Page 23 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

A WEEK HAD PASSED SINCE THE SHOOTING ON THE BACK ROAD . Silas’s body had responded to the medicines and to Annabeth’s faithful tending. He was still weak and sore, but his wounds had closed and were healing with no sign of infection.

By now, he was out of bed for much of the day, prowling the house, complaining, cursing his confinement, and snarling at the children when they made too much noise or got in his way.

Annabeth, who’d taken on the outside chores as well as her usual cooking, childcare, and other household duties, was run ragged. Silas had even charged her with tending the potato field, a losing battle that the ugly striped beetles were winning.

She woke in the morning as exhausted as she’d been the night before.

This trying time would end soon, she told herself when her burdens threatened to crush her.

Silas would mend and go back to his old ways.

Her strength and patience would return, as would the quiet moments during the day when she was free to enjoy her children.

But one thing would remain—Joseph’s image in her thoughts, in her dreams, and in her son’s eyes. She and Joseph had gone their separate ways. He would live his life, marry, and have more children. But wrong as it might be, the memory of his protecting arms and tender kiss was branded on her soul.

Silas had never mentioned being rescued by Joseph. Had he forgotten or was he holding back the memory to use as a weapon against her? The uncertainty had kept her on edge all week.

Silas was sitting on the front porch, having a smoke in the rocking chair, when his two friends showed up. Annabeth knew them, and she didn’t trust them. The bigger man, especially, had a way of looking at her that made her skin crawl.

She stayed in the house with her children while the three men talked on the porch. The front door was closed, but she could hear most of their conversation through the open window.

“We brung your car back. Here’s the keys.” It was Culley, the small, dark man, who spoke. “We figured you’d be up to drivin’ again soon.”

“Thanks,” Silas said. “I’m still pretty sore, but I should be fit to drive again next week.”

“We made a few local deliveries in it.” The speaker was Buck, the big man.

“But we’re gonna need a new truck for the big orders.

The old one’s still out there by the road.

We might be able to salvage the engine, but the cab is riddled with bullet holes.

Looks like a damned cheese grater. You’re lucky to be alive, man. ”

“My wife is a good nurse,” Silas said. “She dug that bullet out by herself, with a spoon. Hurt like hell, but here I am, sound as a dollar.”

Knowing what the next question would be, Annabeth held her breath.

“So how did you get home, all shot up like you was?” Culley asked.

“The memory’s still foggy. But some stranger picked me up and took me home. Just dropped me on the porch and left. Never did get his name.”

A cold knot twisted in the pit of Annabeth’s stomach. Silas was playing a game with her. He knew about Joseph. He had to know.

“I made a delivery to the lady who owns Jake’s,” Buck said. “She asked about you, wondering why you hadn’t been around. When I told her you were laid up, she said to give you her best. Have you got somethin’ goin’ with that gal?”

“Shut up, Buck.” Silas had probably noticed the open window.

“There’s more,” Buck said. “When I told her what happened to the truck, she made me an offer. She’ll bankroll a used truck in exchange for a cut of our business. She’s a smart woman, and we need the truck. What do you think?”

“I think she’s getting the best of the deal,” Silas said. “We’ll want an old truck that won’t attract attention. We can probably find one in a junkyard and fix it up.”

“But we’ll need a truck that can outrun the feds and the thugs that shot up the old one,” Buck said. “That means good tires and a first-class engine. That won’t come cheap.”

Silas hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But don’t let her take advantage of us. Find out how much of a cut she’s expecting.”

“There’s more she can do,” Buck said. “She can sell out of her basement. Our customers will come to her. We can deliver there and won’t have to be running small orders all over the county.”

“Can we trust her not to cheat us?”

“She keeps books and says she’ll account for every crate.”

There was a brief silence as Silas deliberated. “All right,” he said. “Get everything in writing and hold her to it. Tell her I’ll be back in action in a few days.”

“She’ll be happy to hear that.” Buck’s voice dripped with innuendo.

“Meanwhile, we’ll start scouting for a truck,” Culley said. “With luck, we’ll find a good one in Miles City.”

