Page 14 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

“That’s none of my business,” Silas said. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”

Buck laughed. “Aren’t you the gloomy one tonight? What is it? Woman troubles?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Hell, Silas,” Buck teased. “If I was married to that pretty little gal of yours, I’d never stop smiling.”

“Then you don’t know the half of it. Shut your face, Buck, and get me my cargo. I’ve got a delivery to make.”

Culley O’Rourke came out of the back of the cave, lugging two crates of filled mason jars packed in straw.

Pale and scrawny, with black hair hanging over his eyes and down his back, he didn’t look strong enough to carry the heavy burden.

But he managed it with ease. This was the man who’d hanged a 1,200-pound horse by hoisting a rope over a rafter in Webb Calder’s barn.

His guilt had never been proven, but Silas knew the truth of it.

“There’s two more of these,” Culley said. “Buck can help you carry them down to the car.”

Silas waited while Culley brought out the other crates. The three men had been partners for more than a year. Culley and Buck had been boyhood friends. Silas was a neighbor they’d known and trusted.

Smuggling illegal liquor was rampant in this part of Montana.

People who knew the ropes were making good money.

One night, after a late-night card game on Culley’s ranch, the three had decided to get into the business.

They didn’t have the money or the connections to import smuggled Canadian liquor, but good homemade moonshine was selling for twenty dollars a gallon to folks who couldn’t buy the real thing.

Silas and Buck had put up the cash for the still. Culley’s contribution had been his land, a failed ranch that no one, including the law, had any reason to visit.

Moonshine whiskey was being brewed in homes, barns, and backwoods hideouts all over the country.

Every time federal agents seized a still, others would crop up to take its place.

Most of the liquor from these stills was barely drinkable.

The partners had agreed that theirs would have to be better than the competition’s.

Thanks to their quality copper equipment and ingredients, word soon got around that they made a good, reliable product. Soon they had as many orders as they could fill, most from homes and ranches but some from speakeasys as far away as Miles City.

Culley tended the still. Buck, who had a telephone in his cabin on the Calder Ranch, brought in supplies and contacted customers. Silas made deliveries and collected payment, which was divided among the three partners.

Silas had already amassed a nice nest egg, money that he’d hidden in the potato cellar on his farm. He was still deciding how he was going to spend it and whether his plans would include Annabeth and the children, who were mostly a burden. Either way, he didn’t intend to be a farmer forever.

The crates of bottled moonshine were heavy.

Silas hoisted two. Buck lifted the others and followed him through the trees and down the hill.

There, they stowed the crates in the hollowed-out space under the rear seat.

For larger deliveries, they used Culley’s old farm truck, piled with hay to camouflage the cargo.

But Silas’s Model T would do for tonight.

Buck prepared to mount the horse he’d ridden here. “Keep a sharp eye out,” he cautioned Silas. “I’ve heard the feds will be on the prowl. They’ve got orders to clean out small-time operations like ours.”

Silas spat in the dust. “I don’t know why they bother with us. This isn’t Chicago. We’re filling a need and not hurting anybody.”

“Maybe not. But every moonshiner and bootlegger those boys shut down gets them more gold stars from J. Edgar Hoover. So just be careful. That’s what I’m telling you.

And there’s more. I’ve heard a rumor that a gang from Chicago is moving into this part of Montana to corner the market, and they don’t play nice.

They’re genuine gangsters, not small-timers like us.

They’d steal your cargo and shoot you just to get you out of the way. ”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Silas cranked the starter, climbed into the driver’s seat, and headed for the back road to town. He’d been craving a newer vehicle, but the old Model T, no different from hundreds of others in the county, was less likely to be noticed, stopped, or remembered.

Truth be told, he enjoyed these late-night runs.

The element of danger made his blood race.

While it lasted, he could even make believe he was living a different life, free from the drudgery of the farm and the disappointment of his family—a son who was another man’s bastard, a useless girl who would grow up to be a useless woman, and a wife who was about as passionate as warm milk.

Annabeth was pretty enough, but pretty didn’t count for much in the dark. Even after he’d finished with her, Silas sensed that something was missing. Damn it, he wanted more from a woman than submission. At least she should try harder to give him babies—sons that a man could claim and be proud of.

Blue Moon was dark and quiet at this hour.

A single lamp glowed in the window of the Feed and Hardware Store, another in the sheriff’s office above the jail.

Jake’s Place, under its new ownership, was at the far end of Main Street.

Silas doused his headlights, then, guided by moonlight, drove in by way of the back street.

As he parked behind the building and switched off the engine, a door opened at the top of the outside stairway to the second floor.

Veiled in a black lace mantilla over a satin robe, the woman called Lola glided down the stairs.

Silas stood watching her. She had a fluid, almost serpentine way of moving that intrigued him.

He’d seen her face and heard the rumor that she’d been in prison, but he knew better than to ask questions about her past or her scars.

“How much did you bring?” Her voice was gravelly, as if her throat had been slashed along with her face.

“Four crates. That was the order.”

She fished in the deep V of her robe and brought out a wad of bills. They felt warm when he took them from her hand. “You can count them,” she said.

“I would trust you. But I owe it to my partners to count everything.” He leafed through the bills, mostly twenties and tens. Their scent was faintly musky and exotic, the way he imagined her body might smell. “All there,” he said. “Where do you want the crates? In the cellar?”

“Yes. Where you left the others.”

The outside door to the basement opened under the stairs, the way all but hidden by a tangle of hip-high weeds. Lola unlocked the door and held it while Silas carried two crates inside. A single bare bulb, hanging on a wire strung from upstairs, cast a glow over a space that was surprisingly large.

Some changes had been made in the week since Silas had last seen it.

A stage curtain had been hung to conceal the storage area, where unused furniture was stacked, including a dusty yellow velvet chaise longue, along with kitchen items and crates of moonshine.

On the other side of the curtain, space had been cleared for two folding tables with chairs and a bar improvised from a wide plank and two large barrels.

It didn’t take a fool to recognize a crude speakeasy.

“It doesn’t look like much yet.” Lola spoke as if reading his mind. “But give me a few weeks and it’ll be first class. Meanwhile, my customers will have a place to gamble and get what they want to drink.”

Buck had mentioned girls. Silas wondered if whores were going to be part of Lola’s operation. Maybe that was what the yellow chaise longue was intended for.

“When will you be in business down here?” he asked.

“Soon. I’m still learning how to dilute the whiskey with fruit juice for the drinks—cocktails, to give them a fancy name.

I’ll charge more for the straight stuff.

” She stood close to him—close enough to make him aware that she was naked under the robe.

His body stirred in response. Her face might be ruined, but there was nothing wrong with her voluptuous figure.

Silas went out for the other two crates, brought them in, set them down, and closed the door behind him. After a moment’s hesitation, he slid the bolt into place.

Lola reached up and pulled the string that hung from the light socket. As the room plunged into darkness, her satin robe swished to the floor.

The scent of her perfume swam in Silas’s senses as he unbuckled his belt and took her in his arms.