figure out what the hell had gone wrong. And Simone wasn’t talking to anyone.
CHAPTER TWO
TESSA KEPT HER EYE on the clock as she prepped the barroom for the evening rush. It was four forty-five and Roland Kendall hadn’t returned her call.
She hadn’t meant to leave him a message at all. After carefully calculating the absolutely perfect time to contact him: after lunch when the morning was far from his mind, but before five, just in case he was heading out for drinks before hitting his box at the Rockies game. She didn’t have his cell phone number and she couldn’t think of a good reason to ask Eric for it.
So she’d called Kendall’s office at two-thirty, and when his secretary had said he wasn’t available, Tessa had hung up. But when she’d called again at three, the secretary had pointedly asked, “May I take a message, Ms. Donovan?” Damn caller ID.
Now Tessa was stuck waiting for a return phone call. She hated waiting. Thank goodness she was working the bar this afternoon. Her office had become a suffocating box and her new computer wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. But the bar work was soothing, especially at this quiet hour. They didn’t serve lunch, so their only customers were the regulars who wandered in from the sandwich shops across the street. Though there were often brewery tours during the week, none were scheduled today, so Tessa was free to sweep and wipe down tables and chairs, and even give a nice spring cleaning to the laminated beer menus. All without once taking her mind off the clock. Five o’clock loomed on the horizon and there was still no word from Roland Kendall.
Jamie wasn’t there to bitch at, so Tessa called up the Twitter application on her phone and began typing. She was the only one interested in social media as a marketing tool, so she was in charge of their Twitter account, but Jamie … Jamie was the face of the company. And the voice.
She smiled as she finished up her message from Jamie Donovan.
My sister won an argument & made me admit I was an idiot. Drop in tonight & tell me you lost an argument too & get half off your 1st pint.
There. She felt a little better, but as if warning against relief, Eric’s voice drifted in from the back room as he placed another furious call to their alarm company. Actually, if his voice was any indication, they were now the brewery’s former alarm company. Any lightness she’d felt was immediately swept away.
She was straining so hard to listen to Eric’s conversation that she jumped like a startled cat when the front door opened. Before she could summon up a smile of invitation, she recognized Jamie’s sun-rimmed silhouette.
“Jamie!” She rushed forward so she could whisper her question. “Did you call Monica?”
“No.” He looked even more miserable than Tessa felt.
“Why not? I left you a message. I can’t get ahold of her father and—”
“Because it was a meaningless night, Tessa. For both of us. If I call her today, she might think I’m interested in something serious and that is not going to help the situation.”
Tessa reconsidered. “Oh. You may be right. If she decides she wants to see you again, that’d be disastrous.”
“Exactly. As it stands, we left on neutral terms.”
“Wow, you’ve got a whole language for this.”
“Shut up,” he snapped. “I’m not some kind of man-slut.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. That was below the belt. So to speak.” When he only scowled harder, Tessa stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be mad.”
“Whatever. Did you talk to Roland Kendall?”
Tessa shook her head as Jamie took the rag from her hand and began polishing the bar. It looked just fine, but it was never quite shiny enough for Jamie, as far as she could tell. “I left him a message, but I haven’t heard back.”
“He knows it was me, Tessa. We’ve got to tell Eric before he hears it from Kendall.”
“Not yet. If there’s even the slightest chance Kendall didn’t recognize you, then we are not telling Eric. Do you know what he’d do to you?”
“He’d never trust me with anything but the bar and act like I was born with half a brain? Yeah, I’m familiar with his opinion of me.”
Tessa kept her mouth shut as she stacked glasses. Strangely enough, even though the place was called Donovan Brothers, Tessa seemed the only one at ease with her role at the brewery. Eric held on to the brewery with both hands, loath to let his siblings take on new responsibilities, and Jamie struggled against his brother’s iron grip. Tessa was trying to help Jamie without upsetting Eric, but good Lord, Jamie seemed to trip over his own feet every time.
Tessa headed for the back to slice lemons for the hefeweizen, but when she walked through the double doors, she was nearly trampled by their brewmaster, Wallace Hood.
He didn’t glance in her direction as he stalked past, rushing from the office area back to his glassed-in paradise of beer tanks and tubing. Eric stepped out of his office.
“What’s wrong with Wallace?” Tessa asked.
“He’s convinced his tanks were violated. I’ve told him that nothing in there was touched.”
Tessa watched as Wallace ran a gentle hand over one of the steel behemoths, his brow furrowed in furious worry. She understood that. If circumstances were different, she’d want to clutch her computers in her arms, too. But they were long gone, and she had bigger worries to hug to her chest.
One of those worries shook his head and sighed. “The alarm company should be out in an hour to check the wiring and box, but our contract is up next month. I’m not renewing.”
Just as she’d suspected. Eric was not the forgiving sort. The reminder made her avoid his eyes as she turned and headed for the kitchen area. The brewery didn’t serve food beyond peanuts and pretzels, but they did host occasional catered events, so the kitchen was fully outfitted. Still, it had none of the homey friendliness of the front room, so Tessa never lingered. Plus, she really had to get out of here. The sight of Eric only reinforced her sense of urgency. She cut the lemons into wedges with the ease of someone who’d done it thousands of times. Prepping the bar had been her first job when she’d turned twenty-one.
Wallace’s voice was muted by the floor-to-ceiling glass, but every time she looked up, his jaw was moving in furious conversation with his equipment. His lips were probably moving, too, but she couldn’t see them past his full, dark beard. She had no idea how old he was. Somewhere between thirty-one and forty-nine was her best guess. He was six-five, he had the body of a professional linebacker and he wore mountain-man-style plaid shirts every day. Despite the fact that he’d worked at the brewery for ten years, the only other thing she knew about Wallace Hood was that his alternative lifestyle did not match his appearance in the least. In fact, his personal life was so complex that she’d never quite figured it out. He was neither gay nor straight, but refused to classify himself as bisexual. He was both intensely private and mysteriously social. Men and women moved through his life as if he’d installed a revolving door in his bedroom.
Usually, watching him in his giant glassed-in room was
