My Man Pendleton(10)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

“Oh. You were making some rich, greedy corporation richer and greedier?”

He smiled as he nodded, obviously proud of his accomplishments. “Something like that, yes.”

“So are you from Philadelphia originally?”

“No.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he showed no sign that he would do so. She had opened her mouth to ask for more details when, for some reason, she turned her gaze to the head of the table. Her father was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his attention utterly fixed on the byplay between her and Pendleton. He was watching her reaction to his new VP with great interest, a smug little smile playing about his lips. He looked to Kit very much like a man who was about to get exactly what he wanted. Like maybe ninety-nine-point-four million bucks in his name, and his daughter living under someone else’s roof.

Ah, ah, ah, Daddy, she thought. Not…so…fast.

As she thought further, a truly masterful idea began to take seed in her brain. A dark corner of her brain where, really, nothing should ever take root. No, she told herself quickly, even as the idea took root. She couldn’t do that. Not to her family. Even if her family did bushwhack every opportunity she’d ever had to put a little romance into her life. Even if they did chase off—or pay off—every guy who’d ever taken an interest in her. Even if they did mess up any and every chance she would ever have to find happiness with a man…

She still couldn’t do that to them. Could she?

Bit by bit, as she considered her father’s satisfaction with the way his little tableau was proceeding, the idea in Kit’s head began to blossom. And slowly, she began to think that yes, maybe she could do that to them. Maybe…

This situation with her father’s new VP could work very well to her advantage. But she was going to have to make sure she played her role juuust riiight.

She smiled, the first genuine smile she’d felt in some time. And she asked, “So, Daddy, what’s for dessert?”

“What’s this all about?”

Pendleton’s question diverted Kit’s attention from the plotting that had kept her busy throughout dinner. When she turned, she found him gazing at the photograph that hung above the fireplace in the living room. The dinner party had retired here with the three C’s—coffee, cognac, and cigars—to wind up the evening. Except that in the McClellans’ case, the cognac was really Bourbon, because they didn’t keep any other hard liquor in the house.

Like every other room in Cherrywood, the main living room was filled with old things—old furniture, old rugs, old smells, old memories. And an old black-and-white photograph blown up to poster size, which hung where most people would post a portrait of the family patriarch. Though, in essence, she supposed that was exactly what the photograph was.

“That’s my great-great-grandfather, Noble Hensley,” Kit told Pendleton.

“What’s that big, um, machine he’s standing next to?”

She smiled proudly. “That would be his still.”

“Ah.”

“He was a moonshiner.”

Pendleton nodded. “How fortunate for him to have had the opportunity to make his living working out in the sunshine and fresh air like that.”

“I assume you’ve never been within smelling distance of a still, have you, Pendleton?”

“No, I can’t say that I have been.”

“I could tell.”

Before she could elaborate, he gestured again toward the photograph and asked further, “And who are all those men surrounding your great-great-grandfather?”

“The ones with the guns?” she asked benignly.

“Yes, those.”

“Those would be his VPs.”

“Ah.”

“They were always on the lookout for revenuers. Back then, Hensley’s Distilleries, Inc. was known as Old Noble’s still up in Hoot Owl Hollow.” She pronounced “Hollow” as “Holler,” as the locals would, giving her Appalachian heritage, of which she was extremely proud, its due. “Instead of things like research and development and public relations, Noble’s boys handled things like corn acquisition and midnight distribution.”

“Ah.”

“The distilling business was much more romantic back then.”

“And more dangerous, I’ll wager.”

Kit eyed him blandly. “Is there a difference?”

Pendleton eyed her back. “Between romantic and dangerous?”

She nodded.

“Don’t you think there is?”

Now she shook her head.

“Ah.”

He was driving Kit crazy with his total lack of reaction, especially when she’d been doing her best all evening to be annoying. The complete absence of animosity on his part was starting to get her really steamed.

“It was your great-grandfather, Amon Hensley, who legitimized the Bourbon-making process, though, wasn’t it?”

Pendleton’s question roused Kit from her thoughts. “I don’t know that I’d say he legitimized it,” she replied.

“He wasn’t the one who made it legal?”

“Oh, that. Yes. He did, eventually. Except during Prohibition, when they went back to the old-fashioned way of doing things. But a lot of people said the Bourbon tasted better when Noble was stirring it up out in the woods. God only knows what kind of woodland creatures found their way into it.”

That, if nothing else, seemed to get a reaction from Pendleton. Not a big one. Just a funny little kind of squinting. But it was a reaction nonetheless, and Kit gave herself a point for it.

“You mean wild animals drinking from the mixture allegedly made it taste better?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I mean little critters falling into the mixture, drowning and dying in it made it taste better.”

He hesitated only a moment this time before remarking, “Ah.”

“After Amon, came my grandfather, Beaumont Hensley,” she continued, “who was really the one to turn the company into a big success.”

“Excuse me,” her father cut in from his position on the sofa. “I think you could include me in that equation.”

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at her father. “Well it is called Hensley’s Bourbon, and not McClellan’s, isn’t it, Daddy?”

“That’s beside the point. The product was established under the name Hensley’s. It would have been foolish to change it to McClellan’s, just because the power shifted on Beaumont’s retirement.”