“I guess.” Emmie reached over and pushed open the door.
Looking up to the wrap-around porch, Emmie noticed Mr. Johnson was sitting in one of the rocking chairs at the far end of the house.
“Hey, Pap,” he yelled up at the older man.
“Bo.” He nodded and craned his neck over the porch railing. “Who ya got with ya?”
“Pap, I think you know Emmie Talbot,” Bo said.
“You came to our barn party a few weeks back… with Walt? You’re Ronnie’s daughter, right?”
“Stepdaughter.” Emmie corrected although she wasn’t sure why. She’d never corrected anyone about that before. For some reason she felt like she was going to need to stand her ground with this man.
“Stepdaughter. You trying to keep your distance from the man that put food on your table all your life?” the old man asked.
“Nope.” She walked up the last stair. “Just trying to keep it honest.”
Behind the man’s long mustache she could see the tiny quirk of a grin. “I guess I can’t fault ya for that. I like honest. Have a seat.”
“Pap, Emmie wants to talk to you about Walter’s old still.” Bo pushed them into the conversation.
“Is that so?” The old man looked surprised. “And does Walter know you’re so interested in his still?”
“Well, I’ve called him about her two times and he won’t answer me. She’s not in my cave anymore,” Emmie answered.
“So why do you think I know something about it?” he asked, looking at his son. He had a sneaking suspicion that this girl could bat her eyes and get any information she wanted from Bo.
“I just…” Emmie couldn’t think of a thing to say. She didn’t want Bo to be in trouble. Thankfully she didn’t have to come up with a lie. Bo owned up to it.
“I told her we moved it for him but that’s it. She’s got a right to know if something has been moved off her land,” Bo said, leaning against the railing.
“That ain’t really for you to choose, now was it?” Mr. Johnson snapped at his son.
“I guess not but Emmie’s a friend.” Bo stood his ground. “As good a friend as Walter has been.”
Mr. Johnson gave a noncommittal grunt in reply.
“Well, I guess it’s not even the still I’m after. All though it does chap me that you guys think you can just take it right from under my nose. If it hadn’t been for my dog I may not have known it was gone for weeks,” she said annoyed. Emmie stood and paced the narrow area from door to rocking chair, working up the courage to tell Mr. Johnson what she’d came for.
“Spit it out Emmie,” Bo said, reaching out and grabbing her arm gently. “You’re making me dizzy pacing around like a nervous cat.”
Emmie stared up at Bo while she found her courage. She spun on her heel and turned to face Mr. Johnson. She was surprised to see he looked amused. In all the times she’d met him he always seemed so gruff and unpleasant. This was the second time she’d seen the hint of a grin on his face in ten minutes. Maybe she’d misjudged him.
“Okay, here goes. Mae told me you wanted me to make apple pie. She said it sold really well for James at the speaks in town. Something about making money hand over fist.” She worked to keep her voice steady and calm. “So see, it’s not really the still I’m interested in. Just the shine that I can turn into my apple pie.”
“Well, girl, that’s all well and good but Walt made it pretty clear to us that you were not going be messing in all this again. He seemed to think your moonshining days were behind ya,” he said honestly.
“Being as I’m grown, I’m not sure that’s for him to decide.”
“You got another shine supplier or another still hidden in that cave of yours? Cause all you’re gonna do is doctor up his jars. Where you planning to get your shine?” he asked all business like.
“I guess you’ve figured out why I have been curious about Ole Maizy,” she said, squaring her shoulders.
“Guess I did. You know what they say curiosity does to the cat right? It killed him.” He tilted his head to the side.
“I suppose its a good thing cat’s have got nine lives then…” she retorted.
An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments before he spoke again. “Walter said you didn’t know what you were messing with last time. Playing with moonshine’s like playing with fire. Some people round here have been burned for messing with the stuff.”
“You think I don’t know that? I know how my stepfather was killed. I’m not as naïve as you think.”
“No, I guess you aren’t.” He added, “Course how could you be after messing around with that McDowell family?”
