“Matthew Emerson—” Charlie’s throaty speech, an unpretty thing, grated like the after effects of some great sickness, “—I have a proposition for you.”
Head tipped back just enough to meet the beady stare of the much smaller stranger, Matthew took a close look at the vagabond caught on his road. Charlie held that gaze.
Ever so slightly pushing one’s jaw forward, the bounty hunter knew how to fake an underbite. Squinting creased the skin making one appear older. And that was only the beginning. Sweat and dirt; it was miraculous what the combination could conceal. And boy was Charlie one sweaty, dirty mess at the moment.
Like with most new acquaintances, Matthew’s pale eyes went straight to the nasty scar bisecting Charlie’s lower lip. A mark carried since childhood.
Taking a sip of coffee, Matthew offered an unimpressed, “Proposition, hum? You come out here to talk business?”
It wasn’t hard to grasp what the man implied. West Virginia was dirt poor, and with prohibition going strong, smart men found other ways to pull a profit—illegal ways. Brewing and selling were as common as farming and coal mining. The Emersons were moonshiners.
“I have no interest in your liquor.” A borderline sneer pulled at Charlie’s scar. “What I have is cargo I need to transport immediately. Ain’t got time to wait on getting that engine fixed.”
Leaning back in his chair, Matthew surveyed the stranger on his porch with an unimpressed sneer. “And what do you want me to do about it?”
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars for a three-day ride, leaving now.”
His snort could have been laughter if the man had cracked a smile. “What’s in the car?”
There was no point in lying. “A convict on his way to the electric chair.”
Matthew ever so slightly cocked his head, a sign that maybe he was intrigued... or perhaps offended. Once he spoke, it was clear the expression implied neither; he was simply dismissive. “Ain’t got no one to drive you.”
Charlie didn’t waver, only deepened a growl. “Find someone.”
Colorless eyes blazed so hard Charlie was sure fiercer men had scuttled back like kicked dogs, but that wasn’t Charlie’s way. Matthew was just a man; a man who didn’t know jack shit about why Ronnie Pearson needed to fry. “The bounty I’m carrying is a wanted criminal—a criminal who killed my brother and harmed my mama. There is nothing that’ll stand in my way of dragging him to justice.”
Another disgruntled throat noise and Matthew glanced to the distant Ford.
Charlie drove the point home. “I don’t care if you’re a decent man or a bad one. You got family. I take it you understand my position.”
A moment of quiet stretched before Matthew sipped his coffee and coarsely offered, “One night’s shelter, then you and your friend will be on your way. Lotta men round these parts won’t take too kindly to your type, if you understand my meanin’.”
It was better than nothing. Tipping that dusty hat, Charlie shuffled back to the blue Ford to drag out the psychopath strapped down across the back.
Feeling Matthew Emerson measure even the slightest movement, Charlie managed the much taller chained prisoner, yanking the jackass along—handling the convict well when the bastard played his game of being difficult and stumbling on purpose.
At their approach, the head of the Emerson family stood and held the screen door open. Once inside, after taking in all the empty tables with their checkered tablecloths and cheap spindle chairs, Charlie chose a seat away from the familiar occupant at that bar and the pretty waitress standing behind the counter.
The scruffy giant bellowed, “What the hell is this?”
Matthew waved him off. “They stay one night and then they go.” After a short pause, he added, “Alice, get them some food.”
The youngest, Eli, muttered to himself as he took in the chains on the convict and the rifle on the stranger. “A real life bounty hunter, here in Monroe.”
Charlie looked towards the boy, eyes narrowed. “You ain’t seen me, hear?”
Eli blushed, stammering an embarrassed, “Yes, sir,” which suited Charlie just fine.
Lighting a cigar, Matthew addressed the boy. “Eli, you head on home.”
Obviously eager to be included, Eli argued. Fists clenched at his sides. “I’ll stay.”
“Git.” The one word, spoken softly, was enough.
With a snort, the grousing youth left as ordered.
Behind the bar, the raven-haired waitress frowned through the process of readying two bowls of unheated canned soup. From the way Matthew watched her before settling his eyes right back on Charlie, it was apparent that was his girl, and any slight on the woman would spell trouble.