Blind Tiger, page 27
Landry gave him a little bow. “Then don’t let me detain you any longer. Good night.”
“Good night.”
“Sleep tight.”
Landry’s mocking lilt set Thatcher’s teeth on edge. He went into his room, but not to sleep.
* * *
Laurel led the O’Connors down the steps into the cellar and set the lantern on the dirt floor. She gestured toward the stacked wooden crates. “The theft hurt us. That’s our stockpile.”
“That’s it? No jugs?” Davy asked.
“As you see,” she said. “Ernie had hidden ten crates of jars. Even those would barely have covered our orders. Now, they’re gone.”
“Thieving bastards,” Davy muttered.
She had gauged the brothers’ furious reaction to the news of the theft and didn’t believe they would have stolen from her even if they’d known where the crates had been buried. They seemed to understand and appreciate that their enterprise was in dire straits due to the loss of product simultaneous with Irv’s being incapable of working to replace it.
“Ernie is doing a double run tonight,” she said. “In the meantime, this is the supply we have on hand.”
Mike did a quick calculation. “Seventy-two jars. Those roughnecks will have that drunk before we get halfway back from delivering them.”
“I can’t help it, Mike. Nobody counted on these setbacks.”
Davy sighed. “Let’s get the haul into the car, brother, and make the best of it.”
“When you have everything loaded, join me inside. There’s another development to tell you about.”
A few minutes later the two came inside. Davy was about to speak when Laurel put her index finger to her lips. “Softly, please. Irv was restless and grumpy all afternoon. I know he’s in pain, but he’s also fretting over our situation. I let him drink enough to tranquilize him. He’s asleep, and I hope he’ll stay that way till morning.”
They carried cups of coffee into the dining room and gathered around the table. She served the twins slices of cherry pie. “None for you?” Davy asked.
“I was up all night last night. I’ve been baking since I returned from the still.” While there, she’d made the trek over the hill twice, but she didn’t tell them that. “My feet are tired, my back is aching, and the last thing I want to see is a piece of pie.”
They looked at her with sympathy but dug into theirs.
As she watched them shovel in bites, humming enjoyment, she pushed her fingers into her hair and held her head. “It’s just occurred to me that I should be putting up jars of pie filling while fresh fruit is in season.” It was an exhausting thought, but their moonshining business was reliant on her pie trade as a cover. “But that’s a worry for another day.”
Lowering her hands, she met the twins’ expectant gazes. “You don’t have to tell me how you know her, but are you acquainted with a girl named Corrine who worked at Lefty’s?”
“The whore?” Mike said.
Davy kicked his brother beneath the table. Mike drew back his fist.
Laurel held up her hands. “Stop it! We don’t have time for that, but don’t ever refer to Corrine that way again. Within or outside of my hearing.”
Davy said, “We know she’s the poor girl Wally Johnson beat up.”
“That’s right, and she’s still suffering the effects. By a set of bizarre circumstances, she’s now a member of our group.”
The twins gaped at her with identical expressions of incredulity.
“Never mind how it came about. She arrived here last night with Irv. She proved herself helpful in any number of ways, and that gave Irv an idea.” She went on to tell them about the present arrangement at the stills. “Ernie will teach her how to do the simpler tasks, and I trust her to work hard so that our shortfall will be made up for soon. And—”
“Jesus,” Mike said. “There’s an and?”
Laurel gave him a look. “And, I went to Lefty’s today to renegotiate terms.”
“You went to Lefty’s?”
“Alone? Are you daft, Laurel?”
“Irv had laid the groundwork of a new deal with him, and I couldn’t let that opportunity pass, especially in light of the theft. I got Lefty to triple his usual order.”
“Bloody lot of good it’ll do us, though,” Davy said. “We’ve got no whiskey to sell, and Lefty’s is shut down.”
“Only until dark tonight.” She glanced out the window at the darkened sky. “By now, they should be back in full swing.”
“He greased somebody’s palm,” Mike said. “Somebody high up.”
“I’m sure he did,” Laurel said.
The twins cut glances at each other, but neither said anything.
“What?” she asked.
Davy shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Have you ever considered…uh…”
Mike cut in. “What numb-nuts is trying to ask is, have you ever thought of approaching someone who has influence to persuade him to be a tad less influential?”
“You mean pay him not to be? Absolutely not.”
“It’s the way business is done, darlin’,” Davy said softly.
Mike added, “In order to stay in business, the owner of the pool hall had to give graft to damn near everybody.”
“Look how far it got him,” she snapped. “I won’t stoop to bribery. And, anyway, we can’t afford it.” She pushed back her chair and stood up.
“This new order of Lefty’s is a good one, and, as long as he continues to bribe officials, it’ll be a standing order.
“All the more reason why Corrine’s help is essential until Irv can resume his duties. Now, you need to be on your way to Ranger, and I must go to bed before I drop. Any questions?”
The brothers looked at each other again. Laurel braced herself for what might be coming this time, but Davy flashed her a boyish grin. “Can we take a piece of pie for the road?”
