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, flexing 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.”
Setting coins on the counter to cover her tab, Matthew offered an outright challenge 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. But 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 there would have been no end of problems if she’d seen a man with her guest.
“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 honky-tonks just to avoid breakin’ bread with that woman.”
“What if you don’t like having me there?” Those sapphire eyes got so wide. “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. Matthew knew exactly how to get a response. Work roughened fingers threaded into the waves at her nape. He leaned down, skimming his lips over her ear. “You’re coming to live with me, Charlotte. Pack up and get ready to go.”
Her voice held no confidence. In fact, she sounded broken. “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.”
Charlie giggled and Matthew took her mouth slow, deep and greedy with 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 on the landing supine atop 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.
Chapter 16
Just as she’d said she would, Charlie flitted in and out of the grill—coming and going as she pleased. If Matthew had an issue with her independence, he’d not spoken a word, especially since she showed up for every supper smiling and happy to see him.
Her only complaint had been finding him sleeping on a cot poorly hidden behind a screen in the hall. With pure fire she’d demanding they trade places. Bodily shoving her back in his room, he’d shut the door.
After all, it was his house and he could sleep where he wanted.
Most evenings had shown some form of business: men stockpiling before the snows came to make moving moonshine difficult. Charlie had taken to their routine right away—watching the types the Emersons dealt with, gauging who was trouble while she rocked in a chair by the fire, her rifle hidden nearby.
Not ten nights in, Charlie sat thumbing through a magazine, Matthew negotiating with some rugged country boys. It didn’t take a genius to see things were going to get messy. Low voiced argument turned into rabid shouts when a full jar of shine smashed against Matthew’s skull.
Glass and liquor flying, all hell broke out.
Five on three—Matthew swinging a hook that could take a man’s head off. Nathaniel roaring beside him. Even Eli was doing pretty well. But not well enough.
Charlie left the comfort of her chair. It was effortless; raising the butt of her rifle, Charlie knocked the skulls of two brawlers. Once the score was even, she went right back to her reading, and let the men finish the fight.
Less than five minutes later, the Emersons stood victorious. The only casualty, one innocent jar of liquor.
After the fools were dragged out into the cold, Matthew stomped over to where Charlie sat. She licked her fingertip and turned the page, singsonging, “You’re welcome.”
The sound he made was extremely exasperated.
Disinterested in arguing, she left the men to clean up the mess, enjoying a soak in the tub upstairs.
Certain he would be in a mood, she left Matthew the hot water and by the look of his damp hair when he knocked later, he had followed her unspoken suggestion and calmed down considerably.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t still sulky.
A nasty bruise was forming where the jar had caught him upside the head.
Turning his chin, Charlie softly asked, “Are you all right?”