Liquor & Love: McDonough Boys #1

by Casey Allende

  "I—"

  "So, young man, I'm going to count to three, and if you're still standing here giving me a look like I don't have a right to walk this earth, I'm going to take the Colt .45 out of my purse and point it right between your eyes."

  "Ha-ha," Jimmy said. "You're real funny, lady."

  She reached for her purse. "One."

  "Mr. McDonough, she serious? Or is she pulling my leg?"

  Her hand went inside. "Two."

  "Wish I could tell you that, Jimmy, but I just met this young lady a couple hours ago, and I’m afraid I don't know anything about her. She does seem to be the type to keep her word, so you might want to fetch that water pump."

  "Three."

  As Peggy's hand started coming out of the purse, Jimmy took off for the back of the store. He disappeared into the employee's entrance and with a scream went after the water pump.

  McDonough laughed. "That's the fastest I've seen that boy moving his entire life. Your threat sure did work."

  "Threat?" Peggy pulled the Colt revolver out of her purse. "Who said it was the threat?"

  Nine

  When they returned to the farm, Viceroy drove right past the barn, down the dirt road that snaked between the fields of tobacco and corn, and toward a large white house in the distance.

  "Where’re you going?" Peggy demanded. "The party's back there. If you are thinking of kidnapping me, you'll find yourself with a victim more than capable of taking care of herself, sir."

  McDonough laughed heartily and slapped the wheel with his palms. "Miss Fitzgerald, you are a source of endless amusement. I'm only interested in one thing, and that is my supper."

  "If that's your goal, then kindly turn around and take me back to the barn. You can have your supper after you drop me off. It's getting late, and I'm sure that the biddy at the boardinghouse is waiting to see how late I'm going to be."

  "Trust me," McDonough said, "we will have you back to the boarding house in plenty of time."

  Peggy held out the water pump. "What about this? It will take at least two hours to install it, and then I need time to get back into town."

  "Don't worry about that." He pulled in front of the house and sounded the horn until a man dressed as a butler came down from the front steps. "Good evening, George, how are you?"

  George was a very wrinkled old man in a white jacket and black pants with a curlicue of gray hair on his head.

  "Right as rain, Mr. McDonough. Right as rain." He opened the door for Peggy and made a little bow. "This way, ma'am. Will you be staying for supper?"

  "No, I w—"

  "Yes, she will, George. Did the boys tell you to set an extra place for our guest?" He started up the steps, then paused, waiting for Peggy, who had not budged from the side of the car. "Hope you like chicken and mashed potatoes, Miss Fitzgerald. We've just gotten rid of five hens who weren't laying, and our cook Mrs. O'Connell makes the best Irish fried chicken in the state."

  "Irish fried chicken?" Peggy said. "I've never heard of that. What makes it Irish?"

  "Mrs. O'Connell does, since she's Irish and she fries it. Come along, I'm sure that supper's getting cold."

  Peggy folded her arms. "Sir, I feel like I'm being bamboozled here. First you whisked me away from the barn and now you invite me to supper without actually inviting me. As I told you, I need time to fix my car."

  "Bo!" McDonough called.

  The sound of boots came from inside the heart of pine floors. The front screen pushed open, and the handsome, silent, Dodge-ramming man from the barn stepped onto the porch.

  "Yes, sir?" Bo said.

  Standing next to the silver-haired gentleman, Bo looked young. The smoldering eyes and the slicked back hair were unchanged however, and Peggy felt herself growing more than a little weak in the knees watching the muscles in his arms ripple. She started to feel warm in all the inappropriate places.

  "Son, did you install the water pump on this lady's car as I asked?"

  "Yes, sir, I did."

  "Well then," McDonough said. "It's all settled. Miss Fitzgerald, you'll find your Ford is ready to go, and after we've finished eating, Bo will be glad to follow you into town to make sure your Ford doesn’t leave you stranded on the sidewalk. Will that suffice?"

  No, it won't suffice, Peggy thought. Luckily, she had learned to hold her tongue now that she was stateside, having forgotten many times that Americans weren't used to their young women being well-versed in profanity.

