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A Trick of the Light Ch. 00

By: Itzy_Strange



PROLOGUE

Again Charlie's boot skidded in an unsteady effort to tread rocky incline. Sore shoulder pressed to the frame of his car, straining, he kept his weight firm, trying his damnedest to steer the broken down metal box on wheels up yet another hill. Three miles at least the man had pushed, hoping the faded wooden sign pointing to Devil's Hollow Roadhouse an hour back was accurate.

With the luck he'd been having, Charlie wouldn't be surprised to find the sign a lie -- the roadhouse long ago leveled by some tornado, burned to the ground, or just plain abandoned.

After days of travel, the blue Ford's engine had gone out so unexpectedly, Charlie was certain Lucifer himself was trying to meddle with fate. The irony of being caught on a twisting backcountry road named Devil's Hollow and considering the type of monster he had with him would have made most men agree. Chained, gagged, and blindfolded on the backseat was a bounty evil through and through; a man Charlie had hunted so long, he couldn't close his eyes without feeling the need to watch that particular bastard fry on Sing Sing's infamous electric chair, Old Sparky. Imagining Ronnie Pearson lurching - the sounds he'd make - kept Charlie thoroughly motivated to push that damn car the whole way to New York if he had to.

Fortunately, early winter in the sticks left no snow on the ground - just plenty of cold to soothe a laboring body. Clouds of breath steamed from flared nostrils, sweat ran through the dirt on his face. With an extended grunt, Charlie crested the steepest slope yet.

At the rumble of an approaching engine, Charlie lowered a hand to the rifle hanging at his shoulder. Brim pulled low, he peered back, a cloud of dirt signaling trouble might be closing in.

Or maybe it was nothing. Vehicles speeding fast enough to kick up that kind of dust didn't usually stop for strangers, nor were country boys quite as friendly as folks might expect. So, when a rusty truck came to a slow rolling stop beside him, Charlie's expression was less than friendly.

There was reason to be wary. It wasn't the pale eyes of the brawny passenger, narrowed as they looked him up and down. It wasn't the scarred knuckles flexing where the man's arm rested out the window. It was the smell.

Moonshine. Charlie knew that corn stink. Loved it, in fact.

Charlie's gloved fingers rose to the brim of his hat, one silent nod offered. All the while, red rimmed eyes measured what mattered and what didn't. The greater threat wasn't the bruiser riding shotgun - tall as a tree and dirty as a pig, a man glared at him from the truck's bed. Unlike the men in the cab, the giant was well aware of the hidden rifle Charlie's trigger finger kissed.

Deadpan, Charlie broke the silence, "Afternoon..."

A wordless, grunted reply was offered -- not from the man looming over him, but from the one with his arm hanging out the passenger window. One more tense stretch of silence, and a smooth rumble demanded, "Where you headed to?"

Scraping words from a dry throat, Charlie said, "Sign a few miles back pointed to a Devil's Hollow Roadhouse."

The stranger pursed his lips, chewed a toothpick caught between his teeth, and looked to his driver. "Eli, help him push the car."

By the open annoyance on the boy's face, it was clear helping a road-worn stranger wasn't exactly appealing to the youth. Even so, Eli did as he was told, climbing out of the cab so the broad shouldered male might scoot toward the wheel.

Without another glance or word exchanged, the truck took off.

Through the dust, Eli sauntered nearer, hand out friendly-like. "I'm Eli Emerson. My cousin, Matthew, owns the roadhouse."

Seeing the kid up close, Charlie found he was wrong. Eli wasn't a kid exactly. He was something nearer a man, a bit too pretty for his own good. "Charles."

Greeting over, the kid moved straight toward the back of the car. Together they pushed that damn Ford, Eli chattering up a storm, asking questions that went unanswered, pouring out compliments on the shiny blue car.

By sunset the creaking roadhouse's sign came into sight, ending the prattle long enough Charlie might pull off his hat and wipe the sweat from his brow.

The roadhouse was just what you'd expect from a country pit stop - a simple two story building, everything set in vacant surrounding woods. Faded tin signs advertising motor oil, cigarettes, and Coca-Cola splashed a little color against wooden slats. Mismatched chairs graced the porch - one of them full of Matthew Emerson sipping on a steaming mug.

Seeing him fully, even seated, it was clear Matthew was a big fellow; a weathered version of his pretty boy cousin, sitting so his eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat, the single porch light offering little beyond the rigid set of an unfriendly jaw.

Leaving the car and its precious hidden cargo, Charlie walked the dusty yard and marched up the porch steps.

"Matthew Emerson," Charlie's throaty speech, an unpretty thing, croaked like the after effects of some great sickness. "I have a proposition for you."

Matthew's head tipped back just enough to meet the beady stare of the much smaller stranger, to look close at the man caught on his road. Charlie held that gaze. Years of practice had taught the bounty hunter how to make a face look different. Ever so slightly pushing his jaw forward faked an under bite, squinting creased the skin making one appear older. And that was only the beginning. Sweat and dirt; it was miraculous what the combination could conceal. One thing Charlie couldn't hide. A nasty scar bisected his lower lip - a thing he'd carried since childhood.

Matthew took a sip of coffee and offered an unimpressed, "Proposition, hum? You come out here to talk business?"

Charlie understood what the man implied. West Virginia was dirt poor, and with prohibition going strong. Smart men found other ways to pull a profit. Illegal Ways. Brewing and selling were as common as farming and coal mining.The Emersons were moonshiners.

"I have no interest in your liquor." A borderline sneer pulled at Charlie's scar. "What I have is cargo I need to transport immediately. Ain't got time to wait on getting that engine fixed."

Matthew leaned back in his chair, unimpressed with the stranger on his porch. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

"I'll pay you five hundred dollars for a three day ride, leaving now."

His snort could have been mocking laughter if the man had cracked a smile. "What's in the car?"

There was no point in lying. "A convict on his way to the electric chair."

Matthew ever so slightly cocked his head, a sign that maybe he was intrigued... or perhaps offended. Once he spoke it was clear the expression implied neither; he was simply dismissive. "Ain't got no one to drive you."

Charlie didn't waver, only deepened his tone. "Find someone."

Colorless eyes blazed so hard Charlie was sure other men had scuttled back like kicked dogs at the sight. But that wasn't Charlie's way. "The bounty I'm carrying is a very evil man - a man who killed my brother and harmed my mamma. There is nothing that'll stand in my way of dragging him to justice."

A disgruntled throat noise and Matthew glanced to the distant Ford.

Charlie made his point, "I don't care if you're a decent man or a bad one; you got family. I take it you understand my position."

A moment of quiet stretched before Matthew sipped his coffee and coarsely offered, "One night's shelter, then you and your friend will be on your way. Lot a men round these parts won't take too kindly to your type, if you understand my meanin."

It was better than nothing. Tipping his hat, Charlie shuffled back to the blue Ford to drag out the psychopath strapped down across the back.

Feeling Matthew Emerson measure his every move, Charlie managed the much taller chained prisoner, yanking the jackass along, handling the convict well when the bastard played his game of being difficult - stumbling on purpose, wriggling.

At their approach, the head of the Emerson family stood and held the screen door open. Once inside, Charlie, taking in all the empty tables with their checkered tablecloths and cheap spindle chairs, chose a seat.

There was an audience - the scruffy giant from the back of the truck and a gawking woman standing behind the counter.

"What the hell is this?"

Matthew addressed the man, "They stay one night and then they go." After a short pause, he added, "Alice, get them some food."

The youngest, Eli, watched, muttering to himself as he took in the chains on the convict, the rifle on the stranger, "A real life bounty hunter here in Monroe."

Charlie looked toward the boy, eyes narrowed, incredulous. "You ain't seen me, hear?"

Bashful, Eli mumbled, "Uh, yes, sir."

"Eli, you head on home," Matthew ordered, lighting a cigar and taking a seat at the counter.

Eli, eager to be included, argued. "I'll stay."

"Get." The one word, spoken softly, was enough.

With a snort, the grousing youth left as ordered.

The raven-haired waitress frowned through the process of readying two bowls of unheated canned soup. From the way Matthew watched her before settling his eyes right back on Charlie, it was apparent any slight on the woman would spell trouble.

Charlie only glanced at the pretty girl long enough to see what she was made of. Alice was stunning, possessing unfashionably long hair and dressed smart - a little too smart for a lady working a greasy spoon.

When she plopped down the food, Charlie went through the expected motions. "Much appreciated, ma'am."

Without acknowledging the courtesy, the lithe thing went right back to her place behind the counter.

After checking to assure the prisoner's blindfold stayed tight, Charlie loosened the saliva saturated gag under it. "Supper."

The captive's jaw dropped in false anticipation.

Charlie began the infuriating process of feeding the thing he hated most on earth. "Rule number one?"

"I eat when you tell me to eat." It was a musical voice, seductive and unnerving.

"Rule number two?"

Pure sadistic glee. "I piss when you tell me to piss."

"Rule number three?"

The prisoner's lips curved into a poisonous smile. "I fuck up... you cut something off."

A gravelly hiss agreed, "And that is my favorite rule."

The rest of the soup was shoveled between the bastard's lips, faster and faster. Between slurps and swallows, beyond the distrust the big dirty one was leveling at him, the little hairs on the back of Charlie's neck started to rise.

Something wasn't right.

The outdoors went quiet. No birds, no bugs, no nothing.

Silence was never a good thing.

Suspicious, Charlie's eyes flew to Matthew Emerson. The man was standing rigid, staring out the window like he too felt something bad.

Trouble came.

Gunfire blasted. The roadhouse's front windows shattered, glass flying everywhere. Tackling his prisoner, determined the man wouldn't die quickly from some stray bullet to the brain, Charlie barked, "Cut the damn lights!"

Matthew and Nathaniel fired haphazardly into the night like fools, Alice screaming where she hide behind the bar. Bullets flying overhead, Charlie crawled toward the window. Crouched, rifle at his shoulder, he scoped the yard. Whatever the hell was going on, Charlie had no plans on dying just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Blue eyes rolled to the heavens and Charlie let out an audible sigh. "I ain't got time for this shit."

Scoping target number one, Charlie pulled the trigger. One blast, one death. The process repeated, patient and thorough - professional. Five men died due to such skill, and silence, once again, came to the yard.

With the quiet, Charlie stood, ignoring the crunch of glass when stepping over the casement. Bodies were found, examined where they sprawled. Two Charlie recognized, and couldn't help but snort a laugh.

Matthew came bearing a lantern. "They worth any money?"

Ignoring the temper, the fury radiating from the stoic at his back, Charlie said, "No one gives a shit about men like this. It's their boss you should be worrying about."

Matthew sucked his teeth. "And who might that be?"

Cocking his head, Charlie turned and looked up at a man who could crush him with one good swing. Bearing no trace of compassion, no interest in helping the Emerson boys' cause, he explained the cold way of things, "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Speakin of which, I did just kill almost all of the fuckers for you."

"You didn't do it for me."

"You seem like a reasonable man." A flashed smirk, one as mean as Charlie could offer. "So you must know you're just one more bootlegger out in the middle of nowhere. I could've killed you, the tall fella, and your woman, in three quick shots before you would've even blinked... then stolen your truck. We both know that. Not a soul but your dandy cousin would have even known I was here." Charlie pursed his lips and shook his head. "And tracking him down... wouldn't even be a challenge."

The brute took a threatening step nearer. "I'm not in the mood to play games, son."

Charlie's demand was deliberate and harsh, "Give me what I want."

"Matthew," Alice called. "Nathaniel's bleedin!"

Matthew rushed back inside, the bounty hunter following to assure no stray bullets had hit his prize.

The shackled captive lay in a pile right where Charlie had shoved him down. Poking at him with his boot, the prisoner uncurled, and Charlie leaned down to haul him back into a chair.

Chained hands darted out, a piece of broken window glass carving right through the bounty hunter's clothing.

Warmth soaked his undershirt, a great sting tightening Charlie's breath. "Ronnie... You just broke rule number three."

The maniac cackled even as his makeshift weapon was yanked from him. Ignoring Matthew, the waitress, and the bleeding Nathaniel, Charlie went straight to the wood burning stove to shove in the poker. A hunting knife appeared, Charlie kneeling to yank Ronnie's hands as far as the chains would allow. Like chopping off the head of a chicken, a finger was hacked away. The madman's giggles twisted into screams.

When it was done, the red hot poker seared the wound, the sickening smell of burning flesh wafting about. Standing over his prey, a bloody Charlie swiped up the severed digit, tossing it out the broken window. "Cross me again, and the next thing I cut off won't be a finger!"

The intruders were dead, his prisoner dealt with; that just left the last issue. Charlie locked eyes on Matthew, the man watching him like he might just raise his pistol.

He had no bullets left - Charlie had counted.

The bounty hunter cocked his chin. "He's losing a lot of blood."

Nathaniel, his exposed shoulder leaking something awful, grunted, "And what do you know about it?"

"Clearly a lot more than either of you." Charlie's attention went to Alice. "Pull a few tables together. Matthew, help me move him when she's finished." Feeling pretty fucking magnanimous, Charlie sneered. "You want that bullet out? I can get the job done and stitch you up clean."

Orders were followed, Matthew managing Nathaniel until the wounded man was lying on a table in the light. Tools were called for, Alice scurrying around to gather what was needed.

Under the scruff, seeing Nathaniel without his filthy shirt, the resemblance between the two men grew obvious. "He your brother?"

A grunt and Matthew gave Charlie a look warning he'd kill him if the stranger took one misstep.

The handle of a wooden spoon was placed between Nathaniel's teeth, Matthew bracing the larger man. Alice held up a lamp, the light shaking until Charlie barked at the woman to hold the damn thing still. All and all it wasn't so bad. Once the shoulder was angled right, getting the bullet would be an easy in and out. Sitting a hip on the table, Charlie took Nathaniel's arm and wrapped the limb around his midsection.

The stranger's gaze grew soft, Charlie whispering, "Look at me, Nathaniel." The man obeyed. "You're dipping your toes in cool water. The air smells of autumn and warm things. Breathe in and out real slow, real deep." Charlie nodded when the man began to relax. "That's right. Keep looking at me and try not to break any of my ribs." The last words were matched with a disarming smile.

The second Nathaniel was about to chuckle, moonshine splashed the wound. He screamed instead, biting down on the wooden spoon. Quickly pulling off one glove, Charlie coated his slender fist in shine, and reached right into the bleeding hole. Despite the jerking body, the bullet was pinched and pulled free quick as lightning, then tossed aside, clattering across the floor. Not bothering to wipe away the blood on his fingers, Charlie pulled his glove on right quick, before spilling more moonshine to disinfect the injury.

Roaring, Nathaniel clung to the stranger's hip, gripping so hard marks would be left behind.

Pressing hard to the hole to slow fresh bleeding, Charlie asked, "Can I sew you up without your brother holding you down?"

Nathaniel swallowed and nodded.

"Keep breathing like I told you."

A jabbing needle and tugging thread closed gaping skin. Once the final knot was tied and soft gauze covered tidy stitches, gloved fingers came to the man's jaw and took the wooden spoon. Charlie teased, "Well done, soldier."

Carefully unwrapping Nathaniel's arm from his middle, Charlie laid it across the man's ribs. "You'll need to keep it in a sling for a few weeks."

"You're bleedin," Nathaniel managed, glancing to the blooming red stained on his impromptu medic's coat.

The warped voice returned. "Ain't nothing. Just a scratch."

Work done, Charlie walked away and left the others to sort themselves out. In a measure of kindness and a silent act of gratitude, a shaken Alice moved toward the kitchen, found some wholesome food, and brought it to the stranger. In place of the canned soup trash from before, a plate of cold ham and biscuits was given. Gift on the table, Matthew led the woman upstairs.

Once they were alone, Nathaniel groaned, amused, "I know what'cha are."

"I'm the person who shot five of the seven men sent after you and yours. I'm also the person who just dug a bullet out of you instead of letting your unpleasant brother muck it up. That's all I am," Charlie warned, dead serious.

Nathaniel gave a weak shit-eating grin. "That's more than a scratch. Tend to it quick before he gets back."

He made a good point. Charlie moved toward the unused first aid supplies. Pulling up layers of clothing exposed a smooth stomach smeared red from a slice in need of stitching.

Supine, Nathaniel took in the tapered waist he'd felt under the layers, resting his gaze on the stranger's exposed scar. "Who shot you?"

Ignoring him, Charlie stripped off the gloves and those same slender fingers reached for the jar. After taking a deep swallow, liquor was splashed on the bleeding cut. Panting hard through the burn, a needle was quickly threaded. Without a moment's pause, Charlie jabbed it right on in.

"Watch your breathin," Nathaniel corrected, seeing the woman in pain.

Blue eyes darted to his as she smirked, wicked, whispering sweetly, "Words of wisdom, Nathaniel Emerson."

Ten more stitches, another painful splash of moonshine, and Charlie pulled her shirt down, covering her stomach just as Matthew's boots sounded on the steps.

Bloodshot eyes above a ticking grin watched her hide all trace of femininity under layers of homespun cloth. "I'll keep your secret."

"Good. After fixing you, I don't really want to kill you and put all my hard work to waste." Her mocking was playful, and on a whim, Charlie ruffled Nathaniel's unkempt hair.

By the time Matthew was in sight, Charlie sat eating the food Alice prepared, watching over her prisoner as if nothing had happened in the time he'd been gone.


A Trick of the Light Ch. 01



CHAPTER 1

Six months later:

"Come on..."

Those two words had been coming out of his cousin's mouth all damn day. Whereas earlier the complaint had been muttered under Eli's breath, building excitement had churned impatience into aggravating enthusiasm.

Already out of the truck, Eli stood with the last crates of shine stacked in his arms, eager eyes darting toward the Willards' barn, the party inside going full swing inside.

Matthew leveled a warning glare on the boy, saying wordlessly he'd better cool it.

After all, there was still work to do before play.

They'd spent a long day driving around Monroe County, talking briefly with their neighbors and selling jars of Emerson moonshine for almost nothing - practically giving the stuff away.

When they had a notorious buyer with deep pockets and a showy reputation just waiting in Chicago, impulsive Eli couldn't fathom why Matthew insisted they putter around the country wasting time for pennies on the dollar. Nathaniel was the easy one; Matthew's older brother just did as he was told, so long as he could take his cut to spend as he liked. But their younger cousin missed the bigger picture.

Solidarity was necessary.

Whether or not locals supported bootlegging, Monroe knew the money brought in from brewing shine kept their forgotten community afloat while the rest of the state was falling apart.

On occasion the business brought trouble. Now and then feds sniffed around... and found no one talked. Then there were thugs, drifters, fools underestimating the business, seeking out a country rube to rob or a racket to move in on. Men like that - the Emersons took care of personally.

Trouble didn't last long in Monroe.

A decade of good business with one's neighbors could get you far. A willingness to get your hands bloody could get you farther. That's what Emerson success boiled down to. Matthew had pulled a profit for years - selling as far as Charleston, in fact. But cutting off Harrison McCray's face and hand delivering it to his most powerful adversary... that was the kind of currency that had opened up new doors to new devils - forging a standing contract with the greatest beast of all: Chicago.

Business went from hundreds of gallons a month to thousands. Money was pouring in hand over fist, and Matthew was making more in a month than most made in a year of hard labor in the coal mines. He justified the risk, the danger, as a short lived opportunity. He could see what was coming. There was just too much good money in alcohol, and the American people were wising up, seeing the benefit in legalizing, in redirecting cash away from slimy gangsters and corrupt politicians.

Prohibition was nearing its end. But Matthew hadn't fought through nine bloody years of bootlegging to lose his standing, his profit, or his future by getting squeamish. Unlike his older brother and baby cousin - who were both just along for the ride - he was going to make something greater that would last. Something he could lean on. Something stamped with the Emerson name.

Through years of living leanly, almost every penny made reinvested into bigger stills, Matthew found the means to buy up land - preparing for the next venture when illicit business would be replaced with a legitimate distillery. Matthew's intended legacy: Emerson's finest whiskey.

Lighting a cigar, Matthew saw nothing but another venue for profit in the Willards' party. Scoping the best spot to set up shop, he ignored the apprehensive glances of local lawmen and the friendly nods of fellow bootleggers.

A dusky corner was chosen, orders barked for Eli and Nathaniel to tend the line already forming.

Brim low, Matthew observed transactions, trading few words with the menfolk out of custom.

"Well, look at that," Deputy Dooley whistled after a long sip of shine. "Ain't she just bright and shiny?"

Glancing where the lawman was grinning, Matthew's found the golden hair of a woman standing just inside the barn door. Mincing steps brought her nearer, a shy smile below eyes that took in everything as if it were novel.

There was something different about her beyond the fact she was an obvious outsider. Then it hit him. It was just as Dooley said - she was too bright. Her dress, the cotton, wasn't faded like the clothes of the local women. Her hair, finger waved like a magazine, too shiny.

Matthew lost her in the crowd, his eyes darting about for a flash of pink skirt. The next song struck up, lines formed, and the masses parted enough for a glimpse. There she was, sitting alone on a bale of hay, a self-conscious quirk to her lips at the approach of Eli's sweetheart, Ruth Cormac.

