by Addison Cain
“It’s funny you say that,” Charlie answered Eli’s sloppy boyish grin. “Since it was your stories that made me want to come here.”
“You should get out of that boarding house and find a proper home.” Eli placed a cigarette between his lips. After striking a match on the ground and pulling in a breath of smoke, he added, “A place with a big porch. I think you’d like that.”
A contemplative hum was her only answer.
“I’m surprised you don’t find Monroe boring after living in Chicago. All the excitement, Al Capone, Bugs Moran…”
Charlie sat up straighter, her soft smile gone. “I hear a touch of hero worship in your voice when you say those gangsters’ names, Eli. So listen to me when I tell you this. No matter how glamorous the newspapers make them out to be—calling men like Al Capone a modern day Robin Hood and other such rubbish—they are not like you and your cousins.”
Offended, Eli mistook her meaning. “We’re just as tough—”
Charlie cut him off. “Those men are dark-hearted, Eli. They’re evil.” She took a sip of applejack, shuddered as if it burned down to her toes. “It’s more than harmless bootlegging. I’ve seen it firsthand: extortion, corruption, murder, rape. They take advantage of the weak to build their legacy. That’s what they really are—just bad men in nice suits.”
Visibly recoiling from Charlie’s sharp and unfriendly tone, Eli asked, “What about your Beaumont Radcliffe?”
“He’s just like the rest of them. And don’t go thinking a man like that is a friend to you. He ain’t.” She gestured at the kid with her jar. “Radcliffe has his hands full with lawmen and the constant power struggle in Chicago, too busy to risk his steady supply being cut off, or worse, mass quantities sold to his competition. He knows he needs you right now; banks on the amount of product you can furnish. Otherwise Beau would never have wasted his men’s time sending them down here to make sure things were solid—that your reputation could stand up under intimidation. Had you flinched, you’d probably all be dead and your operation in his hands. Didn’t hurt I was there, neither.”
Eli had never been one to hold his tongue. “How’d you end up close to a man like Radcliffe?”
Charlie tipped her head back, leaning against a stack of crates, and closed her eyes. Silent minutes passed until, at length, she muttered, “My brother worked for Radcliffe when we were kids. The men never even noticed when I took his place. Work was hard, but I stuck around. By the time I was thirteen I was running liquor… and real sweet on one of the boys in the gang.” Her eyes remained closed, unaware Matthew leaned closer. “One day he caught me staring at him, all starry eyed, and busted my lip,” she pointed at the visible scar, “before punching me in the gut and calling me a queer.”
Shaking her head, Charlie admitted, “I didn’t know what that word meant, but I did see the look of disgust the men had on their faces, including Radcliffe. I socked the boy back, afraid I’d lose my job. He beat me good. Even so, I didn’t back down. It got so wild the gangsters had to tear us apart.”
Her eyes opened, and found they were lost in whatever spun her thoughts. “Needless to say, I was a little heartbroken. That night I was sent with a load to a small speakeasy in the midst of a turf war between the Italians and Radcliffe—basically a lamb to the slaughter. If I hadn’t been mooning over what had happened earlier, I probably would’ve seen trouble. But I didn’t. Capone himself gunned our group down. I caught a bullet in the gut and fell face first onto the street. Scarface used his shiny shoes to flip me on my back, ordering me to crawl on home and tell Radcliffe just what had been done—to let him know Capone would kill him himself if he saw one more of Beaumont’s trucks in the neighborhood.
“I drove to the warehouse, hand pressed to my belly. By the time I made it back, I could hardly breathe. One of the men pulled me from the car and laid me in the gutter. Beaumont himself stood over me with a pistol pointed at my skull. I told him what Capone said and Radcliffe just laughed. I’ll never forget watching his eyes look to my gut, Beau smiling as he told me, ‘Lead in the belly is a slow way to die. Consider this an act of mercy.’ He cocked his gun and asked if I had any last words.
“I motioned for him to lean down and whispered my secret in his ear. I told him my name was Charlotte, needing someone to know before I died.”
