Love on Tap (Brewing Love) Page 3

  “I’m meeting somebody. We’ll order when she’s here.”

  The waitress nodded, only half listening, then trotted back toward the bar with his beer order.

  He checked his watch. Five after six. Still too early to wonder if Bec Dempsey was standing him up. He leaned back in his chair, turning toward the soccer match on the nearest big screen. Given the number of television sets scattered around the room, the place must turn into a zoo when the Broncos were playing.

  Ten minutes later, he’d drunk a third of his beer and had begun to wonder if Bec was actually going to show. If she didn’t, he’d hunt her down tomorrow. Or head back to the Black Mountain Tavern to have it out with her brother, Liam. If he was a co-owner, he should be able to sell the Zoria himself, assuming he wanted to. But considering that he’d sent Wyatt off to find Bec rather than discussing the sale himself, maybe he wasn’t into sales, either.

  Which led to an interesting question—if the brewery was on the skids, why didn’t the owners want to sell off their remaining assets?

  At exactly seventeen minutes after six, Bec Dempsey walked into the room. She looked markedly different without her cheese-making outfit, even though she was dressed casually in jeans and T-shirt. A T-shirt and jeans that showed off a nicely rounded figure and long, slender legs. Her hair fell to her shoulders, the color of sunset, shot through with bits of gold when it caught the light. No wonder she kept it hidden under a white cap while she worked. She’d probably distract every male within five blocks of the cheese place. She was doing a pretty good job of distracting him as it was.

  She paused for a moment, checking the tables, then frowned when she saw him. Wyatt squared his shoulders, steeling himself for battle. Just because a woman looked like a forties pin-up, that didn’t mean she was going to be easy to convince.

  She dropped down into the chair opposite his. “Sorry I’m late. I had to help Carol close down the shop.”

  Might as well begin the evening on a positive note. “That’s okay, no problem. What would you like?”

  She squinted at his can of Old Chubb, frowning. “White Rascal, I guess. It’s on tap.”

  Wyatt waved at the waitress, who studiously ignored him.

  “Don’t bother Jessie. I’ll go to the bar.” Bec started to push herself to her feet.

  He shook his head, placing a quick hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at him, her eyes widening slightly, and he stepped back. Hands off, definitely hands off. Although that wouldn’t be his first choice. “I’ll do it. Maybe I can grab a couple of menus.”

  “I don’t need a menu. I want the souvlaki plate.” She squinted at the beer list.

  Wyatt blinked. “It’s a Greek place?” Nothing about the décor indicated a menu beyond burgers and fries.

  She nodded. “The cook’s Greek. He sets up the menu.”

  Antero was nothing if not surprising. Wyatt got to his feet and headed to the bar. Putting in the order took a while, given the number of customers and the single bartender who was trying to deal with them all. Wyatt grabbed another beer for himself along with Bec’s White Rascal.

  When he got back, the waitress was leaning on the table talking to Bec. She glanced up as he arrived. “You know what you want for dinner?”

  He had a feeling asking to see a menu would slow the ordering process to a crawl. “I’ll have the souvlaki, too.”

  “Good choice.” She smiled at Bec. “See you later.”

  Wyatt handed Bec her beer as the waitress trotted off toward the kitchen. His fingers brushed hers, the briefest slide of warmth that still managed to send a shiver of awareness through his body. Awareness that he stoutly ignored. He really needed to keep his eye on the prize here, rather than on the alluring Ms. Dempsey. Something about her kept sidetracking him.

  “Popular place.”

  “It’s big with the locals. They don’t get many tourists in here since it’s not a pizza place and they don’t do live music.”

  He nodded, trying desperately to think of something to talk about other than the Zoria. Heading straight for negotiations didn’t seem like good bargaining strategy. “Are you from around here?”

  She shrugged again. “Yeah, I live here.”

  He thought about asking her where she’d lived before here, but he had a feeling she’d only cut him off again. “How did you come to be working in a cheese factory?”

