Brandy McClure dove into the crystal waters and surfaced. Swiping her long, honey-tinted hair from her eyes, she scanned the shoreline. A hidden spring fed the secluded pond before the bountiful water cascaded into the larger lake. Rising above her, the Appalachians framed her favorite swimming hole. Only one other person knew her secret place. She awaited his arrival.

Big Daddy must never discover her relationship with Flint Hathaway. The McClure's and the Hathaway's were the bitterest of enemies. Brandy's father owned and operated the second-largest whiskey distillery in Kentucky. His grandpappy—everyone within the sound of his booming voice knew—was a moonshiner. Throughout the years, the old man's illegitimate prospects became a thriving business.

The lake and nearby village bore the name of McClure. The Hathaways ran the general store, and old Clem worked as the caretaker for the vacation cabins surrounding the lakefront. Over the years, the two families disputed the ownership of the spring that provided water to the distillery. The feud raged on for years.

Brandy and Flint weren't interested in the feud. They both thought it was ridiculous to continue a generational argument. The McClures claimed the spring and profited from it, and the Hathaway family believed they had a right to some of the profits. If the two old clans combined, everyone would benefit. Brandy and Flint were interested in combining their clans.

"You stay away from those Hathaway's, you hear me, girl?" Clayton McClure bellowed. He leaned back in his chair and glared at his daughter.

His son, Bourbon, stood by his side. Walking home from school, the young boy had seen his sister holding hands with the enemy. He hastened home to inform Big Daddy.

Brandy caught her young brother's eyes and held them. Bourb promised to keep her secret but blabbed anyway. When she laid her hands on him, she'd teach him a thing or two. In the meantime, she glowered at her father's lecture.

"Those confounded Hathaways are no good," Big Daddy continued, refilling his whiskey glass. He took a huge gulp of the contents. I don't want you mixing with them."

"I love him," Brandy began. She willed herself to face her father. Big Daddy was formidable in his white suit and black string tie. A huge white Stetson covered his pushy white eyebrows.

"Love?" Big Daddy bellowed. "How can you love a Hathaway?"

Brandy jumped in her skin, and Bourbon looked uncomfortable. Both siblings feared their father, particularly when he was drunk—and he was often in that condition.

"Stay away from Flint Hathaway, hear?" Big Daddy bellowed again.

Brandy could not stay away from Flint. They met clandestinely in the secluded pond above the lake. Arriving early in the morning, she plunged into the refreshing water and awaited her lover.

A low whistle broke through the silent spring morning. Brandy repeated the call, indicating 'all clear.' The bushes rustled noisily, and then Flint appeared on the shore. He dropped his denim overalls and dove gracefully into the pond. Their bodies interlocked beneath the surface, and the couple kissed passionately.

"We can't keep our relationship a secret indefinitely," Flint complained. The couple sat on a rock overlooking the pond. The sun warmed them, drying their bodies and hair.

"Big Daddy will skin me alive if he finds out," Brandy stated, plucking the leaves from a nearby bush.

"Uncle Clem would do the same," Flint admitted, staring into the middle distance. "No one in our families forgives and forgets."

Brandy sighed.

Big Daddy remained firm on the subject. Along with Clem, he kept the age-old feud alive and well. The families avoided each other. Nevertheless, living in a small town meant they collided occasionally. When they did, a fight usually erupted over the wryest of comments.

"Things will change when Bourb takes over the distillery," Brandy commented wistfully. "He doesn't care about the feud."

"It will take years before Bourbon is of age, Bran," Flint moaned. "And Big Daddy could live to a ripe old age."

"Not the way he drinks," Brandy confided hopefully. "Between his drinking and cigar smoking, he's headed for a major heart attack or a stroke. His weight isn't in his favor either."

Brandy felt her life confined her. Big Daddy often summoned her with his booming voice. She had to keep his whiskey decanter filled and clean his cuspidor, both tasks that disgusted her. At times, she felt she was more a slave than the daughter of Clayton McClure. Whenever she could sneak away, she met Flint at her favorite waterhole.

Flint sat on the rock and surveyed Brandy. He loved the feel of her soft body against his. They made love frequently, passionately. At night, he dreamed about her and longed to make her his wife. Carefully weighing the options, he knew he couldn't live without her. The old feud wouldn't stop him.

"We could elope," he finally said. But Big Daddy would have to accept our marriage."

Light dawned in Brandy's eyes. She hoped against hope that Flint would eventually ask her. The elopement idea had also occurred to her.

"We'll meet here tomorrow night," Brandy eagerly accepted. "Then we'll end this stupid feud."

Brandy packed a bag and slipped out of the lakeside house after midnight. Following her secret path, she rushed to the pond. Flint arrived ahead of her. He helped her into Clem's work truck quickly and sped onto the main road.

