Charlie set down her pencil. Looking into the mirror hanging above the grill, her eyes locked on the speaker’s squinted baby blues.
It was then she saw how Eli cradled the shotgun. How Nathaniel looked mighty sober and ready to kill. And that Matthew wasn’t standing at her back to help her with her notes. He was shielding her.
Charlie turned in her seat and placed her hand on Matthew’s spine. Under her fingers his muscles jumped at the unexpected contact, the man going all the stiffer when she gave him a pat.
“That depends, Beau.” Charlie peeked around the broad wall of seething man in front of her and asked, “What do you want with her?”
With five of his goons preening behind him, Beaumont Radcliffe took a breath of smoke from the cigarette dangling between his lips, and offered his infamous grin.
Slipping around Matthew before he could catch her, Charlie limped right to the well-dressed gangster.
“My God…” Beaumont’s fingers touched the tips of her hair, fluffing them a little as his eyes ran all over her face. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He took her chin and turned her face side to side, his blue eyes sparkling under the brim of his hat. “You grew up into a fine woman, Blackbird.”
She’d always liked the way he spoke, a little nasal and smart—the way she imagined a shifty villain from the silent pictures would speak. Between the thin eyebrows and the charm, it wasn’t far off. He was still larger than life, a true kingpin, an incredibly dangerous man, and one of Chicago’s most notorious gangsters.
Smirking, Charlie replied, “I’m sure there are many who would disagree.”
Matthew was practically boiling watching the gangster touch her fondly—familiarly—waiting for one hint of concern on the golden girl’s face so he might yank her back.
“What do you mean?” The extremely handsome gentleman at Beaumont’s side took off his hat and gave Charlie a charming grin. “You have got to be pullin’ my leg. Blackbird was a dame?”
“It’s been a long time, Tommy.” Charlie’s voice was decidedly less friendly, but she held out a hand anyway.
Tommy took it and pressed his lips to her knuckles, earning an eye roll from the woman.
Reaching into his coat, Beaumont pulled out a velvet ring box and handed it over. After a quick wipe of her fingers on her skirt, Charlie snatched it up.
With a coo, she lifted the lid. “Just what every girl wants.” Snapping the ring box shut, she batted her eyelashes. “Considering how fast you got down here, I’m surprised you found the time to get me something so fine.”
“When it comes to my girl,” Beaumont took another long pull of his cigarette, answering with a puff of smoke, “I make the time.”
Without looking back, she knew the Emersons didn’t know what to make of this exchange—must have thought terrible things about her just from the look of esteem on her face. But that didn’t matter. For several long moments Charlie and Radcliffe shared a silent world all their own.
The moment passed, and Charlie stood on tiptoes to press a kiss to Radcliffe’s cheek, whispering a sweet, “Be nice.”
When it was done, Beaumont crossed towards the glowering moonshiner and his kin. Offering a handshake, the suave gangster spoke like a politician. “I hear there was a little misunderstanding the other night.”
“You a friend of that woman?” Matthew demanded, blatantly refusing the offered hand.
Beaumont smirked, withdrew his hand and answered in his suave Chicago twang, “More like family.”
Charlie gave an unladylike snort, ignoring the men to retake her stool and get back to writing down recipes. After all, this might be her last chance to learn the art of chocolate icebox pie. But Beaumont wasn’t keen to leave her be. Leaning against the bar, he took the pencil straight from her fingers.
“What the hell are you doing in this backwater town?” The gangster glanced past her and gave Matthew a self-satisfied nod. “No offense.”
Turning to face a man she had a soft spot for, Charlie snatched back her pencil. “My car broke down, and I came to find I like it here. The people are real nice.”
Radcliffe tucked Charlie’s hair behind her ear, ignoring the growls it earned from his hosts. “How is your mother?”
Shaking her head, Charlie said nothing but implied much.
“Why don’t you come back to Chicago with us? Martha would be over the moon to see you. I’m sure I know a nice young man or two who can make an honest woman out of you, if you’re ready to settle down.”
“You don’t know any nice men,” Charlie mocked, cocking her head towards the playful wounded look Tommy was giving her from across the room.
Those familiar fingers were back at the tips of her hair—the same fingers that had taught her how to load a gun… where to slip a knife between the ribs for the quickest kill. “Next Thursday night, dinner with the family at the Drake.”
Setting her elbow on the bar, Charlie leaned her head into her palm and gave Beau a little smirk. “That depends. You gonna try to kill me again?”