She gave them half the pie for themselves, and sent them off with the others she had baked and boxed that day. As he carefully placed the last one in their truck, Mike said, “We’ll have them there well before breakfast. The men working the night shifts on the rigs love having pie for breakfast.”
“And moonshine for dinner,” Davy said.
The three were laughing together as she walked them out to their truck. She admonished them to drive carefully, but fast enough to return in time to start their shift at Logan’s store. “You can’t get fired.”
“Ah, we won’t,” Mike said. “We’re Mrs. Logan’s pet project.”
“She’s urging us to get baptized,” Davy explained. “She fears our infant baptism didn’t take.”
The three of them began laughing again, but there was no levity in Mike’s voice when suddenly he asked, “Who is that?” and simultaneously pulled a pair of brass knuckles from his pants pocket.
Thirty-Seven
Alarmed, Laurel turned.
Just outside the fan of light provided by the kitchen windows, Thatcher was propped against the clothesline post where he’d hitched his horse that morning. To Laurel’s dismay—and outrage—her heart thumped at the sight of his tall, lean silhouette.
She wanted to rail at him for not making his presence known, but she needed to defuse the O’Connors, who were a hairsbreadth away from a catastrophic overreaction. “It’s okay,” she told them in a murmur, then, “Mr. Hutton. You startled us.”
He pushed himself off the post and strolled forward, but his seeming nonchalance didn’t fool Laurel, and she doubted the O’Connors would be deceived by it, either. Beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, his eyes shifted from one twin to the other.
She was almost certain that Thatcher had seen the brass knuckles now bridging Mike’s fingers, and surely he’d also noticed that Davy’s right hand was at the small of his back, where she knew he carried a small pistol similar to hers.
When the twins first began delivering to the boom towns, she’d expressed concern for their safety. They’d shown her their weapons and assured her that they would never be without a means of protecting themselves. However, this was the first time she’d seen just how willing they were to act first with violence and ask questions later. The two weren’t all smiles and blarney.
Thatcher stopped within five yards of them, planting his feet firmly, causing her to wonder if he was still toting the pistol he’d retrieved from her this morning and was about to draw it like a gunslinger in a dime novel.
He said, “I came to ask how your father-in-law is faring, but I saw that you had company and didn’t want to break up the party.”
She injected a lightness into her voice that she was far from feeling. “No party. These are the O’Connor brothers, Davy and Mike.” She pointed out which was which. “They work for me.”
“They brought you the peaches,” he said.
“That’s right. I’d forgotten I’d mentioned that.” But he hadn’t, and that was disconcerting. “Davy, Mike, this is Thatcher Hutton. He was the Good Samaritan I told you about, who brought Irv home last night after the raid.”
Thatcher leaned forward only far enough to shake hands with the twins in turn, then all three of them returned to their guarded stances.
Mike looked him over. “Are you a cowpoke, Mr. Hutton?”
He asked it as a put-down, but Thatcher replied blandly, “You could say.”
Laurel said, “He breaks and trains horses.”
“Does he?” Again, his question sounded deprecating.
Davy shot his twin a warning look, then addressed Thatcher with a smile. “So, you were at Lefty’s last night. Things were exciting, I hear. How did you avoid arrest, Mr. Hutton?”
“I wasn’t in the back room.”
“Occupied upstairs then,” Mike said.
Thatcher slanted him a glance, but didn’t even blink. “I was having a hamburger in the front room.”
“Ah,” Davy said, “what fortunate timing for you that was.”
When Thatcher didn’t respond, and no one else spoke, Laurel turned to the twins. “The night isn’t getting any younger, and you have deliveries to make.”
As boss, she really gave them no choice except to depart. With noticeable reluctance, they retreated to their truck. As they got in, the backward glances they gave Thatcher were blatantly hostile.
As soon as their truck had cleared the drive, Laurel turned to face Thatcher, feeling hostile herself and ready with an accusation of snooping.
He, however, got the jump on her. “Kind of late to be making deliveries, isn’t it? Where are they off to?”
To equivocate would only make them all look guilty. “Ranger.”
Obviously he was familiar with the town’s reputation. His eyebrow arched. “That explains the hardware they’re carrying.”
“To be used only in self-defense.”
He looked skeptical of that. “They go all the way up there to deliver pies?”
She resisted the impulse to rub her damp palms against her skirt. “It’s worth the trip. The markup per pie is three times what I get here. Seems every roughneck has a sweet tooth.”
“And a taste for other things, too.” He waited a beat, then said, “Are the O’Connors always on edge like that, spoiling for a fight?”
“Yes, especially with each other.” She gave a soft laugh.
Thatcher didn’t join in. “What were you doing at Lefty’s roadhouse today?”
She couldn’t conceal her astonishment over his knowing that, and it robbed her of speech.
“So it was you he saw.”
Although her mouth was dry, she attempted to swallow. “Who saw?”
“Chester Landry.”
“Who is… Oh, your friend with the plastered hair.”
“He’s no friend of mine, Laurel, and I don’t think he’s one to you, either.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“Well, he knows you, and he made a point of telling me about your visit to the roadhouse.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m wondering that, too. Why would he?”