The petite daughter of the local sheriff plopped down beside the strange woman and made her acquaintance, all smiles, no hesitation. Ruth said something - something hilarious, it would seem - since the woman burst out laughing. Right in the middle of her grin for some reason, bright eyes darted up to find Matthew staring right at her from across the barn.

He inhaled, the glowing red tip of his cigar illuminating a deeply scowling brow. Whoever she was, the golden girl unflinchingly met that gaze and waited, almost expectantly, eyebrow hitched slightly in challenge.

Contest or no, Matthew watched a blush creep up her cheeks, those blue eyes darting back to Ruth once he exhaled a cloud of smoke. She was going to look back, he could feel it, but Deputy Dooley swaggered over, grinning stupidly as he asked the stranger for a dance.

Even from a distance, Matthew could read her rouged mouth say, "I don't know how."

The deputy must have said something right because the beautiful woman shrugged and offered her hand.

She hadn't been lying - she was awful. But bolstered by an encouraging partner she laughed her way through a lesson in country dances, the local deputy managing to keep her upright. Tripping again, instead of looking up at Dooley, she looked right at him.

Matthew held her gaze, eyes narrowed and oddly provoked.

He would've kept staring but the image of Eli slipping off crossed his line of sight. Annoyed at the boy's need to constantly chase after that Ruth girl, Matthew turned toward Nathaniel and kept a close watch on the business instead.

Jars and money changed hands, yet steely eyes kept darting over the crowd, involuntarily drawn to that unfamiliar girl.

The woman never looked back.

Near the end of the evening, product all sold, Nathaniel gave a stifled cough. Glancing at his brother, Matthew found a strange look on the man's face, his kin actually paying attention to something besides the jar in his hand. When Matthew followed Nathaniel's stare there was the golden girl again... smirking almost wickedly as she nodded once at his older brother - the man grinning like a fool and rubbing his shoulder.

The woman laughed, or she was laughing, until Walter Keck stumbled right into her. Bracing himself by gripping her arms, he asked for a dance. Something about the the exchange made Walter storm out and left the woman's lips thin and shoulders stiff.

Choosing to ignore the distracting blonde, all seemed fine; yet ten minutes later he caught himself once again scanning the crowd, finding nothing but the ordinary dull palette he was so accustomed to in Monroe.

The golden girl was gone; in her place Walter Keck ambled back inside, the man falling face first onto the dirt floor, his eye swelling shut something awful.

#

Walking up creaky wood steps and seeing the place in sunlight was surreal. It was still just a typical backwoods roadhouse - the same tin signs, dingy fridge for Coca-Cola on the porch, and vacant side garage. But it was different too. The air smelled like the bloom of summer, a little dusty with the heat of warm drying grass; nothing like the crisp cold and smell of blood from her last visit.

A fly zipped past, buzzing loud, and Charlie's hand went to the door latch.

Matthew was only just making his way downstairs, still buttoning up his vest. Looking up when the screen door whined, he found a slender arm pushing it wide, and the woman, the very woman who had so confounded him just the night before, stepping into the grill. Even with the bright sun behind her, he made out the smart dress outlining her hips, the wash of color matching her eyes.

Watching her glance around the room, her expression taking in the setup of chairs and tables as if they were familiar, as if she were pleased with all she saw, drew his brows tight. The screen door snapped shut. Matthew cleared his throat, watching the golden girl walk straight toward him, all polished city elegance.

Before she could part her rouge painted lips, Nathaniel came bumbling in from the back, mouth full of pilfered bread. His brother froze, stopping short at the sight of her.

Matthew reached for his hat, a show of good manners toward the female. Nathaniel followed suit, rubbing crumbs off on his shirt before snatching his cap from his head and pressing it to his heart.

Hesitant, she closed the distance between them. "Good morning, gentlemen. I was hoping I might have a private word with you both."

She received approval in the form of a grunt.

Looking first to his brother, those big blue eyes sparkling at Nathaniel, the female offered a smile coupled with a nod of recognition before settling back on Matthew Emerson's scowl.

She could tell he was sizing her up, immediately intense in his regard and just as unfriendly as she remembered.

After quickly chewing her bottom lip, she opened her mouth and got to the point. "I want to apologize, Mr. Emerson. The way you were glaring at me last night - it's my fault really. I should've come here first but...," her voice trailed off, "I couldn't help but enjoy Monroe for a spell before we conducted our business."

Matthew's scowl deepened when he noticed Nathaniel shifting his weight between his feet. After a pause he said, "I don't... rightly know what you're talking about, Ma'am."

The woman absently smoothed her hands over her skirt. "I'm assuming Eli isn't here?"

"He ain't." It was Nathaniel who spoke up.

She seemed relieved. "That's probably for the best. Don't get me wrong, I really like that boy. My time with him was... it was nice." Soft finger waves bounced at her jaw, the woman laughing to herself. "But to be honest, Eli is still quite a talker. Hardly stops to draw breath."

Ever so slightly, Matthew's brow twitched. Though his voice remained steady, those pale eyes took her in as if she were flat out confusing. "Still quite a talker? How you know Eli?"

Charlie's attention went straight to Nathaniel, an obvious question on her face. The woolly head briefly shook in the negative, a movement not missed by his younger brother.

Cocking her head to the side, Charlie asked point blank, "Mr. Emerson, are you telling me you don't know who I am?"

The only answer offered was a short throaty hum vaguely implying he had never laid eyes on her before the previous evening.

Nodding, she forced an uncomfortable smile, unsure what she'd done to garner such disapproving scowls at the party.

Planting her feet, she straightened her spine and lost all traces of delicacy. "On the night of December 12th, my car broke down a few miles up the road while I was transporting a prisoner to be executed."

Though she addressed Matthew, Nathaniel nodded, squeezing the hat pressed to his chest.

"I offered you five hundred dollars for a ride, a small fortune. You found it unacceptable at first, but you and I came to a soft agreement after a group of thugs attacked your roadhouse - the hired lackeys of a man I informed you was Harrison McCray." The light in her eye grew dangerous. "I shot five of them in your defense and stitched up Nathaniel here in exchange for your chatterbox cousin to drive me to New York. I sent the cash along a few weeks later with a newspaper clipping showing you just who you helped rid this world of. Thanks in small part to you, a man responsible for the murder of at least twenty seven people got fried and is rotting six feet underground."

Sucking his lower lip, still holding his rough hat pressed to his chest, Matthew Emerson took an intimidating step closer. She was not the unkempt face and scratchy voice from that night. Where were the harshly angled jaw and beady eyes? The dirty hair cropped short like a man's? The broad shoulders? The woman standing before him was feminine, proportionate, and willowy. She looked like soft things.

Hell, she smelled soft.

"You're telling me that you..."

She cut him off before he could continue. "Yes, I am." It was clear Matthew was accustomed to people respecting his authority to an extreme, but Charlie's reaction to intimidation, intentional or not, was to stand up. "After our little shootout, I spent three days with Eli, the boy talking my ear off the entire way to Sing Sing. Everything he said about Monroe was...," she hesitated, unsure how to explain. "I never thought a nice place like that could exist. I mean, I used to daydream that nonsense, but..." Charlie looked out the window to the greenery. "I suppose this brings me to the first reason I came to see you. I would like to stay." Seeing the instant judgment in Matthew's gaze she quickly amended, "Just for a short time. I'm not here to cause any trouble, and I'm asking your family for permission. I'm aware the Emerson name is a powerful thing round these parts. If you wish it, I'll drive away tomorrow."

Matthew fixated on her mouth, remembered the scarred lip of the bounty hunter, realizing her pretty red lipstick was nothing but camouflage.

"I'd like to sit and look at things." Charlie knew once the words were spoken neither of the Emerson brothers understood. In fact, they were both looking at her as if she were a peculiar oddity from a freak show. Clearing her throat, she took a small step back from the looming over nearness. "What I mean to say is, the way Eli talked about Monroe - it would be nice to sit and rest in the quiet." Pursing her lips she looked to Nathaniel. "It's been years since I have had the chance to sit still... and look at things."

There was a deep throat noise of disagreement. When Matthew's verdict was made, it was abrasive and clear. "A woman like you don't belong here."

Charlie didn't try to hide her disappointment. "I understand. In that case, let me cover the second reason I came to see you today, then I'll be on my way."

She pulled her gaze from colorless eyes and looked down into the bag hanging from her shoulder. Digging into the satchel her fingers found the rectangular object, extending the small framed photograph between her and the bootlegger. "I brought something for Eli. A memento, you could say, of his adventure. You can give to him after I'm gone. Say it came in the post."

In the candid shot, Eli stood in front of Sing Sing, the boy proud, full of life.

Charlie's fingertip brushed it warmly, and her eyes grew soft again. Lost in fond memory, she spoke, "I really do like that fool boy."

Matthew moved with the sluggishness of cold molasses, reaching out to take the framed photograph. Once it was handed over, Charlie watched the man study Eli's picture, his scowl even deeper than before.

With a peacemaking smile Charlie met Nathaniel's ruddy gaze. After slipping off her glove, she offered a handshake. "It was nice to see you again, Nathaniel. Glad to find the shoulder mended so well."

The eldest Emerson stood dumbstruck, took her hand, and pumped their joined fists once. After croaking out a "Ma'am," he released her from his paw and looked down at his younger brother.

When her attention went back to Matthew, she found him unwilling to meet her eye. Politely, she offered her hand. "I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. I won't trouble you further."

Hesitating, he wrapped his hand around hers so lightly she wondered if he might actually be disgusted to touch her. He did not shake her hand but rather turned it, studying the light smear of bruises across her knuckles. Matthew didn't know what on earth possessed him, but he growled and brushed his thumb over the marks.

Embarrassed, Charlie pulled her fingers away.

Nathaniel's eyes saw the same thing Matthew's had. That little girl had punched someone good and hard to earn those bruises.

A slow spreading grin replaced Nathaniel's stupid expression. "You the one who clocked Walter Keck last night?"

As she pulled her glove back on, Charlie shrugged. "He's lucky that's all I did. Bastard cornered me outside and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Jesus, Matthew," Nathaniel began wheezing. "You should let her stay for that reason alone. Wally is one dumb sumbitch."

Charlie tried to fight the tick at the corner of her mouth, blue eyes glittering.

"You ain't never gave us your name," Matthew's soft spoken reprimand was that of a mother correcting a bad mannered child.

With a bashful smirk, she realized her blunder and answered, "Charlotte Elliot... Charlie." More had to be said. "After I'm gone, I would appreciate if you and Nathaniel continued your silence about my profession. There are a lot of bad men who would relish the chance to harm a bounty hunter, and it would be dangerous for me if anyone learned I was really a woman."

"You can stay," Matthew grunted so low Charlie wasn't sure she'd heard him.

A slow spreading smile lit up her face. "Really? I can stay?"

Matthew nodded, shuffling his mass behind the counter to fire up the grill.

Nathaniel grinned, shooting a wink at the glowing blonde. "Be seeing you around, Miss Elliot."

"Call me Charlie."

"Charlie's a boy's name," the gruff eldest Emerson ribbed, cackling at the glare Matthew shot his way.

The woman just snorted, pushing through the screen door to set off toward her car.

"Well, I'll be damned," Nathaniel said, slouching back into a chair and pulling a jar of shine from his coat pocket. "I can hardly believe that foul mouthed ballbreaker looks so damn fine in a dress. I like her! You think she'd marry me if I asked?"

"You knew who she was last night." Matthew was not asking a question.

Nathaniel offered a grin. "A man don't forget eyes like that."

"You knew it was a woman..." Angry, Matthew rested his hands on the counter and leaned nearer.

"The second she braced my hand on her hip and I got a feel of just what was hiding under all those clothes, I suspected. When she started speakin soft, offerin comfort before she dug her bare hand right into me, I was certain. Then there's the fact that while you were upstairs I watched her stitch up a nasty gash that prisoner ran through her belly."

Matthew looked thoroughly pissed off.

"You can pout at me all you like, little brother." Nathaniel took a long sip. "Doesn't change that what she was was no one's business but hers."

A few moments later Eli came bounding through the door. "Was that Miss Elliot? She stop by for breakfast or something? I wonder what a fancy city lady like that would be doing here. Was she lookin for work?"

Nathaniel took a long swig and grinned at his cousin before explaining, "She came by to court me."

#

Driving back to town, Charlie found herself grinning so hard her cheeks began to ache. After the way unpleasant Matthew had been watching her the previous night, she was certain he would shoo her off. But he hadn't. He was going to let her stay.

Charlie couldn't remember the last time she'd found a place to relax without needing to constantly look over her shoulder. Hell, it had been a lifetime since she'd been able to wear a dress, grow out her hair, and openly be a woman.

She knew exposing herself to the Emerson boys was a little crazy - that starting somewhere where men actually knew about her might backfire - but Eli had described a wonderland and she wanted a piece of it. Monroe County might boast darker commerce, the Emersons might have a less than reputable character, but none of that mattered. Compared to the seedy places she'd lurked, the little town of Gap Mills seemed downright wholesome.




A Trick of the Light Ch. 01



Men and women milled about, running to the feed supply, picking up necessities from the general store, and chatting in the shaded awnings of the sparse public buildings - including the townships' only place to lodge: Fontannes Boardinghouse.

After informing the proprietress of her intention to stay on a month, Charlie made her way upstairs and flopped onto the bed.

She could stay!

#

"Eli, load up them crates." Matthew pointed, then turned to the tallest. "You too, Nathaniel. When I get back I better not see you two jackasses foolin around."

Hands shoved in his pockets, Matthew walked toward the general store and glanced out the corner of his eye toward the boardinghouse. Charlie's beat-up car was there - the woman back from wherever she disappeared to every other time he had come to town.

He didn't find taking notice to be prying, more an act of social welfare. Having given his consent she could stay, if the woman did anything - harmed anyone - it was his responsibility to answer for it.

Hell, he'd watched her shoot five men and cut off a man's finger without flinching. God only knew what else she was capable of.

Growling, Matthew looked back to the small plank path under his feet and just about ran into the very object of his thoughts.

Charlie was far more distracted and smashed face first into his chest. With a yelp and a hurried apology, she took a step back. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Emerson. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"S'alright." He looked past her, making it clear she was not only in his way, but annoying him as well. After a pregnant pause, Matthew made a throaty mumble of gibberish and stepped around her, leaving Charlie there without so much as a good day.

Arching a brow she turned to watch him go, hearing the low chuckles of the older brother. "I don't think he likes you too much, Charlie."

Charlie walked right on over, squinting up at the scruffy man. With a halfcocked smirk, she agreed, "That's for damn sure."

Pulling off his hat and using it to shade her eyes, Nathaniel's grinned. "Howdy."

"Been behaving yourself, Nathaniel?"

"Not hardly."

"Color me surprised."

His grin only grew. "It's been a week since you came down to visit us, Miss Charlie. When you gonna come on back to Devil's Hollow?"

Charlie seemed to think it over, pursing her lips. "Maybe I'll stop by for some lunch."

"Supper's better. That's when things get real excitin."

It felt good to banter the way she used to. "Spending my evening with a bunch of drunks does sound tempting, but in this instance, lunch will do me just fine."

When the sound of the general store door creaked behind her, Charlie tossed Nathaniel a playfully sneer and sauntered off before Matthew could turn up and give her more long disapproving looks. 



A Trick of the Light Ch. 00



Striking a match to ignite the tip of a fresh cigar, Matthew spoke around the tobacco, "At dawn, Eli will take you where you need to go."

Charlie tapped down the brim of her hat. "Much obliged."

Theirs was not a friendly exchange. Matthew was only going to ask once, and it was clear if he didn't get the answer he was looking for, all bets were off. "The men outside?"

"Last I heard, they both worked for Harrison McCray. I take it you know who he is?"

Matthew nodded.

McCray managed a newer syndicate edging out of White Sulfur Springs - a man the Emersons had refused. Matthew refused to sell to him, and he refused to pay the kickback the fat, old bastard had demanded for doing business with the fancy resorts. With the Emersons' defiance, a majority of local brewers had followed suit, undermining the gangster's bid for authority.

Clearly, McCray thought to make an example out of his most vocal opposition.

Gangland was simple, elegantly nasty, so Charlie offered a bit of advice, "If you have met him, I assume you got the impression that he rubs people the wrong way." After pausing to take a bite, she went on, "There's a reason he moved his game to your shithole foothills. The man has far more powerful enemies than you. Killing him might just be in your best interest - so long as the right folks knew you did it. It could be good for business."

"He came after my kin," Matthew growled, shifting back toward his brother. "It ain't about the business."

Maybe they had something in common after all.

Family mattered to Charlie. Family was the reason she had a prisoner in chains. And family was the reason Matthew chose Eli to drive her to New York. Matthew wasn't going to let the chirpy youngster get involved in something that, win or lose, would be incredibly bloody.

Speaking the understanding aloud, Charlie warned, "I ain't babysitting your fool cousin. That leaves you about six or so days before the boy will be back."



A Trick of the Light Ch. 02



When noontime came, Charlie did as Nathaniel suggested and drove to Devil's Hollow Roadhouse for some decent food. Local farmers and country boys alike sat about the checkered tables, sipping jars and smoking. Eli was sweeping the floors while Nathaniel, just about three sheets to the wind, sat at the counter staring forward with glazed eyes. Charlie slipped onto the stool a few seats down and nodded toward where Matthew tended the grill, his eyes watching her in the mirror above him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Emerson."

"Well, hot damn!" Nathaniel was suddenly less slumped, eyes full of trouble looking right at her. "If it isn't Miss Charlie."

"Lower your voice, Nathaniel," Matthew growled over his shoulder. "You're making a damn fool of yourself."

Charlie ignored the brothers, peering around Matthew to see just what smelled so good.

Watching her lean off her stool, Matthew grumbled, "You want somethin, Miss Elliot?"

"Hmmm?"

Nathaniel put his lips back to the rim of his jar. "I wish she'd look at me the way she's eyeballing your cooking, Matthew. Fix the girl a plate already."

As economic in movement as he was in speech, Matthew slapped chicken fried steak before her. A cup of steaming coffee followed.

Mouth full, flaunting rather unladylike grunts of satisfaction, Charlie said, "Dear God, Matthew, I could kiss you."

Nathaniel chuckled, loving every second of watching his baby brother's ears turn red.

When she set down her fork, the eldest asked, "Have you enjoyed sittin and lookin at things?"

Straightening up as if she hadn't been practically licking her plate clean, Charlie grinned. "More than I can say."

He leaned his elbow on the counter, eyes mischievous. "And just what have you been sittin and lookin at?"

For the next fifteen minutes, Charlie rattled off a list of scenic places she'd discovered - everything from a deep woods swimming hole to the best place to stargaze.

Though he never turned to face her, Matthew listened to each word, darting glances at the engrossed woman's reflection.

"Lots of deer round these woods. I've been thinking of going hunting but..." her tongue tripped, Charlie realizing how utterly inappropriate it was for a woman to say such a thing.

Matthew turned from the grill, looking at her like she was nuts. "You hunt?"

Charlie felt color crawl up her face. Reaching for the cup of coffee, she mumbled something unintelligible into the mug.

"Damn, Matthew," Nathaniel chuckled, rubbing the bullet wound in his shoulder. "We already know she hunts."

With a polite deadpan, Charlie asked what was owed, put money on the bar, and left.

"Have fun sittin and lookin," Nathaniel shouted while Matthew reached across the bar to smack his loud-mouthed brother upside the head.

#

Despite the rocky beginning, lunch at Devil's Hollow became Charlie's Saturday ritual. After a week of bland food at the boarding house, she would sit at the counter, bantering with Nathaniel and stuffing her face. When Eli caught on, he too made a point of laughing with Miss Charlie, chatting her up until Matthew would bark at him to get back to work.

It was the same each visit: Nathaniel bleary-eyed, halfway through a jar, Eli washing dishes, both boys pleased to see her. Matthew might have spent his time scowling, but he always had a plate of something for her to eat, ready at noon on the dot. And every week she seemed to say something that set the pleasantness of conversation on its head.

Each time she realized her blunder, Charlie's reaction was always the same: pay and leave.

On her second visit, she asked Nathaniel, "Where's that pretty dark-haired waitress? What was her name? Alice?"

Matthew stiffened.

Nathaniel sucked his teeth and glanced at Matthew's back. "She moved on to the city."

"Which one?" The second Charlie asked, she could have smacked herself. It was obviously a sore subject, and she had just opened her fool mouth for no reason.

"Chicago." Matthew named the city as if it were flat and unimportant.

And that summed it up right there. Alice had left... and from the gist of the conversation, it seemed she'd left Matthew.

Charlie could have said a million things; she could've tried to crack a joke, but all she could manage was, "How much do I owe?"

The next visit was much the same. Charlie was leaning close to Nathaniel, their heads together as they laughed and muttered too low for anyone else to follow the conversation... until an eavesdropping Eli caught her saying, "...and so I cut off his..."