Chapter 9
Saying the story aloud stirred up… memory. Maybe it was the moonshine, but in a blink, Charlie could see it in her head—the flash of disbelief on Beaumont’s face, the kingpin appalled, then mortified just from the sound of her name. He’d yelled for the men to fetch a doctor and carried her inside, ordering everyone else away. Once they were alone, Radcliffe lifted her bloody shirt and found small breasts bound with strips of sweat soaked rags. He’d cursed a string of words Charlie never imagined could be put together. Even in all that pain she’d laughed.
Knowing she still had an audience, she gave a weak smile. “Radcliffe got the bullet out and kept my secret. Beau is a villain, but it seems even he has his limits—executing a young girl being one of them. He kept me close as I recovered, and I told him about my mother, made him see why he needed to keep me around. I’d always been a hard worker, willing to do anything, the most menial task or the most dangerous. I think he saw I would just walk straight to the next gangster down the road for work, so he kept me. I became his errand boy, cleaned the offices, organized papers, and eventually rode the trucks as his personal rifleman. A few times a week, Beau took me home, and his wife, Martha, scrubbed me clean and fed me a decent meal before I scampered back to whatever hole I was living in that month.
“When no one was looking, he taught me to read, how to keep the books. Beau is the closest thing I ever had to a father. And he did right by me in his way—made it so I could still take care of my mama. I kept her fed and tended when the rest of the city was starving.”
Eli asked, “What happened to the boy?”
“The boy?” Charlie looked confused.
“The one you were sweet on.”
She gave a breathy laugh and took a swig. “You met him the other night. Tommy Kennedy, Beau’s current right-hand man.”
AT HER SIDE, Matthew grumbled and chewed his cigar, glaring at the fire as he thought of the pretty boy who’d kissed Charlie’s hand. He fumed about it so long he’d failed to notice that Nathaniel had passed out, dead drunk, Eli snoring softly beside him. Even Charlotte was lying with her head on her arm, fast asleep.
Tossing the stump of his cigar into the fire, he stared openly at her face for what felt like hours. She shivered.
Slipping off his jacket, Matthew placed it over her before laying down, his head near hers so he might look a bit longer.
When Matthew woke, he found his coat had been returned, draped across him, and the golden girl was gone. Snoring louder than a sawmill, Nathaniel leaned against a crate, head tipped back at what seemed an uncomfortable angle. Beside him, Eli was curled up like a dog, slumbering peacefully as well.
Pulling on his jacket, Matthew walked out to see where on earth Charlotte had got to so early. It didn’t take long to find her, splashing as she was in the stream. Her face and hair wet from the rinse she’d given them.
Spying from a distance, Matthew watched her butcher the doe, wrapping up hearty cuts in paper from her pack.
Unable to resist, he grumbled, “Radcliffe’s going to try to keep you in Chicago.”
Head darting up, Charlie turned her pretty head to find Matthew leaning against a tree. “I suspect he might. I suppose dinner and dancing at the Drake are part of the enticement. Though once he sees my sorry way of dancing, I might just embarrass him enough to have him wash his hands of me.” Charlie turned back to her work and chuckled. “Should be pretty interesting either way.”
His breath steaming in the cold air, Matthew offered, “You danced just fine at the Willard’s barn a few months back.”
Pausing mid slice, Charlie lost all traces of bluster. “I never could figure out wh
y you were glaring at me that night. Especially if you didn’t know who I was.”
“I wasn’t glarin’ at you.”
Turning her attention from the doe, she met his eyes and looked… hurt. “Every time I looked up you were staring straight at me, Matthew—scowling something awful.”
He shifted his weight against the tree, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “New woman in town shouldn’t be dancing with strangers.”
“If I didn’t dance with strangers, I wouldn’t have danced at all. That’s the point of barn dances—to socialize. And if you were so concerned for a strange woman’s public image, then you should have asked me to dance yourself.”
“I don’t dance.”
Sitting back on her heels, somewhat annoyed, she gave him a long look. “If after a lifetime of pretending to be a man I can learn to wear a dress, walk in heels, and dance badly with strangers, then you have no excuse. Coward.”
