Whiskey charm foster hou.., p.1
Whiskey Charm (Foster House Book 3), page 1
WHISKEY CHARM
A Foster House Novel
WALKER ROSE
LE Publishing
Copyright © 2025 by Walker Rose
Editing by Razor Sharp Editing
Proofreading by Fairy Proofmother Proofreading, Judy’s Proofreading, and My Brother’s Editor
Cover design by Ever After Cover Design
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.
No AI Training
Formatted with Vellum
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Walker Rose
I came to Huckleberry Springs to regroup—not to flash a cowboy while rescuing some strays from a ditch.
Haven Hennessy is everything I don’t want anyway: A man who puts himself first. A man who’d rather have fun than face commitment. A man who can charm a girl right out of a good decision. So he can kiss my red lace panties goodbye the moment I figure out how to ditch this town.
Yet he takes in the puppy and three kittens I rescue from the side of the road. He’s loyal to his brothers and his company. And he makes it his mission to give me new experiences, like fly-fishing, horseback rides, and getting naked in a tack room.
My stay in this small Montana town is only supposed to be temporary until I can launch a new career. Am I as wrong about that as I am about Haven? Because he makes me feel something no one else ever has: wanted.
But the more I get to know Haven, the more I realize I was right all along. Haven doesn’t let people in. Not fully. Not when he’s spent his whole life being left behind. So when my dream opportunity finally manifests, I have to leave before I break all my rules and my own heart in the process. I don’t dare fall for his whiskey charm.
CHAPTER ONE
Prescott
Outside my car, there is nothing but sweeping pastures, rolling hills, and peaked mountains in the background. Not a dive bar in sight. “I think I’m lost, Papa.”
His raspy grunt echoes through my speakers, accompanied by the tink of glassware. He must be working at the bar already. “Where are you?”
“Montana,” I say wryly, but I don’t have much more information than that. My map app insists I’ve reached my destination, but my destination should have people and buildings instead of cattle.
“You in Huckleberry Springs?” he asks, oblivious that I wouldn’t be lost if I were in town already. From what I recall, it’s too small for me to get lost in, even in the middle of the night under the new moon. Right now, the sun is high in the afternoon sky, and all I see is a gorgeous Montana view.
“Maybe? I took the back roads from Gillette.” I split my trip from Chicago over two days, staying in Spearfish, South Dakota, last night. The last several hours have been nothing but gorgeous, rugged land dotted with dark trees. The only clue that I’m close to Huckleberry Springs is the Beartooth Mountains in the distance. “I turned off the interstate after Billings, and now I’m surrounded by cows.”
“Black? Brown?”
What does that matter? “Black.”
“Solid? Or baldies?”
I slow before I go off the road. The highway doesn’t have much for a shoulder, and I’m distracted. A couple of houses line the valley, but other than a sign for fishing access, I don’t have much else for landmarks. “They’re solid black cows. Lots of calves.”
“Black Angus,” Papa mutters. “Could be anywhere.”
I snort. Not even the cattle can help me. I pull over as much as I can and stop before I end up back in Wyoming or something. Instead of smacking my head against the wheel, I pull up my photos and gaze at Buford. Like Pavlov’s dog, I exhale my stress. Stern, lovable, fluffy, orange Buford.
Buford the boss cat, may he rest in peace.
A pang snaps against my heart. I could use his cuddles now, but he’s gone, and I’m in the middle of nowhere, Montana, getting almost as much help from my dad as I have my whole life. Why’d I expect this to be different?
Maybe because I’m lost on my way to go live with him. Definitely a new development in our father-daughter relationship.
“You see signs for the ski resort, Pressie?” he asks. Once, my ex tried to call me by the same nickname. I don’t have much from Papa that makes me feel special, so I put a stop to that. Be more inventive. Give me my own special nickname. But that was one of the many things Milo couldn’t put himself out for.
“I didn’t accidentally go to Red Lodge, Papa.” I did accidentally go to Red Lodge at my map app’s insistence.
“What else is around you? A lot of trees?”
I scan the valley full of trees along the Stillwater River. Then to the blanketed mountains. “Yes to trees.”
“The old Hennessy mine?”
I crane my head around. A mine? “What’s that look like?”
“It’s an old gold mine.”
“I’ve never seen an old gold mine.” Or a new one.
“Didn’t I take you to one?” He makes a clicking sound. “In Colorado, when I had that ride—”
“Oh, I see a sign. I’ll call you back.” I hang up on him, squeeze my eyes shut, and blow out a breath. Did I make the right decision? I’m going to be living with Papa and hearing his beloved rodeo stories. Hearing him talk about memories he thinks we made together.
No, he never took me anywhere, but yes. Now I remember that I have been to a former gold mine. If something didn’t include a rodeo or the animals in the rodeo, he wasn’t interested. I toured a mine turned museum with Mom once in Colorado. Papa had been on the rodeo circuit, we’d followed, and he’d had the time of his life while Mom and I had done our own thing. While Mom quietly cried about how her husband seemed to spend time with everyone but her.