Before she could finish, Matthew reached across the counter to grip Charlie's arm. She just about jumped out of her skin, peering up with her jaw dropped. The look she found in Matthew's eye was practically murderous, warning the interloping female not to speak another word in front of the mostly unsullied boy he'd raised.

"How much do I owe?"

So again, Charlie paid and rushed off.

On her sixth visit, Matthew watched her in the mirror and saw that, once again, she'd not touched the mug of coffee set by her plate. It bothered him. Hell, she bothered him. Fixating on every movement of her mouth, he awkwardly interrupted, "You don't like coffee?"

Surprised he'd addressed her, Charlie tucked her hair behind her ear and cocked her head. "No, Mr. Emerson. I don't care for coffee."

Her cup was snatched off the counter. "What do you like?"

It was the most words he had spoken to her since the morning he said she could stay. Surprised, Charlie stammered, "I like hot tea."

"Don't got that." Matthew's attention went back to the griddle.

"Beer's fine too."

He stiffened, looking up to see her watching him in the mirror.

Trying to engage, to win him over, Charlie teased, "I also like liquor. You got that?"

Matthew reached under the bar, pulling out a jar full of cloudy liquid. Unscrewing the lid, he set it before her in challenge.

There was no hesitation; slim fingers flared around the glass. With a quick smirk, Charlie raised it to her mouth and took a big swallow. Smacking her lips, she offered an opinion, "That's pretty good, Mr. Emerson. Best applejack I've had."

Nathaniel thought it was too damn funny, and Eli gaped, surprised a lady had swallowed so much.

Then there was Matthew.

He just stared at the peacemaking smile Charlie offered as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was looking at.

After that day, her time with the Emersons seemed to improve. She'd kept her foot out of her mouth, Matthew hadn't glared quite so much, and there'd been no awkward need to rush off... until a few weeks later when everything went to shit.

Charlie had come to Devil's Hollow past her usual hour, already in a mood from being cornered by her waspish landlady. The Fontannes had been more than accommodating, but each time they sat down to a meal, the Missus would prod into her life. At first, polite vagueness had been simple, but as the months extended, it grew clear the proprietress was getting annoyed by the lack of information Charlie was willing to cough up.

Cornering her in a huff, Mrs. Fontanne demanded to know why she didn't work, where the money that paid for her board came from. The old bag went so far as to suggest Charlie was on the run from her husband, and that she had some lover floating the bills.

The accusations had grown more and more outrageous until Charlie lost her temper and shouted that the fat old biddy would do well to leave her the hell alone.

The drive in the early autumn foliage had done little to calm her nerves. By the time Charlie's car rolled to a stop outside the roadhouse, she seriously considered just putting it in reverse and getting the hell out of there.

But then Eli knocked on her window. Just like a puppy beating his tail, he held the door open for her. "We were worried about you, Miss Charlie. Where've you been?"

There was no getting out of it then. Grabbing her purse she followed the kid inside, muttering, "Being interrogated by Mrs. Fontanne."

"Bout what?" Eli asked, pulling out her stool.

Her grumbled answer disappeared when she found food waiting for her. Drumming her fingers against the smooth grain of the polished countertop, Charlie scooped up a bite and began to eat what just might have been the world's best coleslaw.

It was clear she was in no mood for talking, so Eli fell into conversation with Nathaniel. More specifically, Eli talked while Nathaniel ribbed him.

Relating his excitement over the run they'd made the night before, ignoring Matthew's glare that now might not be the best time for such a tale, the boy rambled on, finishing with, "...just like goddamn Al Capone."

Her fork went to the counter, Charlie's voice full of venom. "Al Capone is a first-rate cocksucker."

Had she looked up from her plate, she would have found Eli's jaw hanging open, an instant wicked grin on Nathaniel's face, and the temper rolling off Matthew hot enough to boil a kettle.

The spatula banged against the griddle, drawing Charlie to glance up in time to see Matthew growl, "If you're gonna dress up like a lady, at least pretend to talk like one."

The way he looked at her, the storm in his eyes - she couldn't bear to look at it. Charlie considered Matthew's words, and had to agree she should try harder... until she recognized exactly what he'd said. Matthew didn't see her as a lady at all - just some faker in a dress.

Face growing red, snapping blue eyes grew big and dangerous. "Now you listen here, Matthew Emerson. That bastard shot me in the gut when I was hardly more than a child. If I want to use strong language to describe that piece of shit, I fucking will." Charlie slammed money on the counter, barking, "Keep the goddamn change."

When she stormed out, Matthew moved to follow.

Nathaniel grabbed his arm, warning, "Worked up as she is, she'll probably take a swing at you. Leave her be." Nathaniel dusted some crumbs off the counter and reached for the remainder of Charlie's uneaten sandwich, taking a huge bite. "And there ain't no point bein mad at her. After all, you're the one who just insulted the girl."

Matthew looked askance at his brother. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you see she's trying real hard to play the part and learn how to behave? Then your loud mouth basically pointed out how terrible she is at it. I would be mighty surprised if she ever came back, you jackass."

This was not his fault; it was Nathaniel and his mouth. "You're a bad influence on her."

His brother grabbed his jar and walked away, grumbling, "Pull your head out of your ass. Charlie just wants to be herself for a few hours now and then."

Eli stepped forward. "What's she talkin about Al Capone?"

"Shut up, Eli," both brothers snapped in unison.

#

Lying flat on his back, Matthew contemplated the cracks in the plaster ceiling over his bed. All day long, he'd felt the unwelcome impulse that came whenever Charlotte was near, but worse. She sure had looked upset when she'd left - not the tears and trembling lips women usually sported when angry - no, she looked just about ready to castrate him.

Sauntering into the grill, filling the room up with the smell of female things and infectious laughter - it had been driving him crazy nigh on nine weeks. She ignored him; he'd recognized that from the beginning, Charlotte preferring the coarse language and improper jokes of his older brother. And that bastard just egged her on. On Saturdays, Matthew's attention would continuously dart to the clock to see if it was noontime yet. He'd set a routine so something hot was ready for her just as she arrived. That way, the distraction was handled and he could get back to work.

Then she had to go and be late. Not only late, but sullen, completely lacking enthusiasm as she picked at her food. He'd spent two hours making that damn chicken salad the night before, had to hide it from his jackass brother and Eli so they wouldn't eat his mother's famous recipe before she got to try it.

Then there was the strange obsession he had with watching her mouth as she ate, looking for the scar he knew she had hidden under the red paint on her bottom lip. The way sometimes just a hint of her smile would appear as some random thought passed through her head. Her talk of the county, of all the things she spent her days discovering - it fascinated him. Charlotte made his hometown sound like a foreign kingdom. He'd heard her describe three different creeks as if they were all completely unique, was certain from the way her eyes grew languid that she'd stood in them barefoot - maybe even bathed when no one was looking.

Matthew clutched at the quilt and remembered again how soft her hand had been when he foolishly brushed her knuckles and made her uncomfortable all those months ago, the blue dress he'd seen her wear a couple times that showed just the hint of the top of her bosom. She'd been wearing the same dress again that afternoon, its pop of color catching his eye when she unbuttoned her stylish coat and hung it by the door - the same coat Charlie had left behind when she'd stormed out.

Grumbling to himself, Matthew nodded. In a few days if she hadn't come back to retrieve it, he would take it to town and return it to her. She'd come get it though; it was starting to get cold. With that final thought, Matthew closed his eyes and sleep found him easy.

#

Charlie never came for the coat.

When Wednesday arrived, Matthew called for Eli to watch the customers, grabbed the green velvet reminder he'd hurt her feelings, and hopped in his truck. When he reached the boarding house, Matthew was glad to see the girl's car gone, relieved he could just dip inside and leave her coat with Mrs. Fontanne.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Emerson." Mrs. Fontanne's hook-nosed profile turned, the woman glancing up from her sewing. "What can I do for you today?"

Quickly clearing his throat, he grumbled, "Miss Elliot left this at the grill a few days back." The offensive softness was held out for the woman to take.

"Well, she ain't here." Chubby fingers waved to the nearby hooks on the wall so the man might hang it up himself. "Ain't seen hide nor hair of that girl since she up and yelled in my face. Rude woman has been gone for days."

His brows drew down further. "She check out?"

"Hardly. All her stuff's still upstairs. Who knows where she went. She never tells me squat. Just comes and goes as she pleases."

The little connections were starting to line up. Matthew's tone grew cool. "You been prying into Charlotte's life, Mrs. Fontanne?"

The old biddy's eyes darted up from her sewing. "There's got to be a reason she turns her nose up at the young men in town. Why she don't work."

"What young men?" The question passed his lips before he could bite down on the toothpick between his teeth and keep his yap shut.

"For your information, Matthew Emerson, I've had three of Monroe's finest bachelors at our table trying to help that poor woman out. And she's hardly paid them any mind. Miss Elliot must be over twenty five - if she ain't married or looking to marry, then something's just plain wrong with her."

Without a word, Matthew fisted his hand in Charlotte's coat, turned, and left.

Pausing at the porch, he looked up to the greying sky and smelled an oncoming storm. Not two seconds later the fully loaded trucks of the Grimes boys rushed past, the bootleggers trying to make a run before the coming rain made roads muddy and business perilous.

"Damn fools," Matthew grumbled, opening his truck door and tossing her coat on the passenger seat. Driving like that in the middle of the day round Gap Mills was bound to get someone hurt.

#

"Damn fools!" Charlie shouted against the wind for what must have been the twentieth time. She was soaked to the bone, coatless, and struggling to move down the muddy Devil's Hollow Road.

The twisting path had it out for her, she was certain. Just before rain started to dump from the sky, some jackasses speeding like hooligans ran her off the road. With her wheel caught in a flooding ditch, she had struggled for nigh on an hour to get the car moving, only to slip and sprain her ankle.

Shivering from the chill, arms hugged to her chest, Charlie once again second-guessed her decision to walk back to town. She'd been limping along for so long the sky had grown dark. Between the storm and the lack of moonlight, she wasn't even sure she would be able to find her car even if she went back for it.

Gritting her teeth, she pressed through driving rain and heard the metallic creak of a sign swinging in the gusts. Across a nearby field, a flash of lightning struck a tree, illumining the pitch black long enough for Charlie to see a building on her left. Limping forward, Charlie cursed again when she found herself staring at the dark windows of none other than Devil's Hollow Roadhouse.

A boom of thunder hurried her up the steps where she had no choice but to beg help from the insufferable man who lived inside.

The worn wood of the door needed a fresh coat of paint, rough under her knuckles when she knocked hard enough, she hoped, to be heard over the storm. "Matthew!" Her call was loud, desperate. "Matthew Emerson!"

About to resign herself to a night sleeping on his porch, Charlie hung her head and vigorously rubbed her freezing arms, cursing herself again for leaving her coat. When the door swung inward and bare toes filled her vision, Charlie slowly raised her dripping head. 

He was glaring at her by the light of a lantern held high. "Where the hell have you been, woman?"

She knew she looked a mess, felt her hair plastered to her skull, probably pale as a ghost. Teeth chattering, she chose to be saucy. "I went for a drive. A rather lon-"

Before she could finish, he pushed open the screen and yanked her out of the dark. Once the door banged shut, the silence was awkward. Smoothing her hand over dripping hair, wiping her face as best she could, Charlie mumbled, "My car was run off the road a few miles back. I've been walking in that storm for..." She trailed off, realizing she was wasting her breath trying to engage Matthew Emerson in conversation.

Graceless, Charlie kicked off muddy shoes and hobbled toward the stove. Matthew followed, kneeling down to build up the blaze. With the light of the fire, he turned his face up, watching her shiver in her soaked cotton dress - a dress that clung to her body to the point of indecency - every curve, every secret place outlined. Glancing to her face, he found what he'd spent weeks secretly searching for.

There it was - the hidden scar on display, the rain having washed Charlotte's lipstick away. Swallowing thickly, seeing her for what she was, Matthew couldn't understand how she had ever managed to pass for a man.

Realizing he'd been openly staring, he took a step back.

Towels, that's what she needed.

One was found, and offered up. "You best be getting out of that dress or—"

He watched her hands mechanically go to the buttons at her breast. When the top of a lacy slip was exposed, Matthew realized he'd been staring again, and quickly turned to give her his back. Listening to every move she made, hearing each sodden garment land with a wet plop on the floor, he couldn't help but imagine what was slowly revealed behind him.

There was a feminine sigh - the same noise she made when she ate his cooking. All it took was that one contented noise and it was impossible to miss the growing tent in Matthew's pajamas, the man unsure how he was going to escape before she noticed it.

"Could I borrow something to wear?" Charlie's voice came small, exhausted.

He shouldn't have glanced over his shoulder but he did. She stood wrapped in his towel and nothing else, staring up at him with huge, expectant sapphire eyes. His groin tightened. Stupidly Matthew pulled off his nightshirt, thrusting it toward her, knowing that if the girl didn't get clothes on right quick, he was going to lose it.




A Trick of the Light Ch. 02



Pale fingers took the threadbare fabric, Charlie pulling it over her head. By the time her vision cleared the neckline, all she saw was Matthew marching up the stairs. Figuring she'd been dismissed, Charlie crouched down, toweling up the mess she'd left on the floor. Watermark gone, she hobbled toward the kitchen to wring out her dress in the sink.

"Why you limpin?"

She gave a start, squinting toward the dark stairs she thought the man had disappeared up. "I sprained my ankle trying to push my car out of a ditch."

"You're cold. Get back to the fire."

Watching her struggle had sobered his foolish lust, and once again he had control... so long as he didn't look at how tempting her body was in his shirt... or think about it. Gritting his teeth, Matthew moved from the stairs and pulled a chair near the stove's heat.

Assuming that was where he intended her to sleep, Charlie nodded gratefully, easing down. He disappeared again, coming back just as she started to doze. Surprising the hell out of her, Matthew took her damaged ankle in his hands, inspecting the swelling and rolling the joint until she gave a hiss of pain.

The instant the sound left her lips, he glanced up and met her eyes.

"I ain't gonna hurt you." It was the softest he had ever spoken to her.

"Of course you won't," she grumbled. "I never thought you would."

The way he blinked a few times, the way he stared - for some strange reason, Charlie blushed. Warm fingers wrapped the sprain in a long strip of cloth. She watched him work, leisurely counting the scars on his chest, arms, and torso. "I shouldn't be surprised you're good at this. You seem to have a knack for taking care of your fool kin."

Matthew said nothing, instead slipping his arms under her body. Hefting her against his chest, he set off toward the stairs. Startled, Charlie threw her arms around his neck as if he might drop her. "What are you doing?"

"Puttin you to bed." He stared forward, ignoring her clinging.

He got her up the stairs to the pitch black second floor. The sound of a door whined, three more steps, and Matthew placed her on a still warm mattress. He pulled a quilt over her, climbing in so they lay back to back.

"Ummm, you should," he grunted something then cleared his throat, giving instruction as if teaching her how to fry an egg. "You better put your hurt foot up on my leg to keep it elevated while you sleep."

Under the warmth of his quilt she rested her sore ankle on his calf and closed her eyes, mumbling, "Thank you, Matthew."

It was sheer torture for him. She was so soft, her back pressed to his, her legs naked and... Jesus Christ, he was rock hard again. In a last ditch effort to distract himself from the way she smelled, or how smooth the skin of her ankle had been, Matthew asked, "Al Capone really shoot you?"

Charlotte took a drowsy breath, offering a half-awake, "Mmmhmmm. Wearing a fancy three piece suit and the shiniest shoes I had ever seen." Letting out a sleepy yawn, she added, "I was thirteen."

He grunted, shifting instinctively closer to her shivering.



A Trick of the Light Ch. 03



By the time dawn arrived, Matthew had turned in his sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around the golden girl, holding her flush against him. Coming awake, the man took a deep breath and froze when the scent of warm things, the unaccountable feeling of his nose and lips pressed to soft hair, snapped him out of what had been one very peaceful moment. Realizing what he'd done - what he was doing - pale eyes went wide.

Mortified Charlotte would wake up to find him all over her, he uncurled, moving as if he might set off a landmine. Easing out of bed, watching for signs of disturbance, Matthew found he couldn't help but find it nice to see her natural - to see the telling scar on her lower lip usually hidden under rouge.

After dressing quiet as a church mouse, he made his way downstairs, expecting Eli to come bounding through the back door any minute now to make breakfast.

Matthew was kept waiting.

By the time his cousin decided to grace the grill with his presence, it was obvious what had made him late. Grinning madly, a half-awake Nathaniel was in tow behind the kid.

"Well, I'll be. When Eli came running to tell me there was lady clothes hang drying on your back porch, Matthew, I just had to come see it for myself..." Nathaniel wasn't even half sober, but he sure was sly enough to rile up his brother. "I'm certain I recognize that dress. Must've taken a goddamn miracle to get her into your bed."

Eli started snorting.

"Lower your goddamn voice before she hears you," Matthew thumped down his coffee. "Charlotte was run off the road yesterday and walked here through the storm. Heard her pounding on my door in the middle of the night, half frozen and hurt. She's sleeping, and I swear to God, if you wake her up and embarrass her I'll wring your fuckin necks."

Instantly abashed, Nathaniel's smile slipped. "She alright?"

"Sprained ankle's all." Matthew glared at Eli. "Make breakfast, then you two jackasses go find her car and pull it out of the ditch it's stuck in."

Nathaniel took to sucking down what coffee was left on the stove as Eli got about his business, ears red, and looking guilty.

In no time flat, the boys ran out to do as they were told.

When two hours past, Matthew was certain Charlotte would be waking soon. The woman probably hadn't eaten the night before and must have walked pretty far if the time it was taking his kin to return was any sign. She would be half-starved. Setting his chores aside, Matthew fired up the grill, and went to get the special tea he'd purchased at the general store - the flashy brand he'd picked up the day after he'd hurt Charlotte's feelings.

Tray in hand, he climbed the steps. Matthew found her still sleeping, sprawled on her belly, one arm reaching to where his body had been.

Clearing his throat, he tried to wake her. "Miss Elliot."

Charlie pressed her face into the pillow and groaned. He was about to leave when he heard her grumble, "For God's sake, Matthew, would you please start calling me Charlie?"

He set the tray on the bedside table, watching her turn over and peep up at him through her messy hair. "Thought you might be hungry."

Sleepy eyes sharpened; with a grin, Charlie sat up. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I ate downstairs? I don't want to get crumbs in your bed."

"S'alright." Trying not to stare where her shoulder peeked out of his nightshirt, Matthew said, "Your dress ain't dry yet. It's best you stay up here and rest your ankle in the meantime."

He'd brought her quite a spread - flapjacks, eggs, bacon - more than she'd ever be able to eat. There was even a steaming cup of tea she smiled over. Tray in her lap, she called his name as he tried to shuffled off. "Matthew?"

Pausing at the door, he threw her a glance.

This was her chance to find some middle ground with him, but she wasn't really sure how to go about it. On a whim, she stopped chewing her bottom lip and blurt out, "Could I copy down a few of your recipes? Not any Emerson family secrets, mind you, just the simple ones. I... I like your cooking."

Ears turning red, he made some low, unintelligible mutter and shut the door.

At least she'd tried...

Charlie ate. When she had all but licked the plate clean, she lay back on the pillow, awful sleepy again, and stared at the lackluster room.

Flaked plaster walls, sparse spindle furnishings. Aside from the quilt on his bed, there were no decorations. No curtains, no rug - nothing.

The room was downright spartan.

The man's bootlegging brought in a pretty penny, but he certainly didn't spend it on himself. Unsure why it made her feel bad, Charlie shut her eyes, humming at the comfortable feeling of a full belly and the sweetness of syrup on her tongue.

When she woke again, the tray was gone and the small suitcase she'd left in her car sat in its place. After pulling on a fresh dress, she stumbled to the lavatory. One look at herself and Charlie rolled her eyes. She did her best to smooth her hair, brushed her teeth, pinched her cheeks, and covered up her scar with rouge. The effort was wasted; the woman in the mirror still looked like something the cat had dragged home.

Hobbling to the top of the stairs, luggage in hand, Charlie climbed down one step at a time. Downstairs the chatter of the lunch crowd covered her soft cursing each time her ankle twinged. But it didn't camouflage the angry, stomping footsteps of one irate Matthew barreling down on her.

He snatched her suitcase out of her hand. "You crazy, woman? You'll break your neck going down the stairs with a bum foot and heavy bag."

Charlie waved him off. "Matthew, I can manage just fine."

There was a snap to his words, an edge of irritated sarcasm. "Miss Charlotte, if you could manage just fine, you wouldn't have been bangin on my door last night."

The room went quiet, everyone staring, Charlie's cheeks flaming red.

Pleased he'd managed to get her to shut her mouth, Matthew slid an arm around her waist, hitching her up before she might yap. He carried her right back to the same seat by the fire. Expression daring her to speak a word, another chair was yanked forward and set down with a thud before Matthew gestured that either she could prop up her ankle, or he'd do it for her.

Eli was slack jawed, Nathaniel smart enough to not make a peep - not that anyone was speaking - everyone was just plain gawking.

