Second Shot of Whiskey

By Sarah Robinson

Sam Wylde is ready to prove he's more than just the privileged son of a wealthy Southern dynasty. 

Wyldefire Whiskey is poised to take Nashville by storm—and with any luck, overshadow the scandal of his cheating ex-girlfriend marrying his brother. The only problem? This gruff country boy has no idea how to throw a launch party that will get people talking.

The answer to everything might just be Holly Glen.

A party wrapped up in one tiny woman, Holly is tattooed, tempting, and exactly the event planner Sam needs to liven up his brand—and his life. He can give her what she needs, too.

All it will take is a ring on her finger.

Falling in real love with his fake wife was not part of the plan—but one shot of Holly isn't going to be enough. 

 

(Formerly titled Wylde Fire and published in 2019. It has since received intense edits, scene additions, and a brand new cover and title!)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Robinson
• Release date: Sep 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780999546932

Sarah Robinson

Top 10 Barnes & Noble and Amazon bestseller Sarah Robinson is a native of the Washington, DC, area and holds both bachelor’s and master’s degrees in criminal psychology. She works as a counselor by day and romance novelist by night. She owns a small zoo of furry pets and is actively involved in volunteering in her community.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

"You cannot do this to me, Cassie," Sam Wylde argued over the Bluetooth connection from his car to his phone. He cringed as his Southern drawl came out a little thicker than usual. Frustration did that to him, and right now it was taking everything in him to not start cussing.

With a deft twist of his wrist, he steered his truck into the parking lot next to Town Hall, cutting off another car with a halfhearted wave of acknowledgement. He needed to pick up several permits before the city offices closed, leaving no room for pleasantries.

He scanned for an open parking space. Damn, for a Saturday, the lot sure is packed.

He sighed and forced his attention back to the phone call he didn’t want to be having. We’ve got a few months until the launch of the entire brand, Cas. Everything is riding on this.

I’m really sorry, Cassie, his event planner, said from the other end of the phone. Or former event planner, apparently. But I can’t be in two places at once, and neither can my influencers and vendors. We’re booked for that day now.

Still teetering on the brink of exploding into a slew of profanity, Sam breathed in slowly the way his therapist had taught him a few years back. "But. You. Signed. With. Us. First." He ground the words out slow and steady.

Breathe in. One, two, three. Breathe out. One, two, three.

Technically, I haven’t signed an actual contract with you or Wyldefire Whiskey. I was helping you out as a favor to Noah, Cassie informed him, though her tone seemed completely checked out from the situation. And where I go…so do my connections. Noah knew that.

Sam needed no reminders that his cousin was a major pain in his ass. There was no doubt in his mind—and she wasn’t exactly being subtle about it—that Cassie quitting the launch was directly related to Noah Wylde breaking things off romantically between the two of them yesterday. Yes, yesterday. Sam was pretty out of touch with the small-town gossip vine, but even he’d heard about the messy, public break up last night at the pub off Main Street.

Bringing his cousin into the business in the first place as a co-founder had been at the not-so-subtle suggestion of his father and uncle, and Sam had never regretted acquiescing to their demands more.

Despite his frustrations with his cousin, Wyldefire Whiskey was still Sam’s pride and joy. He and Noah, along with a silent angel investor and partner who’d joined not long after they’d founded the company, Caleb Daughtry, had built their own distillery from the ground up and begun crafting their own brand of Tennessee whiskey over three years ago. Due to the aging process, they’d only just finished bottling the first batch, though their next wasn’t too far behind. In a few months, they’d be on liquor store shelves nationwide thanks to a distribution plan he’d arranged with a national beverage distributor. He’d hired Cassie to plan their giant grand opening launch party at a swanky hotel in Nashville, only a short distance from the distillery—and Sam’s hometown—in River Ridge, Tennessee to mark the occasion.

There’s no one else in town who does events this large, Cassie. Especially last minute. He hated begging, but right now, he had no other choice. Cassie was an extremely well-connected socialite across the South, who had come highly recommended by his public relations company. He’d already put tens of thousands of dollars into the brand’s publicity, and a launch party filled with celebrities and social influencers she’d bring was supposed to be the final piece they needed to make their whiskey a household name.

