Page 27 of Calder Country

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ten days later

RUBY FINISHED HER SECOND DELIVERY OF THE NIGHT, LEFT HER plane with the ground crew, and settled on the front porch step to wait for her ride back to town. By now the sun was rising. Meadowlarks were calling from the weedy, abandoned fields that surrounded the old house. A pair of ravens rose from a dead tree in the front yard and flapped into the sky.

She was getting better at her job, the landings and takeoffs smoother, the business concluded and the cargo unloaded with cool efficiency. She had cultivated an impersonal manner with her clients, avoiding questions and eye contact. Since she could be sending them to prison, familiarity would only make things more painful.

She had passed on any and all information she picked up to Agent Hargrave, her contact in the Bureau of Investigation. What they did with that information was beyond her control. But if they’d taken anyone into custody, she hadn’t heard. Maybe they were waiting for her to earn more trust from her employers, or hoping for a bigger cache than what a small plane could carry.

She had yet to make a second delivery to Mason Dollarhide’s ranch. But she’d noticed that the place was on the docket for the next shipment. She would have to report it, of course. If it got him caught, it would serve him right. One would think that a man who’d served five years for bootlegging would have learned his lesson.

But she couldn’t help remembering her body’s response to their contact as he helped her check the stalled engine, and how his piercing green-eyed gaze had stirred a sensual heat in her—a heat she hadn’t felt since her husband left for the war.

What did it mean? Only that she would need to be on her guard with him. Her future and her father’s life hung on her ability to freeze her emotions.

“How about some coffee?” The young man handed her a steaming cup and sat down beside her. Mack, whose last name she’d chosen not to learn, was the new pilot. Younger than Ruby, he’d barely gotten into the war before it ended. His flying skills were above par, but he had a lot to learn about the business. He was just beginning to make deliveries.

“Thanks.” Ruby sipped the strong, black coffee while Mack lit a cigarette. He had sandy hair and a good-natured, freckled face. She knew that he wanted to be friends, but how could she warm to him when, at any time, she might have to betray him to the law?

“The cook told me what happened to your father,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry, too.” Art’s plane had been found wrecked and burned, the incinerated body in the pilot’s seat presumed to be his. Ruby had put up a convincing show of grief and moved on.

“It could happen to any of us,” she said. “Tomorrow it might be me, or it might be you. This is a dangerous business, Mack. You’re young and smart. You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’ll offer it anyway. Get out now, while you can—leave town if you have to—before you’re arrested or killed.”

He blew a smoke ring and watched it drift upward. “I don’t plan to do this forever. As soon as I have enough money to buy some land with a house, I’ll be done here. There’s a girl I want to marry as soon as I have something to offer her.”

Should she tell him the truth—that if he stayed, even if he wasn’t killed in a crash, Colucci and his cohorts would never let him walk away? Would he listen?

“I have a question,” he said. “If it’s as dangerous as you say, why are you still here?”

“That’s easy,” Ruby replied with a half-truth. “I’m here because I have nothing to lose.”

* * *

Later that morning, Ruby was driven back to Miles City to rest and wait for the next big shipment. Mack had stayed behind to help the ground crew overhaul the planes, including the Jenny they’d bought to replace the one that Art had flown.

Colucci had insisted that she move from the boardinghouse to a room on the third floor of the Olive Hotel. The food was better, and the private bath was heaven, but the change made it harder to stay in contact with Hargrave and his fellow agents. Outgoing calls from her room phone could be monitored—the operators could easily be paid off. She’d taken to calling from a pay phone in the lobby or slipping into vacant rooms to use the phones there. The agents rarely called her. Most of the incoming calls were from Colucci or others at the farm.

The driver let her off at the hotel’s front entrance on Main Street. Tired and dressed in her rumpled flight clothes, she headed straight upstairs to her room. She would bathe and get a few hours of sleep, then maybe order a sandwich from room service before she checked in with Agent Hargrave.

The key was pinned inside her pocket. She fished it out, used it to open the door, and walked into the room. There she stopped cold.

On the bed lay a large, rectangular box from an exclusive women’s wear shop here in Miles City. The first possibility that sprang to mind was that it had been delivered by mistake. The second possibility was one she didn’t even want to think about. But as she raised the lid on the box and saw the card with her name on the envelope, Ruby had no more questions. Heart sinking, she put the card aside and lifted away the tissue paper that covered the box’s contents.

The fragrance that rose to mingle with the stale air in the room was subtle and sophisticated, whispering of money and the elegance it could buy. One by one, Ruby lifted up the layers in the box. On top was a dress of beaded beige silk, cut in the latest knee-length fashion with a flirty row of fringe along the hem. Under it was a matching silk slip, and tucked beneath were underthings so fine and sheer that they seemed to float—lace-trimmed drawers and silk stockings with satin garters. Tucked into the corners of the box were high-heeled satin slippers in her size and a beaded headband to match the dress.

The card lay on the bed. Feeling vaguely ill, she forced herself to pick it up, open the envelope, and read the message inside.

Dinner tonight at 7:30. Command performance with a special guest. I will call for you. Can’t wait to see you looking the way you were meant to look.

Leo

Ruby couldn’t recall having called Leo Colucci by his first name, and she wasn’t inclined to start. What she wanted to do was throw the box and its contents out into the alley below, then catch the next train out of town.

But she couldn’t do that. Not while her father was a prisoner and his welfare depended on her. And not when she had a chance to pick up some vital intelligence. She would do her job—wear the clothes, go to dinner, and take mental notes on everything she saw and heard.

She could only hope that Colucci—and his guest—expected nothing more than a dinner companion.

---