  "While I appreciate your help," she said, "I would be thankful if the next time there is a problem with my vehicle, you allow me to repair it. I understand that Southern ladies are meant to be wilting flowers, but I can take care of myself. Remember what's in my purse?"

  "Yes, ma'am, I do," Viceroy said. "Consider it a token of Southern hospitality, but now that you put me in my place, I'll make sure that you are left to your own devices. Once you've been fed, of course. My late wife would fleece me the moment I stepped into the pearly gates if I let you go home hungry."

  Peggy stomach was twisting. It had been the entire trip back from the boarding house. Only the deep growl of the Stutz Bearcat had kept her from embarrassing herself. Mashed potatoes, green beans, fried okra, and unless she had forgotten what butter and cinnamon smelled like, apple pie. The delicious aromas practically made her drool.

  Speaking of drooling, Bo was looking at her, sizing her up starting from her head, eyes tracing the outline of her shape. Peggy tucked a sprig of hair behind her ear and turned her hip just so. If he was going to make such a big show of looking, then she was going to give him something to look at.

  "I'm sorry if I offended you, Mr. McDonough," she said. "I didn't mean to reject your hospitality." She stepped away from the car and walked up the steps. "I've never been one to turn down a meal, especially something as enchanting as Irish fried chicken."

  McDonough made a big show of opening the screen door and bowing. "Welcome to my home. Please step inside."

  As Peggy walked by, she heard Bo whisper, "What exactly is she hiding in her purse?"

  "Son," he said. "I think I'm gonna let you find that out for yourself."

  Ten

  "Pass the cornbread, please?" Lester McDonough asked Peggy. "If you don't mind, ma'am."

  "That's better," Viceroy said. "Don't make me call you down again."

  They had been settled down to eat for about ten minutes. Supper took place on a long table in the McDonough dining room. The room was separated from the rest of the house, which looked like something out of a Life magazine spread. The dining room featured a twelve-foot ceiling, papered walls with a floral pattern, crown-molding dropped six inches from the ceiling, and a fleur-de-lis sconce from which hung an honest-to-God crystal chandelier.

  The meal was served on china, not the most opulent form, but every day china and silverware that was actually silver. In the Army, Peggy had eaten c-rations out of a can with a multitool that included a fork, spoon, knife, and key for opening the cans. She felt like she had died and gone to heaven when Mrs. O'Connell put a plate down in front of her.

  Paradise was short-lived.

  As soon as Viceroy finished grace, the McDonough boys dived in, revealing their true colors. Bo was the most refined of the crew, but even he passed around plates in silence, grunting when he wanted something and barely looking at Peggy.

  The only one to pay attention to Peggy was Lester, who watched her curiously.

  "Why ain't you married?" he blurted out. "You're too pretty to be driving around by yourself. Are you a loose woman?"

  "I assure you that I'm well put together," Peggy shook her head. "All of my nuts and bolts are quite tight."

  "Tight," he giggled.

  Bo reached over and punched him. "Shut up."

  "Lester," Viceroy said. "Apologize to Miss Fitzgerald. We don't use such language at the dinner table, especially with young ladies present."

  Lester stared down at the napkin in his lap. "Sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean nothing by it
. I just say whatever comes to mind. Sorta like an engine that way. Once I get started, I’ve trouble shutting back off. Even when I do, it ends up backfiring."

  There was something simply adorable about the way he looked down, his man-child eyes searching the ground for something other than his father's withering gaze. How could she not forgive him, especially since she wasn't in the least bit offended by his question?

  "Apology accepted," she said.

  "Boy howdy!" Lester blew the bangs out of his eyes, relieved. "Then how about you throw me some of that cornbread?"

  "Manners." Bo elbowed his brother hard in the side. "Don't act like you're raised in the barn, even if you spend most of your time there."

  "All righty," Lester said. "Then how about you throw me some of that cornbread, please ma'am?"

  "Certainly," Peggy said and passed the plate to Lester.