Like I said, I’m sorry, Cassie continued, zero remorse actually evident in her tone. I’ll make sure you get your check back on Monday. Have a great weekend!

The line went dead, and Sam slammed his foot against the brake, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the parking lot. His hands were clenched so tightly around the wheel, there was a good chance he’d snap it in half.

"Sonofabitch!" His anger bubbled over, exploding at no one in particular.

Disconnecting the call, he placed his foot back on the gas and turned into the next aisle of cars to look for a spot. Pulling his truck past the open space just enough to give him room to reverse, he shifted gears and anchored his arm behind the passenger seat, looking out the rear window.

A little blue coupe turned into the parking spot seconds before he could. So quick, he almost missed it entirely.

Are you kidding me?

Sam shifted into park right in the middle of the aisle. Shoving his door open, he hopped down from the cab and stomped around the bed of his truck toward the coupe.

Hey! he shouted at the driver, throwing his hands up in the air. What the hell was that? You stole my spot!

Sam’s next words jammed in his throat, startled for a moment when the perpetrator—a tall, slender woman with fiery hair—climbed out of the driver’s seat as he approached. As angry as he was, he was first and foremost, a hot-blooded, all-American man. It was impossible not to notice her curvy figure as she crossed her arms over her chest, or the way the sun, just beginning to drift lower in the late afternoon, illuminated the varying crimson hues in her hair.

She leveled intensely silver eyes at him. Excuse me?

Sam pushed away the distracting thoughts, trying to manage his irritation—and growing arousal. Darlin’, you parked in my spot. He tried for the nicest tone he could muster, but it still came out sounding terse.

Looks like I did. Molten eyes, somehow both angry and intoxicating, stared back at him, unrelenting.

She’s admitting it? His anger dissipated slightly, which he realized was a bit odd since the admission should have infuriated him given how worked up he already was. Something about her blatant honesty, though, was disarming and…refreshing? Or maybe it was those soft pink lips that smirked up at the corners, that had him feeling…forgiving. Wait…what?

The tiniest flash of guilt crossed her expression, but she masked it quickly, firming her jaw and pushing back her shoulders. The seductive smirk returned. I almost crashed when you cut me off pulling into the lot. Maybe if you were paying a little more attention, rather than yelling at your dashboard, you wouldn’t have nearly killed me, and you wouldn’t have lost your parking space. Really, I’m doing you a favor. You can take a few laps around this pretty parking lot and find your inner Zen until another spot opens up.

His mouth twitched, but he held tight, refusing to let the smile come. So, you’re…what? The karmic delivery man?

"Woman, actually, but…yeah. I guess today I am. A black tank top hugged her curves and showed off one arm inked full of colorful tattoos as she reached into the trunk of her car and pulled out a large cardboard box then set it on the asphalt beside her. Someone needs to be."

Her last words were quieter, as if to herself, but he heard them, nonetheless. He noted the strain and tightness in her tone and found himself wondering what the story was behind it.

But then she bent down.

Every coherent thought fled his brain as Sam paused to admire her blue jeans molded to a firm round ass. Damn. It’d been too long. Starting a business and having his heart broken all at the same time would do that to a man.

Forcing his eyes away, Sam glanced back at his truck, resigning himself to finding another place to park. He didn’t have the time or energy to fight with this woman who was making his blood heat, in more ways than one. Plus, admittedly, he had cut her off and not even given it a second thought. He was nothing if not reasonable. Usually.

She kept her back to him, continuing to unload boxes from the trunk of her car.

Sorry about cutting you off, Sam finally grumbled. He didn’t like apologies. He rarely gave them, but he felt caught off guard by her and didn’t like it. I’ll let you have the spot this time.

She paused slightly but didn’t look back at him. "Let me? When she did whirl around, her hands were straight down at her sides, fists balled. Samuel. Jed. Wylde. You didn’t let me do anything. I took that spot to teach you a lesson in manners—something you’re sorely lacking."

Sam raised a brow, a small smile on his lips despite the tightness in his chest. She knows me? Shit. Was she a one-night stand he’d forgotten? Another one of Noah’s conquests with a vendetta for the Wylde boys now? He racked his brain, sweating when he couldn’t place her.