  “It’s not exactly a factory. It’s an artisan cheese shop and deli that specializes in selling its own cheese. Carol’s mom owns it. Her brother’s got a goat herd for the milk. It’s a farmstead store.”

  He frowned. “Farmstead?”

  “Technical term. Places that only make cheese from the milk of their own herd. Salty Goat’s the brand. It’s sold in a couple of places in Denver, along with a few places in this part of the state.” She glanced around the room as if she’d grown a little bored with the topic already.

  He nodded. He’d have to ask his own chef about Salty Goat when he got back home. Maybe it would be worth pursuing for Quaff—assuming Quaff could still afford goat cheese after the next couple of months. “Are you the cheesemaker?”

  “One of them. Carol’s mom, Ruth, does most of it. But I’m learning the ropes from her.”

  Wyatt paused. He could ask her more about making cheese, which was producing a small spatter of conversation, or he could risk asking her about beer, which might send the conversation back to square one. On the other hand, he was more interested in beer than cheese. “What did you do at Antero Brewing?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You mean besides owning it?”

  “Right.” He wasn’t sure why he thought she’d had something to do with making the beer, but he was pretty sure she had.

  She stared down at her White Rascal for a long moment, then gave him another of those negligent shrugs. “I was the brewmaster.”

  He blinked. Brewmasters were the beer equivalents of head chefs. They designed beers, blended beers, created beers from the ground up. And very, very few of them were women. “Oh.”

  She gave him a faintly sardonic smile. “Not what you were expecting?”

  This time it was his turn to shrug. “I haven’t run into many breweries that had women brewmasters. But that doesn’t mean much. I’m still getting acquainted with all the breweries in the area.”

  She shook her head. “There aren’t many female brewmasters around here. Or anywhere else. Craft brewing’s pretty much a boy’s club. A lot of these guys don’t think women drink beer, let alone make it.” She leaned back in her chair, as if she were challenging him to argue with her.

  He dodged that bullet. “More men than women drink beer. But that doesn’t mean a lot of women aren’t into it, too. It’s a developing industry.” One he was trying to survive at the moment.

  Bec picked up her beer, staring at the glass. “It wasn’t always that way, you know.”

  “What wasn’t?”

  “The beer boys club. When beer was still brewed at home, it was the women who did it. It was the mark of a good housekeeper to be able to brew great beer. It was medicinal, sort of. If you had beer for breakfast, you were getting the equivalent of a bowl of oatmeal.” Her sardonic smile was back as she sipped her White Rascal. “Bread in a glass.”

  He nodded. “I know. Women were the brewers until beer went commercial.”

  “Funny how whenever something starts making money, men take over.” She set her beer back on the table. “Do you want to talk business now?”

  Fortunately, the waitress chose that moment to deliver their souvlaki, which involved a lot of balancing since the table was fairly small and the platters were generous. Wyatt managed to engross himself in extricating his souvlaki from its skewers, then wrapping it in warm pita bread with tzatziki. Bec seemed content to do the same for the moment.

  The food was surprisingly good. He considered talking to his chef about the possibility of adding some kind of Greek appetizers to the menu at Quaff. Maybe mini pitas with a bit of g
rilled chicken and tzatziki sauce. With mint. And maybe some tabbouleh occasionally, since the version he was currently eating was delicious. The Greeks made a lot of good beer. Maybe they could have a Greek food week, with a festival at the end of it.

  Jesus Christ, Wyatt. Focus!

  “Are we discussing business?” Bec was watching him, frowning slightly.

  Wyatt blinked. Every once in a while he got a little carried away by the wonders of the food and drink around him. Which was definitely not going to help him convince Bec to sell him her last barrel of Zoria. “Just giving you time to have some food. I’ll be glad to talk about business whenever you feel like it.”

  She picked up her napkin, wiping a speck of tzatziki from the corner of her mouth, a gesture which managed to emphasize the fullness of her lower lip. He was slightly annoyed to feel his body tighten. Not now, for Pete’s sake!

