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  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Maribeth Carmichael. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Wild Irish remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Maribeth Carmichael, or their affiliates or licensors.

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  Table of Contents

  Whiskey Wild

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Books by Jen Talty

  About the Author

  Whiskey Wild

  It’s all about Whiskey

  A Wild Irish Novella

  JEN TALTY

  Prologue

  Three Years Ago…

  Baltimore, Maryland…

  “I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE YOU TESTIFIED AGAINST HIM.”

  Kitty O’Doole Reinhardt—no, just Kitty O’Doole now—tossed the last box of what few things she could call her own, into her younger brother’s dusty, old pickup truck.

  “As his wife, you didn’t have to,” her brother, Keith, said as he climbed behind the wheel, shaking his head. “You could still be living in this house.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Thanks to my ex-husband I could have been indicted on any number of felony charges and faced with jail time myself.” She glared at her brother as he rolled the vehicle down the long driveway. The hot Baltimore summer sun streaked across a clear, blue sky in a blinding glare of brilliant light.

  “You really think that would have happened?”

  “I signed the documents, which makes me guilty.” She slipped a pair of large, designer sunglasses over her eyes, shielding the dark circles, a constant reminder of the mess she’d made of her life.

  “You had no idea what you were signing.”

  “Which just makes me look like an idiot.” She knew Keith meant well, but he’d idolized Preston, wanting to be like him. Keith even went as far as to apply for an internship at Reinhart Industries, Preston’s communication technology company. And it didn’t end there. Keith had given up smoking cigarettes and weed, as well as chopping off his hair to try to impress Preston.

  For the first year of her marriage to one of the wealthiest men in all of Maryland, his influence on her brother had warmed her heart. Having grown up living from paycheck to paycheck, she and her brother didn’t have the opportunities money had afforded Preston. She hadn’t gone to college because her family couldn’t afford it. Hell, they could barely afford to pay the electric bill, which is why she went to work as soon as she graduated high school.

  “You’re not stupid,” Keith said, glancing in her direction, his blue eyes laced with brotherly affection. “You were in love and living a fairy tale.”

  She let out a long sigh. She’d met Preston while waiting tables at a posh country club in one of the wealthier suburbs of Baltimore. It was taboo for him to even ask her out, and not because she’d only been twenty, and he thirty, but she was born on the wrong side of town. Dirt poor and uneducated. She was the kind of girl his parents told him to run away from, and fast.

  If she had a dollar for every time someone called her a gold digger, she wouldn’t be selling her designer clothes on a fashion app.

  “I was blinded by glamour and fancy things,” she said. Her courtship with Preston lasted six months before he proposed, and they were married four months later in a lavish wedding she couldn’t have even dreamed of. Preston showered her with expensive gifts, but she owned not one thing. A lesson she learned the day she divorced him, having to walk away with almost nothing.

  “I’m sorry he hurt you,” Keith said.

  She reached across the front seat, resting her hand on his biceps. “He hurt us all with his lies, but in the long run, we’re better off without him.”

  “He looked utterly heartbroken in court when they sentenced him.”

  “He should have thought about that before he colluded and committed fraud.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. For months before Keith had been arrested, he’d been pacing around the house, drinking constantly. He said he was just anxious over a business deal, when in reality, he knew he was being investigated and did everything he could to cover his tracks, including using her to hide investments, money, and bad business dealings.

  “Not going to be easy to go from that house, back to living at home with me and the folks.”

  “Could have been worse. I could be in jail.”

  At twenty-one she’d gone from rags to riches, a story fit for the big screen. Now, at twenty-four, she was back to rags.

  And she welcomed it.

  She wouldn’t let this beat her down. Not anymore. She had gotten a job at a local Irish Pub and would start classes part-time at the local community college.

  This time, she wasn’t going to count on a man, especially a rich one, to make her life better.

  She’d do it on her own.

  ***

  One year ago…

  Bulh, Idaho…

  “Get out.” Johnnie Walker Whiskey, better known as JW, hurled his latest trophy across the living room. It hit the wall with a thud and a crack, shattering into three pieces when it landed on the hardwood floor.

  “Oh my God,” Bella yelled with her hand on her hip. “What has gotten into you? You could have hit me with that stupid thing.”

  “I didn’t throw it anywhere near you, so stop being so dramatic.” As much as he’d like to haul off and hit someone, he’d never lay a hand on her, even if she was the reason for his rage. How could he have been so blind? “And that stupid thing.” He pointed to his first-place trophy from the bull ride earlier that day. “Is what is paying off all the shit you keep putting on my charge card.” He held his hand out. “Give it back. Then leave.”

  She dug into her purse, pulling out a hundred-dollar wallet she just couldn’t live without. The shiny diamond he’d given her just two weeks ago sparkled under the LED lighting.