  That was the last thing anyone said for the next five minutes. The boys weren't much for making conversation, especially when their plates were full. They dived right in, heads down, knives and forks up, devouring their food as if they were ravenous dogs. Except for Bo and his father, the rest of them tucked napkins into their shirts and leaned over the table, shoveling it in.

  Peggy tried to maintain decorum. Using her best table manners, she cut through the chicken and set her knife aside, eating one cube after another with her fork. Because of her methodical manners, by the time she finished half a plate, all the McDonough boys had gone for seconds. What had started out as a platter full of chicken now included only two meager pieces, a thigh and a drumstick.

  "Dibs!" Bo and Red yelled, and both stuck their forks into the thigh.

  "Jinx!" Red said.

  "Double jinx!"

  "Neither of y'all is getting it," Lester said. "Get your forks out of Miss Fitzgerald's thigh."

  Red snorted, and Lester looked down at his plate, his face bright red.

  "Oh Lord," Viceroy said, hands together in prayer. "Please help me with this burden."

  "What did I say?" Lester said but realized it before the words were even out of his mouth. "Oh. Shoot fire. It sounded like I meant your thigh, when I meant the chicken. I meant putting the fork in the chicken thigh. Not your thigh. Nobody should be forking—"

  "Hush," Bo said, "before you get yourself into more trouble."

  Peggy smiled to herself. Watching these wild men squirm at the mention of the thigh and then to see the dirty thought that formed on all their minds simultaneously gave her a thrill. It was obvious that they expected her to share the Southern ladies' morals about inappropriate talk, but she wasn't that kind of girl. Not only did she not blush and turn away, their rough language made her stomach knot up. It wasn't something she could ever admit, of course, because even though she didn't share that attitude, the rest of the town did. It's just wasn't appropriate for a lady to admit it, but she loved it when men talked dirty.

  "I apologize for my sons," McDonough said. "Their mother tried to do right by them, but she passed away ten years ago, and Lester here acts like he was raised by wolves. The truth is, he probably was, considering his brothers have pretty much raised him themselves."

  "Please," Peggy said, "it's all right. How about we enjoy the rest of our meal? There seems to be some dissent about the ownership of the next-to-last piece of chicken. I think that I can settle that myself."

  She stabbed the thigh with her fork and dropped it onto her plate. "There we are. Now, who will be the one to have the drumstick?"

  "I'm a leg man!"

  "Me too!"

  "Boys," Viceroy said, sounding exasperated. "You know the last piece of anything stays on the plate for the cook."

  Lester and Red protested, but Bo shook his head. "Daddy's right. If you monkeys are done making a mess of yourselves, head down to the barn and get that car up here. It's getting late."

  Without a word of complaint, the two of them dropped their napkins on the table, scooted back, then put the chairs under the table. Someone had trained them well. Peggy wondered if it was their father or their late mother. Her money was on the mother.

  "No horsing around!" Bo called as they left.

  Bo was a different person when he was talking to his brothers. The deep voice, the cold command, the self-assuredness that Peggy had seen in the barn came back all at once. All meal, he had not looked her way. He kept his eyes to his own plate, nodding when his father spoke. Now that the brothers were no longer under foot, he folded his napkin across his lap and cast his gaze upon her.

  "Sorry for the commotion, Miss Fitzgerald," he said.

  "It’s nothing, I promise you." Peggy fanned her face, where the heat was rising from her neck, and she took a sip of water. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until her mouth went suddenly dry.

  "Normally," Viceroy said, "I take a slice of apple pie after dinner, but I think that I’ve overindulged on the chicken and mashed potatoes, so please tell Mrs. O'Connell that I'll be in my study if she needs me. Miss Fitzgerald, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you need anything, anything at all, give us a holler. Have a safe ride back into town."

  "Thank you," she said, "but about that ride?"

  "Bo will be taking care of you," Viceroy said. "Isn't that right, son?"

  The younger McDonough flashed what could be construed as a smile. "Yes, sir. I’ll take good care of her."