“Leave Silas out of this.” Emmie crossed her arms over her chest.
“What’s he think about you getting mixed up in this again? Seems like I heard he didn’t much care for it the first time around. He carried you outta that pig and threatened Walter, is the way I heard it,” Mr. Johnson said. “I ain’t got nothing for ya girl. Wish I could help ya out but after we heard from Walter the kinda promises Silas made if you ever were near the stuff again, well James and I decided we’d cut our loses with the apple pie. That is unless you want to sell us your recipe. Say seventy-five dollars? That sounds like a fair price for some words, don’t you think?”
Emmie actually laughed. “Seventy-five dollars? You’re likely to make four digits off the shine and you only offer me seventy-five dollars? I don’t think so, Mr. Johnson.”
The older man shrugged and answered. “Well, I’m sorry we can’t make a deal then. Like I said, I’m not agreeing to something when your man isn’t here give it the okay.”
“It’s not for Silas to decide. I make my own choices,” she said, jutting her chin out. For all she knew Silas might not even care what she did anymore. She’d been in town for nearly a week now and he’d never done so much as call.
“Is that so?”
Emmie nodded.
“Well, you’ll just have to forgive me if I am going to give him weight in this decision… seeing as he’s part of the outfit that runs those speaks. I’m not about to get myself shot over some apple shine.”
Emmie sighed and walked the length of the porch. She spoke next without facing the man. Tough girl act didn’t work, she’d go with honest. She’d already lost this argument with him; she might as well lay it all out on the line. She just hoped Walter would forgive her for telling his business.
“I don’t want the money for me. I’ve got money,” she said just loud enough for him to hear. “It’s Walt. He needs money. Max needs to see a doctor in Louisville and it’s not gonna be cheap. I don’t want a dime… I just need supplies and everything else can filter right to Walter.” Silence passed as the three of them let the words and their meaning sink in.
When she turned around she saw Mr. Johnson stroking his mustache. She could see he was thinking it over. He hadn’t said no, so she was taking that as a positive.
“You’d do that for Walter?” Mr. Johnson asked, cocking his head to the side.
“And Max, and Mae,” she said honestly.
“Would you feel better knowing Walter had some cash?” Mr. Johnson asked.
Emmie frowned, her brow wrinkled in confusion.
“I bought Maizy. Walter didn’t tell me why he needed money exactly, just that he needed some. So I bought the still from him.”
“Walter sold you Ole Maizy?” Emmie shouted. “Don’t you see how desperate he is? He loved that still. She’s been in his family for generations.” She spun on her heel and ran her hands through her hair. “If you didn’t give him more than a hundred you didn’t even put a dent in what he needed.
Mr. Johnson frowned. “I ain’t never met a doctor that cost that much money.”
“Well you’ve never had to try and take care of a child with Max’s struggles, have you? Also, they’re gonna have to live up there for God knows how long while the doctor works on the boy. Don’t you see? We gotta do this, for Walter. He needs help and he’s too pro
ud to ask for it.”
“You think I got where I am outta doing charity work? I paid him a fair price,” Mr. Johnson said defensively.
“No, I don’t guess you did.” Emmie spit at him. How could he say that? Walter was his friend. “Forget about it. I’ll figure out another way. Bo, take me home, please.”
Bo watched as Emmie stomped her way down the stairs. He turned to take in his father’s expression and let out a little sigh of relief when he saw the amused expression in his eyes.
“She’s a spitfire, huh?” Mr. Johnson said to his son.
“Yeah.” Bo snorted.
“I see why you always chased after her,” he said to his son. When Bo walked past him he gripped his son’s elbow and whispered, “But keep your distance. Don’t you go messing where that McDowell boy sleeps. You understand me?”
“Pap. It’s fine.” He pulled his arm away from his father.
“I mean it. You mess with that girl and there will be trouble we don’t want.”
“Okay. Fine. I hear ya.” Bo made his way down the stairs, started the car and together they left the Johnson farm.