This dismal trip down memory lane is not going to get me to Huckleberry Springs, nor will it aid me in figuring out my next phase in life while living with Papa. Sighing, I throw the car into gear. I’ve just started pulling back onto the highway when a kitten darts in front of me and disappears into the grass.
I gasp and flip the car into park. There are no homes close enough for such a small kitty to have roamed from. Grabbing my phone, I scramble out of the car. I’m alone on the road, and the wind flutters my hair. It’s not as windy as Chicago, but the breeze licks at the hem of my skirt.
I should’ve thrown on shorts, but the weather forecast this morning for Huckleberry Springs was a pleasant seventy-two degrees with light wind and full sunshine. I didn’t think I’d be heading into a ditch full of weeds in my skirt and hiking sandals.
I’m doing all sorts of things I didn’t think I’d be doing today, like moving to Montana to live with my absentee dad. But it’s only for a little while. Until I figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Again. And until I have the money to do so.
“Here, kitty, kitty.” I inspect the grass like I have x-ray vision. It was a cat, right? An orange kitten. Not many other wild animals are orange.
Nostalgia explodes in my chest. Once upon a time, an orange kitten changed my life. The warm little memory bursts. He changed it again when he was gone too.
A tiny mew reaches me. I spin around. “Kitty?”
Another sound reaches me. A meow?
“Kitty, kitty?” I start slowly. If it’s that far ahead, it’s a fast runner.
Should I lock my car? It’s full of my life’s belongings. I sold all my photography equipment except my camera before I moved.
A pang of regret hits me square in the chest.
I look around. Still no other vehicles. My car is fine.
I creep forward. “Kitty?”
A little mew sounds in the distance. I pull up the camera on my phone and switch to video before I realize what I’m doing. Really? Haven’t I learned that no one wants to see what I post without Buford? I switch my phone off and stuff it into my bra. This dress has no pockets.
I high-step through the grass and wildflowers. The leaves scrape against my calves, tickling my skin as I try to keep from crushing the blossoms of the wildflowers. Just as I’m about to put my foot down, a blur of orange springs up and disappears again. I windmill my arms, struggling for balance. Once I’m stable, I bend down.
I look through the late spring growth. “Hello? Kitty?”
Little green eyes blink at me before dashing away into thicker weeds.
I lean over farther, my ass in the air. A gust of wind comes up, blowing my skirt high. I distractedly bat it down, but the material catches again, lifting higher until a cool breeze gusts across my butt cheeks.
An engine drones. Right behind me. I close my eyes, my cheeks—both sets—warming. Damn.
Whoever it is had better spare my dignity and keep driving. Please, no dashcam.
The wind blows stronger for a second as the truck continues past me.
Thank Go—
The truck comes to a stop.
Fuck.
CHAPTER TWO
Haven
It’s the middle of the day, but there’s the ripest, juiciest full moon in the ditch. And it’s encased in the skimpiest pair of lacy red underwear. I pull to the side of the road and let my brain come online when my dick so badly wants to take over.
I consider the sight in the rearview mirror. A small blue car takes up half the lane and all of the narrow shoulder. A woman is in the weeds in the ditch, looking around.
Did something fly off her car? Out the window? Can the wind blow her skirt up again?
I should check on her. I can’t drive by someone possibly stranded on the side of the road and go about business as usual. Shutting the radio off in the middle of the weather report, I back my pickup closer to the car.
I don’t recognize the vehicle or the woman, though I haven’t seen much other than long, creamy legs, a full ass, and that unforgettable lacy red underwear. What does the rest of her look like?
After I flip my pickup into park, I grab my cowboy hat off the passenger seat and climb out. I stuff the hat on and cock my head at the sound of her voice. Who is she talking to?
“Here, kitty, kitty.” Her soothing tone rolls over me, a caress along my skin.
The closer I get, the clearer the woman becomes. She’s tall. The grasses in the ditch don’t reach to her knees, but it’s early in the season. A mop of coppery hair glows almost orange under the sun and swirls over her head in a large bun. Strands that frame her face flutter in the breeze.
“Kitty? Come here, hon.”
I could record her cooing and replay it all night and day long.
She turns, and a cry rips from her. She cartwheels her arms, and I rush to the edge of the road. Her eyes go wider. Blue. Clear, like the sky above us.
I pull to a stop at the edge of the ditch to keep from scaring her even more, and she recovers her balance.
Planting her bare legs wide, she looks ready to sprint in either direction. “Who are you? What do you want?”
I raise my hands like I’m getting mugged. “Sorry, ma’am. I stopped to see if you need any help.”