  Peggy found herself hoping that that were true. It had been several weeks since she had been taken care of. The long voyage across the Atlantic Ocean, the train ride into Atlanta, and the drive here, all them had been taken alone. She found herself itching to run her hands over Bo's hard shoulders, down the stony muscles of his arms, to the rough and calloused hands that had been working on her engine.

  Viceroy made his exit into the hallway, and a few seconds later, a sliding door closed. Peggy glanced at Bo, who had not taken his eyes from her.

  "Do you like pie?" Peggy said, almost abruptly.

  "If it's fresh," Bo said. "I find that pie is best served when it's warm and sweet, like butter that melts in your mouth. If it's left out for more than a day or two, it loses its flavor. Course around here, pie never lasts very long."

  "You don't say? You McDonough boys enjoy a lot of pie, do you?"

  "Our fair share," he said. "Some of the fellows in town might claim that was more than our fair share, but we catch that a lot, and I don't have much interest in hearing other men's opinions about things."

  The door to the kitchen swung open, and Mrs. O'Connell backed in carrying three plates of dessert. Without a word, she set one in front of Peggy, the second in front of Bo, and then turned to go down the hallway.

  She knocked on the study door, and the door slid open.

  "Why thank you, Mrs. O'Connell," Viceroy said. "You have read my mind."

  Without a word, she handed him the plate and shut the door. She disappeared into the kitchen.

  "Does she ever talk?" Peggy asked.

  "Only to the chickens." Bo lifted his glass. "Cheers. Hope you enjoy the pie."

  "Hope you enjoy it as much as I do," she said and took the first bite.

  Her mouth exploded with the flavor of apple, cinnamon, and butter. At first, it overwhelmed her senses, then the flavor filled her senses with a rush that was almost erotic. She chewed slowly, savoring each bite, as the flavors caressed her tongue. She was loath to swallow, but the promise of the new bite, the flaky crust that melted on her tongue made her continue.

  Then suddenly, as if she had awakened from a nap, she looked at Bo and the salacious smile on his face.

  "What is it?" she asked. "Did I spill something on myself?"

  "Nothing," he said.

  "You're smiling at me."

  "It's really nothing," he said. "It's just…I've never seen anyone enjoy eating so much."

  "What do you call what your brothers do?"

  "Devouring," he said. "We don’t chew long enough to enjoy it."

  The way he said the word enjoy made Peg
gy’s skin tingle. She very much loved the sound of a deep voice. Even with the soft Southern accent, there was something about Bo’s voice that was as enticing and erotic as her dessert.

  In the foyer, the grandfather clock went off. It chimed seven times, and Bo folded his napkin. He tossed it on the table next to his dessert, which Peggy realized he had not even touched. "Time for us to go. Daddy said to have you back in-house by seven thirty."

  "But you haven't eaten your dessert."

  "That's not what I'm hungry for," he said and offered his hand. "Come with me."

  Peggy allowed herself to be led from the table, hoping that she was exactly what he was hungry for.

  Eleven

  "You had my car brought around?" Peggy said when they reached the end of the front steps and found the Ford waiting.

  "The boys washed it, too." Bo swung the door open. "Have a seat."

  The gaslights that illuminated the front porch shone on the car's fresh wax job. It seemed that the McDonough boys had not only replaced her broken water pump, they had gone out of their way to make sure that the car looked as good as it ran.

  "That was very kind of you." Peggy slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. It purred to life. "But when I said that I could take care of myself, I meant it. I'll accept your generosity this time, but the next time I bring my car around, I expect you and your brothers to keep your hands off of it."

  "Whatever you say, Miss." Bo closed the door. "I'll follow you into town to make sure you get to the boarding house. If old lady Hogan has locked you out, I’ll help you sweet talk your way inside."

  "Don't worry about me," Peggy said. "I can handle old lady Hogan."

  "If you could," Bo said, spinning the key ring of his father's Stutz Bearcat around his finger, "you'd be the only one to succeed on the first try."

  "You don't know me, but I'm really good at doing things on the first try."

  He leaned on the door, looking down at her. "Is that so?"

  "It sure is," she said and jammed the pedal to the floor.