“Fuck you, Nathaniel.”
Laughing all the harder, his brother ran a hand through his no longer tidy hair.
Nathaniel’s prediction was accurate; even before they arrived at the Barksdale’s barn Matthew was worked up—gritting his teeth, and a bad-tempered pain in the ass. But when the trio stepped in from the cold and the first thing Matthew saw was Charlie grinning while Frank Dooley spun her around the floor, he was certain his brother was going to blow a gasket.
“Get out of the way, Matthew,” Nathaniel pushed past him, arms full of heavy crates. “You gonna stand there gawkin’ or you gonna move some product? We already got us a line.”
Narrowing his eyes, dark thoughts plotted revenge against the eligible deputy flirting with his girl. “Get to work.”
“Uhhn uhh, Matthew,” Eli complained. “I promised Ruth I’d dance with her. Don’t expect me to be tied to this corner all night.” And just like that the youngest Emerson bolted.
“Now, don’t give him that look,” Nathaniel handed a jar to the nearest customer, still mouthing off. “Least he’s got the determination to court his girl.”
Eli made quick work of his wooing, taking a smiling Ruth’s hand and pulling her to dance the next song. Charlie was also approached, practically yanked from her current partner, and off she went with James Thompson, fellow bootlegger and well-known local Lothario.
Sneer amplified, Matthew bit down hard on the cigar between his teeth, sorely tempted to just walk up and intervene. Before he could make his move, Nathaniel made a beeline straight over to Charlie, tying Matthew to the corner alone with the liquor.
Waiting on the sideline, Nathaniel caught her once the song ended. Spinning her around, ruffling up her skirt, he led her through the steps of a fast paced and boisterous country dance. For such a tall man, Nathaniel was a sprightly dancer, leaving Charlie bursting out laughing as she tried to keep up.
Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Everyone but the man no soul would approach, not even to buy a jar. All Matthew could see was red… the same red as the golden girl’s far too pretty dress.
Flushed and breathless, Charlie was so god-dang beautiful. Of course there would be a line of men waiting for their turn. But Nathaniel seemed to ignore that another might want to claim her and saw her back to where she’d thrown her cardigan on some hay. Taking off his hat, he plopped down beside her and the two of them ended up in stitches, no doubt from Nathaniel saying something unsuitable—the very kind of foul humor the two always played at.
Charlie shoved him off and Nathaniel came back to his brother. Beady eyes brimming with mischief, the eldest only laughed to see Matthew’s black looks had frightened off any potential customers.
“Charlie’s a far cry better than she was a few months back,” Nathaniel crowed, unscrewing a fresh jar. “Turns out, she’s been practicing. Wouldn’t tell me who’s been teachin’ her though.”
Charlotte had been practicing, and Matthew knew it sure as hell had not been he who taught her all those new steps.
“You should stop starin’ at her like a piece of meat,” his brother teased meanly. “You look just about ready to take a bite.”
“You should shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you.” Matthew followed the threat with a dangerous glare.
A sloppy grin stretched Nathaniel’s face. “Whatever you say, baby brother… but just think, if you woulda escorted her like you shoulda, the likes of James Thompson and Deputy Dooley wouldn’t be looking to take a bite neither.”
Looking to the men Nathaniel had listed, Matthew found them ogling Charlie just as he had been. And it wasn’t just them, several of the women, including Mrs. Fontanne, were taking measure of his golden girl and whispering.
Without thought, his legs moved, carrying him over to the old dame and intruding on the women’s circle where anyone standing within five feet could hear Miss Elliot’s name slandered by the infamous gossip.
“Something just ain’t right about that woman. Comin’ and goin’ like she pleased, traveling alone… Came in at all hours of the night with packages from God only knows where. Her highfalutin clothes. I wonder just who she visits… if you get my drift.”
Matthew cleared his throat. When the beak-nose face glanced up to find the looming bootlegger standing near, Mrs. Fontanne glowered. “What can I do for you, Mr. Emerson?”
Taking off his hat, Matthew held her eyes until she took the hint and cowed. “How are things at the boarding house?”
“Just fine.”
Voice menacingly and cordial, he made damn sure she understood his displeasure. “Send your husband over to see me tomorrow. Seems he and I need to do some talkin’.”
Embarrassed to be corrected in front of her friends, Mrs. Fontanne nodded dumbly.
“You have a good evening now.” Matthew put his hat back on. Cigar between his lips he stalked straight through the party to where Charlotte sat fanning herself.
When she looked up, eyes glowing and full of warmth, Matthew felt as if the room had gone out from under his feet. All at once his anger seemed… wrong.
Taking off his hat, he pressed it to his chest. Knowing folks were watching, he muttered like a jackass, “Charlotte.”
Charlie leaned back on her hands. “Matthew.”