Page 41 of Calder Country

“Don’t bother,” he said. “The restaurant will send somebody to collect the dishes and wash them. They do the same thing when I’ve got a prisoner in the jail downstairs—only, the food is more likely to be beans or mutton stew.”

“Then I suppose I’d best be going.”

“Stay, Britta,” he said. “It’s a nice evening, and I don’t get much company up here.”

“Something tells me you could have all the company you like, Jake.” It was a waspish thing to say, and Britta regretted the words as soon as she’d spoken them.

“Then something told you wrong. I happen to be choosy about the company I keep.” His hand found the small of her back and guided her out through the parlor doors to the landing that served as a porch, with stairs coming up from the rear of the jail to provide a private entry.

The sky was clear, with a glory of stars overhead and a moon that cast long shadows across the yard. He stood behind her, his breath warm on the backs of her ears.

“I never got a chance to tell you how much I admired you for taking that plane ride,” he said. “Not one woman in a hundred would be brave enough to do that.”

“You’d be surprised what women would be brave enough to do,” she said. “We’re brave in ways that you men don’t even notice. Bringing children into the world and raising them. That’s an act of courage in itself, one I’ve never experienced. Maybe that’s why I went up in the airplane. I had nothing to risk, and no one to mourn me if I died.”

“Your life isn’t over, Britta. You’re still young. And you have the most generous, loving heart I’ve ever known.” His fingers toyed with her braid, which she always wore tightly coiled atop her head. “Your hair was down the night of Marissa’s fever. I was too worried to pay much attention, but I remember that it was glorious.” He tugged at the pins that held the coils in place. The braid fell loose, hanging down her back, almost to her waist.

As his fingers unraveled the plait, Britta felt the heat stir and rise from the depths of her body, the low pulsing, the hunger between her thighs. Was that what Jake had in mind? She knew it was wrong, but she knew that she still loved him. What if she never got another chance?

Would that be enough? Would it be all she deserved in this life?

His hands lifted the curtain of her hair. Britta felt the soft pressure of his lips on the back of her neck. Resisting, she pulled away and turned to face him.

“Don’t play games with me, Jake. If that’s what you want, find a woman who’s willing to settle for your offer. But I won’t let you use me. I’m worth more than that.”

“I know what you’re worth, Britta.” His voice was thick and husky, his eyes hooded in moonlit shadow as he pulled her close and kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

She melted against him in surrender, his kiss heating her blood. But as her arms went around him, a voice from below broke them apart.

“Woo-hoo! If it isn’t Miss Anderson! Having a good time, are you?”

A trio of sixth-grade boys—Britta’s students—stood in the yard below, grinning up at her. Before either she or Jake could speak, they scattered, vanishing into the dark.

Britta knew them to be mischief makers. Worse, the mother of one boy was a vicious gossip. By midmorning the delicious story, with embellishments, would be all over town. She would be a public disgrace. She might even lose her job.

“Britta, it’s all right—” Jake reached for her, but she backed away.

“No, it isn’t all right! You can’t imagine—”

Breaking off, she spun away from him, stumbled down the outside stairs, and fled across the yard for home.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Two weeks later

MASON WATCHED THE DAWNING SKY, HIS EARS KEEN FOR THE SOUND of an approaching plane. Since his encounter with Colucci, he’d received two shipments of Canadian whiskey, both of them delivered by a boyish, ginger-haired pilot flying a Jenny. Now it was time for a third.

He’d known better than to ask the young man about Ruby, although he probably knew her. Was she all right? Was she flying again? Would he see her this time?

But the answers to those questions were none of his business. He’d seen the glittering dress, read the possessive look in the mobster’s eyes, and faced the truth—if he wanted to do business with Colucci’s organization, Rule Number One would be hands off the boss’s woman.

His business was picking up, with supply and demand growing. New customers were either referred by Colucci or picked up by word of mouth and carefully vetted. He’d bought a used Oldsmobile, newer and more reliable than the aging Model T, with room under the seats for a hidden stash. He kept it out of sight and used it only for business, so it wouldn’t be connected with him at other times.

He had dealt twice with Webb Calder’s friend. The few words they’d exchanged hinted that he might be British. But the man remained a mystery. Satisfying as it might be to learn that Webb was involved in the illegal liquor trade, Mason knew that probing deeper could prove a risk to his own safety. There were no friends in this business, only contacts. And confidence was an invitation to betrayal.

The air was chilly. Mason thrust his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. He could hear the rush of wind along the rocky escarpment that hid the cave. The morning birds were waking in the scrub to greet the dawn with their piping calls. But there was only one sound he wanted to hear.

As he was about to abandon hope for the day, he heard it—the sound of an engine, coming closer. But something was different. The drone of the Jenny had become so familiar that he could recognize the plane sight unseen. But this engine sounded different—smoother and more powerful.

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