Page 13 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

Her husband—Silas, she’d called him—was eyeing the crowd like a hawk scanning for prey. Had he learned about his wife’s encounter with Joseph earlier in the day? Was he here for a showdown?

Joseph pretended to ignore the pair. He was here to impress a choice lady, not quarrel over an old flame. If Silas wanted trouble, he would have to find it somewhere else.

The music had ended. Couples were circulating on the dance floor. According to custom, Chase would be expected to return his partner to her escort. But Chase had never been one to play by the rules. He and Francine were still together on the dance floor.

Joseph knew better than to stride out among the dancers and demand her return. That would embarrass Francine and make him look like a fool. All he could do, with no other partner in sight, was stand on the sidelines and seethe.

The band had begun to play again—a slow waltz, the kind of tender, romantic music that urged couples to hold each other close. Chase and Francine were swaying together as if lost in a dream. Joseph stifled a groan. Then he saw Silas leading Annabeth onto the floor.

Stopping in a spot that gave Joseph a direct view, Silas took his wife in his arms. His feet barely moved to the music as he drew her hard against him, molding her body to his.

His hands roamed up and down over her curves, making a show of caressing her through the thin fabric of her dress and slip.

When he glanced at Joseph, his mocking look seemed to say, See, she’s my woman.

I can do anything I want with her—things you can only do in your dreams .

Some people cast startled glances at the pair.

Others were visibly trying not to look. Annabeth’s face was crimson, its expression rigid as she endured the humiliation—as punishing to her as it was to Joseph.

But there was worse to come. Silas kissed her, his hands sliding down to cup her buttocks through her dress. Only then did Annabeth snap.

“That’s enough, Silas!” she hissed, pushing away from him. “I’m going to the car. Take me home. Now.” She walked off the floor and out of the dance hall, into the moonlit parking lot.

The surprise that flashed across Silas’s face darkened to fury as he strode after her. With no time to weigh the consequences, Joseph followed.

He caught up to find Annabeth struggling with Silas next to a car. His big hand clasped her wrist. The other hand was raised to strike. “Make a fool of me, will you?” he muttered. “You’re my wife. I’ll teach you not to shame me in public.”

Annabeth was twisting and pulling to get away. But when the flat-handed blow struck her hard enough to send her head jerking sideways, the fight went out of her. She gasped. Her knees buckled. But Silas kept his grip on her. His free hand shot up to strike her again.

“That’s enough!” Joseph seized Silas’s upraised arm from behind, pulling him off-balance. Recovering, Silas shoved Annabeth aside and wheeled to face him. Hatred gleamed in his eyes as he swung.

Joseph dodged the first blow. But a second punch from the opposite fist struck his jaw hard enough to send him staggering backward.

Snorting like a bull, Silas waded in to finish him.

He was bigger than Joseph and clearly a brawler.

Joseph was faster, and he’d beaten bullies before, but the thought of Silas slapping Annabeth made him angry. And anger made him reckless.

Joseph’s fists rained punches against the big man’s work-hardened body.

Hitting him was like smashing his fists against a brick wall.

Silas’s blows were fewer, but they landed with bruising force.

People were coming outside from the dance.

Hands and arms pulled Joseph back. Others were doing the same to Silas.

Annabeth was on her feet, her face florid where Silas had slapped her. Shaking off restraining hands, Silas turned toward his wife. “Stay away from him, you hear?” he said. “If you have anything to do with the man, so help me, you’ll never see your children again.” He opened the car door. “Get in.”

As the Model T started up and drove away, Joseph became aware of the people surrounding him.

Francine stood next to Chase. Her unsympathetic gaze took in Joseph’s swelling eye, bruised jaw, and nose dripping blood onto his clothes.

She shook her head and turned to her companion. “Please take me home, Chase,” she said.

As the pair walked away in the direction of Chase’s car, a shadowed figure drifted along the fringes of the crowd.

Through a veil of black Spanish lace, Lola De Marco watched Francine slip a hand through the crook of Chase’s arm.

Her grotesquely scarred features twisted in a satisfied smile.

Perfect . So far, things were working out just as she’d planned.

Annabeth was quiet on the drive back to the farm.

With her face still burning from Silas’s slap, she stared down at her clasped hands.