They were over halfway to Emmie’s house before either of them spoke. Bo was wrapped up in his father’s warning and Emmie was too mad that Mr. Johnson wouldn’t help his friend.
“I thought for sure he would help Walter,” she said quietly.
“He did buy the still.” Bo defended his father.
“You know what I mean.” She ran her finger along the hem of her skirt.
“I’ll talk to him. He didn’t say no Emmie. When he says no, trust me you hear it.”
“You think he will?” Emmie asked, letting the hope seep into her voice.
“I think he might. He probably just wants to talk to Walter before he commits,” Bo said honestly.
Emmie hoped Bo was right. Surely he wasn’t he kind of man to turn his back on a friend.
Chapter Twenty-two
Silas was frozen. Even his toes were beginning to feel numb. He supposed Trick was right. They should have pulled off somewhere for the night but he was eager to get back to Emmie. He was so close, there was no way he was going to stop an hour or so from town.
“You still mad about her staying at home?” Trick asked curiously.
“Yeah,” Silas answered. “I don’t know why she won’t just listen to me.”
Trick thought that over for a second. “You probably wouldn’t like her so much if she did.”
Silas had a feeling that was true and he didn’t really know what it said about the future of their relationship. She was infuriating. He spent his days giving people orders and she didn’t even respect what he wanted when he was worried about her safety. He had imagined hundreds of horrible things that could have happened in the days since he’d seen her.
“Yeah, well. That might be true. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to give her a piece of my mind when I get there.” Silas huffed. “She’s got a thing or two to learn.”
“You really plan on us just showing up there in the middle of the night?” Trick asked.
“Yep.” Silas ground his teeth together at the thought of the upcoming confrontation.
**********
Spotty lay curled at the end of her bed, keeping her feet nice and warm on this cold night. She had three quilts piled on top of her; her nightgown was soft and comfortable. The moonlight was shining in through the window over the bed. Emmie was sure it was after midnight and she was still awake, wide-awake. Her body was tired but her brain wouldn’t shut off. Silas… her father… Max… Walter… apple pie… it ticked from one problem to the next like a wheel spinning in a circle. The harder she fought it, the louder it became. She tossed over to her side and adjusted the blankets. Spotty gave an audible groan and stretched his paws, his claws dug into her calf through the covers.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. It was not a nice look. She had a feeling if he could talk he would be swearing at her. He didn’t like his sleep disturbed. She stuck her tongue out at him and laughed. Her life had gone to the dogs. Literally.
All at once Spotty stood at attention. His ears pointed straight up and he let out a loud whimper. In one motion he jumped from her bed to the top of the loft stairs.
“Spotty,” she whispered, her heart pounding. What had he heard?
The dog was already pacing in front of the door. When she reached the stairs he turned and gave her a loud bark.
“Shh… get back here.” She warned him. Emmie listened intently. She heard the hum of a car engine pulling up to her house. She froze, almost afraid to move. There was no reason for someone to be here at midnight. She heard a car door slam and then another. Emmie tiptoed to the pantry and grabbed Ronnie’s old shotgun, gripping the wood tightly.
Heavy footsteps beat up the stairs and stopped at her door. Her doorknob shook. Thank God she’d locked it before bed. Emmie tiptoed over to the window and pushed the gun through the curtains. Hopefully her guests would see it.
“I hear ya out there,” she shouted. “Who is it?”
“Oh, shit.” She heard a familiar voice followed by laughter.
“Emmie, it’s me. Put the gun down,” the second voice said calmly.
Emmie relaxed immediately and a smile spread across her face. She ran to the door and unlocked it.
“Well, that was an unexpected welcome,” Silas said dryly as he moved through the door.
“And I’ll just take that,” Trick said, grabbing the shotgun from her hands.
“So sorry. You liked to have scared me and Spotty to death.”
Cold air blew into the open door before Trick pulled it closed. November could be cold and tonight was unseasonably cold. Their cheeks and noses were bright red. She reached up and put a hand against Silas’s cheek.