"Reverend Micah is waiting for us," Flint announced, racing toward the county line. "He agreed to marry us."

Brandy knew Reverend Micah. The young preacher recently took over the Baptist church in a nearby town. He declared the family feud antiquated and wanted to help end it, too. Happiness bubbled over in her heart, along with a flutter of butterflies. She anticipated becoming Brandy Hathaway.

"What the hell?" Flint exclaimed, slamming on the brakes. Two deputy sheriff's SUVs blocked the road with their red and blue lights flashing. Flint cursed under his breath.

"Out of the car," Sheriff Brock demanded, shining his torch in Flint's eyes.

Flint stared straight ahead, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. He shook his head and refused. Brandy let out a sob and covered his face with her hands. The passenger door flung open, and Big Daddy pulled her onto the shoulder.

"I want that man arrested for taking my daughter over county lines," Clayton McClure demanded, pointing a steady finger at Flint.

"NO!" Brandy screamed, struggling for release. Her father's grip tightened around her arm. Clayton pulled her away and sat her in the deputy's vehicle. She watched them lead Flint away in handcuffs.

The McClure/Hathaway feud heightened following Flint's arrest. Brandy withdrew into herself, barely speaking to anyone. She refused to follow Big Daddy's orders and dropped out of school. Bourbon became her only friend and confidant. Then, the miracle happened. Brandy realized that she was going to have a baby.

"A little part of Flint is growing inside me, Bourb," she announced to her brother. "The McClure's and the Hathaway's are about to become one family." She hugged Bourbon joyously.

Big Daddy didn't view her news with the same joy. He refused to accept the baby's parentage and declared the child a McClure.

"End the feud, Daddy," Brandy implored, sinking to her knees and grasping her father's hands. "For the sake of the baby, please."

Clayton McClure turned his eyes away from his daughter. Filled with Kentucky pride, he refused to listen. In due course, the baby arrived. Brandy looked down upon him joyfully. He had Flint's eyes and nose, her smile, and soft honey hair. She named him Tom Collins. Although Big Daddy insisted upon keeping the McClure name, Brandy knew in her heart her baby was a Hathaway.

Time passed. Tom Collins turned four, and Flint continued to serve his prison term. Brandy remained at home, serving Big Daddy's every whim. He never let her forget how she deceived him with a Hathaway. Bourbon left school and went to work at the distillery. Eventually, he would take over the business.

Brandy watched her father with a close eye. He drank heavily and gained weight rapidly. His patience ran thin most of the time. The slightest life's hiccup sent him into a rage. Although she implored him to cut down on his whiskey consumption, she continued to keep his decanter filled. In her heart, she knew she didn't love him. Brandy hated what he did to Flint and how he separated them. She wanted Tom Collins to know his father, and, mostly, she wanted to end the generational feud.

"When Big Daddy dies," Brandy stated, cornering Bourbon, "promise me you'll end the feud."

"Big Daddy isn't going to die," Bourb responded hotly.

"Everybody dies, Bourbon," she answered solemnly. Her father's face never lost its purple tinge. His temper flared at the slightest instance of unrest. During the day, she refilled the decanter several times. "Promise me!"

"Okay, okay, I promise!" Bourbon shouted back.

"And release Flint from jail," she continued.

"Yes, yes, all right. I'll get Flint out," her brother agreed readily.

Another year passed. Clayton McClure's influence on his friend Judge Marcus kept Flint Hathaway behind prison bars. Bourbon began taking over more of his father's business at the distillery. Day after day, Brandy served Big Daddy's every whim. She began to think he would live forever. Her angst against him grew. At times, she thought she would fix him, but she knew she couldn't commit murder. The waiting game continued.

"BRANDY!" Big Daddy's voice bellowed loudly. His large body overflowed the wrought iron patio chair. Red-faced, he continued to yell his daughter's name.

Brandy rushed from the house and halted before her father. His appearance alarmed and excited her. Indicating the empty decanter, he ordered her to refill it. When she lifted it, he berated her for allowing its depletion. She stared at him, unmoving.

"What are you waiting for?" Clayton demanded, struggling to rise.

Brandy continued to watch him. She lifted the decanter languorously but didn't rush away with it as usual. Instead, she stared as her father swayed, then plummeted face-first onto the patio. Kneeling by his side, she struggled to turn over his massive body. He stared at her fixedly and tried to work his mouth into words. Finally, she stood and called 911. By the time the ambulance arrived, Big Daddy had breathed his last.

The day after Clayton McClure's funeral, Brandy married Flint Hathaway. Bourbon inherited the distillery and declared the McClure/Hathaway feud dissolved. Flint lifted his five-year-old son, Tom Collins, into his arms and proudly hugged his new wife.

!!!COMING SOON!!

TENNESSEE