Page 28 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

Her new sales partnership with Silas and his friends was bringing in even more income.

But her businesses couldn’t run themselves.

Between the restaurant, the speakeasy, and the liquor selling, she had no time for what she jokingly called her beauty sleep.

And with Silas’s wound still tender, her love life wasn’t even worth a comment.

The strain was beginning to wear on her. And then there were the other worries. Her fool sister was mindlessly giddy over Chase Calder, who took his pleasure in her bed but had yet to propose. Why should he, when he was already getting what he wanted?

Maybe it was time Francine took a closer look at Joseph Dollarhide, whose status had gone up since his father’s death.

He was a decent man—handsome, virile, and probably more intelligent than Chase.

He had everything to offer a woman except the Calder name and the cachet that went with it.

But with his new responsibilities as head of the Dollarhide empire, Joseph, too, seemed to have lost interest in seeking marriage.

Damn fool girl. Lola had a mind to ship her back to St. Joseph, where she’d at least made money selling what Chase was getting for free.

But then Lola’s dreams of power and influence would be scuttled.

She would have to settle for running a restaurant with a speakeasy downstairs and moonshine coming in the back door.

And when prohibition ended, as was bound to happen, she would be left with nothing but a restaurant in a nowhere horse-piddle town.

Now there was a new problem, not a big one, but annoying all the same. For the past few days, food had been disappearing from the kitchen—not raw meat and eggs, but bread, slabs of pie and cake, fruit, and slices of ham and cheese.

The kitchen staff knew better than to steal from her.

Lola kept track of every morsel. If they so much as nibbled, they’d be fired.

But this thief was bold, probably getting in somehow at night and leaving with enough food to make a good meal.

She’d thought of calling the sheriff, but that was out of the question.

There were too many things she didn’t want a lawman to find.

With a sigh, she lowered her feet to the floor and slipped them into her shoes. Tired as she was, she needed to clean up the speakeasy and get it ready for tomorrow night. With no one else she trusted to do the job, it fell to her to play janitor.

The broom, mop, and cleaning rags she used were kept behind the curtain.

Pushing the heavy drape aside, she stepped into the storage area, which was piled ceiling high with unused and broken furniture, kitchen supplies, and crates of moonshine packed in mason jars, both full and empty.

More crates were stored in a small room behind the clutter.

The yellow velvet chaise longue sat in front of the pile. For a moment, Lola was tempted to stretch out on it and close her eyes. But that wouldn’t do. If she fell asleep, she could be here all night.

That was when she noticed something new. Lying on the chaise longue was a well-thumbed dime novel, spread face down, as if to mark the page. Her heart began to pound as she picked it up and read the title on the cover.

T OM M IX TO THE R ESCUE

Someone wasn’t just sneaking in. They were here, making themselves at home.

Lola carried a tiny derringer in a holster, strapped to her thigh. Drawing it, she spoke. “Whoever you are, I know you can hear me. Come on out, and we’ll talk.”

There was no answer, but as she waited in the silence, the prickling sensation that crept over her skin told her she was being watched. Maybe her unseen intruder was afraid of the gun. She decided to try something else.

Putting the weapon aside, she held up the thin paperback novel. “I’m going to count to three,” she said. “If you don’t come out, I’ll rip this book to shreds. And then I’ll come after you.” She paused for effect. “Ready? One … two …”

“No!” A boyish voice cried out. “Don’t hurt my book! I’m coming out!”

The stacked furniture quivered. A spindly wooden chair toppled to the floor as a skinny, bedraggled boy in his early teens crawled into sight and stood before her. Lola recognized the youth that Joseph Dollarhide had brought into the restaurant for a meal a few weeks ago.

He stood with his head hanging down. His hair had been recently cut. His clothes appeared new but were rumpled and dirty. He looked as if he’d been living in her basement for days, with nowhere to wash.

Lola fixed him with a stern glare. “Stealing food is against the law, young man. I’ve a good mind to call the sheriff on you. Look at me! What have you got to say for yourself?”

The boy raised his eyes—dark with lashes as long as a girl’s. He’d be a heartthrob in a few years. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was starving. With so much good food, I didn’t think you’d miss a little bit.”

“And you’ve been sleeping here, too?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was doing you a favor, guarding what you’ve got here. If anybody had come in, I would’ve raised a ruckus. I can help you, ma’am. I’m good at lots of things. I’ve watched you clean this place every night. It’s no kind of work for a fine lady. I could do it for you.”

“Whoa, not so fast,” Lola said. The kid was not only a skillful thief, he also was an accomplished con artist. It took one to know one, and she recognized talent. But she was not about to be taken in.

“I thought you were staying with the Dollarhides,” she said. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“They worked me like a slave,” he said. “If I stopped to rest or even asked for water, they beat me. They never gave me enough to eat. And the way that old man looked at me—I could tell what he was thinking. It was that way when I was in the orphanage. I didn’t even dare go outside.

They said if they caught me out of the house, they’d send me back there. ”

Lola recognized hogwash when she heard it, but she had to give the kid credit for a colorful story.

So what was she going to do with him? He was probably in some kind of trouble.

But the boy had seen everything she was trying to hide.

She couldn’t just let him go. And even though she might be tempted, she knew better than to murder a child.

The little stinker had her right where he wanted her.

“All right,” she said. “You’ve got yourself a job. I’ll explain my rules to you. If you’ll swear a blood oath to follow them, you’ll be bound to me.” She drew a small, sharp knife from her stocking. “Are you ready?”

“Ready.” The boy was wide-eyed and shaking, but he held out his hand for the ritual that all boys understood. A blood oath was for life.

“Smart boy. First, I’ll explain what this means. Once it’s done, you can start by cleaning this messy room.”