Honestly, I don’t know why I even bothered. You haven’t changed one bit. Hands on her hips now, she was shaking her head in that same disapproving manner he’d gotten most of his life. He was familiar with disappointing women outside of the bedroom, and it was one of the many reasons why he kept most of his relationships to only a night or two. Between the sheets, he never left a woman less than completely satisfied. It was his life outside the bedroom that seemed to be the problem.

Sam let his eyes rake over her body without much subtlety—from her cowboy boots to her bright pink lips. How could he have forgotten those lips? We’ve met before?

She exhaled sharply, obviously annoyed. High school.

I don’t remember anyone like you from my high school. His brows raised, and he leaned forward a little, crossing his arms over his chest in a way he knew made his biceps bulge.

Sure enough, her gaze slipped down ever so slightly, then quickly returned to his. "Well, I was a few years behind you. I was a freshman when you were a senior. Not that anyone could go to River Ridge High and not know the Wylde men."

That was certainly true, even if he didn’t fully appreciate the snark in her tone as she said it. His family was often in the spotlight because of their financial and historical status in the town. Sam’s great-grandfather had practically founded River Ridge, and the family name continued to hold a lot of prestige through his father and uncle and their children. It also didn’t hurt how the family’s successful, decades-long cattle ranch’s charitable giving kept a lot of the town afloat.

There was a lot of wealth in his little corner of Tennessee, but few families spread it around as much as his did, and Sam was proud of the reputation they’d built of taking care of their community. That made it all the more frustrating when people seemed to prefer fixating on a few tales of misbehavior or scandalous romantic dalliances gone wrong, rather than who he and his family really were at their core and the values they tried to represent at large.

Didn’t really matter in the long run. People were going to believe what they wanted—that’s a lesson he’d learned the hard way and had decided he might as well lean into the labels.

Sam let his gaze unabashedly rake over her body again, enjoying the heated blush that spread to her cheeks as she realized what he was doing. Tilting his head to the side, he adopted his slow smile he knew had a reputation of making women fall head over heels. Something about this woman made him want to flirt. He wasn’t sure where the urge was coming from, or why he wasn’t trying to push it away given his aversion to romance recently. He was more than fine with keeping the walls high around his heart after his heart had been ripped out and stomped on by his last relationship.

Don’t believe anything you heard, he teased. They’re all lies.

Her lips twitched into a smile. I’m sure you wish they were.

She was right, of course. Sam smiled at her again, deciding to enjoy the momentary lapse into the open, engaged suitor he’d once been. "A man can dream, Miss…"

He paused, waiting for her to fill in her name.

Holly. She reached out a hand after a clear moment of indecision, the tension deflating between them. Or at least, it felt like that on his end.

Her hand was small, almost completely encased by his when his fingers closed around her palm. The feeling of enveloping her made his blood heat, the skin connecting them sizzling. He was suddenly imagining what it would be like to slide his fingers up her arm, across her tattoos and every inch of her…

Jesus, it really has been a while.

Sam pushed the racy thought away—he was not going down that road, particularly with anyone in a town full of gossips. It’s nice to see you again, Holly.

Oh. Um…you, too. Holly’s cheeks flushed and she pulled her hand back a bit slower than was necessary. He had to admit—he was a fan of her sassy Southern fire. Most women couldn’t pull off being so appealing while angry, and yet, she was as soft as she was steely. I’d chat longer, but I’ve got to get these centerpieces to the tables.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile, turning back to the trunk of her car and pulling out more boxes.

Sam stepped forward to offer her a hand. I—

An approaching car suddenly began honking at him for leaving his truck in the middle of the aisle.

Crap. Hopping back into the driver’s seat, he circled the lot twice more until he finally found another open spot—this time, pulling straight into it.

Climbing out, he glanced around, taking more serious notice of the volume of people crowding the entire River Ridge Park directly across from Town Hall. The highbrow festivities extended all the way to the Cumberland River and behind Main Street, which was lined with pricey boutique shops. Elegant white tents covered one part of the park, and a stage with a string quartet was playing soft country ballads with a crowd of onlookers all dressed in delicate summer dresses and collared shirts.