Beneath the prison of her silence, she seethed.

Part of her wanted to rail at him, to demand why he’d chosen to humiliate her in public when she’d done nothing but accept help—the only help at hand—for her little girl.

The embarrassment had been far worse than the physical pain.

She’d never believed in the airing of dirty linen.

Tonight, hers had been hung out for all to see.

A man’s misbehavior could be easily excused and often was.

But a woman’s reputation, once stained, would never be clean again.

She burned to say those things, to shout them into the ears of her uncaring husband.

But she’d learned the hard way that speaking up would only get her a deluge of accusations, threats, and other punishments.

Better to freeze her emotions, keep her head down, and find joy in raising her children.

Annabeth was already counting the minutes until she could hold them and take them home.

It came as a blessed relief to see the lights of the farmhouse where Silas’s sister, Nancy, lived.

A decade older than Silas, she’d married young, raised four children, and lost her husband two years ago.

A tall, grim, solitary woman, she ran the small farm mostly by herself.

Nancy was no friend to Annabeth, but at least she could be trusted with the children.

Silas drove the auto through the gate and up to his sister’s house. “I’ll be going out again after we get home,” he said, speaking as if the fiasco at the dance had never happened. “Nothing to concern you. And don’t bother waiting up.”

“I understand,” she said.

The porch light had come on. He cast her a stern look. “This business between us isn’t over, Annabeth. But we’ll put it aside for now. I’ve got other things on my mind.” He opened the driver’s door and climbed out. “Stay here while I get the kids.”

Alone for the moment, Annabeth allowed herself to breathe deeply. She’d been through worse. She would deal with the pain and survive. But what about Joseph? What had he been thinking, rushing to her rescue with no thought for himself?

His interference had only made the situation worse. Tongues would be wagging all over town, how Joseph Dollarhide had flung himself between a man and his wife and gotten bloodied for it.

By rights, she should be angry with Joseph. But the thought that he would expose himself to danger and scandal to protect her stirred an ache so sweet that it brought tears to her eyes.

A few tears were all she could allow herself. Silas was her husband, promised in holy matrimony. He had threatened to take her children. If pressed hard enough, he would do it. He would do it because he could. There was only one way to remedy the situation.

She would never see Joseph again.

Two nights later

The O’Rourke Ranch, situated in the eastern foothills above the Calder spread, had never been much to look at.

Now, with no one left of the family but Culley, the wild-eyed son, the place had gone to ruin.

The cattle were scattered and gone, the outbuildings fallen in, the clapboard house barely holding together.

But none of that mattered anymore. The only thing of worth was inside the cave that burrowed back into the hillside behind a screen of scraggly box elder trees.

The moon was high when Silas Mosby parked the Model T behind a dilapidated shed, climbed out of the car, and trekked up the hill toward the trees.

The night was alive with sound. Insects chirred in clumps of untended scrub.

A rabbit, caught by a predator, squealed in the darkness.

The wind that rustled the leaves carried the sickly sweet aroma of fermenting mash downhill to Silas’s nostrils.

Under the lip of the hillside cave, lit by kerosene lamps, Culley O’Rourke and Buck Haskell were working an illegal still.

Fermented corn mash simmered over a fire in a five-gallon copper vessel called an alembic.

A series of tubes and containers collected the alcoholic vapor and distilled it into liquid.

With the addition of some glycerin, bitters, and other flavorings, it became moonshine—and really good moonshine was liquid gold.

Buck, a husky, good-looking cowboy who worked for the Calders, gave Silas a grin. “You’re just in time, partner,” he said. “We’ve got a new batch of white lightning, bottled, crated, and ready to go.”

“It damned well better be,” Silas said. “I’ve got a customer waiting for delivery. She’ll be mighty sore if she has to wait.”

“Are you talking about the new owner of Jake’s Place?” Buck shook his head. “I’ve never met the woman, but I hear she’s ugly enough to stop a runaway freight train.”

“She might’ve been a looker till she got her face carved up,” Silas said. “But who cares, as long as her cash is good?”

“Does she plan to bring any girls in?” Buck’s grin widened. “Those so-called nieces of Jake’s looked like they’d been rode hard and put away wet, but at least they were available.”