  “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s get to it.”

  He tossed his own napkin on the table. “Okay. First question—is there actually a barrel of Zoria?”

  “Yep.” She leaned back in her chair, her red-gold hair catching the light for a moment. “Next question.”

  Wyatt fought down another of those odd feelings of awareness. Business, stick to business. “Is it for sale?”

  She nodded. “For the right price. What are you offering?”

  He paused. He’d given this offer a lot of thought—he didn’t want to start too low and insult her, but he didn’t want to go so high he’d cut into his own profits. And he wanted to leave room for negotiation, in case she’d like to feel as if she’d won a round. “Figuring around three hundred bottles in a barrel, I’d say five thousand would be fair.” He watched her carefully to make sure he hadn’t gone too far either way.

  She frowned slightly, drumming her fingers on the table. “Not bad. You seem to be a serious man.”

  He nodded. “I am. Believe me.”

  “Okay.” She leaned forward again. “That’s a good opening bid. The thing is, though, money’s only part of it.”

  Wyatt stared at her. He had no idea what that meant. “Part of it? Part of what? What else is involved?”

  “We’ll get to that.” She lifted her glass, wiggling it back and forth. “I need another White Rascal first.”

  “Right.” He fought his way to the bar again, switching to White Rascal himself. They might as well be drinking at the same level. He walked back to the table and put the beer in front of her. “What’s your counter offer?”

  “It’s not so much a counter offer as an expansion of your offer.” Her smile looked faintly ominous, like she might dissolve Cheshire Cat style and leave it hanging in midair. “You give me money, and you perform three tasks to obtain your Zoria.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Tasks? What kind of tasks?” A selection of vaguely illegal activities danced through his mind. How far did she think he’d be willing to go for a barrel of ale?

  Pretty far, Montgomery. And she’d be right.

  She shook her head. “Nothing illegal or unethical. You have to bring me three things.”

  “Three things.” The vaguely illegal activities morphed into something more outlandish. “What is this, the Brothers Grimm? Are any of these items magical?”

  She shrugged. “My beer, my terms. Magic’s all in the process. Do you want me to go on?”

  He blew out a breath. “Sure.” He could, of course, always say no.

  “You know the three basic ingredients of beer?”

  He nodded, counting off on his fingers. “Malt, hops, and yeast. Is that what you want?” He knew lots of beer distributors who could supply him with decent examples of all three. It seemed almost too easy.

  Judging from her expression, it was. “I’m not talking about stuff you can pick up at the local home brew shop. These are special items—unique to Antero. I’ll tell you where to get them. And I’ll only accept the ones I tell you to get.”

  “You want me to go to suppliers you already know to get stuff you already know about.” He frowned into his beer. “The obvious question here is why can’t you get these things on your own? With money I pay you.”

  She shook her head, her mouth becoming a stubborn line. “That’s not your concern. All you need to know is I want these three things from these three sources. If you get them for me, I’ll sell you the Zoria.”

  Her jaw looked rigid all of a sudden. If General Patton had owned a brewery, Wyatt had a feeling he’d have looked sort of like this when he discussed the finer points of his ale. “You’ll sell me the Zoria for the price I quoted?” Which was his low-ball opening bid. If he could get the barrel for that price, it might turn out to be a hell of a bargain.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “For that price, plus the cost of the malt, hops, and yeast.”

  He sat back in his chair, trying to make sense of the conversation. As a businessman, he should probably take the Zoria and run. How hard could it be to find some malted barley, some hops, and a bucket of yeast? And the Zoria would put a quick stake in the heart of the competition with the Red Wolf, at least for the time being.

  As a man, however, he couldn’t help wondering what was going on with Bec Dempsey. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why sell me one of your company’s major assets for less than you could probably get on the open market?”

  What the hell are you doing, Montgomery? He didn’t know exactly. His conscience was suddenly giving him a hard kick.