“Keep me posted,” Silas said. “I’ll be ordering a telephone for the house when I can get to town. That’ll make it easier to keep in touch. And find out what you can about the bastards who shot me. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

As the two men said their goodbyes and drove away in the extra car they’d brought, Annabeth hurried to the kitchen and began pounding down the batch of risen bread dough she’d mixed earlier.

Silas meandered into the kitchen and stood watching her.

He probably knew she’d overheard the conversation on the porch, but what did it matter? What could she do, report it?

Lucas and Ellie had gone out the back door with a basket to hunt for eggs, with the dog tagging behind them. Annabeth and Silas were alone in the kitchen.

“I see you got the car back,” she said, breaking the awkward silence. “When you’re strong enough to drive, I’ll need to go into town for kitchen supplies. We’re running low on sugar and vinegar, among other things.”

His eyes narrowed. “We’ll see if I have time,” he said. “The potato field is probably half dead by now. Why didn’t you keep ahead of those damn beetles while I was laid up?”

“You know why. I was busy taking care of you.”

“You could’ve sent the boy out. He knows what to do.”

“Lucas is about five years old. I took the children out there with me when I went, but I’m not sending him out there alone.”

“I’m raising him to be a man, not a little sissy.”

Holding back her anger, Annabeth reshaped the ball of dough, returned it to the bread pan, and covered the pan with a clean towel.

“Let’s not fight, Silas,” she said. “I don’t have the energy for it, and neither do you.

But if you’re too busy to take me to town, I have a suggestion.

You could teach me to drive the car. That way, if we needed something, I could take myself to town.

I’ve been watching you drive for years. How hard can it be? ”

The naked rage that flashed across his face told her she’d said the wrong thing.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Cut loose and go whenever the fancy strikes you—maybe even meet somebody in town. I’m going to do you a favor, Annabeth. I’m going to forget you asked me. And you’re going to forget it, too. Women don’t drive. That’s the end of it.”

He stalked out of the kitchen. Annabeth turned toward the counter and began peeling potatoes for the rabbit stew she was making. This time Silas had let her off without losing his temper. But there would be other times and other reasons to set him off—including the one she knew he was holding back.

There had been days when she wanted to take her children and leave.

But she had no place to go. Lucas and Ellie needed a home and a family.

She had no choice except to stay, attend to her wifely duties, and try to ignore the feeling that she was sitting on a keg of dynamite, waiting for it to explode.

And there was one more reality she’d forced herself to accept. Joseph was gone from her life. He was not going to ride in like a knight on a white horse and save her.

Joseph had spent the morning at the sawmill, seeing to the installation of the large blade and other parts that had finally arrived from the factory in Detroit.

Mounting the blade on the shaft had been a delicate process.

The slightest degree of tilt would ruin the cut and could break or warp the new wheel as well as the gears and the motor that turned it.

Joseph was grateful for the skill of his workers, some of whom had been employed there for more than twenty years.

He needed to remember that the mill was more than machinery, lumber, sawdust, and noise. It was people.

With the new saw blade operating smoothly, Joseph left the foreman in charge and drove back to the house to pick up Forrest for his third reading lesson with Francine.

The boy had already devoured the first-grade and second-grade readers Francine had lent him from among the books in the classroom. But Forrest wasn’t satisfied.

“These stories are stupid!” he’d declared after the last lesson. “Just listen. ‘See Bess. See Bob. Bess and Bob see the dog.’” He pulled a disgusted face. “I want to read real stories! Cowboy stories!”

Francine had laughed, showing her small, perfect teeth. “There are plenty of cowboy stories out there, Forrest. But first you’ll need to be a better reader. Keep learning.”

When Joseph arrived home, Forrest was waiting on the porch with the books, ready to go.

Joseph looked forward to sitting in on the lesson as well.

The more time he spent with Francine, the more impressed he became, not only with her beauty but also with her intelligence, her charm, and her patience with the headstrong boy.

The last time Joseph had spoken with her, she’d agreed to have dinner with him at Jake’s. Their date was set for tonight. With luck, he’d be able to move their relationship beyond polite conversation. Francine was every inch a lady. But he wanted to know her as a woman.

“Your father wants to see you before we go,” Forrest said as Joseph came up onto the porch. “He’s inside.”

“Thanks. Wait here.”