Matthew's disapproving eyes left Charlotte's pinkened cheeks and ran over the men gathered, a glare warning that each of them had their own business to mind. When that weighty gaze got to Eli, Matthew barked, "Watch the grill," then left, letting the screen bang shut behind him.

Nathaniel followed him right out.

Eli broke the awful silence, stepping closer. "We found your car. Uh, the front axle got busted when you ran into the ditch." That car wasn't going anywhere until repaired. "Sorry."

Muttering under her breath, embarrassment turned to far more comfortable frustration, "Who names a road Devil's Hollow anyway? That damn stretch keeps trying to kill me."

Seeing she was upset, Eli offered a small bit of reassurance, "I can fix it for you, Miss Charlie, but it'll take me a few days. Till then, I'm afraid you'll have to walk." Stupidly, he looked down at her ankle. "I mean, well..."

Charlie slumped back and smirked. "I catch your meaning, Eli."

"If you like," Eli reached toward a nearby table and snatched the day's newspaper, "read while you rest up. When Matthew gets back, I'll drive you home."

Charlie took the offered paper, not at all happy with the idea of being trapped at the roadhouse.

Lunch ended and the grill grew empty, not that Charlie noticed. She kept her head in the paper, read every damn article, and was about to toss the dumb thing aside when a meaty finger tapped her shoulder.

A group of ragged men, faces worse for wear, stood abashed, the Emerson brothers fierce behind them.

"Excuse me, Miss Elliot, but me and my boys here would like to apologize," the eldest of the group lisped, his bloodied lip and backwoods accent butchering the words. "You see, Miss, we didn't mean to run you off the road. It was an accident. But, uhhh," the older man swallowed and clearly didn't want to finish the statement, "we'll pay to fix your car."

Charlie was not amused. "That's very gentlemanly of you, Mr...?"

"Grimes, Ma'am."

"Mr. Grimes." She stood from her chair and offered a hand. When the man took it in his dirty paw, she wrapped her fingers around his and began to squeeze. "I have the distinct impression that if Nathaniel and Matthew here hadn't kindly informed you of my situation, you would never have taken the time to find out just who you nearly killed last night." Her grip tightened, grinding bone, the man trying to jerk his hand away.

Charlie's voice grew deadly. "Damn straight you'll pay to fix my car." Pumping their fists in the mockery of a handshake, she dropped his greasy palm. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Alright. Now get," Matthew ordered, waving toward the door with his hat.

The old man complained. "But we ain't got our truck."

Arms flexing, Matthew crossed them over his chest. "You can walk just like the lady did."

Not looking for another beating, the four men got the hell out. But when that screen shut, Charlie flat out guffawed, slapping her thigh and looking to the heavens. "Was that your idea of Monroe justice?"

"Yeah," Matthew confirmed, only to see her laugh even harder.

"And y'all wonder why I like it here so much." Hobbling toward the bar, Charlie grabbed a towel and got it wet. Facing Matthew, she wiped a bit of blood spatter from his forehead. "I'm not really sure if I should be honored you two did what you did, or angry that you took it upon yourselves to fight my battles for me. But my gut tells me to say thank you. So, thank you."

The man kept his eyes closed and brow furrowed as she cleaned him up, Matthew lightly disappointed when the touch on his face ended. But then she took his hands and dabbed at dirty knuckles, mindful that they might be sore from cracking into skulls.

When it was Nathaniel's turn, the man backed away from her towel. "Ain't no way you're coming after me with that."

Charlie cocked a brow. "It would do you some good. How long it been since you took a bath?"

Nathaniel defended himself. "We went swimming two weeks back."

The look Matthew gave his brother would have sent a smaller man running.

Making a face, Nathaniel groused, "We wasn't naked, Matthew."

Charlie turned her back and limped toward the washroom so she might clean the soiled linen. Once her skirt disappeared behind the corner, Matthew raised his finger, ready to lay into Nathaniel.

Before he could begin his reprimand, the screen whined.

Matthew was already fuming, but taking one look at what slithered into his home unannounced, darkened his eyes considerably.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Emerson." Jacky Brindle, a slimeball straight out of Chicago, crossed the threshold.

Nathaniel, far more obvious in his anger, stood tall at his brother's shoulder, unsmiling, and silent.

It was Eli who thought to calm the tension. He offered a hand. "What brings you out here, Mr. Brindle?"

"Just passing through."

"That right?" Matthew stepped nearer, looking over the polished gangster and the four men who'd made the hours long drive at Brindle's back. "Well, we ain't open."

Jacky was older, leaner, but unlike the Emersons, he was armed. "Since I'm here, Mr. Radcliffe thought I might make sure things are running right. You sure have been bringing in a lot of product; wouldn't want you to get in over your heads..."

"I'm gonna warn you once. Tell your boss if he's thinking of moving on in, he's gonna be disappointed."

As if he hadn't heard a word of the threat, Jacky continued, "He's offering further partnership - our expertise in oversight."

No flashy three piece suit could hide what those men were: Killers. Killers sent by a Chicago Kingpin who thrived on greed and violence. Radcliffe wanted to push on in and take a greater piece of the pie - to intimidate, take his business, probably his life too, if Matthew let the villain get even a toe in the door.

Matthew, towering over the lanky gangster, threatened, "You tell Beaumont Radcliffe I don't fuck around. If he sends his lapdogs out to sniff around again, the deal's off. There are plenty of other buyers waiting in Chicago with better manners, I hear."

"I'll pass that message forward. In the meantime, we'll just, ah, take a rest." Jacky took a drag off his cigarette. "Won't we boys?"

Charlie came back in the room.

All eyes went to her, Jacky taking the moment's distraction to cock his head toward the nearest table so his goons might take a seat.

Acting as if she'd seen nothing, Charlie went to her suitcase. That room, Matthew's business, was no place for her, and it was clear as day he wanted her to disappear.

"Eli, give Miss Charlotte your keys."

Obeying, the boy stepped forward and swept up her suitcase, setting off for the door to put it in the car instead of offering an arm to help her manage her ankle.

Knowing neither Matthew nor Nathaniel could budge from where they stood, Charlie gave a nod goodbye, shuffling toward the door.

It all would have been fine, everything dandy, except one of Jacky's goons reached out and swatted her on the rump as she passed.

Her snarl, the feral bark, cut through the tittering men, before it was overshadowed by the crack of her hand landing hard on the offenders cheek.

The Chicago outfit burst out laughing, but the goon she'd struck thought to stand from his chair. He was going to put his hands on her if she didn't get her hands on him first. Her fist planted itself in the man's throat; as he buckled over, gasping, she slammed her knee straight into his groin.

The gangsters shuffled back, chairs squeaking as the stood. All eyes were on the blonde who'd tackled a grown man and rained down blow after blow on his face.

The idiot thought to draw on her; Charlie snatched the gun right out of his grip. As she cocked the piece, an arm came around her middle. Yanked back against a hard body, snarling, kicking like mad, Charlie went wild.

A voice at her ear came to pacify. "Calm down, spitfire." Matthew hushed her even as he yanked the gun from Charlie's fingers and pointed it straight at Jacky Brindle's skull.

Jacky was stricken, nervously adjusting his tie, looking between a man poised to kill him and the older brother shouldering a shotgun he'd grabbed from behind the bar. Even Eli had been wise enough to take the pistol from his Ford, pointing it at the goon's backs when he'd ran back back at the first sign of trouble.

"Mr. Emerson—"

Matthew tightened his grip on the female tornado, ignored her efforts to get free, and spoke so calmly it was chilling. "I think it's time y'all packed up and took that sorry sack of shit with ya."

Unsure what to do, the men began to back away, Jacky nodding.

Charlie called, "Jacky B.," her voice drawled sharp and dangerous, her accent lilting and nasal in mimic of his, "Since that man there ain't gonna be able to speak for a while, you'll go tell Beaumont Radcliffe to see me personally and ask forgiveness real sweet like. If he's got a problem with that, tell him I said, caw."

Brindle couldn't believe her nerve. "Caw?"

She gave a nasty smirk. "You heard me."

The arm around her tightened, Matthew silently commanding she shut her mouth. "Nathaniel, see that our friends here get on their way. Eli, go with Nathaniel."

The door shut, the room got quiet, and they both waited for the sound of engines and the crunch of tires rolling over gravel.

The gangsters were gone but Charlie was still hanging, uncomfortably at that, against the chest of Matthew Emerson. "Feel free to put me down anytime."

Her body slid lower until her toes touched the floor. She moved to step away but Matthew kept his arm firm around her middle. When he wouldn't budge, she tossed her head back and warned him with one vicious glare that he better let go.

Pale eyes darted over her face, his expression nearing violence. "You're hurt."

"I am not hurt," she countered. The other man was hurt. He'd be sitting funny for a week.

Furious, Matthew hoisted her up again and walked to an undisturbed table. Propping her on the edge, placing his hands on either side of her body, he boxed her in and leveled her with a glare. "What the hell is wrong with you, woman? You got any idea how dangerous those men are?" When she opened her mouth, ready to spit out something nasty, he cut her off. "Say one goddamn smartass word and I will make you regret it."

Bristling, Charlie leaned nearer. "You don't frighten me, Matthew Emerson. That man had it coming."

Clenching his jaw, Matthew grit out, "You got any idea what men like that would do to a pretty thing like you?"

"Yes, I do." Her expression made it clear she knew exactly what men like that were capable of. "Which is why he needed a beating. You think I don't know what they were doing here? I just saved your ass! Radcliffe won't mess with you again; your reputation stands. Business will continue."

She didn't think it was possible for him to look angrier. She was wrong.

Belligerent, trying to get up, Charlie began to holler, "Why the hell won't you let me up?"

He lifted a hand and wiped his fingers across her forehead, holding them out so she could see the blood smeared all over his fingers. "This is why. This is why, Charlotte! You're fuckin bleeding all over yourself."

She looked confused when a small drip of warm liquid ran down the side of her face. Glancing down, Charlie found the little stream was staining the fabric of her collar. "Damn it. I liked this dress."

Bringing his face so close she could smell the tobacco on his breath, Matthew practically roared, "You dress like a man, catch one high profile criminal, and you think you're so goddamn hard?"

She could hardly believe her ears. Growing before him, Charlie cracked her neck. "You think he was the first? There have been over two dozen. He was just the most important! I was eight when that bastard cut up my mamma's face and slit my twin brother's throat. He would've killed me too if Charles hadn't shoved me under the bed before he knew I was there.

"In less than ten minutes that monster ruined my life, left me with a mamma who was never right in the head again, who needed constant care - who I had to spoon feed and support. There were no jobs for little girls that would've paid enough and I was too young to sell my body. But I looked just like him... just like my brother... and that made it easier. I cut my hair, wore his clothes, and took his job, working with some of the most ungodly men around. I paid attention. I knew where the evil men liked to play, who they knew, where they fucked, after watching them my whole life. And that man you saw me with last winter - Ronnie Pearson, the Slasher himself - the one I sat and watched fry on Old Sparky." Charlie showed her teeth. "I tracked him for two years once I got wind of where he might be. Hunted him down like a dog. Made his life hell all the way to the electric chair. That man, he was my father, Matthew. So yeah, I think I'm pretty goddamn hard!"

The look on his face... If he'd found her unacceptable before, he sure as hell must have thought she was repulsive now. Sneering at his expression caused something foreign and mortifyingly warm to slide down her cheek. Confused, Charlie reached up to wipe it off and stared down in horror to find the clear fluid wasn't more blood. She shoved Matthew away with all her strength, scurried off the table, and used her skirt to wipe off every last trace of tears.

Nathaniel and Eli stood at the door, each having heard, their expressions just as disturbed as Matthew's.




A Trick of the Light Ch. 03



Eli had finally pieced it together, knew who she was; of all of them, he was the most horrified, blinking at her like it couldn't be true.

Charlie reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, sighing.

"Get outside and keep watch." Matthew growled at the men, "Brindle might be as stupid as he looks."

Tripping over one another Nathaniel and Eli rushed out.

Her short lived moment of weakness passed. Voice steady, Charlie said, "I need to get back to the boarding house."

Matthew came up behind her, close enough she could feel the heat of his body. "You ain't going nowhere till your wound gets tended."

Jaw tight she argued, "Let it be!"

"Sit down, Charlotte." It was the same tone he used on his bullheaded kin, the one that made it clear she better behave.

Wanting to get it over with, eager to leave, Charlie sat on the nearest table edge. Matthew gathered what he needed while she stared at her toes.

When he came back, she reached for the damp cloth in his hand, only to have him fist it and hold on tight when she gave it a yank. Letting go with an irritated snort, she closed her eyes and waited.

The brush against her skin was cool, cautious, Matthew following the path of blood that had trickled down the side of her face, dirtied her neck, washing all the way to where crimson stained the top of her dress. When the mess was cleaned, a fresh corner of the towel passed under her eyes.

"Stop coddling me. I'm not Eli, for Christ's sake!"

Matthew agreed. "No you ain't. If you was Eli, I would've slapped you twenty minutes ago."

She couldn't help but snicker. "You ever try to slap me, Mr. Emerson, and I think it's safe to say it won't end pretty for either of us."

For a fraction of a second she thought she saw a tick at the corner of his lips.

Moving his fingers carefully to part her hair to find the source of all that blood Matthew said, "This needs a stitch."

Great... "I can do it. There's a first aid kit in my car."

"Your hands are shaking."

Impatient, she grumbled, "Then you do it."

He fetched her box, watched her thread a curved needle, while she explained sewing skin was no different than sewing a shirt.

Taking the needle, Matthew paused for a moment. "It's gonna hurt."

Charlie rolled her eyes, sarcasm thick as she mocked, "Is this where you offer to hold my hand?"

Those pale eyes glanced down to hostile sapphire blue, staring long and hard at her expression before he did what had to be done. Charlie didn't flinch, but she did close her eyes as he pulled the thread through her skin.

When it was done she felt his fingers take hers, opening her eyes to see their hands joined on her lap.



A Trick of the Light Ch. 04



They hadn't spoken once she let go of his hand. Matthew just held up her coat and helped her to his truck. The ride into town was equally silent, Charlie trying her damndest not to steal glances at the driver.

She was angry, her ankle hurt, and no matter how hard she'd tried, she couldn't make it work -- not after what she'd confessed. There would be no more amusing Saturdays at the grill, no more explorations around Monroe.

She'd have to leave - as soon as possible.

When Matthew's truck came to a stop outside Fontannes Boarding House, Charlie didn't wait to see if he would break the silence. She hopped out, ignoring her ankle, and fled inside before he got it in his head that she might need his help.

Even though her coat covered the blood stain on her dress, the utterly annoying Mrs. Fontanne gave her a world of grief when she came in looking half wild. One heated look had shut the old woman's mouth long enough for Charlie to stagger upstairs.

She didn't come down for dinner.

When morning came, Charlie styled her hair to cover the small gash, packed her things, and went straight to Gap Mill's modest train station. She was debating on destinations, just about to fork over money to hightail it to White Sulfur Springs, when someone tapped her shoulder.

Looking back, Charlie found Eli out of breath, sweating like he'd just run a marathon.

"Miss Charlie, what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm getting out of Monroe."

The boy seemed nonplused. "But... I came down to getcha. Your car is all fixed."

The Emersons must have wanted her out of town badly to have repaired her car overnight. Frowning, she tightened her grip on her suitcase. "Then let's not waste time..."

#

Matthew glanced at the clock, chewing the toothpick between his teeth.

"You can stop checking the time every two minutes, Matthew," Nathaniel muttered, eyeballing the liquor in his jar. "She won't get far without her car." The glare Matthew shot his brother only made Nathaniel chuckle. "Maybe you'll get lucky and the damn thing'll break down again. Want me to go pull a few wires?"

Matthew turned his back on the drunken jackass and sprinkled seasoning over the steaks he'd just finished grilling.

Five minutes later, the noise of Eli's car sounded on the drive. Leaning so he could see out the window, Matthew watched Charlie climb from the blue Ford she'd abandoned ten months back. She looked unhappy, her hands fidgeting nervously with the buttons of her coat.

Eli was quick to her side, filling her ears with a stream of babble, taking her arm so she might lean on him. His cousin dragged her up the steps and got her through the door, but when Eli began to take off her coat, Charlie hesitated, unwilling to hand it over. The kid gave a good yank and green velvet left her shoulders. There was no cotton frock underneath. Instead Charlie wore a suit far too formal for Monroe. Seeing her dressed for the city confirmed Matthew's suspicion - she was planning to run off.

Nathaniel gave a low whistle. "Well don't you look purdy, Miss Charlie."

Her brow hitched, Charlie countered, "And it looks like you're soused again before noon."

"All it takes is dedication." Nathaniel winked. "Take a seat, I'll buy you a drink."

Matthew set a plate on the counter before her usual place. Seeing the steak and scalloped potatoes, Charlie felt a weight in her heart, and could not, for the life of her, bring herself to meet the eyes of the chef.

Matthew cleared his throat, biting down on the toothpick between his teeth. "You don't like steak?"

She limped nearer, uncertain. "You made me lunch?"

He answered by setting a cup of hot tea next to the plate. Charlie crawled up on her stool and three more plates were placed out on the counter - all the Emersons, even Matthew, sitting down to eat.

One bite and the tightness around her eyes softened. She hummed appreciation, sat a little straighter ... until Nathaniel opened his mouth. "Who taught you to throw a punch?"

"Leave her be, Nathaniel," Matthew warned, turning the full strength of his glare at his stupidly grinning brother.

"I was smaller than the rest of the boys. I got beat on a lot. My boss got tired of seeing me black and blue, so he took the time to point out the way to tackle a larger opponent. How to... I don't know. Fight dirty, I guess."

"Who'd you work for?" Eli asked, chomping his steak.

Matthew interjected again. "Stop prying into Charlotte's life."

It struck her then that Matthew had called her Charlotte, that he was sitting flush to her side, that if she'd pull her eyes from her food she'd find him looking at her. It even seemed like he was waiting for just that.

A deep breath and she peeked at his shoulder, then at the jaw that hadn't seen a decent shave in weeks. In an act of pure will, she met his pale-eyed stare and said, "The steak is very good, Matthew. Thank you."

His voice was low. "Thought you might be hungry's all."

Charlie nodded and went back to the meal.

"I found her at the train station?" Eli piped in. "Chased her all the way from the boarding house."

"Oh yeah?" Nathaniel asked, after a belch. "Where were you headed?"

Charlie shrugged. "Anywhere I wanted."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "You really think you'd find a better place to sit and look at things?"

She only grunted and finished her food.

Nathaniel wasn't about to let it go, and gave her a pinch so she'd stop moping and look at him. When snapping blue eyes popped up, he leered. "You'd be back. We both know you're secretly in love with me."

And like that, Charlie burst out laughing. Leaning back, she pursed her lips, nodding as she looked him over from muddy boots to his stained mess of a shirt. "You figured me out."

Nathaniel had a look in his eye, a look of pure trouble only made worse when he winked.

Matthew got up and disappeared; Charlie took that as her cue to leave. Wiping her hands and preparing to stand, she startled when her plate was suddenly yanked away, and a small recipe box was plopped down on the bar in front of her. As if to answer her questioning gaze, Matthew handed her a notepad and pushed the recipes closer.

"Those Aunt June's?" Eli asked, flipping the box open. "Well I'll be damned - haven't seen those in years." The grin he leveled at Charlie was one-hundred percent genuine. "When I was real little, I remember she used to make the best peach cobbler. It was just out of this world. Almost as good as the one Ruth makes." Stammering, cheeks turning red, he whispered, "Ah... don't tell Ruth I said that."

"That's probably light years beyond anything I could make," Charlie admitted. "I can hardly fry an egg."

"How did you eat before?" Eli asked.

"Well, most places I lodged in fed me, and I'm really good at opening a can. Bread and butter were also my specialty." She spoke the truth, aware it sounded awful, and couldn't help but sigh. "Truth be told, I spent so much time in the woods I learned how to cook over a fire pretty well - you know, squirrel, rabbit, venison - but that's just a matter of turning a stick."

Mouth full, Nathaniel grunted, "Good thing Matthew here could cook for you then."

Reading over the instructions for meatloaf, she answered, "Yeah. Good thing."

Charlie dove right in and began studying the cards, taking detailed notes as she scribbled out recipes and occasionally hearing Matthew grunt something like, "Takes three minutes longer than the card says," or, "You can skip that step."

She'd been at it so long Nathaniel was working on his second jar, and her hand was starting to cramp. Focused to the point she didn't register the sound of cars driving up, or notice the growing tension in the air.

The screen door opened and shut.

"I heard some crazy broad knocked the daylights out of one of my men. She around?"

Charlie set down her pencil. Looking into the mirror hanging above the grill, her eyes locked on the speaker's squinted baby blues.

Eli had the shotgun, Matthew stood at her back, and Nathaniel looked ready to kill.

Charlie turned in her seat, placed her hand on Matthew's spine, felt his muscles jump at the unexpected contact, and tried to signal everything was fine.

"That depends, Beau." Charlie peeked around the broad wall of man in front of her. "What do you want with her?"

