Love Brewing (Love Brothers #3)

Love Brewing (Love Brothers #3) by Liz Crowe Read Free Book Online

Book: Love Brewing (Love Brothers #3) by Liz Crowe Read Free Book Online
Authors: Liz Crowe
graduated to full-on shakes.
    Leaning on the counter, she watched while Jen unloaded the
    two plastic containers for the salsa, and the smaller, metal one for the
    chicken salad. The dogs ran out to her, barking their usual enthusiastic
    welcome. Jen plodded through the canine scrum, headed for the porch. Diana
    winced when her sister frowned at the grills loaded with half-cooked meat.
    Unable to pick up the knife again, Diana cursed Dominic Love
    for the zillionth time in her life.
    “What the hell are you doing?” Jen shoved her out of the way
    and started scooping the massive pile of chopped tomatoes into the mixing bowl.
    Frozen in place but still shaking, Diana decided to sit before she fell down.
    Fucking Dominic .
    Her sister started on the cucumbers in silence, making short
    work of them. After dumping the final ingredient into the massive bowl, she
    grabbed one of the oversize mixing spatulas and began folding everything
    together. “Get that chicken done,” she demanded in a tight, trying-not-to-yell
    voice. “Hurry up. Please.”
    Diana got to her feet and slouched outside. Visions of
    Dominic wouldn’t leave her in peace. His hair, that wild ink she’d seen when
    he’d mesmerized her washing the dogs in his nothing but his worn blue jeans,
    his lips when he smiled or laughed—it had to be her ultimate curse that she’d
    never get over him.
    The raging rat bastard.
    She stomped down the wood steps and started flinging the
    chicken thighs and breasts around on the grill’s surface. The heat stung her
    skin, distracting her for a while, until yet another memory came at her—a
    smoker, the venison she’d prepped, Dom sitting and drinking an illicit beer in
    the shadows the morning after her own sister had lured him into bed.
    “Get the hell out of my head,” she muttered, stabbing a
    breast all the way through and snagging the tongs on the grate.
    “Give me that.” Jen reached across her. “I told you having
    him here was a bad—”
    “You know what?” Diana whirled, brandishing the greasy,
    sharp utensil like a sword. “You don’t get to tell me what to do relative to
    him. I’m pretty sure we established that a while ago.”
    Jen sighed and crossed her arms over her giant, pregnant
    belly. “Can we please not go there again?”
    “I’m not going anywhere.” Diana knew how sullen she sounded
    as she tried to focus on the task. “Bring me the pan.”
    Jen disappeared then returned with a large stainless tray.
    She dropped it on the stand next to the grill. “I just don’t want you to get
    “What? Again? Third time’s the charm, I’d say. Oh, wait, is
    the fourth?” Diana plopped the thighs into the pan and flipped the breasts
    over. She blamed the smoke billowing up at her for the way her vision clouded
    The Dominic Topic had been forbidden between them for a good
    long while. By the time he’d taken his second powder and bolted after
    graduation only to be found drugged up and sexed out in his teachers’ backyard
    Airstream, Diana had lifted the moratorium, mainly because Jen was the only
    human she could stand after that.
    “Okay, those are done. Dump ‘em in here. We’ve gotta get the
    salad done. I have customers waiting.”
    Diana closed up the grill and followed her sister into the
    kitchen. They worked side by side in silence, which calmed her racing pulse.
    The minimal amount of conversation required between them soothed by its
    predictability. She chopped the chicken while Jen sliced grapes, celery and
    pecans. Diana mixed up the yogurt and honey dressing they used in lieu of mayo
    and dumped it into the mix, strong-arming the giant wooden spoon to blend
    “All right, done.” She raised both arms. “I’m beat.”
    “I’m bringing the contractor out later,” Jen said as she
    loaded the salad into the large tray. “Can you make sure Mr. Love’s not still
    hobo-camped up the hay mow?”
    “I am not making Daddy’s barn into some kind

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