  “While you’re at it, give me back the engagement ring.”

  She gasped, her eyes growing wide as if the request had been such a shocker.

  He really didn’t want the damn ring back, and he should have known their relationship was doomed the day she refused his mother’s ring. Something about it being too small and not her style.

  “No way. You’re the one calling off the wedding, not me.”

  He laughed. “I’m not the one who has been fucking one of my biggest competitors, not to mention one of my closest friends.” He choked on the words. Any man who’d sleep with his friend’s fiancé was no man at all. “Just get the fuck out. I’ll have your things sent to wherever you want. I just never want to see you near this house again. Ever.” He closed the gap between them, curling his fingers around her arm, tugging her toward the door.

  “Hey, that hurts!” She jerked her arm away. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

  He ignored her statement, knowing he’d applied little pressure, and opened the front door.

  “We’re done,” he said.

  “You’re going to regret this.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’ll make sure you do,” she said with a snarl that only a wild beast could create.

  The second she crossed the threshold, he slammed the door shut, locking it. About the only thing that would
get him through the night was his namesake.

  He stepped over the broken trophy and made his way to the bar, pulling out a bottle of Johnnie Walker. He didn’t bother with a glass. The liquid burned as he took three large gulps, nearly choking, reminding him of the first time he’d ever had a shot of the dark liquid. He’d been seventeen and he and his friends had stolen a bottle. Hell, he was named after the spirit, it should be his signature drink. Only, he’d hated it. Of course, whiskey was an acquired taste and eventually, it had become one of his favorites.

  He eased himself back onto the sofa and turned on the television, He had no idea what blared from the speakers as he took a few more shots, closing his eyes. He’d deal with the fallout of breaking up with Bella in the morning. Hopefully, it wouldn’t make the morning news, though Bella was the daughter of Robert Brothers, one of the richest cattle and bull farm owners in all of Idaho, not to mention he ran the best bull riding school in the country and if he caught wind of what happened, he’d be pounding on JW’s door. Wouldn’t matter that he was justified in tossing her out on her ass, she was Robert’s pride and joy.

  This would definitely put a damper on JW’s career and his future.

  He took a few more sips, his vision doubling as the effects of the alcohol numbed his body. His mind wandered to a place where he’d never met Bella, much less took her home.

  His brain became a haze of what ifs and mistakes. He wished he could go back and have a do over…

  He had no idea how long he’d slept when the doorbell rang.

  And rang.

  And rang.

  His head throbbed, and his stomach lurched to the back of his throat as he tried to stand, but instead rolled off the sofa.

  Pushing himself to a standing position, he tried to focus on the clock blinking off the cable box, but the room continued to sway, and he saw double of everything. A faint glow of light shimmied through the window.

  So, he’d slept all night. Well, that had been his goal.

  He rubbed his temples and stumbled toward the front door.

  “Johnnie Walker Whiskey. This is the police.”

  Steadying himself, he pulled back the door. “Yes, Officer?” He tried to steady himself, though didn’t think he was successful as the two policemen standing in front of him rocked as if they were holding a baby.

  “You’re under arrest,” one of the cops held up a piece of paper. “You have the right to—”

  “Before you read me my rights, could you at least tell me what for?” JW asked.

  “For the assault of Bella Brothers.”

  Chapter 1

  THE HUMID BALTIMORE air smothered JW’s skin, closing off his pores. Dust and dirt from hardened ground after weeks of no rain, coating his body layer upon layer, had never been as brutal as a summer afternoon in this city. Who the hell came to Baltimore to clear out the cobwebs and have a little down time?

  Johnnie Walker Whiskey did, that’s who. But only because he tossed a dart at a map of the United States and vowed to take a couple of weeks wherever that dart landed. He’d been hoping for the Carolinas but man, had his aim been off.

  He turned the corner from his hotel, his cowboy boots smacking the pavement as his socks squished. God, this would make his boots smell worse than a horse barn, a week overdue on mucking the stalls, on the hottest day of the year. Two young men wearing polo shirts, bright-colored shorts, and flip-flops strode past. JW never wore shorts. Ever. And he certainly didn’t sport flippy things. Hell, he barely wore sneakers, and only if he had to.

  Now, shirtless?

  He could do that all day long.

  But he supposed the same rules about shirts and restaurants applied in Baltimore as it did in the rest of the country.

  He had no idea where he was going, only that he figured he’d pass some sort of bar that served food at some point and a little walk would be good, except he hadn’t anticipated sweating so much. Maybe, he should try a pair of shorts.

  The image popped into his head.

  Nope. He’d rather be hot.

  Leisurely strolling about five blocks, he stood in front Pat’s Irish Pub, glancing over the menu which consisted of your typical burgers, steaks, wraps, and other standard items anyone would expect from a pub. The door swung open as two young girls, arm in arm, scurried onto the sidewalk.