With five of his goons behind him, Beaumont Radcliffe offered his infamous grin, took a breath of smoke from the cigarette dangling between his lips, and waited for her to come to him.

She did just that, slipping around Matthew before he could catch her, limping right to the well-dressed gangster.

"My god..." Beaumont's fingers touched the tips of her hair, fluffing them a little as his eyes ran all over her face. "I never thought I'd see the day." He took her chin and turned her head side to side, his blue eyes sparkling under the brim of his hat. "You grew up into a fine woman, Blackbird."

She'd always liked the way he spoke, a little nasal and smart - the way she imagined a shifty villain from the silent pictures would speak. Between the thin eyebrows and the charm, it wasn't far off. He was still larger than life, a true kingpin, an incredibly dangerous man.

And one of Chicago's most notorious gangsters.

Smirking, Charlie replied, "I'm sure there are many who would disagree."

Matthew was practically boiling watching the gangster touch her fondly - familiarly - waiting for one hint of concern on the golden girl's face so he might yank her back.

"What do you mean?" The extremely handsome gentleman at Beaumont's side took off his hat and gave Charlie a charming grin. "You have got to be pullin my leg. Blackbird was a dame?"

"It's been a long time, Tommy." Charlie's voice was decidedly less friendly, but she held out a hand anyway.

Tommy took it and pressed his lips to her knuckles, earning an eye roll from the woman.

Reaching into his coat, Beaumont pulled out a velvet ring box and handed it over to Charlie once she'd wiped her fingers on her skirt.

With a coo, she lifted the lid. "Just what every girl wants." Snapping it shut, she batted her eyelashes. "Considering how fast you got down here, I'm surprised you found the time to get me something so fine."

"When it comes to my girl," Beaumont took another long pull of his cigarette, answering with a puff of smoke, "I make the time."

The Emersons watched her stare at him, a look akin to esteem on her face, and for several long moments it seemed Charlie and Radcliffe shared some silent little world all their own. Whatever passed between them ended when Charlie stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering something Matthew thought sounded like, "Be nice."

When it was done, Beaumont left her there and crossed toward the glowering moonshiner. Offering a handshake, the suave gangster spoke like a politician. "I hear there was a little misunderstanding the other night.

"You a friend of that woman?" Matthew demanded, refusing the offered hand.

Beaumont smirked, withdrew his hand and answered in his suave Chicago twang, "More like family."

Charlie snorted, passing the pair of them to retake her stool and get back to writing down recipes.

While the men ironed out some kind of deal behind her, Charlie focusing her attention of the art of chocolate icebox pie. Or she tried to. Beaumont leaned against the bar, taking the pencil from her fingers to set it down.

"What the hell are you doing in this backwater town?" Beaumont glanced past her and looked Matthew in the eye. "No offence."

"My car broke down and I came to find I like it here." She turned to face the man she had a soft spot for, patting his hand. "The people are real nice."

Radcliffe, fully aware Matthew was uncomfortable with how close he stood to his Blackbird, ignored the tense man and tucked Charlie's hair behind her ear. "How is your mother?"

Charlie just shook her head, saying nothing but implying much.

"Why don't you come back to Chicago with us? Martha would be over the moon to see you. I'm sure I know a nice young man or two who can make an honest woman out of you, if you're ready to settle down."

"You don't know any nice men," Charlie mocked, cocking her head toward the playful wounded look Tommy was giving her from across the room.

Those familiar fingers were back at the tips of her hair - the same fingers that had taught her how to load a gun... where to slip a knife between the ribs for the quickest kill. "Next Thursday night, dinner with the family at the Drake."

Setting her elbow on the bar, Charlie leaned her head into her palm and gave Beau a little smirk. "That depends. You gonna try to kill me again?"

He shrugged. "A man makes one mistake and you won't let him live it down."

The idea of seeing Martha won her over. "What time's dinner?"

Radcliffe grinned, and she could see the wheels in his mind turning. "Let's aim for seven, Blackbird."

She laughed, "For crying out loud, keep all that Blackbird nonsense to yourself. Call me Charlotte for Christ's sake."

"Watch your mouth, girl," he corrected, an amused gleam in Beau's sharp eyes.

"I learned all the choicest words from you," Charlie teased, picking up her pencil and getting back to work.

A fine fedora went from his fingers to a jaunty angle on his head. "Good evening, gentleman, Been a pleasure doing business with you. Take care of my Lottie now."

The screen closed, Charlie watching out the window as the cars drove away.

"I'll be damned." Eli trotted over with her little present, opening it up to see just what Beaumont Radcliffe brought her. A yelped curse and the box fell, the contents - five bloody and ruined human teeth - chattering over the counter like dice. "Why the hell did Radcliffe give you teeth?"

Ignoring Eli's poke at a half crushed molar, Charlie met the steely gaze of Matthew, knowing he understood perfectly, and let him answer for her. "Cause he killed the man who touched her."

"That would be why."

Though it wasn't totally true: Beaumont killed the man who ruined what was, no doubt, an underhanded plot - a man who let himself be beat up by a girl.

Eli, still in awe of the whole affair, said, "I can't believe you know Beaumont Radcliffe personally."

"You know him, what makes it any different?" Charlie mumbled, writing out the last lines of the icebox pie recipe. "Keep in mind, Eli, if you so much as whisper about this to a soul, you'll draw a lot of negative attention my way. Do me a kindness and keep your lips sealed."

"Course, Miss Charlie." he said it with such enthusiasm she almost believed him.

"Eli, clean that mess off the bar." Matthew ordered, near enough Charlie could feel his breath brush the hairs on the back of her neck.

Taking care to put the cards away, Charlie climbed from her seat with the pages she'd copied and looked to the man. She gave a small smile, stepped a little away hoping he didn't notice her blush, and tried to cover with confidence. "I suspect things are square with you and Radcliffe now. No hard feelings and all that."

Matthew gave a curt nod, staring hard at her.

Swallowing past the strange feeling in her throat, Charlie brushed past to gather her coat. "I'll leave you boys to do whatever it is you do once it grows dark in Monroe."

"No one said you had to go," Nathaniel complained, taking his customary seat at the bar. "Sit down and have a drink with us. Sides, there ain't nothing to do in town tonight and it's too dark for you to sit and look at things."

"So I should look at your sloppy ass instead?" Charlie mocked, sliding on her coat.

"Didn't know you was lookin at my ass," Nathaniel countered, bobbing his eyebrows.

Jacket half on, she gaped at her friend, took in his disheveled appearance, and burst out laughing. He might be a drunken fool but he sure was funny. "Nathaniel, when you get your shit together and stop drinking every waking hour, you'll make yourself a decent man."

"I prefer indecent."

"So I've noticed."

Matthew was watching, measuring her words and movements, waiting for her to look at him while Nathaniel was telling her to stay so he could nod in agreement, but she hadn't looked.

When her coat was on, she turned to Eli. "You got my keys?"

"Actually, Matthew fixed your car," the boy said, the teeth dropping with a tinny clank into the waste bucket.

At last her eyes were on him, Charlie's nervous smile soft as she crossed the space to say goodbye. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble." Her hand came out, palm up to take her keys.

Looking down at her little hand, Matthew scowled and made a deep throat noise. "Wasn't no trouble."

"I appreciate it, Matthew, and for letting me copy down your mama's recipes." He pressed the keys into her hand, Charlie asking, "How much do I owe you?"

Dragging his eyes from where their fingers touched, Matthew reminded, "Grimes'll cover the cost of your car."

"I mean for lunch. Best meal I've had in ages."

"We thought you might like something fillin." He looked almost embarrassed when Nathaniel snorted behind him. "You don't owe a thing."

Charlie's gave him a warm, heart melting smile and lowered her lashes, looking to his chest as if counting the buttons of his shirt. "Alright then. Goodbye."

When she was out the door, Nathaniel muttered, "I bet you wanna give her something fillin," choking on shine and laughter. The hilarity was ruined when his brother slapped the back of his head. "Oww, Matthew! Shit. Charlie ain't gonna chase you like Alice did. If you want her, you're gonna have to go get her."

"She ain't. No. Alice." Matthew was red-faced and seriously considering punching Nathaniel right in the goddamn mouth.

"No, she ain't." Whether it was his drunkenness or his frustration after months of watching his little brother stare all doe eyed at Charlie and do nothing, Nathaniel stood from his chair, maybe leaner but several inches taller, and snarled, "Alice was spoiled, looking to be taken care of." Gesturing round the room, spilling moonshine as his jar swept the view he said what no one had dared. "She couldn't handle this life and ran off to chase her big city dreams at the first sign of trouble. We ain't never said it but we know Charlie saved our skins that night. She didn't flinch, not once; it's worth lovin her for!" Nathaniel shoved by, grumbling about how fucking stupid his younger brother was for pining over the wrong woman, the screen door banging behind him as he plopped down into the rocking chair on the porch to finish his jar in peace.



A Trick of the Light Ch. 05



"Eli," Matthew called from his office, cantankerous after the late run and the subsequent brawl waiting for him at the end of it.

Eli leaned his head in. "Yeah?"

"Run into town and pick up a shipment, then find Nathaniel and tell him to get his ass up to the stills. Gotta get them jars full for tomorrow night."

"Sure thing, cousin."

Eager to be out of the grill and away from the monotony of washing dishes, Eli took his time picking up jars, sugar, and other assorted ingredients required to make quality shine. As he was securing the load, Gap Mill's local postman came lumbering over.

"Eli Emerson, parcel come from Chicago this morning for Devil's Hollow."

Eli tossed the thing in the truck so he might step into the parlor of Fontannes Boardinghouse. Using his best manners, he smiled at the patroness. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Fontanne. I came to see if Miss Elliot was in."

His charming smile didn't earn one in return. "That woman's been gone for days." The needle jabbed through her mending. "Just comes and goes as she pleases with no concern to tell us when or where."

"I'm... awful sorry to hear that. You know when she'll be back?"

Eyes flashed behind the glasses resting on the tip of Mrs. Fontanne's nose. "No, Eli Emerson, I don't know when she'll be back - just like I told Matthew two days ago."

"Matthew was here?" Eli was downright amazed.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Mrs. Fontanne set aside the mending, looking the youth dead in the eye. "You tell your cousin he's wasting his time if he's thinking of courtin that woman. There's something unnatural about her."

"You shouldn't be saying harsh words about a new person in town, Mrs. Fontanne." Eli stood tall, looking a lot more like Matthew as his brows drew tight. "Us Emersons call her friend, and I don't suspect your husband would take too kindly to starting trouble with the family who loaned him the money to keep this place afloat." Eli put on his hat, ignoring her indignant huff, and left with a polite, "Have a good afternoon now."

By the time he was back at Devil's Hollow, Eli was worked up and muttering under his breath. Carrying the strange package through the door, he went straight to the counter, dumping the box on the polished wood before announcing to his cousin, "I think that old biddy, Mrs. Fontanne, is givin our Charlie a hard time. Called her unnatural..."

There were a few local men eating lunch and sipping on jars; one or two looked up at Eli's outburst.

Matthew didn't glance from his figures, yet asked gruffly, "You called on Miss Elliot?"

"Yeah, wanted to see if she might come down for lunch... but she's gone off somewhere." Eli began to pull the ties of the package.

"What's that you got there?" Pale eyes looked to the address.

"Package came this morning for Devil's Hollow," Eli answered.

Matthew reached forward and snatched the package from his cousin. Irritated Eli would open something that was clearly intended for him, Matthew pulled off the brown paper, revealing an embellished House of Vionnet stamped atop a shiny white box. A crease formed between his brows. He lifted the lid, and found tissue paper covering something smelling of lavender. Pushing the paper aside, Matthew ran his fingertips over the mystery, never having felt satin before.

The card read:

-Feathers for little Blackbird

Realizing just what was inside, he quickly snapped on the lid, grabbing the damn thing to hide in his office before anyone saw him touching a woman's dress.

When he got back to the bar, Eli was laughing at him. "It ain't gonna bite you, Matthew."

Matthew ignored the boy and retook his seat.

Eli picked a piece of lint off Matthew's shoulder. "You better see to getting yourself a nice suit, cousin, if you plan on standing anywhere near her while she's wearing something like that."

Slamming down his pencil, Matthew grabbed his ledger, and retreated into the office, barking, "Get back to work."

Business grew busy and it was almost dusk before Matthew and Eli climbed into the truck to head to the stills. The entire drive Matthew was making a mental list of all the jars that should've been filled, preparing to lay into his brother if he found Nathaniel drunk and loafing.

The scene he arrived to was far worse.

Walking through the forest canopy to the secret shack where hundreds of dollars of necessary equipment brewed shine, he heard the muffled voice of his brother telling what had to be the raunchiest jokes in the hills.

Nathaniel sat before a fire, a man facing him, the stranger's shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

Prowling forward, ready to tear into his brother for bringing an outsider to their stills, Matthew froze. The laughing stranger had the voice of his golden girl, Charlotte telling an equally bawdy joke that made Nathaniel slap his knee and throw his head back he was howling so hard.

"Damn, Charlie, where the hell you pick up that one?"

"Whorehouse outside of Nashville," she answered unashamed, sipping the jar in her hand.

Right behind her Matthew growled, "And just what the hell were you doin at a whorehouse, Charlotte?"

Charlie choked mid swallow and began to cough, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Jesus, Matthew, you just about gave me a heart attack."

"Answer the question." His tone had fallen deeper, the brim of his hat hiding whatever malice made him sound so mad.

"Tracking a man named Franco Ramirez." She gave him a cocky grin. "I'll let you in on a trade secret: If you slip the ladies two dollars, they tend to wear out your prey. Then all you gotta do is tie them up and drag them off. Everybody's happy..." Winking at Nathaniel, Charlie clarified, "Well, Franco wasn't happy. The Texas marshals hung him."

"How much you been drinkin?" Matthew demanded, crouching down to look her over.

Dressed in trousers, her hair tucked under an old hat, with dirt smeared on her face, Charlie shrugged, the blue flannel shirt gaping just enough that if he leaned forward he'd be able to see right down her...

"Leave her alone, Matthew," Nathaniel grumbled, cocking his head toward the corner and catching his brother's attention. "She barely even touched the jar in her hand. Besides, while you two pansies were relaxing, Charlie helped me fill the order for tomorrow. Work's all done."

Pale eyes darted across the darkening room, finding what Nathaniel claimed to be true. It didn't soften his accusation. "And just how did she come to be here, Nathaniel?"

Charlie came to his defense, "I was hunting, Matthew. He heard me shoot a deer nearby."

"Found her walking through the woods, pleased as could be, with a doe hangin right cross her shoulders." Nathaniel explained, laughing as if still struck with what an odd sight it had been. "We've been waiting for you two to show up so we could eat."

On cue, Charlie rose to her feet and went out the door to where her cleaned deer hung from a tree. Hunting knife in hand, she stabbed into the carcass, sawing down the back for the backstrap and loin, smiling when Matthew eased up behind her.

"She's a nice young doe, a little small. Still, should be plenty to feed us all and then some." Stopping for a moment, she tried to explain, "I want you to know, Matthew, I had no idea your stills were hidden around here. I meant no harm and I wasn't snooping."

"Ain't safe to hunt alone."

She snorted. "I don't know any hunters around here who would feel comfortable traipsing through the woods with a woman. And I've seen you Emersons fire a weapon - You can't hit the broadside of a barn. You'd scare all the deer away."

The way she was talking to him, the playfulness she usually reserved for his brother, it made him keep his mouth shut instead of rising to the bait. When the meat was stacked up and ready, Charlie stepped to the adjacent creek, splashing her face and scrubbing clean in the frigid water.

Hat in hand, she found Matthew waiting just behind her, holding out his handkerchief. She took it with a grateful smile, leaning her head back to swipe the moisture running down her neck, Matthew enthralled by her little show.

Folding the cloth politely, she handed it back, tugging his arm. "Come on, Matthew. Let me feed you for once."

An hour later, the four of them sat around the fire, stomachs near to bursting on the venison steaks Charlie had grilled for them. Eli set to talking about his sweetheart, Ruth, ribbed constantly by Nathaniel while Matthew leaned back against some crates and smoked a cigar.

The way his lips wrapped around the stogie, Charlie kept finding her eye drawn to it, sneaking glances from under the brim of her hat when she thought he wasn't looking.

He caught her staring and Matthew finally spoke. "How long you been out in these woods?"

Charlie's eyes darted back to the fire. After a warm swallow of applejack smoothed her tongue, she answered, "Since around noon, I suppose."

"Lookin at things?" Nathaniel kidded, glad the focus was no longer on Eli's blather.

Charlie grinned. "Looking at things."

"And just what did you see?" He knew a tirade of local flora and fauna was about to burst from her lips, that she'd get all glassy-eyed, that she'd grow limp and content.

Dreamy, Charlie detailed the rich earthy hills, the smell of the woods in the valley, the interesting shape of a foundation half lost in briars.

"When you talk about my home I feel like it's a place I've never really been," Eli said, leaning back on his elbows. "I don't think anyone sees Monroe like you do, Miss Charlie."

"It's funny you say that," Charlie answered, enjoying Eli's 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, felt it burn 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."

Eli had never heard her so sharp and unfriendly. "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. Didn't hurt I was there neither."

Her point made Eli's eyes go wide. "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, Charlie 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 even 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. "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."

She could see it in her head - the flash of disbelief on Beaumont's face; the kingpin appalled, then mortified. He'd yelled for the men to fetch a doctor and carried her inside, ordering everyone else away. They were alone when Radcliffe lifted her bloody shirt and found small breasts bound with strips of filthy rags. He'd cursed a string of words Charlie had never imagined could be put together. Even in all that pain she'd laughed.

Lost in memory, she gave a weak smile. "He 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 mamma. I keep 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."

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 Matthew failed to notice Nathaniel passed out, dead drunk, with 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 until 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 his coat had been returned, draped across him, and the golden girl was gone. Snoring louder than a saw mill, 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 given them, dripped but were ignored once she got to working.

Spying from a distance, Matthew watched her butcher the doe, wrapping up hearty cuts in paper from her pack.

"Radcliffe's going to try to keep you in Chicago."

Head darting up, Charlie found Matthew leaning against a tree, his breath like steam in the cold air. "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. "Should be pretty interesting either way."

"You danced just fine at the Willard's barn a few months back," Matthew offered.

Pausing mid slice, Charlie admitted, "I never could figure out why 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 found the man staring off into the woods. "Every time I looked up you were staring straight at me, Matthew - scowling something awful."

He shifted his weight against the tree. "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 hind quarter. 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 on the front of her shirt. Throat dry, feeling a 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.

"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."

"You just need practice," he said, tugging her back.

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. 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 her scar. With a growl he captured her lips, pressing a heated kiss on the startled woman.

The feel of him, the insistent pressure, sent her head swimming. Charlie drugged further when Matthew grew relentless, sliding his mouth over hers. When the golden girl whimpered, the decadent sensation came to an end, and Matthew pulled back to gauge her reaction. What he found was a dreamy smile and half-closed eyes.




A Trick of the Light Ch. 05



Soft and wondrous, she said, "I never... No one has ever..." She could still feel the tingle where he'd sucked her lower lip. Dazed, she pressed closer, her voice suddenly husky as she purred, "Do it again."

His response was immediate. Matthew's lips crashed down and Charlie shyly began to kiss him back. A calloused grip wrapped around her nape, his thumb brushed her jaw, inspiring a shameless moan.

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 hard, he found himself unable to look away from her mouth, all swollen and pink... her pretty lips and that eye-catching scar.

He felt his cock throb and had to force himself to seek out blue eyes before more salacious thoughts of Charlotte's mouth wouldn't tempt him to take advantage. Confusion was written all over her face, Charlie peeking at him 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.

Mistaking his brooding for anger, Charlie pushed back, stammering an apology, wondering what she'd done wrong. Maybe she shouldn't have asked him to kiss her again? Maybe she shouldn't have held on so tight? Maybe she'd been too forward for her first kiss?

Matthew's fingers reached up to tuck a wild piece of hair behind her ear, saying with his actions what he didn't know how to say with words. Catching her vulnerable 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. At the interruption, Charlie jumped like a scared rabbit, shuffling past Matthew to gather up the meat she'd carved. He helped the flustered woman manage the larger pieces, following to where she'd hidden her car.

Tossing everything inside, Charlie turned, cheeks pink, combing her hair with her fingers, certain she looked a right mess. "I'll be on my way now. Thanks for helping me load the car."

Trying to act the gentleman, 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."

What she'd like would be for Matthew to kiss her again, or maybe just to get the hell out of there with some scrap of dignity before he realized how badly she was panting after him.

Nodding mutely, she climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove off the second he closed her door.

She made it down the mountain before the boys, using the spare time to change into the dress tossed over her back seat. 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 tick 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.

When the men ate her simple breakfast, exclaiming it was delicious, Charlie knew they were being overly generous in their praise. She had broken several yolks and burnt half the toast. Only the coffee had turned out decent... or so she 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.

Charlie winked at Eli and purred, "I'm gonna visit Ruth."

"Before you run off," Eli chugged down his last bit of coffee, getting up. "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."