Grumbling about obstinate, moody men, Charlie finished the last slice of hindquarter. Once it was wrapped, Matthew took her elbow, pulling her to stand.
“What are you doing?”
Setting a hand at her waist, drawing her a little closer, he said, “I’m gonna dance with you.”
Stupidly, she stared. Then, in a very unladylike fashion, wiped her bloody hands down the front of her shirt. A rich blush creeping into her cheeks, Charlie set one dirty hand on his shoulder and the other in a rough palm.
The fallen autumn leaves, slippery under their boots, made her stumble, but before she could make an apology, Matthew lifted his arm and gave her a spin, catching her as she giggled instead.
All silly grins, a breathless golden girl said, “You’re a liar, Matthew Emerson. You can dance just fine.”
He spun her again. She almost had it—but overstepped and stomped his foot. Muttering an apology, Charlie stepping back, red-faced, and stammered, “I think we can both agree I’m terrible at this.”
Tugging her back before she might run off, he said, “You just need practice,”
And so they kept at it, Charlie wearing a smile that wouldn’t quit. After several steps with no mistakes, triumph blazed all over her flushed face. So, with a flourish, Matthew spun her again, caught her too close and found himself staring hard at her mouth.
There was no stopping it, not when he saw her tongue dart out to wet that scar. With a growl he captured her lips, pressing a heated kiss on the startled woman.
The feel of her, the insistent pressure, sent his head swimming. Matthew grew relentless, sliding his mouth over hers until the golden girl whimpered.
The decadent sensation came to an end, Matthew pulling back to gauge her reaction. What he found was a dreamy smile and half-closed eyes.
Soft and wondrous, she said, “I never… No one has ever…” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth as if recapturing something wondrous. Dazed, she pressed closer, her voice suddenly husky. “Do it again.”
His response was immediate. Matthew’s lips crashed down and Charlie shyly began to kiss him back. Calloused grip wrapping around her nape, his thumb brushed her jaw, inspiring a shameless moan that left him rock hard.
Before he did something foolish like drag her down and take her right there on the forest floor, Matthew pulled back, panting, pale eyes burning against tan skin. Squeezing her close, he found himself unable to look away from her mouth, all swollen and pink… her pretty lips and that eye-catching scar.
Cock throbbing and balls drawn up tight, he had to force himself to seek out drugged blue eyes before more salacious thoughts of Charlotte’s mouth might tempt him to take advantage. Confusion was written all over her face, his golden girl peeking up with shy darting glances.
The proof was there. She was truly an innocent in the ways of men, no matter what she may have seen or how many colorful jokes she’d picked up or how many bodies she’d left in her wake.
As if she could read his thoughts and how truly ignoble they were, Charlie pushed back, stammering an apology as if she’d done something wrong. Reaching up to tuck a wild piece of hair behind her ear, Matthew tried to say with his actions what he didn’t know how to say with words.
Catching that vulnerable sapphire gaze with a softer one of his own, he was about to mumble something sweet, but Eli’s voice boomed out across the valley, the boy bellyaching he was hungry and ready to head back to Devil’s Hollow. The interruption set Charlie jumping like a scared rabbit. Before he could stop her, she shuffled past to gather up the meat she’d carved and carry it away.
Trying to act the gentleman, he helped the flustered woman manage the larger pieces and followed to where she’d hidden her car.
After tossing everything inside, Charlie turned, cheeks pink, combing her hair with her fingers. “I’ll be on my way now. Thanks for helping me load the car.”
Matthew pulled open her door, cleared his throat, and offered, “If you like, drive on down to the grill and I’ll cook you breakfast.”
Nodding mutely, she climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, driving off the second he closed her door.
By the time Matthew’s old truck pulled up, she looked like a girl again. But Nathaniel’s blood shot eyes took one look at her and he burst out laughing—a cotton dress and men’s boots not really being a sight he’d seen on a woman.
Fully aware of what garnered the reaction, she admitted sheepishly, “I couldn’t find my shoes.”
