigger gulp of my whiskey and swallow wrong. I cough and sputter.
She pats me on the back. “Sorry, smartypants. Didn’t realize you were new to drinking.” She picks up her beer, making the head slosh over the side, and saunters away.
I glower at my traitorous whiskey. Silas appears back in front of me. “Told ya she could hold her own.”
The alcohol is starting to hold her. “Check again after that beer.”
He harrumphs and goes to fill another order.
Natalie’s name flashes again, and I snatch up the phone.
Natalie: I really am sorry.
So am I. I met Natalie when she’d just finished her first PhD in Bozeman. She came to Huckleberry Springs with friends for a rafting vacation. We dated for a few months, and I tried to lock it down, but she decided early on to do a second PhD in bioethics on the East Coast. Just far enough away to make regular visits difficult. I haven’t been out there for a year, and she hasn’t been here since that summer vacation four years ago.
I don’t feel like talking to her, but I have to hand it to her. She didn’t make me fly out there to break it off. Guess the answer to my earlier question is that I do appreciate getting dumped with some unknown dude in the background.
Durban: Me too.
I down the rest of my glass.
