“To John Murphy, founder of Murphy & Sons Distillery, who died doing what he loved after he drowned in a vat of partially distilled spirit . . .”

“My kind of guy.”

“And to my grandfather, Patrick Murphy, who is soon to be turning in his grave.”

They clinked glasses and Liam took a sip of the smooth, rich liquid. Peppery spices slowly began to soften, followed by a sweetness that was a mix of licorice, barley sugar, and a hint of honey, edged with a touch of sherbet. The finish was slow to fade. As he savored the spices, he added a drop of water to the glass.

“My grandfather taught me that trick,” he said when Rainey frowned. “He said it mutes the alcohol and allows the other flavors to come forward.”

“Ethan told me your grandfather passed away.” Rainey refilled his glass. “Were you guys close?”

“We’d just reconnected,” Liam said. “He owned a whiskey distillery in Napa and I spent a lot of time there with him when I was a kid.”

“You never mentioned it before.” She took another sip of her drink. “What’s the name? I’ll make sure I have a few bottles for you next time you come in.”

“Murphy & Sons.” He drained his glass. “It’s mine now. Or at least it would be if I had a wife.”

“I guess he didn’t know you very well.” Rainey had seen Liam leave with a different woman almost every time he’d come to the pub. She didn’t judge, but she didn’t pull any punches, either.

“He did know me,” Liam said. “After we reconnected it was like we’d never been apart. We had a lot in common—same sense of humor, same political views, and even the same taste in whiskey. We had some issues—mostly because of my dad—but we were able to put them aside. I thought I’d found someone in the family who actually understood me.”

“Are you talking about Grandpa?” Ethan joined Liam at the bar. Two years older, tall and broad-shouldered like all the Murphy men, his dark hair was long, tethered in a loose ponytail, and his blue eyes were set in a rough, craggy face. He was the only son of Liam’s uncle Peter, who had died when Ethan was young. “I got a letter that he’d left me some money. I’m going to use it to fix up the bar, maybe take another trip to Ireland.”

Liam nodded. “He left me the distillery on the condition that I’m married by my next birthday, and stay married for a year. Brendan is furious. The distillery usually goes from eldest son to eldest son. I guess Grandpa decided to change the tradition because our father turned his back on the family business. Not only that, he expressed a wish that I continue the legacy by having kids.”

“I guess he wanted to make sure there were some little Murphys running around to carry on the family name.” Rainey snickered. “Maybe you should find yourself a wife real quick.”

“I’ve been through all my contacts.” Liam pulled out his phone and placed it on the counter. “Unfortunately, I’ve burned a lot of bridges.” He sighed. “I can’t do mail-order brides or green-card marriages in case something goes wrong, or they get attached, or they take half of the distillery when we get divorced after the year is up. The risk of involving someone I don’t know is just too high.”

“You need someone you trust,” Ethan mused. “What about someone you work with? Or a childhood friend?”

Liam swirled his drink around his glass. “I bumped into a woman from way back the other day at a conference. Her name is Daisy. She’s the sister of my best friend from high school. I thought maybe she could help me out, but we parted on bad terms ten years ago, and she made it clear that she still hates me.” He drained his glass and pushed it across the counter for a refill.

“I thought most of the women you’d hooked up with in the city hated you,” Rainey said.

“Not like this.” Liam sighed. “I stood her up for her senior prom, then left town without telling her and never got in touch again.”

Without warning, Rainey leaned over the counter and slapped him lightly across the face.

“What the hell?” His hand went to his cheek. He looked to Ethan for support, but his cousin was doubled over with laughter.

“How could you?” she demanded. “You stood her up for her high school prom? What kind of scumbag are you? It was her PROM for chrissakes!”

“I know it was her prom,” he spluttered. “I was supposed to be her date.”

“If you’d stood me up for my prom, my dad would have hunted you down and used you for target practice.” She took an order from a new customer at the end of the bar, then returned to Liam. “And you thought you’d ask her to marry you? I’m surprised you got out of there with your balls attached.”

Ethan frowned at Rainey. “I thought you didn’t have a dad.”

“Well, of course I have a father.” She pulled two bottles of Budweiser from the cooler and slammed them on the counter. “That’s basic biology. The question is: Which of the dozens of men my mother brought home is the one? I like to imagine he’s the protective type—Don’t hurt my baby girl! and all that—and one day he’s going to walk through that door and ask what the hell I’m doing working here when he’s got a big house out in the country with a stable full of horses and a loving family who have all been looking for me since the day I was born.”

“That’s a nice dream,” Liam said as she flipped off the tops with her bottle opener.

“We all need a dream.” She carefully poured one bottle into a glass. “What’s yours?”

“I want to save the distillery.” Liam pulled out his penknife and rubbed his thumb absently over the surface. “My happiest memories are from the time I spent there with my grandfather. It’s my only real connection to the Murphy side of my family.” And wouldn’t that just stick it to his old man? His dad had never accepted that Liam was truly his son.