Sam pulled his attention from the event and spotted Holly across the parking lot struggling to balance a stack of boxes in her arms and see around them at the same time. He wanted to help her—heck, even if she hadn’t been a freaking bombshell, he’d never turn away from a woman in need. But Town Hall closed early on Saturdays and if he wanted the permits for the distillery today, he didn’t have time for any detours. He sighed and shook his head. His mama had raised him right and would be more than a little disappointed to hear he hadn’t assisted her.

Crossing back through the parking lot, he returned to Holly’s car just as she was trying to close its trunk with her hip. Can I help?

He pushed the trunk closed for her, trying not to laugh at the sight of her bumping her ass against the car repeatedly to no avail.

She jolted, apparently startled, causing the top wooden crate in the stack to slide off.

Quick reflexes, Sam grabbed it before it splintered against the ground. Whoa!

Thanks. Relief flooded her voice. Actually, some help would be great. If you don’t mind?

I think I owe you at this point, he teased, taking the boxes of what appeared to be intricate floral decorations, and following her through the lot.

"You definitely owe me. Her cheeks and chest bloomed bright red as she ducked her head, obscuring his view from seeing how much farther south on her body the blush extended. But, maybe I did to. I do tend to overreact when driving though."

There was more of a story there, but he wasn’t about to pry.

No need to apologize.

Oh, I wasn’t. She cast him a sideways glance that seemed downright seductive. You deserved it.

She’s flirting with me.

Laughter bubbled up inside him and he readjusted the boxes and crates in his arms as they walked toward the crowds. Fair enough. I help you with these, then we’ll be even?

Holly peered at him, inquisitive eyes partially hidden beneath long lashes. Maybe.

Sam could deal with maybe.

Southern Lifestyle Magazine’s Garden Party? He read the gold-lettered sign as they entered the green park, which had always been a gorgeously manicured garden, but had clearly been transformed into a stunning party space for the day.

Yep. The magazine picked River Ridge this year—great for the town. Holly stepped under a white tent where circular tables were set up on a temporary parquet floor in an elegant outdoor reception. She placed a box of centerpieces on the closest surface and began pulling the floral arrangements out one by one, then placing specific pieces in the middle of each table that it was labeled for.

Sam began to do the same with his box, scanning the park while he worked. There was a stage and small booths with local artists selling fine jewelry and the like, as well as a white cloth-covered bar with glass stemware serving different wines to the crowd. It seemed like the crowd would migrate to the reception area for the sit-down event later, or so he guessed.

Whoever had put this together was a pro—it had an air of ease and fun while still being polished and dignified; clearly well-planned and organized down to the last detail. The person behind this event was exactly who he needed for the grand opening of Wyldefire Whiskey.

Knowing his terrible luck, Sam wondered if it was Cassie’s doing.

Sam Wylde, meet Amelia Eldridge. Holly pointed between him and a small brunette who’d just entered the tent with a rack of wineglasses in her arms.

Amelia offered him a weighted smile as she began arranging the plates and glasses on every table. Sam Wylde needs no introductions in this town, Hol.

Pity. There was no mistaking it in her voice, and Sam was becoming all too familiar with it lately.

That’s what I told him. Holly laughed, apparently not noticing her friend’s tone.

Sam decided to stay civil. It’s good to see you, Amelia.

You, too, Amelia replied. How are you doing? Tough weekend. You doing okay?

Sam swallowed the stab of humiliation that came with every reminder of his former girlfriend’s upcoming nuptials this weekend—and there were a lot of reminders. In fact, Amelia was probably the fourth person to ask him about it just today in that same poor Sam sad-sack tone.

Star pitcher falls in love with the lead actress of the senior play—the story wrote itself. They’d been so happy for so many years, and Sam had been certain she was his future. He was all in, but she…wasn’t. Maybe she never had been.

Even though it had been several years since their dramatic split, the entire town was still obsessed with the scandalous details. He couldn’t completely blame them given how it had all ended. Hell, it had been quite the story.

I’ll be fine, Sam informed her, his tone a bit sterner and the ease of his mood quickly dissipating. It’s not a big deal.

Really? Amelia seemed oblivious at his attempt to end the conversation. "Man, I’d be a wreck