  She stared at him, her blue eyes luminous in the dim light of the bar. “I don’t want to sell it on the open market. And I need this stuff that you’re going to find for me.”

  At which point, the penny finally dropped. “You’re going to make more.”

  She gave him a guarded look. “Maybe.”

  “Another barrel of Zoria to replace the one I’m buying. When would it be ready to go?” He could already envision an annual event. The Zoria Dinner. He’d have to limit the number of tickets each person could buy. They’d probably sell out in less than a day.

  She shook her head. “Zoria takes time. It has to age for at least a year. This barrel has been laid down for two. I need to make some other stuff along with it so we can reopen.”

  A two-year wait would make the event even more special. Zoria, only available in limited quantities for a limited time. And only available at Quaff.

  He blew out a breath. “When can we start?”

  “Are you accepting the deal?”

  He nodded. “Absolutely. And I want an option on the next barrel. When can we get started on whatever it is you want me to do? Tomorrow, maybe?”

  She was giving him a look he could only qualify as suspicious, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was serious. “Don’t you want a contract?”

  “Sure. Write something up. I can sign it. Then we can get going on this.” And she could get started on brewing the Zoria. If it was going to take two years, he’d like to get those two years started as soon as possible.

  She nodded, still giving him a dubious look. “Okay. I’ll print something up. You can come by tomorrow.”

  “Come by the cheese place?”

  “No. I don’t want to get in their way with this deal. It’s not their concern. Come to the brewery.”

  Oh, better and better. He’d wanted to know what their setup was like, and now he’d have the chance. “Sounds good. I’ll need the address.”

  She dug into her purse and pulled out a slightly dog-eared business card. “Use this. The phone number doesn’t work anymore, but the address is the same.”

  He nodded. “I’ll find it. What time?”

  “Say eight o’clock tomorrow morning?” She arched a red-gold eyebrow. Maybe she thought the city boy wouldn’t be able to drag himself out of bed.

  “Eight’s fine.” He assumed he could grab some breakfast somewhere around town. His hotel didn’t seem to have much in the way of food. He didn’t figure he’d be too hungry anyway since he’d b
e anticipating the whole brew the Zoria thing.

  “That’s that then.” Bec drained the last of her White Rascal. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Wyatt wracked his brain, trying to think of something to prolong the conversation. He had a feeling he needed to find out more details before he undertook this slightly lunatic assignment. Plus, all of a sudden, he found that he wanted to spend more time with her, watching that fall of red-gold hair glow in the setting sun.

  But for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything more to keep her there. “Tomorrow morning it is.”

  She gave him a curt nod, pushing herself to her feet. “See you.”

  He watched her stride to the door with the air of a conquering general. Obviously, she’d gotten what she came for. Less obviously, she was a pleasure to watch even as she walked away. Maybe especially as she walked away, her shoulders swinging. Oh yeah, you’re definitely watching her shoulders.

  He definitely wasn’t. The rest of her was superlative—those softly rounded hips, the long legs, the confident stride.

  None of which he should be thinking about at the moment. Because he was pretty sure they weren’t through with the negotiations yet. And he was certain he needed to be on top of his game with her.

  Bec Dempsey was trouble. But he’d never been able to stay away from trouble, even when he saw it coming.

  Chapter Four

  Bec had been careful to turn off her phone before she’d walked into Selig’s. She knew Liam would be calling her or texting her, probably both. And she knew she wasn’t going to interrupt her conversation with Wyatt Montgomery to talk to him. Especially since the conversation with Montgomery was undoubtedly what Liam would be calling about.

  As she walked in the side door at the brewery, she turned the phone back on again. Might as well get this over with.

  It rang within two minutes, when she was halfway through the brewery building, heading to her apartment. Sighing, she hit the connect button.

  “Did he buy it?” Liam asked abruptly. “Did you sell it to him?”

  “Well, hello to you, too. Are you having a nice evening?” She pushed the apartment door closed, throwing the latch behind her.