Page 34 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)
“Certainly, I do,” she said. “But I don’t have to like sleeping apart from you. The sooner we can be married the better.”
He stretched, moving away from her a little. “Do I really need to go to that engagement party Lola is planning? I’ve got work to do on Saturday. And people are coming to meet you . They already know me.”
“Are you asking me to meet them by myself? I need you there, Chase. If I’m to be accepted as your wife, people will need to see us as a couple. Your work can wait.”
He sighed, preparing to get up and leave. “All right. Anything for my beautiful bride. I’ll send a car and driver tomorrow to pick up your things and take you to the ranch. Ruth, the housekeeper, will be there to meet you and show you around.”
“Not you?”
“It’s breeding time. I’ll be out with the cattle. Get used to it, sweetheart. Ranching is a full-time job. And you’re going to be a rancher’s wife.”
A wealthy rancher’s wife , Francine reminded herself.
“I’ll be a good rancher’s wife,” she said. “You’ll see.”
“I know you will.” Chase rolled onto his side and leaned on his elbow, looking down at her. “But there’s one thing I want you to promise, cross your heart.”
“What’s that?” she murmured.
“I want complete trust between us. No lies. Not from me and not from you. Ever. Will you promise me that?”
“Of course, I will,” Francine said. “I would never lie to you, Chase. And I hope you’ll never lie to me. It would break my poor, crossed, little heart.” She traced an X on her chest, then pulled his head down to hers for a long kiss.
The night was still dark when Silas drove away from the back of the restaurant.
He’d delivered his cargo and stayed for some fun.
His wound was still tender, but the romp with Lola on the yellow velvet chaise longue had been worth the pain.
Now all he needed to do was drive the truck back to the O’Rourke place, split up the cash with his partners, climb into his Model T, and head home.
Earlier that night, when he carried cargo, he’d driven with the truck’s headlights doused.
Progress had been slow in the dark, over the rutted back road.
But he hadn’t wanted to be spotted and caught with a truckload of white lightning.
Now the truck was empty, and he was tired.
Running with lights would get him back to the O’Rourke place in half the time.
And even if he were to get stopped, there was no law against driving an empty truck.
Silas had been driving for about fifteen minutes when he noticed the headlights in his rearview mirror. Emerging out of the darkness, they kept their distance without appearing to gain on him.
He fought the urge to turn off the lights and hit the gas pedal.
That behavior had gotten him shot the last time he was followed on this road.
He would just mosey along like a man minding his own business.
If it was the feds and they stopped him, he would play the part of a married farmer visiting a lady friend in town—not so far from the truth.
Maybe the vehicle wasn’t following him at all. But at this hour, whoever it was, they wouldn’t be out for a pleasure drive. Maybe somebody else was running moonshine or had a girlfriend in town. If so, they would want nothing to do with him. But what if he was wrong?
As a test, he pressed the gas pedal. As his truck surged ahead, the lights behind him sped up, too, not gaining but staying even. A chill passed through Silas’s body. He was being followed.
His hands cramped on the wheel as the memory crashed in on him—the old truck careening off the road, the rattle of submachine gun fire, bullets punching through metal, shattering glass, and ripping into his body, blood spreading like the petals of a flower, then nothing.
Seized by a panic that overrode common sense, he killed the lights and stomped the gas pedal to the floor. He knew this part of the road blindfolded. Just ahead was the cutoff to the O’Rourke Ranch. He swung onto it at full speed, feeling the side wheels leave the ground as he made the turn.
There was no time to check the mirror to see if the other vehicle was coming after him. The truck flew over the ruts and potholes, past broken fences and ghostly, dying pastures. Overshooting the last turn, it smashed through the scrub and came to rest in a grove of scraggly box elders.
The engine sputtered and died. Heart pounding, Silas cocked his pistol and waited in the darkness. He saw no lights, but that didn’t mean his pursuers weren’t out there, sneaking up behind the truck to attack him.
Seconds stretched into minutes. Little by little, Silas’s pulse slowed. He allowed himself to take deep breaths. Cautiously, he rolled down the window and listened to the darkness. He heard only the whisper of the wind and the cry of a night bird—closer than it would be if danger was near.
Shaking with relief, Silas sagged over the wheel.
If he wanted to survive, he couldn’t keep doing this much longer.
This past week, he had taken out a loan on the farm.
The money, along with what he’d earned delivering moonshine, was stashed in a burlap gunny sack, buried under a pile of similar sacks in the back of the potato cellar.
The place was one where Annabeth would never think to look.
He didn’t plan to tell her about the money.
She’d done nothing to earn it. It was all his.
And when the time came, he would take it and run.
He was still of two minds on the question of whether to take her and the kids along. He would make that decision when the time came. But it needed to come soon. No amount of money was worth dying for.