A Trick of the Light Ch. 06



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 sheriff himself stood on the threshold, deadpan.

"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 Fontannes Boardinghouse; they take decent care of me." Seeing her struggle, 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'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."

Flattering the man's daughter seemed to be just the ticket to win the sheriff's approval. A lax smile came to his face, the lawman asking over his shoulder. "Ruth, child, could you spare the time to teach this young woman?"

"Absolutely, Father." Kitten eyes twinkled at Charlie, the girl's mischievous smirk unnoticed by her daddy. "It would be unchristian to do anything less."

The man looked to the basket. "Just where did you come by all this meat, Miss Elliot?"

Charlie, virtuous expression back in place replied, "A deer ran right in front of my car." The lie was an easy one. "Eli Emerson drove by and stopped to see if I was alright. He repaired my car - didn't charge me a nickel - and offered to butcher the deer so others might benefit from the situation. In fact, it was Eli who suggested I come to you, claimed you'd know what to do."

The expression on the lawman's face darkened at the first mention of the boy, but Charlie carefully painted a picture of how amiable, how gentlemanly, Eli had been. "I am very grateful to Eli Emerson. He was really kind to me."

Sensing her cue to jump in, Ruth spoke up, "When would you like to start your lessons?"

Charlie offered her warmest smile. "As soon as may be."

#

The following morning, Charlie shuffled up the Cormac's drive, her arms full of groceries. The Sheriff looked on with a sharp eye, assuring Miss Elliot's behavior was appropriate for his daughter, but left with a nod about thirty minutes into the women's batter mixing.

"Dear lord, I thought he would never leave," Ruth complained, watching out the window as her father went off to work.

Charlie snickered, taking a taste of the batter in her bowl. "When I head on up to Devil's Hollow later you want me to take that pie you have sitting pretty as you please in the window?"

"Indeed I do. I should warn you though, Charlie, them Emerson boys are trouble." A naughty gleam came to Ruth's eyes. "Good, appealin trouble..."

Charlie eased a little closer, more than willing to be wicked with her friend. "You gonna marry that boy? All I hear is Ruth this and Ruth that. Eli is smitten with you to no end."

"If he got up the gumption to ask, Daddy would probably shoot him." Ruth was a heap brighter than her would be Casanova. "The Emerson name ain't quite what my father has in mind for me."

"Cause of the bootlegging? Prohibition will end soon enough and the Emerson name will go back to being respectable." Trying to put uniform dollops of batter on the cookie sheet, Charlie wondered aloud. "Of course, you could just up and run off with Eli."

Ruth snorted, reaching out with the tip of a towel to wipe a smear of flour off Charlie's face. "If you think ending prohibition will make the Emerson name respectable, you just might be crazy. Everyone around here knows what they did, what they do. Anyone who crosses them ... well, you know."

Charlie couldn't help but think of the sort of men she was used to dealing with. "The Emersons don't strike me as the type to start trouble - just to end it."

"Maybe you're right." Ruth darted dove eyes to Charlie. "I can see why Matthew likes you."

"Nathaniel's the one who likes me; a good friend of mine these days. Matthew tolerates my presence," Charlie clarified, trying not to think back on the stolen kiss.

"That's not what Eli says." The petite brunette cooed, playfully wistful, "Seems he is quite taken with you. Good thing too; no local girls have even earned a glance since Alice ran off. It'd be a waste if a man so handsome didn't settle down."

Charlie had forgotten all about the stunning waitress. One mention of the black-haired beauty's name, and an odd feeling began to weigh in her gut. Their acquaintance may have been brief, but Charlie had seen enough to know Alice was glamorous, had a look about her that drove men wild. Clumsy and awkward, Charlie could not hold a candle to the other woman. Keeping her sinking feelings to herself, she feigned ignorance. "Who was Alice?"

Ruth shrugged. "A girl who waitressed up at Devil's Hollow last year. Supposedly came from money but had nothing to show for it, if you get my drift. I don't really know much about her except that she was real stylish and pretty aloof when it came to making friends with the women in town."

"Why did she leave?"

"Rumors abound. General consensus was Matthew refused to marry her. But my personal opinion... well, based off all Eli told me, is that she wasn't the kind to stick around. Big dreams, you know." A timer dinged, and Ruth paused her chatter to pull out the first tray of cookies.

Charlie smiled to find not one was burned or misshapen. "If I didn't have your help, they would have never turned out so good."

Disinterested in garnering praise or discussing cookies, Ruth pressed, "What are Nathaniel and Matthew like? I have never been able to speak with them but once or twice in passing, and Eli's point of view might be a little flawed."

"Well, Nathaniel has the mouth of a sailor and drinks like a fish. I like him, but he may be a little too rough around the edges for most ladies. Matthew is the brooding type, a man of few words who glares a lot."

"Maybe he ain't glaring..." Ruth hinted. "Maybe he's just off kilter around you."

There was nothing off kilter about his lips the morning before. In fact, the amount of times their kiss had replayed in Charlie's head was flat out shameful. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Why?" Ruth set the cookies to cool. "Cause you traipse around the woods and hunt deer when no one is lookin?"

Charlie froze, instantly unsure and uncomfortable.

Seeing her friend nervous, Ruth hurriedly explained, "Eli told me last night. Would you take me with you next time? Take me hunting?"

Growing red-faced, Charlie stammered, "I have a feeling, uhh, Eli would not approve."

"If I don't listen to my father, what makes you think I'm gonna listen to Eli?"

Ruth had a point.

#

It was there, boxed up on the seat next to him. He'd driven all the way to Charleston to get the damn thing - could hardly believe he'd spent all of thirty dollars. Glaring at the box stuffed full of his new suit, Matthew tucked it under the seat, out of sight, so he wouldn't have to answer any damn questions about it.

"Where the hell have you been, Matthew?" Nathaniel complained, climbing in the truck.

Moving the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, Matthew hit the gas. "Where's Eli?"

"He's off chasin that girl again." Nathaniel waved a hand as if annoyed by the whole thing.

"Course he is..." There was already enough leaving Matthew moody and tired. That last thing he wanted to deal with was working over a hot still while his fool cousin shirked responsibility to woo Ruth Cormac.

One man short, the brothers did their work, Matthew growing more aggravated with every hour Eli failed to show up. Making matters worse, where Nathaniel was usually clear minded in tending the stills, his present lack of vitality was wearing on Matthew's last nerve.

After hours of grueling labor, Matthew checked the time and called it a day.

"But we ain't done yet," Nathaniel complained. "We still need to check the mash and bleed the lines on ol' Bessie."

"It'll keep." There was no one at the grill and customers would be coming soon. "You can take care of it tomorrow once you get the lead out of your ass."

When they were driving out of the foothills, Nathaniel began fidgeting. "Wanna go into town and see if they got our sugar order in?"

"No, Nathaniel," Matthew puffed a cigar and shot his brother a glare, "I don't got all day to fool around."

"We could call on Charlie," Nathaniel offered, picking some dried hay off his shirt.

Distrustful, Matthew darted a narrow-eyed glance at his brother. The very thought Nathaniel might be sweet on Charlotte made him grumble and start cursing under his breath. The girl may like to share rough talk, he told himself, but she would never bat her eyelashes at his brother... Or would she?

Skidding to a halt outside Devil's Hollow, Matthew climbed out and began yanking the tarp off the crates of shine, pausing at the sound of muffled feminine giggles. Stalking up the steps like a snorting bull, he pulled open the screen but found the grill empty.

The sound of a squeal echoed from above. He heard Eli's voice, the scrape of furniture shifting, and more of the golden girl's peals of laughter.

The ruckus was coming from his room. Eli was making her cry out... and gasp. Knowing just what inspired those kinds of noises, Matthew saw red. About ready to murder his cousin, he bound up the stairs, ignoring how Nathaniel chased after him, telling him to calm down.

Furious, Matthew threw open his bedroom door, causing the two people standing in the middle of the space to look at him as if he were insane.

Charlotte gawped, her blue coveralls scattered with paint smudges, a smear of white milk wash down one side of her face. The startled woman had a paintbrush in her hand... one that looked like she had been attacking his cousin with - seeing as the boy was practically covered in dripping white.

Matthew's scowl was so deep he could practically feel his brows touching. 

"Now calm down, Matthew," Eli said, recognizing the signs of impending violence.

"You don't like it..." Charlie looked disappointed, the girl chewing her lip.

Seeing her sad made Matthew glance around to find the cause - realizing, at last, his room had been wallpapered in soft cornflower blue.

Once Matthew let out a deep breath, the tension visibly easing from his brother's shoulders, Nathaniel called, "Eli, come on downstairs now."

The youngest Emerson hightailed it out the door, praying Matthew would not be too hard on Miss Charlie. Hell, both of them had tried to talk her out of it, but she'd threatened to break in and do it with or without help.

When they were alone, Charlie timidly stepped closer. "I went to Charleston to get everything so no one in town would gossip."

Pale eyes looked from the subtle vertical pattern in the paper, landing right on her paint smeared face. "Why did you do this?"

Wringing her hands, trying hard to meet his eye, she said, "It's plain to see that you are so caught up in taking care of your family that you don't spend any time seeing to your own comfort. So, I decided to step in and do it for you. As a thank you, of sorts, for allowing me to stay in town, giving me shelter when I got caught in that storm, tending my ankle... kicking the shit out of the Grimes boys. I thought," she stammered, realizing how lamely she was explaining herself, "I thought - I hoped - you might enjoy waking up to see something beautiful."

The tips of his ears went bright red, the man stuck for something to say.

Looking back to the newly decorated walls, Charlie added, "I made sure the wallpaper wasn't prissy - something masculine and soothing. I saw this and thought of you." She tried to be funny, "I don't imagine the Matthew Emerson would like walls covered in flowers."

He cleared his throat and let his eyes leave her face, forcing himself to look again at what she'd done. Everything about the room seemed different, lighter... comfortable.

Taking his silence for approval, Charlie went back to whitewashing the window frame, determined to finish.

"Would you have picked something, uhhh," the tightness in his throat was making it near impossible to speak, "something different for yourself?"

He saw her smile, those sapphire eyes focused on making short, concise strokes. "I like what I chose for you."

Without another word, Matthew turned around and left the room. After plodding down the stairs, he passed the others, Eli piping up that they told her not to do it before Nathaniel thwacked the kid.

Ignoring them both, Matthew went straight into his office and closed the door. Burying his nose deep into his ledger, he tried to focus on his accounts but couldn't stop thinking about what was happening upstairs. Conflicted over the whole thing, especially how he'd reacted when he thought she was up there making love to Eli with all that squealing and giggling, he groaned.

The golden girl, the one he'd danced with and kissed only the morning before had gone to Charleston and chosen nice wallpaper just for him. Granted, Matthew didn't know much about decorating, but he did know such things had to be special ordered. She'd organized everything at least a week ago, before he'd kissed her. That's where she'd been when she disappeared. And the little vixen had brought his kin reluctantly on board. No wonder Nathaniel had been dragging his ass all day; his brother was supposed to keep him away so Charlotte could finish the surprise - the surprise he'd gone and ruined in a temper.

Knowing he should talk to her, he stood from his chair and opened the office door. Nathaniel and Eli were sitting at the counter, each eating a slice of pie. Paying them no mind, Matthew moved toward the stairs.

"She's already gone, Matthew." Though his mouth was full, Nathaniel's words were clear. "But she left you something. I'll keep it if you don't want it."

Brows low, Matthew found a half-eaten pie and three small boxes, one with his name scribbled on top. It was bursting with cookies.

Eli explained, "Charlie made the cookies, Ruth made the pie."

Picking up what looked like a snickerdoodle, Matthew took a cautious bite. The scowl fell right off his face. They were his mamma's recipe, and damn good.

"You're as shocked as we were," Nathaniel chuckled, reaching to snag a cookie from Matthew's box, only to have his hand slapped away. "Especially considering the woman could hardly fry an egg or toast bread."

#

Leaving Monroe for a few days could not have come at a better time. Charlie had blundered badly with Matthew, had clearly overstepped his boundaries, and was unsure how to go about fixing the broken fence. Chicago would give her an opportunity to get her head on straight. Besides, a few days of being spoiled by the luxurious Drake Hotel would be a wonderful distraction.

After a long soak in the clawfoot tub and a lazy afternoon nap, she sat at the dressing table, fluffing her hair into what the magazines claimed was height of Chicago style. By the time she strolled through the gilded lobby, her satin gown set aglow by the Drake's crystal chandeliers, Charlie actually felt... pretty.

No. She felt glamorous. A real sophisticated woman.

It was surreal to be in her city, to be in such a fine dress, to be Charlotte Elliot and not Blackbird.

The Radcliffe contingent was already there; early, no doubt, due to Martha's need to always be a step ahead.

It was striking to see her, the wife of Beaumont Radcliffe elegantly attired in velvet, the shade of blue contrasting beautifully with mahogany hair. Standing next to the tuxedoed lynchpin, Martha seemed grand - a queen surrounded by her court.

When the woman's eyes passed right over Charlie, Beau leaned down to his wife and teased, "She's right in front of ya, toots."

"It's been a long time, Martha," Charlie stammered, easing closer, mesmerized by every unchanged detail of a face she knew by heart - Martha's high cheekbones, thin brows, and warm chocolate eyes exactly as she remembered.

Martha's jaw practically hit the floor. Eyes bugging out of her skull, the older woman looked over what had once been a skinny, bruised up child. "Dear god! I would never have recognized you in a million years!" The woman took Charlie's hands and spread them wide so she might look her over. "And you have breasts."

Beaumont coughed to cover his laugh, his men snickering behind him.

"Ummm, yeah," Charlie managed, blushing scarlet.

Martha wasn't the only one taking notice. Swaggering nearer, Tommy pitched in, "You look very beautiful, Lottie."

Before Charlie could offer an off-putting reply, Martha linked their arms, chatting brightly as she led Charlie off to the ballroom.

The best tables were reserved, boasting a grand view of the big band assembled onstage. Beaumont's goons settled in, but the Radcliffes and their guest dined separately, Charlie disappointed when Tommy slipped into the plush booth right next to her.

"So, Lottie," Beaumont popped open a bottle of champagne, "You're Martha's niece should anyone ask."

"Aww, shucks." Charlie batted her eyelashes and took the proffered glass. "You made me family."

The infamous wicked grin she knew so well curved up Beau's mouth. "I did, kid. It should help keep you out of trouble."

"Doubtful." The corner of Charlie's lips twitched. "You must want something."

"I don't remember you being so mouthy as a kid," Tommy interjected, leaning back against the soft cushion, his arm draped across the top of Charlie's seat.

"I just didn't like you is all." She sipped her champagne and added for good measure, "You were a little prick."

"Charlotte!" Martha slapped her arm. "That's not how a lady talks."

The sting brought back the memory of the dozens of times Martha had smacked her over the years for mouthing off. Snickering, Charlie looked to the woman and apologized, trying not to snort when Beaumont winked.

"Come on then, Lottie." Light gleamed off Tommy's sculpted blonde hair, the man standing to offer a hand. "Let start over. Have a dance with me?"

"I should warn you." Charlie made a face, but took his hand anyway. "I don't dance very well."

"Not a problem, little girl. I am a strong leader."

And he was. Surrounded by other couples, Tommy kept his hands firm on her body, leading Charlie with subtle cues that made it almost easy. But when she stepped on his foot for the third or fourth time he rolled his eyes and teased, "Since they're already scuffed, you may as well climb up on my shoes and let me do all the work."

Not one to back down, Charlie let him pull her closer, ploped her toes on his laces, and burst out laughing when Tommy waltzed her around the floor in big showy circles. When the band hit its zenith, Tommy leaned her back, dipping her low to the floor, Charlie laughing and laughing when the world went upside-down.

Feeling the flex of arms pull her up and hold her close, Tommy exercising the same practiced smirk she'd seen him give countless women over the years, Charlie lost her grin.




A Trick of the Light Ch. 06



"You do look very pretty. Little Blackbird all grown up." Tommy reached up, eyes warm as he smoothed a stray curl. "I'm glad you wore the dress I sent you."

She'd thought the Radcliffes had sent the dress. But of course Tommy had; the man was a cad who would have pegged her size with one glance. Snarky, Charlie shrugged him off, "Why didn't you sign the card?"

Grinning and honest, he admitted, "I wasn't sure if you'd wear it, and I did want a glimpse of what you had hidden all those years."

"Had I known it was from you, I wouldn't have worn it." Her hand went to straighten his bowtie, the small strip of cloth twisted to strangle him just enough to make a point. "Like I said before. I don't much like you."

"You're warming up to me."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "You must be nuts."

Tommy's palm came to rest on her bare lower back, a smug smirk on his face as the man led through her the crowd. Back at the table they found Martha conveniently scurrying off to powder her nose, leaving Beaumont alone with Charlie once the mobster waved Tommy away.

The setup was about as subtle as a train whistle.

"So just what the hell have you been doing all these years?" Beaumont asked, striking a match to light the customary cigarette he enjoyed during interrogations.

"This and that..." Charlie put her weight on her forearms, leaning closer. "I also kept my eye on you whenever I passed through town."

"Yeah?" He shook the match and puffed the rolled tobacco.

"Yeah." She cocked her head. "October, 1927 at Cicero. Did you think those bullets magically fell from the sky to take out Capone's men when they had you cornered?"

"I should have known it was my little Blackbird." A dangerous smirk appeared. "Why didn't you say hello?"

"I think you know why, and you can ask me about it all you want, Beau, but I ain't gonna say shit. Just be grateful I took the time when I caught wind of what was going down."

"Keep your secrets." Beaumont Radcliffe didn't get where he was by being a stupid man. The look in his eyes communicated he knew, at least in part, what she'd been doing with her time. A puff of smoke escaped his mouth, the man slyly adding, "Damn good to have you back though."

Charlie, unintimidated by the fixed determination in her old mentor's gaze, warned him, "I'm retired, Beau. Prohibition won't last forever and there is no way in hell I'll be involved in any of the other works the mobsters of Chicago fuck around with. I'm tired of all that shit."

Beau's eyes held a trace of pity and a far larger manifestation of resolve. "I know you are, kid."

"Then let me live in peace."

"I know you, Blackbird. You'll get bored of it, the quiet life." The cigarette dangled from his lips. "Settle down here where you can keep one toe in the action." His finger tapped the table. "Get married, have some kids."

"Nice try, Beau, but men aren't going to line up to tie the knot with the bastard daughter of Ronnie Pearson and a mad whore."

"No." He nodded in agreement, blue eyes watching her closely. "But they'll want to marry the kin of Beaumont Radcliffe. Doesn't hurt that you grew up beautiful neither."

"Beau, give me a break. Do you really think I would take orders from some man? Especially some gangster? I would probably end up killing the guy and hangin for it."

"You took orders from me for years," he stated with pride, settling lazily back in his chair.

Charlie's face softened, she gave him a dopey grin. "That was different. I love you."

"You were a good kid."

She knew where she stood. "You're only sayin that cause I'm a dead shot with a gun."

"It didn't hurt."

They both started laughing, the undercurrent of tension fading just in time for Martha's return. Standing so the scheming couple could talk about the little interlude, Charlie excused herself so she might powder her nose too.

#

He'd managed to find a spot at the bar running the length of the crowded ballroom. Steady, he took in every face, Matthew sipping on overpriced whiskey and watching for any sign of trouble. It was the same he'd seen at any watering hole - voices got loud, smiles and tempers growing larger. Only at the Drake, the consumers were all dressed in fancy clothes and wearing perfume.

His position offered barely any glimpses of her profile or the chiseled face of the clean shaven man turned toward her. From the moment he saw Tommy smiling at her, wearing the leer of a man thinking only one thing, Matthew wanted to rip the pretty boy's goddamn head off.

The crystal tumbler went back to Matthew's mouth, ice clanking against the glass as he drained it. He'd watched her dance with the prick - glowing, laughing, while the gangster pulled her close enough their bodies touched. When Tommy had bent her back over his arm like some goddamn prince charming, Matthew was sorely tempted to walk right over and yank her away.

"Matthew?" Sultry and timid, dulcet and cool - the practiced voice of a flirtatious woman, a voice he never thought he'd hear again cut through murderous thoughts. "Matthew, what are you doing here?"

Charlie was still bent over Tommy's arm, laughing in the distance, but Matthew could no longer see her, his line of vision blocked by the beauty of Alice.

She was dressed in the short sequined uniform of a cocktail waitress, all her dark hair styled and smooth.

The way she caressed his arm and leaned nearer, the warmth in her smile... it was just how she'd used to look at him when she'd come to work at the grill.

"Look at you. All spruced up in a fine suit." Dark eyes gave him a proper once over. "A regular gentleman."

Jesus H. Christ.

"Excuse me, Alice." Leaning a bit to the side, Matthew found no sign of the golden girl on the dance floor. Pale eyes darted around, looking for a flash of blonde in the crowd. The second he saw Charlotte seated alone with Radcliffe, Matthew was not certain if he was relieved or concerned - especially considering the aggressive set of Charlotte's shoulders. But it seemed she was holding her own, not at all intimidated by a man Matthew knew was nothing but bad.