A hidden tic came to the corner of Matthew’s lips, but he quickly squelched it, sauntering up the steps to unlock the door.
When they were all inside, Charlie found Matthew hadn’t been completely honest when he offered to make her breakfast. Instead, with Nathaniel sitting at the bar and Eli grumbling beside him, Matthew fired up the grill and handed Charlie his apron.
Her first lesson in cooking had been simple: how to properly fry an egg, make coffee, and toast bread.
You would have thought Charlie was cooking for the President the way she focused and took care to do precisely as he instructed. And despite the moody expression, Matthew was highly amused at her bumbling... as was his kin.
The men ate her simple breakfast, exclaiming it was delicious, Charlie grumbling that they were being overly generous in their praise. The kitchen was a mess, several yolks wasted and burnt toast stinking up the air. Only the coffee had turned out decent… or so she’d hoped. Charlie didn’t sample the brew.
“Next time, you should teach her how to make flapjacks,” Nathaniel grunted, shoveling food down his throat. “That’s my favorite.”
“I’ll get right on that, Nathaniel.” Charlie pulled off the apron. “Well, burning your breakfast has been fun, but I need to run.”
“Where on earth you goin’ now?” Matthew grouched, about ready to catch a hold of her before she might disappear.
Winking at Eli, Charlie singsonged, “I’m gonna visit Ruth.”
“Before you run off—” Eli chugged down his last bit of coffee, and stood, “—you got a package.”
“Huh?”
Eli rushed to the office, found the parcel and brought it back to plop down before her.
With a confused, “Thanks, Eli,” Charlie set the shiny white lid on the counter, grinning once she recognized the name of the dressmaker. Checking to make sure her hands were clean, she reached in and lifted the length of glowing satin. “Well, that’s certainly a pretty dress.”
Matthew grumbled into his coffee, “That ain’t no dress.” Dresses were not supposed to make you look more naked than clothed.
“Sure it is. This is what women wear in the big cities for a night on the town.” Charlie held it against her body, taken with the gown.
Even Nathaniel spoke up. “Girl caught dressing like that around Monroe would draw a lot of attention.”
Charlie put the dress back in the box. “I dress like a man and y’all hardly bat an eyelash. You see one stylish evening gown, and you start muttering like I’m indecent. I don’t understand you Emerson men.”
“
Why does he call you Blackbird?” Eli asked once she picked up the card.
“When I first started working for Radcliffe, I was starving and dirty. The men liked to drop food just to see me swipe it up and cram it in my mouth like a bird. The name stuck.”
Chapter 10
Hoisting a basket brimming with the packaged meat from her doe, Charlie trod up the well-tended path to Sheriff Cormac’s Main Street dwelling. After her tap against the door, the burly lawman stood on the threshold.
“Good morning, Sheriff Cormac.” The polite greeting came out just like she’d practiced—innocent and unassuming. Charlie hefted her burden higher. “I have a basket of fresh venison here. Knowing how intrinsic you are to the community, I thought you might know how best to distribute it to families in need.”
Adjusting his belt over his paunch, the grey-haired lawman asked, “And who might you be?”
“My name is Charlotte Elliot.” Peeking past the stout man, Charlie spied Ruth sticking her head out of the kitchen. “I am an acquaintance of your daughter.”
Sheriff Cormac already knew exactly what everyone else knew about Charlie… nothing at all. “Your family from these parts?”
“No, sir, my family is no longer with me.” Struggling with the weight of the basket, Charlie tried to explain, “I have been living at Fontanne’s Boarding House. They take decent care of me.” When the sheriff reached out to help with her cargo, Charlie offered a grateful smile and went in for the kill. “You see, sir, there is another reason I came to see you. I wanted to ask your permission before I approached your daughter for a favor. Everyone knows Ruth is Monroe County’s finest baker—I keep hearing about her cobbler—and, well, I was hoping you might allow her to teach me how to prepare a few things.” Trying to look harmless, Charlie quickly added, “I would supply all the ingredients of course.”