“You’re freezing Silas. Let’s get you guys warmed up.” She walked over and added another log to the fire and stirred it around with the poker. The flame blazed bright, the room filling with a warm glow. Trick walked over and put his hands near the flame. Spotty walked over and sat at his side, lying down and turning to his side, clearly begging for a belly scratch.
“You guys hungry? Or do ya want some tea or coffee?” she asked them.
Silas shook his head slowly and licked his chapped lips. “No.” Then his eyes looked over her body—from the tips of her bare feet, up her sheer nightgown, to the way her hair fell from the ribbon she’d used to pull it back. Silas wrapped his arms around her waist and breathed in her scent. He let out a long breath. Emmie relaxed in his arms. Silas leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. His mouth found her ear. “I missed you,” he whispered. Emmie smiled. She leaned back to see his face and laid a hand softly on his cheek.
“So, I take this to mean you’re not still mad about my time in the clink?” She laughed at her own joke before she even got the words out.
He sighed. “No. I guess I’m not. You still mad at me because I acted like an asshole?”
She was surprised by the genuine look of worry in his eyes. “I guess I’ll let you off the hook this one time.” She grinned and pulled away from him. Silas reached out and caught her, pulling her into his chest and gave her another slow kiss. Emmie felt her body turning to mush.
Trick walked by and dropped his coat and hat on one of the kitchen chairs. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together loudly. He reached out and grabbed his brother by the arm. “Well, is her lesson over? Because if you’re done giving her a piece of your mind, I sure would like to take her up on that offer of food and hot coffee. I’m cold and starving.”
“A lesson?” Emmie put her hand on her hip and cocked her eyebrow up at Silas.
Chapter Twenty-three
Silas turned to face his brother. “Shut up, Trick.”
He wanted to be angry with him but had a hard time finding the words because he knew his brother was right. He should be angry with her. She didn’t listen to him. And there she was standing there now smiling, with her hand propped on her
hip, eyebrow up questioning him. Questioning him? He put his hat and coat down next to Trick’s and walked the length of the kitchen taking a moment to think, however, the kitchen was less than six paces in length.
“And what lesson was I to learn, Silas?” she repeated laughing.
“Trust me, you don’t want to do this now.” He shook his head and went into the den. He replaced his brother’s spot in front of the fireplace.
He had his feathers all up in a ruffle about something. Emmie wasn’t good at letting things lie. She started to follow him but decided not. Trick was hungry and the hot tea would be good for both of them. She heated the kettle and went to the pantry for tea. What in the world would set him on edge? She had a feeling it wasn’t still the arrest. She pulled out eggs and bacon then warmed two cast-iron skillets.
Trick watched her move around the kitchen. He wondered if she knew her lips were moving as she thought to herself. Her brow was wrinkled. She was trying to figure out his brother’s mood swings. It hadn’t occurred to him that his comment would throw his brother back into his bad mood. Trick thought the planned argument had been canceled. He felt a little guilty. He took a couple of steps to narrow the space between them. She gave him a look that told him to keep his space. Clearly she didn’t appreciate his comment either.
“Sorry,” Trick whispered. “I didn’t think he’d still be mad.”
“Something I can do for you, Patrick?” she asked, moving around him to grab a fork to turn the bacon.
“Here,” he said, grabbing the fork. “I can finish this. Go talk to him.”
“I don’t want to. He’s got his dander all up about something and I don’t even know what it’s about. If anyone’s going to be mad, it should be me. I didn’t hear from him all week.” She put a press down on the greasy bacon.
Trick grabbed the fork from her hands without another word, turned her, and gave a gentle push toward the den. He was not stepping any deeper into this fight. “I can do this. Go.”
Emmie sighed, handed him the towel she’d used to hold the pan, and laid out a few plates for him on the counter. She poured three cups of coffee, passed one to Trick, and headed toward the den with the other two.
Rise and Shine (Shine On Series, Book 2) Page 12