“My parents,” I corrected.
“Your parents, any less. Lydia knows that.”
He was right, of course. Logically, I knew that, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I wanted to sort through all this shit. I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me wanted to keep this distillery, wanted to open it back up and see what I could do with it. To try and rebuild it on my own and do something different. As much as I loved California, I needed a change too.
“Come on. Byron still hasn’t returned my phone call. Let’s go see him.”
Isaac didn’t question me. We got the address and drove to his office, which wasn’t hard to find. I doubted anything in this town was, other than Mitchell Creek our first night.
Byron’s office was in a small brick building that looked more like a house than a place of business. A woman who I assumed was a paralegal looked up the second we walked in. “Well, if it isn’t Cohen Mitchell and Isaac Connors. I was wondering when I’d get to meet the two of you.”
“Wait. How do you know my last name?” Isaac asked.
She grinned. “News travels fast.” She was probably sixty or so, with curly red hair and a mischievous grin.
“Yeah, but I never told anyone. Are you guys scoping us out on social media or something?”
“This is a small town, sugar. We know everything about everyone, and if we don’t, we find out; if we can’t, we make somethin’ up anyway.”
“I totally belong in a small town,” Isaac said.
Huh. Funny, I was thinking it all sounded pretty creepy to me.
“Anyways, I’ll tell Byron you’re here, though I’m sure he already knows. He can usually hear through the door. I’m Dottie, by the way—Dottie Jensen. I knew your daddy, of course. Well, your whole family. How can you live in Buckridge and not know the Mitchells?”
“Or the O’Ralleys,” Isaac added, and I nudged him.
“Well, yes, them too, but we have to admit, they’re a little different from the Mitchells, with the rumors and all.”
“What rumors?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know how true it is, but my mama, bless her heart, didn’t trust Bobby Mitchell or his daddy as far as she could throw them. I mean, we all loved them because that’s what we do here, but I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t say I questioned their morals, if you know what I mean.”
My heart spiked. This was the second time someone made it sound like there was something dirty going on where my family was concerned. “No, I don’t, actually.”
“Well, those are all stories, and I’m not one to spread rumors,” Dottie countered.
I was pretty sure she was exactly the type to spread rumors. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to ask. The side door opened, and Byron said, “Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Connors, please come in.”
I nodded and signaled for Isaac to go first, following Byron into his office.
“Please, sit down. Sorry I haven’t replied to your message. It’s been a busy day.”
“No problem,” I said, even though it was. “I was going through the paperwork, and I had a few questions. First, there are bank-account balances—”
“Which will go to you after one year. It was one of your father’s stipulations. I wasn’t supposed to tell you until you arrived.”
“Did he always play games like this?” I asked, frustrated.
“This isn’t a game, Mr. Mitchell. Your father loved you. He—”
I held up a hand. I didn’t want to hear about him loving me. When he looked at me, obviously offended, I said, “I apologize if that came off harsh. I’m just dealing with a lot.”
“Well, thank you for that, and I’m sure you are.”
We eyed each other for a moment as if unsure what to think. This man had been my dad’s best friend. There had to be things he wasn’t telling me.
“I have a question for you…” He hesitated. “Do you know what your plans are? With Mitchell Creek? Do you intend to sell? Reopen? Keep it until you decide?”
“Reopen,” I said without thought. Well, shit. The answer had been right there all along. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but I was sure I knew since before I’d arrived. I was curious about my history. I needed a challenge.
Mitchell Creek was just that.
I turned to Isaac. “With his help, hopefully.”
“Are you kidding? I’d never let you have all the fun.”
His answer didn’t surprise me. Isaac and I were family.
I wonder what Brody will think, danced through my head. That surprised me. It didn’t matter one way or another what that gorgeous man, whose family had feuded with mine, thought. It didn’t matter at all.
“Then I have something else for you,” Byron said, making me frown. Something he could only give me if I was opening the distillery again? “I’ll need you to sign an NDA first. I understand that seeing this might change your mind. Your father stipulated that you had to want Mitchell Creek before I gave it to you. Afterward, you’re welcome to stay or walk, but you won’t be able to talk about what you read.”
What I read? Holy fuck, this really was like a movie. “Okay.”
Byron already had the NDA ready and handed it over. “I’ll prepare a different one for you, Mr. Connors.”
I read it while he prepared Isaac’s, I assumed because he was there at the moment and I mentioned him helping with the distillery. It was all standard stuff, so I signed and waited for Isaac to do the same.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe, but your father really did love you,” Byron said. “He did the best with what he was given, and he tried to make things right. When he fell in love with Pammy White, that changed things for him. He wanted to be the man she deserved.”
I froze. Isaac reached over and placed his hand on my knee. My mom’s last name had been Miller. Pam Miller. “White?” I asked with a tremble to my voice.
“Shit. I wasn’t thinking. I forgot you didn’t know that. Your mama changed her last name because she didn’t want to be found easily. It’ll all make sense to you soon. She gave you your daddy’s last name, though, obviously.”
This was such a fucking mess. I had no idea what to think or feel.
Isaac took over for me, talking and asking questions. A little while later, I was walking out of his office with my father’s journal and the numbers to a bank account in my name. Apparently, he was giving me a small portion of money now, to help get Mitchell Creek off the ground, and then I’d get the bulk of my inheritance after a year.
“You okay?” Isaac asked as we were driving back to the house.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. This was all a lot. Journals, name changes, NDAs, feuds and secrets. I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.
Isaac knew me better than anyone, so he left me alone as I locked myself in my father’s office and read.
The journal was filled with recipes and formulas for whiskey, names of people they worked with, and lots of pertinent information I would need about the distillery. That, however, wasn’t what kept me up until the next morning. No, that was the other stuff, the personal things in the letter Harris Mitchell had written me.