Trying not to appear bothered by his probing stare, she shrugged. “Would he need a reason? He knows we’re acquainted. He saw me today and mentioned it to you in passing.”
“Un-huh. He climbed three flights of stairs, huffing and puffing, to tell me.” He came forward, crowding in on her, but she held her ground. “What the hell were you doing at Lefty’s?”
“What business is it of yours?”
He lowered his head, bringing his face to within inches of hers. “Asking for another demonstration? I warned you not to dare me.”
The thought that perhaps she was subconsciously angling for another kiss mortified her. Relenting on her resolve not to back away from him, she did, but only by one step. “I went out there to implore them not to give the sheriff Irv’s name.”
“Them?”
“Lefty and that horrid woman, Gert.”
“What made you think they would give Irv over?”
“Based on what Corrine and Irv have told me about that pair, they’re without scruple. I was afraid that if they were pressured to rat out anyone who was there last night in exchange for leniency, they would do it in a heartbeat. I went for Irv’s sake, to plead on his behalf.”
She’d made up the explanation as she’d gone along, but to her it had sounded perfectly plausible. She hoped it would to him. He was watching her in that incisive way of his.
After a moment, he said, “You could have saved yourself the trip. Irv isn’t going to be arrested.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked the sheriff myself.”
“You did?”
“This morning. Directly after leaving here, I went to see him to give back his Colt and the badge.”
“You really aren’t a deputy, then?”
“No.”
She inhaled deeply, but her relief was short-lived.
“But if I was,” he said, “what would it matter?”
“It wouldn’t.”
“It did.”
It had. She groped for a logical reason. “If you had shown me the badge, explained it… But you didn’t, and that seemed underhanded. I like to know where I stand with people.”
“Yeah, I like that, too.”
There was no winning this argument, and she would only sink herself in deeper if she continued trying. She fixed her gaze on the loose knot that secured a bandana around his neck. “I appreciate your intervening for Irv with Sheriff Amos.”
“He said maybe getting shot taught Irv a lesson.” He looked beyond her toward the house. “How’s he doing?”
“He was hurting all day, and that made him grouchy. This evening I let him sip his moonshine until he fell asleep.”
“Sleep is the best thing for him.”
She nodded. “I hope he sleeps through the night.”
“Who does he buy his moonshine from?”
That was the second question he’d asked out of the blue. As before, she was momentarily dumbfounded before mumbling, “I’m not supposed to tell.”
Thatcher just stood there looking at her, silently pressing for a more satisfactory answer.
The one that sprang to her mind was evasive, but actually the God’s truth. “He doesn’t have to buy it. A friend gives it to him in exchange for handiwork.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Well, Irv and his friend need to be careful. Obviously local law is cracking down on offenders.”
“I’ll pass along the warning, but I’m afraid Irv won’t change his ways.”
“I’m afraid of that, too.”
It was a solemn and weighty statement, not a quip. The intensity of his stare held her captive without force, without even a touch. Perhaps Irv’s sixth sense about him had been correct. Perhaps Thatcher Hutton was something other than the loose-limbed cowboy he played, someone who represented a threat, not only to her, but to the people whose welfare depended on her.
But no sooner had that upsetting possibility entered her mind than he relaxed his shoulders and eased away from her. “How’s Corrine? Did she go for your idea?”
“Wholeheartedly. Just as I thought.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask to speak to Corrine or ask for details about living arrangements, etcetera. Lying to him had become increasingly hard on her conscience, and standing this close to him in the dark made it hard to breathe.
That inability became even more constricting when he took yet another step closer to her. “Those twins.”
Bravely, she tilted her head up in order to look into his face. “What about them?”
“You seem friendly with them.”
“I am. Why shouldn’t I be?”
He frowned at her flippancy. “You know what I’m asking you.”
She did know. “They’re charming boys.”
“They’re men.”
“And I’m a widow.”
“A young and pretty widow.”
“A very recent widow, who has morals and a reputation to uphold.” Her cheeks went hot. She dipped her head. “Which makes my lapse last night all the more incomprehensible.”
He didn’t say anything for the longest time, then, “The O’Connors are troublemakers.”
Her head came up. “Says who?”
“Sheriff Amos. He pointed them out to me last night as we were on our way to Lefty’s. He called them a wild pair.”
She didn’t want to read too much into the sheriff’s notice of her deliverymen, but it gave her a twinge of concern. “Davy and Mike can get into mischief, I’m sure. But they’re hardworking and, at heart, decent. If I didn’t believe in their integrity, I wouldn’t have them working for me.”
“It’s not all work, though, is it?” He looked aside, staring into the empty darkness. “You were laughing.”
“What?”
“You were laughing,” he said, turning back to her. “I heard you all the way out here. They make you laugh.”
“Sometimes.” The hushed tone in which she’d spoken the word made it sound like what one would admit only in a confessional.
He bobbed his chin once and looked aside again, his jaw working. He took off his hat and tapped it against his thigh as the fingers of his other hand raked through his hair. He said a swear word under his breath.
