Page 66 of The Dravenhearst Brides
A thunderous scowl overtook his face. He turned his back on her, striding to the driver’s door. “That’s unfair, and you know it. I don’t have time for hysterics right now. We’ll discuss this in the morning when you’re ready to speak calmly. And rationally.”
Hysterics?Oh, this man hadn’t seen hysterics yet.
Margot opened her mouth and screamed. It was shrill and feral, ringing out through the night.
It stopped him dead in his tracks, his shoulders hunching in a flinch. “Goddammit, woman. Are you trying to wake the entire Bluegrass?”
“Maybe if I scream loud enough,she’llhear me. Where does she live, your little harlot? Does she know you’ve gone and gotten yourself married? Or are you lying to her too?”
“Hold on.” He turned to her, eyes wide. “You think I’m going to awomantonight?”
“I’ve seen you,” she hissed, moving along the body of the car opposite him. “I’ve seen you sneak out to meet her a half dozen times since our wedding night. Is nothing sacred to you? Not even marriage vows?”
He lifted a finger. “I’ve not broken a single vow I made to you.”
Margot yanked open the passenger door. “Oh, really? Then I suppose you won’t mind if I come along for the ride?”
“Margot, no.”
“Go ahead, Merrick. Gas ’er up. Take me to where your little mistress lives. I’d love to meet her.” She plopped herself in the passenger seat and crossed her legs. She wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t make her.
“I told you, there’s no woman. Heckin’ hell!” He ripped open his door, pausing to check his wristwatch. “You need to get out of the car.Now.”
“No.” She folded her arms. He’d have to drag her out kicking and screaming—and oh, how she’d scream.
“Get out of the car, Margot,”he bellowed.
She’d never heard him raise his voice like that, not to her. The look burning in his eyes was like kerosene, volatile and liquid. Rigged to combust.
She struck a match. “I won’t.”
He let out a scream of his own, raw frustration. “I can’t bring you with me.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
With another exasperated roar and glance at his watch, Merrick took his seat behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him. “Then you better hold on tight. We’re running late.”
As Merrick pulled out of the drive, the tires screeched. Margot was thrust backward, her hair blowing in the wind. He drove like a man possessed, whipping the roadster around winding country roads, fast and hard enough to make the rear tires squeal. Fishtailing.
She’d forgotten he drove like a maniac.
“How far?” She broke the silence.
“Fucking far,” he grunted. “Get comfortable.” He reached behind his back, tugging at his waistband. A silver-barreled revolver glinted in the moonlight. He rested it on his thigh.
“What isthatfor?” Margot asked, eyes widening with fear.
Oh God, she’d made a terrible mistake. He was going to kill her, wasn’t he? Drive deep into backcountry and dump her body in a shallow grave. For the crows and vultures and maggots to find. Her bones would rot, grow mold, turn to dust. He was going to—
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” he snapped. “I would never hurt you. I don’t have a mistress, and I’m sure as hell not cheating on you, Margot. I’m fucking celibate.”
22
July 1933
Inventory reaching critical levels. Discounting Rickhouse One, only 2,000 barrels with usable product remain on the premises. It’s hard to believe at our peak, we held 60,000.
—Excerpt, Dravenhearst Distilling Inventory Log, as maintained by Merrick Dravenhearst