She blinks at me. “Ma’am,” she whispers to herself. “Isn’t that just the cherry on the day?” Giving herself a shake, she lifts her chin. “Did you, um… Did you just drive by?”
I nod while carefully reining in my expression. Nice and neutral. I can’t lie to her. I’m better than that, but she won’t know how the sight affected me. I was unmoved. My pulse did not beat through my dick.
Her “figures” is inaudible but still clear from her lips. Mine twitch as I hold back a smile. Better she doesn’t know for certain that I can describe the exact shade of her panties. Ruby red, like a precious jewel that should be thoroughly inspected.
She looks around her feet. “I swear I saw a kitten out here. And where there’s one, there might be more.”
It is prime dumping season for spring batches of kittens. “You got something to put them in?”
She lifts the green material of her skirt. Paired with her brilliant hair and matching top, she looks like just another wildflower mixed into the ditch weeds. “I can make a pouch out of this.”
Depends how many there are, how big they are, and how dirty she wants to get that outfit. “Let me see what I have.” I start for my pickup.
An “oh my god!” spins me right back around. My boots scrape on the pavement as I rush through the grasses.
“I found them,” she says in a loud hiss. “A puppy too!”
My stomach drops. Kittens and a puppy? Just tossed on the side of the road? It’s more of a wonder that I’m still shocked it happens.
I peer over her shoulder. A pleasing floral scent amplifies the other smells coming from the grasses around us. I catch myself leaning into her to sniff. Damn. Don’t be creepy.
In front of her is a puddle of fur. One of the two gray tabby kittens lets out a halfhearted hiss, and a little black Lab puppy thumps its tail.
She squats. Her skirt catches on some of the grasses, but that doesn’t stop her. Her soft words fill the air. “Look at you. And you’re all tame, aren’t you?” The little tabby hisses again. “Oh, I know. You’re a tough one. You’re the protector.” She scratches its head, and the whole guardian role goes out the window. The kitten’s eyes roll back, and a second one bumps its head into her hand, wanting its own pets.
When she reaches the puppy, it rolls to bare a round little belly. To be fair, if this girl put her fingers on me, I’d bare a lot more if she wanted me to.
She looks back at me. I’m pinned in place by shrewd sapphire gems. “Did you find a box?”
Shit. I forgot about that. I’m not usually so useless. I make a point of it. “No, you called out, and I thought something was wrong.”
“Oh.” A tiny frown passes over her bow-shaped mouth, like she isn’t sure what to think about me checking on her.
Meanwhile, I have too much to think about. Like how her top lip is a little thinner, making her bottom lip perfect to nibble on. Her figure is full of curves, but what’s the boxy outline by one of her breasts?
“There’re only two gray tabbies and the puppy here.” She rips me out of my inappropriate perusal. “The one I saw looked like an orange kitten, about the same size as these. They’ve got to be together.”
I squint at the strays, struggling to concentrate. I’m not usually this distracted by a woman. It’s the range of emotions she’s put me through, that’s all. First, I got flashed. Unintentionally, but my libido doesn’t care about the motivation, just that it happened. Then I thought she was stranded and inadvertently scared her. Now I’m ready to do whatever bidding she needs from me.
She lifts a kitten and inspects it all over while giving it some love. “I can carry them all. I’ll put them in my car and look for the other one.”
She’d get that pretty dress dirty. “No need. Hand them here.” The animals look fairly healthy. There’s no matted fur or watery eyes, and their sides haven’t sunken in. They’ve been recently unhoused. “Then I can look for the third.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Why would I?”
“Do you have somewhere to be?” She adopts that slight frown again.
“Not at the moment.” Is it my willingness to help that’s throwing her? Hasn’t she experienced a hand-up from a passerby? Is she a city girl?
She considers my answer for a heartbeat, then gives me the wiggly cats. The velvety black puppy gets cradled in her arms. “I think it’s a Lab.” She checks the backside. “A little girl.”
“Good huntin’ dog.”
She arches a manicured brow, and I steel myself to get berated by a girl who thinks hunting is cruel when it’s how my dad fed me and my two brothers for years. “She’ll come in handy for all that hunting I do.”
The dry sarcasm in her voice somehow fits the strong vibe she puts off. “Duck hunting can be addictive.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.” She scratches the puppy under the chin, and there’s barely a smile despite the faint trace of humor.
Hell, she’s pretty. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes sparkle. Her breasts are more than a handful, and thanks to the view I got earlier, I can picture her naked too easily.
There goes my blood flow. Control yourself, dammit! I’m better than this base reaction. I never get in over my head with a girl, and I don’t even know her name. I tip the brim of my hat instead of laughing with her, and her smile falters. “Where do you want them?”
The humor’s gone from her eyes, and the loss is acute. “In the trunk, I think. Just so they’re a little contained while I move everything around and make space for them.”
I get a better look at her car. Plastic bins are stacked high in the back seat. Is that bedding in her back window?
