When they had a notorious buyer with deep pockets and a showy reputation just waiting in Chicago, impulsive Eli couldn’t fathom why Matthew insisted they putter around the country wasting time for pennies on the dollar. Nathaniel was the easy one—Matthew’s older brother just did as he was told, so long as he could take his cut to spend as he liked. But their younger cousin missed the bigger picture.
Solidarity was necessary.
Whether or not locals supported bootlegging, Monroe knew the money brought in from brewing shine kept their forgotten community afloat while the rest of the state was falling apart.
On occasion, the business brought trouble. Now and then Feds sniffed around... only to find no one talked. Then there were thugs, drifters, fools underestimating the business, seeking out a country rube to rob, or a racket to move in on. Men like that, the Emersons took care of personally.
Trouble didn’t last long in Monroe.
A decade of good business with one’s neighbors could get a man far. A willingness to get your hands bloody could get you further. That’s what Emerson success boiled down to. Matthew had pulled a profit for years—selling as far as Charleston, in fact. But cutting off Harrison McCray’s face and hand delivering it to his most powerful adversary... that was the kind of currency that had opened up new doors to new devils—forging a standing contract with the greatest beast of all: Chicago.
In six months, the business went from hundreds of gallons a month to thousands. Money was pouring in hand over fist, and Matthew was making more in a month than most made in a year of hard labor in the coal mines. He justified the risk, the danger, as a short-lived opportunity. He could see what was coming. There was just too much good money in alcohol. The American people were wising up, seeing the benefit in legalizing, in redirecting cash away from slimy gangsters and corrupt politicians.
Prohibition was nearing its end, but Matthew hadn’t fought through nine bloody years of bootlegging to lose his standing, his profit, or his future by getting squeamish. Unlike his older brother and baby cousin—who were both just along for the ride—he was going to make something greater that would last. Something he could lean on. Something stamped with the Emerson name.
Through years of living lean, almost every penny made was reinvested into bigger stills. Matthew found the means to buy up land—preparing for the next venture when illicit business would be replaced with a legitimate distillery. Matthew’s intended legacy: Emerson’s Finest Whiskey.
Lighting a cigar, Matthew saw nothing but another venue for profit in the Willards’ party. He wasn’t one for dancing, for socializing, or small talk. He was one for doing a job. Scoping the best spot to set up shop, he ignored the apprehensive glances of local lawmen and the friendly nods of fellow bootleggers.
A dusky corner was chosen, orders barked for Eli and Nathaniel to tend the line already forming. Brim low, Matthew observed transactions, trading few words with the menfolk out of custom.
“Well, look at that,” Deputy Dooley whistled after a long sip of shine. “Ain’t she just bright and shiny?”
Glancing where the lawman was grinning, Matthew found the golden hair of a woman standing just inside the barn door. Mincing steps brought her nearer, a shy smile below eyes that took in everything as if it were something more than a dusty barn full of overwarm people and too much noise.
There was something different about her beyond the fact she was an obvious outsider. Then it hit him. It was just as Dooley said—she was too bright. Her dress, the cotton wasn’t faded like the clothes of the local women. Her hair, finger waved like a magazine, was too shiny.
Matthew lost her in the crowd, his eyes darting about for a flash of pink skirt. The next song struck up, lines formed, and the masses parted enough for a glimpse. There she was, sitting alone on a bale of hay, a self-conscious quirk to her lips at the approach of Eli’s sweetheart, Ruth Cormac.
The petite daughter of the local sheriff plopped down beside the strange woman and made her acquaintance, all smiles, no hesitation. Ruth said something, something hilarious it would seem, since the outsider burst out laughing. And then just like that, bright eyes darted up to find Matthew staring right at her from across the barn.
He inhaled, the glowing red tip of his cigar illuminating a deeply scowling brow. Whoever she was, the golden girl unflinchingly met that gaze and waited, almost expectantly, eyebrow hitched in open challenge.
Staring contest or no, Matthew watched a blush creep up her cheeks, those blue eyes darting back to Ruth once he exhaled a cloud of smoke. She was going to glance back, he could feel it, but Deputy Dooley swaggered over, grinning stupidly as he asked the stranger for a dance.
Even from a distance, Matthew could read her rouged mouth say, “I don’t know how.”
The deputy must have said something right, because the beautiful woman shrugged and offered her hand.
She hadn’t been lying—she was awful. But bolstered by an encouraging partner, she laughed her way through a lesson in country dances under the hands of the smiling deputy.
Tripping over her feet, instead of looking up at Dooley, the pretty blonde’s attention landed on him instead.
Again, Matthew held her gaze, eyes narrowed and feeling oddly provoked.
He would’ve kept staring but the image of Eli slipping off crossed his line of sight. Annoyed at the boy’s need to constantly chase after that Ruth girl, Matthew turned towards Nathaniel and kept a close watch on the business instead.
Jars and money changed hands, yet steely eyes kept darting over the crowd, involuntarily drawn to that unfamiliar blonde.
The night crept on, and the woman never looked back.
Near the end of the evening, product all sold, Nathaniel gave a stifled cough. Glancing at his brother, Matthew found a strange look on the man’s face. When Matthew followed Nathaniel’s stare, there was the golden girl again… smirking almost wickedly as she nodded once at his older brother. In response, his kin grinned like a fool and rubbed his shoulder.
The woman laughed, or she was laughing, until Walter Keck stumbled right into her. Bracing himself by gripping her arms, the town drunk asked for a dance. She clearly refused him, and by the way Walter stormed out, her rebuff had been cutting.
Good.
Choosing to ig