  They both turned their heads and smiled. “Best pub in all of Baltimore,” one of them said, batting her eyelashes.

  Was that really a thing?

  Pretty enough, but if they were a day over twenty-one, he’d be shocked.

  “Can’t go wrong,” the other girl said.

  He lifted his Stetson, giving the girls a nod. “I appreciate the tip.” But he didn’t need it. The thick aroma of grilled beef, barbeque sauce, French fries, and whiskey sending his stomach on a low, hard growl had told him that this would be his nightly stop for the next two weeks.

  If he could stand this city that long.

  Not only had he been hoping for the Carolinas, but he preferred the great outdoors, hiking, canoeing, and staring at green mountains.

  Not buildings.

  He stepped into the pub and glanced around at the packed room. Well, it was happy hour in most places.

  “It’s going to be about an hour wait for a table,” the hostess said with a bright smile.

  “Can I get dinner at the bar?”

  “By all means. Same menu.” The young woman pointed across the room to the back bar, across from a stage where a band looked to be setting up. “That’s Kitty behind the counter. She’ll take good care of you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He made his way through the room, staring at the back side of Kitty, the bartender, wondering what the hell Kitty stood for and if she got razzed as much as he did for his name.

  He took the open seat at the end and watched her hips sway as she shook two metal containers before pouring them into a tall glass filled with ice. Her long, red hair pulled loosely into a braid, cascading down her back, stopping just an inch shy of her belt. She wore jeans that hugged her hips like a saddle on a bull. A black tank top rested gently at the top of her pants, showing off just a little skin.

  She turned sideways, and he damn near fell off the stool as she leaned across the counter, sliding the tasty drink across the wood. Her full ruby lips drew into a killer smile.

  “I still can’t believe my baby brother is graduating from college,” she said.

  “Thanks to you.” Her brother said. JW assumed that’s who she was speaking to based on his bright red hair, redder than hers, and a matching goatee to go with it.

  “Hey babe, our table is ready,” a blond chick waved from across the room.

  “Dinner is on me,” Kitty said.

  “Someday, sis, I’m going to strike gold and take care of you for a change.”

  “I do mighty fine all by myself.” She tilted her head toward the end of the bar. Her pale skin was dotted with cute freckles. Her face and body said she couldn’t be older than maybe twenty-two, which was way too young for his blood. At pushing thirty-four, he didn’t date anything younger than twenty-eight.

  That wasn’t true.

  He didn’t date.

  At all.

  He’d spent the better part of last year defending his ex’s accusations that he’d beaten her the night they ended their relationship. The truth had come out, and his name had been cleared, but it had cost him his career as a bull rider, not to mention the respect of everyone in the industry. Even after it had been proven that Bella had hired someone to put bruises on her body, people, especially women, crossed to the other side of the street when they saw him coming.

  “Nice hat,” Kitty said, her hand waving across the counter with a white rag.

  He watched her clear off the space in front of him, mesmerized by her movement, and trying to ignore the fact he noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Why thank you, ma’am.”

  She tossed the cloth over her shoulder with an arched brow. �
�Not sure anyone has ever called me ma’am.”

  “First time for everything.” He took his hat off, setting it on the counter, realizing he stuck out like black lab in a sea of yellow ones. “Are you Kitty?” He ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. Only time he took off his hat was when he showered, went to bed, or when the pastor at his church made him.

  She leaned back with a scowl. “Who’s asking?”

  “JW, and the hostess over there said Kitty would take good care of me.” He hadn’t meant to put her on the defensive. “Can I call you Kitty? Or would you prefer, ma’am?”

  Her smile returned. “I’ll answer to either. What can I get you?”

  “How about a Stella and shot of Johnnie Walker, and whenever you get a chance, a menu.”

  “Sure thing.” She reached under the counter, her arms pressing against the sides of her breasts, enhancing her cleavage which he couldn’t help but notice.

  He dropped his gaze to his lap.

  “What’s JW stand for?” She snagged a Stella glass and pulled back the lever dispensing the brew.

  “I’ll tell you on two conditions.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know that badly,” she said with a slight laugh.

  “Well, I want to know if someone named you Kitty or if that’s a nickname, and I kind of want to know badly.”

  “What’s the second condition?” She flicked the foam off the top with a quick snap of her wrist.

  “When you’re on a break, you take a few minutes to tell me what in this town I should do and see.” Well, shit. He’d meant to say: you can’t make fun of my name.

  She pushed the beer in front of him as she turned and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. “I don’t socialize with customers.”

  “I’m not asking you to. Just asking for recommendations of things to do. I’m here for two weeks, and all I’ve got on the docket is an Oilers game.”

  “I can make some recommendations while I’m working.” She nodded her head at another customer. “Good enough compromise for condition number two?”