Alice took his behavior for shyness and reached up, cupping his freshly shaved cheek to entice his attention. To soothe him, Alice purred, "Was it fate, or did you come looking for me?"

Taking her wrist and removing her hand from his face, Matthew explained, "I'm here on business."

She smirked, shaking her head. "Then let's mix it with pleasure. My shift ends in an hour. Stick around and I'll take you to the best place in the city for coffee."

Matthew gave a noncommittal grunt, too busy once he realized Charlotte was gone again to notice Alice saunter away. Again, the golden girl had disappeared. He let out a breath, glaring at the crowd that kept swallowing her up. Then there she was, her head down, walking right toward him.

That dress... The satin flowed over each dip and curve, revealing more of Charlotte's body with each step she took nearer. It was impossible to miss the hungry looks of other men, how they openly stared at her rear and draped bosom. He hated it. Fisting his hands, knuckles cracking, Matthew leveled a death glare on the most forward gawkers, missing the look of outrage the golden girl pointed right at him the instant she spotted the interloping Emerson in the crowd.

#

A/N: First off, my mind was blown with the amount of feedback on the last chapter. From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU! 

A big shout out to my new beta reader, Emily. You, lady, rock!



A Trick of the Light Ch. 07



Matthew Emerson, dressed in a fine suit, clean shaven, hair trimmed, and more handsome then she could say, stood amongst the snobby Chicago masses as if he had a right to be there.

He didn't, which led Charlie to snarl, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Caught growling at a man ogling her behind, Matthew's pale eyes snapped to the irate woman, his answer simple, "I'm here to keep an eye on you."

Charlie's lashes flared at the insult. "Why? You think I'm squealing to Radcliffe about your stills? That I'm gonna muck up your deal?"

"Of course not, Charlotte." Clearing his throat, wishing he could loosen the damn tie, Matthew spoke over the din, "I'm here in case you need me."

Charlie fidgeted with her hair, brows drawing together. "So you followed me here from Monroe? Are Nathaniel and Eli spying too?"

"No." Matthew reached out and gripped her arm, tugging her a little nearer so they wouldn't have to shout. "I came here alone."

Feeling her cheeks heat, Charlie stared at Matthew's askew tie. "In a suit..."

"In a suit, Charlotte."

Vaguely aware she sounded ridiculous, she stopped her mouth, glancing up shyly. Those pale eyes were waiting for her - eyes she'd stared at enough times to know they were the faintest shade of green and downright pretty against his tan skin.

The hand on her arm began to stroke, soothing her irritation and leaving a trail of soft tingles in its wake. "I'll wait right here. When your dinner's over, I'll escort you to your door."

Charlie nodded mutely, watching his mouth, hoping for a taste of the whiskey and sweet cigar she smelled on his breath.

A deep rumble came from the male towering over her, "Best get back to your supper now."

Snapped out of her fancy, Charlie almost stumbled as she backed away, turning around as ordered and gliding right back to her table.

Dinner arrived, and while they ate, Martha dominated conversation. "Have you found yourself a man, Charlotte?"

"No, Ma'am, I'm a spinster," Charlie answered plainly. "I can't cook, or sew - don't know a thing about babies."

Martha gave her a secret smile. "A good man won't really care about the trivial skills, so long as you work hard in other areas."

Fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder to where Matthew stood at the bar, Charlie blushed, knowing full well what Martha was alluding to.

Brown eyes sparkled. "You look mighty fine sitting next to Tommy. The two of you make quite the handsome pair."

Charlie set down her fork. "Don't go putting any fool ideas into his head, Martha. I am fully aware of the reputation the man sitting at my side carries." Her attention darted to Tommy, noting his cocky smirk. "Seen him many times over the years with his menagerie of women."

"But not one of them were near as pretty as you," Tommy cooed, daring to press a teasing kiss to her cheek.

"Tommy." Charlie ground her teeth, glaring right at the mobster. "I do have a gun in my purse."

Beaumont burst out laughing, his hand smacking the table. "Boy, you're gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to catch my Blackbird's eye."

From the expression on Tommy's face, he seemed more than willing to rise to the challenge. But, wisely, he mellowed the flirting; Charlie stopped glaring and conversation grew natural once more.

When the meal was over and the bottle of champagne empty, it was hard not to find easy comfort in what felt familiar. The talk, the city, old comrades... a small part of Charlie almost wished she'd told Beau she'd stay. As if Martha could read her mind, she took Charlie's hand as they walked from the table, asking the blonde girl to swear she'd come back to town for Christmas. In the lobby, engulfed in the tight embrace of Martha's mink draped arms, Charlie agreed.

Watching the women have their overlong moment, Radcliffe blew out a fresh puff of smoke. "You better wrap it up before your guard dog starts to growl, Lottie."

Pulling away from Martha, Charlie was confused. "Guard dog?"

Beaumont cocked his chin, signaling she might want to take a look behind her.

Matthew was there, leaning on a distant pillar, making his presence known.

Another puff of smoke. "Looks like you've got some competition after all, Tommy." After a kiss on her cheek Beaumont murmured, "Don't answer the door should anyone come knocking tonight."

Charlie understood perfectly and nodded.

The Radcliffe contingent left, Charlie waving a final goodbye. Feeling a growing sense that the world might not be so bad, Charlie turned around and saw Matthew still waiting... for her. There he was, straightening from where he leaned, looking grand in that new suit. It all seemed so unreal, so dreamlike, that when a raven-haired beauty slunk up, linking her arm through Matthew's, Charlie almost tripped as if jolted awake.

Alice... that pretty face was unforgettable.

"There you are." A smile of familiarity, of fondness, came from the woman petting Matthew softly. "Ready to get that cup of coffee?"

Of course Matthew had come to see his sweetheart. Charlie felt utterly duped. She'd been deluding herself entertaining for even a moment that a man like him would want her.

Working hard to keep the congenial smile pasted on her face, Charlie nodded her understanding and turned a bit too fast toward the elevators.

She made it ten quick steps before a hand came from behind, gripping her elbow.

Eyes forward, Charlie sighed, "Really, Matthew, it's okay. Take your sweetheart out for coffee. I can see myself upstairs."

"Alice ain't my sweetheart," he growled, tugging her arm so she'd hold still for a damn second. "I didn't even know she worked here."

Unwilling to humiliate herself further, Charlie began to seek out an escape, her eyes everywhere but on the slack jawed woman who'd chased after them.

"Miss Elliot."

"Jesus H. Christ, what now?" Charlie muttered under her breath.

An approaching stranger outstretched his hand. "You should have informed us you were family to our illustrious Mr. Radcliffe."

Not having a clue who was speaking to her, Charlie faced him squarely, leaving Matthew the odd man out. "And you would be?"

"George Parks, night manager, at your service, Miss Elliot." Reaching out, he earnestly shook Charlie's unoffered hand. "Had we known you'd be joining us, champagne and light refreshment would have been waiting in your room. I corrected the oversight. Here at the Drake, we always take special care of our favored guests."

Yeah. Special, bribing care so that no bad word might get back to a man who, when offended, would probably kill you.

Pulling her fingers from the overeager man's grip, Charlie resisted the urge to wipe off her hand. "That's very kind of you."

Enough was enough. Matthew put a hand on the greasy manager's chest, pushing the fop back. Things needed to be sorted between him and the golden girl. The second it looked like she might get difficult, Matthew marshaled Charlotte away, leaving a stunned Alice and an insulted Mr. Parks behind.

For the entire elevator ride, the flat of his palm remained on her back, warm and persistent. When the doors opened, he led her down the hall, Charlotte awkwardly fumbling for the key in her clutch.

She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. "Thank you for the escort. I hope you have fun with Alice."

When she jammed the key into her door's lock, a large hand covered hers. "Alice ain't my woman, Charlotte. I didn't even know she was here."

She felt all jumbled, strangely panicked - sad, eager - like she might cry. "Then wh-"

Matthew pressed right up against her, trapping her between the door and his body. He took her jaw; he made her look, made her listen. "I didn't come all this way for Alice."

He kissed her, hard.

The searing press of his mouth seemed far more inflaming than, what by comparison, seemed a chaste kiss in the woods. Matthew devoured her, firm lips perfect, tongue dipping into her mouth in a way that drew a shameless mewl from her throat. He was pressed so close, his hands anything but timid - the curve of her hips palmed, the dip in her waist stroked, his arm burrowing between her and the door so he might grip the fleshy swell of her rear.

The man groaned against her mouth so beautifully she just about lost her footing.

Matthew turned the knob, pressing her back into the room where he could have the golden girl all to himself. Door kicked shut, fumbling behind him the lock engaged, and Matthew's attention went right back to those pretty swollen lips.

Far too mixed up in the soft abrasion of his tongue teasing hers, Charlie didn't demure when the straps of her dress were pulled down, the silken fabric slipping low. The tips of her breasts scraped over fine wool before a rough palm gripped the suddenly aching flesh.

A swell of noise caught in her throat. The things he was doing... kneading her, his thumb and forefinger seeking out and tweaking a nipple ripe for attention, it was all she could do not to outright beg him for more.

Matthew left her mouth, Charlie panting into the air as his teeth and lips moved down her jaw, marking the column of her throat. He bowed, pushing up her breast for his lips.

The pleasure of feeling that pert flesh sucked into a warm mouth - Charlie arched into it, greedy for more, certain the entire floor could hear the cry she'd made. It was... it was absolutely thrilling: the rapid flicks of his tongue, the teeth, the sounds of slurping when he left one breast to suckle the other.

Somehow gravity disappeared and her back bounced on the mattress, the huge male already crawling over her body. His coat was off then he was tugging roughly at her gown, yanking, pulling, doing anything to reveal more creamy skin. Satin pooled and a hand began to search under the skirt, slipping right up the soft inside of her thighs.

Charlie looked almost pained, her lips parted, little gasps of breath sucked in each time he unsnapped an exposed garter. Enthralled by the effect his touch was having on the woman, his cock throbbed, blood pounding so hard it hurt. He needed to be inside her, to thrust as hard and fast as it was clear she needed. When her legs parted, his hand immediately cupped right over her heated sex.

"Please," Charlie's hips rolled, the action absolutely instinctive as she begged.

Her intoxicating pleading was ruined by the bang of several staccato knocks.

Tensing, Charlie found Matthew ridged, the man glaring at the door with an expression of outright temper.

"Room service," a chipper voice announced. "Champagne, compliments of the house."

Charlie looked across the room and found the aforementioned bottle of champagne already in place. Half-naked, with a snarling man on top of her, Charlie tried to manage a friendly voice. "No thank you. Tell the night manager, Mr. Wolfe, I am all set."

"Mr. Wolfe sent this up personal, ma'am," the muffled voice persisted. "If I take it back, he won't think I did my job,"

Only an idiot would plan a hit in a hotel and not at least try to learn the names of the key staff members. Rolling her eyes, Charlie let out a grumble, bitter when Matthew shifted away.

The bristling male began rolling up his shirtsleeves. The tick in his jaw, the blaze in those pale eyes, made it clear whoever was on the other side of that door was in for a world of hurt.

"Run along now," Charlie warned, the friendliness of her voice diminishing with the ruined mood. "It ain't seemly to pester a woman so late in the evening."

The very nature of the intruder's speech shifted to menace. "Open the door."

Matthew did just that.

By the time Charlie pulled up her dress, grabbed her rifle, and scrambled after him, her would-be assailant was already bleeding on the ground.

"Well I'll be damned, Matthew," Charlie looked over the goon's shattered nose. "That was one hell of a swing."

"You come here to harm this woman?" Matthew seemed to grow, standing between her and the thug, waves of provocation pouring off the man so violently the goon tried to crawl away.

"That he did," Charlie supplied the answer. "Mr. Whittaker here works for Bugs Moran." The barrel of her rifle pointed right at his skull. "Don't you?"

"I wasn't told to kill her, just..."

"Show me a good time?" Charlie spoke low, the grainy rasp furious. Barrel to his brain, the weight of her foot settled between the man's legs, slowly crushing his balls. "Send a little message to Radcliffe?"

Caught between a squeal and gag, Whittaker tried to deny it, to say anything to get her to stop pulverizing his jock.

A long, angry growl echoed straight from Matthew's chest. "Charlotte, step back into the room."

"I can't do that, Matthew. As much as I would personally like to assure this piece of shit has to sit to piss for the rest of his short life, we have to hand him over to Radcliffe. This isn't Monroe. The rules are different here, and I won't see you get caught up in Chicago's filth."

Without waiting for a reply, the butt of her rifle cracked against the pleading goon's forehead hard enough he wouldn't be waking any time soon.

The elevator dinged.

"You alright, Lottie?"

Glaring as Tommy and one of Beaumont's burly underlings strolled into the hall, Charlie snapped, "Of course I'm alright.

Scowling something fierce, Matthew took her arm, putting himself between her and the pretty boy gangster. "You knew this man was coming tonight, that Charlotte would be in danger."

It was not a question.

Coolly, Tommy motioned for his underling to lift the body. "Beaumont told her not to open her door."

Matthew took a step nearer, one big finger poking Tommy right in the chest. "Now I don't know how you men do things in Chicago. But endangering a woman where I come from is only done by raw cowards." His beefy finger pushed harder, forcing Tommy to take a small step back. "And here you are sauntering up like a goddamn hero bout five minutes too late. She could have been hurt. That man there," Matthew gestured to the crumpled body hanging from the burly goon's shoulder, "had plans for her."

"If he'd made it inside, she would have shot him." The flashy gangster smirked, even gave Charlie a wink. "Blackbird never misses."

"Ohhh?" Matthew mocked, his voice smooth as he tore down the man, "And you'd just let her do your dirty work for you, huh?" Taking Charlotte by the elbow, he ushered her through the door of her room, glaring at the gangster while he ordered, "Get that son of a bitch out of here. And tell Beaumont Radcliffe, Matthew Emerson sends his regards." Matthew slammed the door behind him, locking it.

Charlotte stood at the center of the room, her rifle hanging from one hand, staring at him dumbly.

No man had ever stood up for her, made her sound like something to be protected. Part of her was pleased, feeling cared for. Part of her was furious he thought she needed his help. Tommy was right; she could have handled Whitaker alone, no problem. But Matthew was also correct.

She should never have had to.

Stepping toward her, looking ten kinds of pissed off, Matthew took the rifle from her slack fingers and set it aside.

"You ever been hit so hard the world spins and for a few moments you have no idea what the hell is going on?" Charlie asked. "That's how I feel right now."

His voice was angry. "Beaumont's men shouldn't have put you in that position."

"I used to be one of Beaumont's men, Matthew. They don't look at me the way you do." Once she said it her color rose, implying he might look at her... in a special way. Stammering she added, "I mean..."

"Hush now." He moved to stand before her, looking down at her flush. "I'm gonna stay with you tonight. I'll sleep in the chair and keep an eye out."

Her mind clicked back. "Matthew Emerson, I don't even know where to begin... Where did you find lodgings?"

"Fleet street, Wayside Inn."

"You lookin to get your throat cut?" Charlie smiled and shook her head. "Matthew, that place is in the middle of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. You better stay here for both our sakes. I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt on some foolhardy mission to look after me."

"You need lookin after," he argued, sitting down in the chair.

"Not as much as you do." Her voice and eyes grew soft to see him pick up her rifle and set it on his knee. "Looks like someone needs to take care of you for once."

He leveled her with such a look Charlie wondered if the only thing keeping him from throwing her back on the bed was the off chance there might be another dangerous knock on the door. Almost tempted to just grab him herself, she ran her fingers once through his short cropped hair, leaning down to press a grateful kiss to his beautiful mouth.

He swallowed when she pulled back. "You best not be doing that, Charlotte."

"Why?" it was whispered, her sweet breath running across his lips.

Shifting his weight, feeling his pecker once again straining to be free of his britches, Matthew steeled himself. "Dressed like that, smellin like you do... You're making it difficult."

"Was that a complement, Matthew?" It was shyly asked, pink already creeping into her cheeks.

He swallowed thickly and just said it. "You look more beautiful tonight than any woman has a right to."

Charlie could not bring herself to meet his eyes, found her fingers fiddling with his crooked tie. "Now that was a compliment if I ever did hear one."

There was nothing more to say, Charlie tongue-tied by a strange fluttering elation. Unsure what to do with herself, she skirted toward the tray of refreshments the ass-kissing night manager had left waiting.

Innocently, she offered, "You want something sweet?"

More than he could possibly say.

********

A/N: It's been a wild couple of weeks - okay months - with a whole lot of exciting things coming. Seeing the build up in interest for A Trick of the Light has just been wonderful in so many ways. The support is appreciated. THANK YOU!



A Trick of the Light Ch. 08



Where Charlie had taken the night's excitement in stride, Matthew had only begun to seethe. Radcliffe was trouble. Here she was, trying to start a life outside the nightmare that ate up her childhood, and that gangster was gonna ruin what she had going. As far as Matthew was concerned, the two shouldn't mix.

He'd brooded on it while she was in the bathroom preparing for bed. When she'd emerged in her dressing robe, she hadn't been timid – as if set on distracting him from his brooding.

Playful, Charlie bouncing on the edge of the mattress, gobbling up tiny slice of cheesecake from the tray. "Have you ever had this? Really, Matthew, you gotta try it."

She'd waved the dessert before his face until he gave in and took a bite. Watching her lick her fingers clean, so caught up in that little pink tongue, he'd hardly tasted anything at all. She'd even tried to coax him to share the bed, but there was no way on earth he could stand after her show. If he'd climbed in that bed, no matter his good intentions, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands or his cock to himself.

So long as there might be danger, distance was best.

Charlie fell asleep quickly. Matthew had not allowed himself the same reprieve. After taking off his tie and loosening his shirt, he'd sat back and looked his fill at the woman he wanted. She slept like a log, hair messy against the pillow, taking up the full space of the bed with her sprawling. His anger faded to staunchness and the night was spent debating how best he could show her the sense of things.

At daybreak movement came from the covers. The second Charlie sat up to stretch, Matthew grumbled, "What did Radcliffe say last night?"

Yawning, bleery-eyed and sleepy, Charlie asked, "What?" 

After a sleepless night and too many hours of worry, Matthew's patience was worn thin. "Beaumont Radcliffe... what does he want from you?"

A portion of her silk covered bosom peeked from her robe, Charlie leaning back on her hands to think it over. "We came to an understanding that I'm out of the game." Mulling it over, she thought of Beau, she thought of Martha, and added, "I think he... I don't know, wants me to settle near 'the family'."

Fuse spent, Matthew snapped, "You ain't marryin no gangster to forge some alliance for him."

Charlie pursed her lips, nodding at her thoughts. "I hadn't considered that, but I wouldn't put it past him to try."

It would make sense why Tommy had been at their table, why Martha had seemed hell bent on painting the pair of them in a flattering light. It was in Beau's character to use everything around him to his best advantage. He got to keep her close. It set Tommy as successor, throwing a bone to what might otherwise become one power hungry pooch tired of waiting for the old man to die naturally. And, it made the gang look strong. Moreover, fantastical weddings delighted the press and offered plenty of opportunities for business to flourish under the guise of legitimate transactions.

It was a win-win for everyone. Everyone but her.

She may have been fool enough to have a carried a torch for the boy at thirteen, but now she wasn't quite so stupid.

Tommy would have to find another way to assure his position in the gang. And Beau would be wise to own up to why he would have even suggested such a thing in the first place, and it wasn't affection for his underling. He knew Tommy could be trouble.

Charlie's silence had gone on to the point the room grew tense. It was too early in the morning for such ludicrous ideas. Unwilling to spend another moment of thought on Tommy Kennedy, Charlie got out of bed, wandered to the bathroom, and locked the door. 

By the time she emerged, clean and hungry, Matthew was curled up under the covers, snoring softly.

He'd done so much for her, come all the way to Chicago to be with her... It was high time she did something sweet for him. Leaving him sleeping, Charlie snuck from the room.

The flea infested Wayside Inn was easy to find, stealing Matthew's stuff, easier. It took less than an hour for her to waltz back inside the Drake, to hang up his coat, and to plop down in the abandoned chair.

While Matthew snored, Charlie chuckled over the gory front page news. Whittaker's corpse had been found on Buggies flagging turf, propped up in full public view - sans balls.

The more she read, the funnier it got.

Unfortunately, laughter woke Matthew. "What's funny?"

Charlie folded the newspaper, slinking from the chair to lie atop the covers so she might admire the fresh stubble on Matthew's cheek. "Retribution and body parts. Beau gets a little vulgar when he's in a real mood."

A large hand fell from groggy eyes, Matthew fractionally raising his brow. Seeing her smile, he turned, wrapped an arm about her waist, and tugged her closer.

"You know, Matthew," Charlie cooed more than happy to press against him. "You could have slept beside me all night. It wouldn't have bothered me a jot."

He grumbled against her hair. "If I'd climbed into bed with you last night, we wouldn't have been sleepin."

Unsure if he understood the effect such talk had on her, Charlie blushed scarlet. "And to think, all this time, I thought you didn't like me."

"I like you just fine." Voice turning molten, eyes hungry, Matthew said, "That's the problem."

Charlie's face fell. "Why's it a problem?"

Running a warm stroke down her back, he assured, "Cause I can't keep my hands to myself."

Her bashful grin sputtered back to life. Fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt, Charlie found Matthew's regard for her virtue endearing, though ridiculous. "I never thought I'd like a man's hands on me, but I like yours just fine." Charlie edged closer, purring, "Are you hungry?"

Yes he was. He was very, very hungry.

Low and husky, she added, "Maybe we should eat."

Before he could pounce, she cooled him right down. "There's a great café a few blocks down. Or, if you want something a bit swankier, we can take brunch downstairs. I brought your suitcase over from the Wayside and hung up a fresh shirt-"

Matthew stiffened, the scowl back with full force. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Excuse me?" Her voice darkened. "You want to repeat that?"

Rolling atop her, he trapped Charlie before she might scamper off, glaring something fierce. "Last night a man was sent to rape you, and you go wanderin around Chicago alone? So I ask you, have lost your fool mind?"

Shoving at the man, she growled. "No, jackass, I haven't lost my mind. Whittaker is dead, his mangled corpse front page news and Bugs made to look a fool. Besides, you don't know Chicago like I do. I understand this place and I am telling you, it is safer for me to move through the streets, dressed as a woman, than it is for a brawny out-of-towner like you – face cutting reputation or no."

He caught her hands, pinning them beside her head, and made darn sure she was paying attention. "Knock that off and listen good. No matter the things you know, this ain't no place for you."

She'd heard the disgust in his voice and didn't much like the way he was looking at her. "Things I know? What I know kept me and my mamma alive. I'd rather know those things, have done those things, than be dead."

Matthew forced himself calm, watching her bravado fade with each passing second he held her gaze. When all her pretense crumbled, he said what had to be said. "Charlotte, that life has done enough to you. You deserve better."

"You say one thing, then you say another!" Charlie squirmed, wanting him off her, wanting to stand as she shouted so they would be on equal ground. She could not budge him, growing frustrated, embarrassed, and dangerously angry. "I can't hardly tell if I'm coming or going with you. Half the time, you make me feel like I'll never get it right. Then you come here... you confuse me, and kiss me. Make up your damn mind!"

There was no right thing he could say, so the answer was simple. Matthew cupped her jaw, turning her red face to his, and kissed her pouty mouth.

Scared she misunderstood, she entreated, "You have to say it."

He hated and adored that look in her eye - knowing he'd hurt her feelings but loving that she looked at him with open longing. "You're a fine woman, Charlotte."

"Even though I can't cook, or sew, or garden? Even though I have killed men? Lots of men..." There was more, Charlie spitting out her every flaw just so they were clear. "I swear, like to hunt, swim naked around Monroe. I can't paint my fingernails for my life... and have a temper."

Something about her tirade was just so damn cute, before he could stop himself Matthew cracked a smirk.

"Holy shit..." Eyes big as plates, Charlie, never believing in a million year she'd see the bastard smile, shut the hell up, and couldn't help but smile back.

#

Pulling at Matthew's arm, Charlie promised the world's best tour of Chicago. He followed where she led. And boy did she know how to tempt him. She popped his first taste of caramel corn between his lips, dragged him to a hotdog street vendor, all the while grinning like a fool. For an entire day, Charlie showed off her favorite places and some of the city's most notorious - full of secrets only someone on the inside, someone who'd been there, might know. She whispered who'd really shot who, where, and why. Charlie knew it all.

Matthew maintained his customary silence, but listened intently. The only time he truly frowned was when they stood side by side and Charlie showed him the bridge she'd lived under when still very young. There had been such pride in her voice when she pointed, as if the mud spattered, rotting shanty had been the finest mansion.

When he'd lost his folks, it had been bad... they had starved, scrounged... but it had never been that bad. Not when they had their daddy's old still to get them started; not when they had neighbors who'd spared what they could.

Charlie had had nothing but an infirm mother she'd only ever mentioned once, a mother she never brought up while they walked through her childhood stomping grounds.

It was there, at that bridge, he took her hand and entwined their fingers. The pretty grin on her face, it was perfect.

They took the late train home, Charlie napping against his shoulder, Matthew able to rest his cheek on her hair. By the time they got to Monroe County it was dark. It was cold. And as much as he wanted to keep her, Matthew was not going to see her shivering on the vacant Gap Mills platform just so he could have her to himself a little longer. He urged her to her car and followed to the boardinghouse, grateful for the wave she threw before the door closed.

He saw her again the next afternoon, Charlie right on time for her Saturday lunch at Devil's Hollow.

Nathaniel slumped in his usual spot, sloppy as he ever was, sat up straight the second Charlie pulled open the screen.

Setting his broom aside, Eli rushed forward to help her with her coat. "Well, Miss Charlie, how was Chicago?"

Charlie took her usual seat, her eyes meeting Matthew's in the mirror. "Just fine."

Nathaniel picked up on their little exchange, cooing, "Did you go dancing in that fancy dress?"

"I did," Charlie answered, turning toward the troublemaker. "Tommy even let me stand on his feet so he could do all the work."

An irritated growl came from the man plating food.

Nathaniel darted a look at his agitated little brother and frowned. "What else you do?"

"Never you mind what I did in Chicago." Charlie have Nathaniel a poke. "Just know I had a wonderful time."

Eli straddled the seat beside her. "You going back soon?"

Charlie nodded. "Around Christmas..."

"That's next month," Matthew grumbled, plopped her laden plate down. "You have no business going back to Chicago so soon."

Unsure why he was cross, Carlie made it clear she'd do as she damn well pleased. "If you think I am spending Christmas at the boardinghouse with Mrs. Fontanne, you are dead wrong."

Nathaniel was getting too much of a kick out of Matthew's open frustration show.

"Nathaniel, stop grinning like a jackass. Eli, get on the grill. And Charlotte," He slammed a second plate down and moved around the bar to sit at her side, "you will spend Christmas here with us. Not with Martha. Now, eat your damn lunch."

Unsure why he'd worked up such lather, Charlie picked up her fried chicken and did as she was told. The first crispy bite was so damn good she closed her eyes and sighed, "I would take your cooking over lobster salad at the Drake any day, Matthew."

He hunched a little less, nodding once to confirm he'd heard her. Working his jaw, offered his own amends, "I like it."

"You like what?"

He gestured at the ceiling, saying in his way, he liked what she'd done to his bedroom.

Flattered, Charlie smiled. "I told you it was nice waking up with something beautiful to look at."

Once she'd spoken, Nathaniel starting laughing so hard he just about fell out of his chair. Unsure at first what was so funny, Charlie turned a vibrant shade of red. "Nathaniel, you stop laughing or I will slap that grin right off your face."

He straightened and brushed the hair from his bloodshot eyes, faking behaving before adding, "Fancy wallpaper is nice, but I think the man would prefer waking up next to something beautiful he can look at." And the guffaws started all over again.

Even Eli began to snicker. Tears in his eyes, the boy looked up to the mirror just in time to see Charlie sock Nathaniel square in the shoulder.

Surprised she'd followed through on the threat, Nathaniel watched her march out the door, shouting after her, "I was just playing, Charlie! Come back. Don't be mad."

"I'll give you playin," Matthew growled, already standing and mighty angry Nathaniel had scared her off. "You know she's shy. You have any idea how hard it was to get her to put down her hackles and hear me out? She wasn't even here an hour!"

Nathaniel wasn't sure what shocked him more, Matthew's sudden verbosity or the fact he'd called Charlie shy. Then it struck him... Matthew wasn't saying she was shy, not really. He was saying she was unsure of herself. And she was. "I'll go down to the boardinghouse and take her something nice. I'll put on a clean shirt and everything."

Matthew grew red-faced. "You want the whole town to think you're courtin her?"

"Jesus, Matthew. I ain't got designs on your woman." Nathaniel reached for a fresh jar, twisting of the cap and setting his lips right to it. "And it ain't my fault you just sit there quiet, making eyes at her when you should be telling her she looked pretty in her dress or asking her to go for a drive."

Matthew was gonna do just that when the moment was right - and then the lumbering jackass had to chase her off before he got the chance.

Followed in Charlie's footsteps, Matthew stalked out of the grill in a temper, leaving his kin to manage on their own. He drove the five mile distance to Gap Mills to see her, to say the things he should have said the second she showed up at the grill - to kiss her in plain sight if he had to and toss her in the truck so he might take her somewhere where they could sit and look at things. But she was already gone.

With a ticking jaw, Matthew listened to Mrs. Fontanne claim Charlie had not returned to the boarding house since leaving that morning.

She was nowhere to be found.

Or at least she wasn't until the following evening when Charlie stumbled through the door around supper.

Startled, Matthew stood up from the table he'd commandeered for work, blinking at her and the looming Nathaniel behind her.

"Look what I found." Nathaniel shoved her forward. "Miss Charlie out for a walk in the woods."

Her dress was mussed, her hair looking as if she'd repeatedly run her hand through it - she even had a smear of dirt on her cheek. From the way she glanced about, it was obvious she was self-conscious, and Matthew could not even begin to wonder what on earth Nathaniel was thinking.

"I wasn't walking in the woods!" Charlie's voice grew shrill. "I was ambushed by your fool brother."

"In the woods," Nathaniel added with a grin, patting her shoulder.

Glaring behind her, Charlie hissed, "For Christ's sake, Nathaniel. I was sleeping... I almost shot you, you drunk jackass!" Swinging her head back to Matthew she pointed as if all this was his doing, "He threw me over his shoulder and dragged me here!"

At least Nathaniel was thorough.

"You should be thanking me." The tallest Emerson shrugged. "Ain't your ankle still sore?"

"THERE AIN'T NOTHING WRONG WITH MY—"

Matthew came forward, frowning at the manhandling. "Nathaniel, get your paws off of her... You're getting dirt all over her dress."

"It's fine," Nathaniel beamed, obviously having thought through his terrible plan. "She can change into the one she left drying here week before last."

The woman looked just about ready to tear her hair out. Matthew stepped between them, leading her away from the no-good troublemaker and guiding her toward the washroom. "Stupid as he is, he's right. Do you want me to fetch your dress?"

"He can't sneak up on me like that, Matthew. I might have killed him! As it is, my knuckles are going to be swollen for a week."

The scowl grew, Matthew's attention going to her dirty hands. Across her knuckles, the faint beginnings of inflamed purple bloomed.

"First ice, then supper." Matthew took her hand, gently testing the bruises. "You eaten today?"

Having the man hold her hand where roadhouse patrons and his kin could see, was more than Charlie could process. She squeaked, "Not really."

"Wash up. I'll get your dress."

Taking a lesson from his brother, Matthew ignored her protests and pushed her gently into the washroom, closing the door in her face.

Once he could hear her muttered curses and the sound of the tap, Matthew turned toward a proudly grinning Nathaniel and thinned his lips.

Matthew booted out the patrons, and a few minutes later Charlie immerged. Dressed in the clean cotton Matthew had laundered, hair somewhat tamed, She looked less bothered, but she had no powder, no rouge, no comb... and there was only so much soap and water could fix. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Charlie came to take her seat, all the while sucking her unpretty lower lip in her mouth so the scar would not be seen.

Once she took a seat, Nathaniel, making peace, slid a jar of applejack her way. Charlie was not biting, and threw him a look of rage, all the while growling like an angry dog.

Matthew was ready for her temper, distracting Charlie by reaching up to pull the lip she was trying to hide right out of her mouth. After setting a bag of ice on the stupefied girl's knuckles, he traced over the diagonal scar with the pad of his thumb.

Charlie blushed right up to her roots.

He fed her, took her empty plate, then told Eli to do the washing so Matthew might lead Charlie out to the porch. They sat down side by side, the final traces of sunset coloring the woods, Matthew breaking the silence, "I called on the boarding house after you left."

Charlie looked askance. "I took a long drive..."

"No more of those, Charlotte. No more long drives." Matthew offered a jar, his fingers lingering on hers when she took it. "Unless you'd like to—"

The door banged and Eli trotted out, already yapping and lighting a cigarette. Nathaniel lumbered right behind him, as if he were trying to catch the boy and drag him back.

Oblivious as always, Eli plopped down on the top step, smiling as he inhaled a chest full of smoke. Stealing Nathaniel's favorite line he asked, "So, Miss Charlie, what did you sit and look at this week?"

Jumping as if she'd been caught doing something bad, Charlie stammered, "I saw this real pretty abandoned house. I'm tempted to see if it's for sale."

Leaned against a post, Nathaniel teased, "Thinking about settling down?"




A Trick of the Light Ch. 08



"I never lived in a real house. I'd be lying if I said the idea wasn't growing on me." Turning pensive, she confessed, "Besides, I'm at my breaking point with Mrs. Fontanne. For the sake of general peace, I need to get out of there."

Eli frowned around his cigarette. "She still givin you a hard time?"

Charlie raised her hand to god, thoroughly impish. "I have a feeling Mrs. Fontanne thinks I'm Satan himself, here to corrupt the minds of the locals."

"You corrupted mine," Nathaniel said, scratching his scruffy, bruised jaw.

Her eyes danced as Charlie simpered. "You were plenty corrupted before I found you, Nathaniel Emerson."

Matthew wanted her attention, reaching for the jar they shared. "Which house you thinkin of buyin?"

He rocked in his chair listening to her describe the little white house and the lake it sat by, once again amazed with how beautiful she could make their backwater county sound.

Charlie finished with a grin, "And it has a big porch like Eli suggested."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "That decrepit ruin is the old Mayweather Mansion... It ain't little and it ain't livable. Better put a match to it and start over."

Charlie poked him with her toe. "Don't you be making fun of my mansion, Nathaniel. Just wait until it's finished and has some fancy name like Elliot's Lodge."

"More like, Emerson Estate," Nathaniel snorted.

"I intended to be a respectable woman... eventually." Charlie leaned toward the menace, met his eye, and taunted, "Why the hell would I name my house after you troublemakers?"

Nathaniel, cocky as could be, nodded his head toward Matthew. "Who do you think owns that pretty little house and all that land you are so eager to buy?"

"The plot thickens." Playful, Charlie took the jar from Matthew's fingers, took a swallow, humming as a fire burned her belly. "I don't know if I want to go into business with bootleggers. Unless, of course, you feel like selling it to me, Mr. Emerson."

Laying just a piece down the road, the Mayweather mansion was in walking distance and sitting pretty, just like she said. But Nathaniel was right; the house needed at least six months of labor, if not more.

But... he could fix it up with all the fancy paper she might like. He could make it real nice for her.

Getting ahead of himself, caught staring off into space instead of answering her, Matthew chugged a few deep gulps from their jar.

"Slow down," Charlie warned, never having seen him swallow liquor so carelessly. "Don't worry. I'm not going to try to buy a house you obviously don't want to sell."

Matthew grumbled something unintelligible, Nathaniel's shoulders shaking in silent laughter behind her.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. "There's no need to stay at the boarding house. Eli's old room is upstairs."

A part of Charlie badly wanted to accept - to be right there near him every day and night. A much bigger part was downright scared it would be a very bad idea.

"Matthew's right," Nathaniel interrupted before she might say no. "You should stay here. It's a far cry better than the boarding house. And just think how fat you'll get from all of Matthew's cookin and all the trouble we can get into when no one's lookin."

"I had enough of your brand of trouble this afternoon," Charlie warned, looking pointedly at his bruised jaw.

The man tugged her skirt. "Come on, Charlie."

She didn't say a word in response to Nathaniel's nonsense. Instead, she looked at the view and mulled it over. Amongst her misgivings, one stood out strongest. "You certain you want me around when you're conducting business?"

"Hell," Eli chimed in. "You can just do what Alice did and wait upstairs."

Alice had lived there?

Before Matthew could pounce on him, Nathaniel smacked the back of Eli's dense head.

'Oww!" The boy jumped from the stoop, rubbing his skull. "What the hell was that for?"

"For opening your goddamn mouth."

Awkward silence fell, not one of the men knowing just what to say to fix the look on Charlie's face.

She felt as if she'd been kicked in the gut. "Eli, I'm not Alice."

"No," Matthew agreed, taking her fist and uncurling her fingers. "You're our Charlotte."

#

Charlie had not accepted or declined Matthew's offer, and it had been eatin at him. Trying to track her down and explain, to make her see sense, Matthew had only grown more frustrated. Each time he'd gone to town hoping to catch a glimpse of her, her old jalopy had been gone - Charlie off on another one of her adventures god only knew where.

When he finally did clamp eyes on the elusive woman, Matthew wasn't sure if he was relieved to see her, or infuriated to find her drinking at one of the less savory Monroe watering holes he supplied.

The crowd was rowdy - the crowd was always rowdy at Rutabagas. Trying to hand payment to an unresponsive supplier, the speakeasy's proprietor saw what had caught Matthew's attention and gestured to the woman sitting by herself at the bar. "That there is Miss Elliot. She don't like to be bothered."

Matthew looked back to his longtime business associate, scowling deeply. "She been in here before?"

"Comes in once or twice a week for supper." The old man pressed money into Matthew's hands. "Keeps to herself and ain't exactly sociable with the gentry. Pays extra for Tiny there to make sure she's left alone."

A dark-skinned giant stood at the wall, near enough Charlie that each time a patron got too close, he was quickly turned away.

Matthew didn't like it one bit. Working his jaw, he pushed past, determined to go where he damn-well pleased.

The burly bouncer came forward. "The lady don't like to be bothered, Mr. Emerson."

The one who was bothered was Matthew. "Tony, back the fuck up."

Of course they knew one another. "Matthew... she pays me two dollars a week. You really gonna make me earn it?"

"A hospital bill is gonna cost you a lot more." Matthew didn't have time for nonsense. Brushing the man aside, he went to Charlotte, the woman watching him with a cocked brow and a smirk.

"Evening, Matthew."

He nodded, taking off his hat and setting it on the bar beside her. "What are you doin here?"

It was obvious he didn't approve. Sighing, she set her chin in her palm and pointedly glanced down at her half eaten dinner.

Matthew didn't like a damn thing about her sitting there in her pretty green sweater and tight skirt, didn't like the men looking her way, or that she was in a situation where she felt it was necessary to pay a bouncer to watch her back. The only thing about it he did like was the way she seemed to shiver when he reached up and pulled a small, dried leaf from her hair. "Charlotte..."

"I missed dinner at the boarding house."

Matthew knew better. "Charlotte..."

Nathaniel charged forward, his arms full of crates. "Hot damn, it's Charlie!"

Charlie smiled at the other brother. "Evening, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel abandoned his burden on the bar. With a cockeyed smirk, he snatched a fried potato off her plate and teased, "Rutabagas can get a little wild. Don't really know if this is the best place for you. Or are you lookin to deck some more drunks?"

"Why, you looking to get decked?" she quipped, showing her still bruised knuckles for effect. "Besides, I've been in every kind of bar from east coast to west. This place ain't so bad." Charlie lifted her glass in salute, red lips curved. "And they serve Emerson's finest."

Matthew set coins on the counter to cover her tab, an outright challenge in his eye when she quirked a brow. "Come on, Charlotte. We'll see you home."

She didn't put up a fuss like he expected, saving Matthew the trouble of carrying her out over his shoulder. Her compliance didn't stop him from resting his hand on her lower back, a very public act of possession in front of the farmers and local men who favored the raucous establishment. The attention didn't stop outside, Matthew put her in her car's passenger seat and took the wheel, leaving Nathaniel and Eli to follow in the truck. When they pulled up to the boarding house, he got out of Charlie's old car and walked her to the door, following her inside.

The hour was late, and thankfully, Mrs. Fontanne had gone to bed; otherwise Charlie was certain there would have been no end of problems if she'd seen a man with her.

"Matthew," she whispered, cautious eyes scouting the foyer. "You're gonna get me in trouble."

"There won't be no trouble, cause you're movin into the roadhouse. Ain't no need for you to pussyfoot around here and spend your nights eatin at rowdy honkey-tonks just to avoid breakin bread with that woman."

"What if you don't like having me there?" she urged. "I'm awfully independent and I won't be changing my comings and goings. And I ain't hiding upstairs..."

There was no longer going to be a question. He knew exactly how to get a response. Work roughened fingers threaded into the waves at her nape. Matthew leaned down, skimming his lips over her ear, ordering, "You're coming to live with me, Charlotte. Pack up and get ready to go."

Her voice held no confidence. "You sure?"

"Weather's turning bad... snow's comin." There was uncustomary playfulness in Matthew's tone. "I gotta think of Mrs. Fontanne's welfare. Don't want to trap her indoors with a spitfire like you."

When Charlie giggled, Matthew took her mouth slow, deep, and greedy promise. By the time he let her go, she was nothing but a dumbstruck puddle.

An hour later, Charlie was fast asleep in his bed, Matthew lying alone just outside on an old cot. He knew that he'd been a bit underhanded, not having mentioned that Eli had slept in the hall when he pressed her to use his room, but he didn't care. The golden girl was right where he wanted her, and by god, he was going to keep her there.