Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

When they were alone, Mike said, “I understand that tomorrow’s the big day. I thought I ought to come say my goodbyes to you now in private, while your sullen cowboy wasn’t lurking about.”

“You and I have nothing to hide from Thatcher.”

“More’s the pity.” He slapped his hand over his heart like a wounded, rejected suitor, and she could have sworn he was Davy. “If that lucky bastard ever treats you bad, promise you’ll come find me. I’ll rub him out.”

She laughed lightly. “I promise.”

He reached into his pants pocket. “I have a going-away present for you.” He took her hand and dropped a Saint Christopher medal and chain into her palm.

“Mike.” Taken aback, she stared down at the gold necklace, then looked up at him, so touched her eyes turned misty. “Is it—?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t accept it. You should keep it.”

“I have a matching one, and Davy would love knowing it was dangling around your pretty neck. He and Saint Chris are now your guardian angels.” He lifted the necklace out of her hand and slipped it over her head. She pressed the medal against her chest.

They looked at each other, both unable to speak, so they hugged. When he released her, he said gruffly, “Be happy, Laurel.” He tipped his cap and walked away.

* * *



Everything they were taking was piled up in the empty living room. Thatcher’s saddle sat atop his trunk. Laurel had packed her clothing in the same suitcase she’d had with her the night she’d arrived at the shack with Derby. She was taking Pearl’s baby clothes and all the recipes in her mother’s handwriting. Most everything else she was leaving behind, because it would be needed. Corrine and Ernie had decided to move into the house.

“I love the idea,” Laurel said to Corrine. “You couldn’t stay out there during the winter months.”

“Ernie and me could live in the shack and be just fine.”

“But why would you when there’s a whole upstairs here that would be going to waste. Stop trying to talk yourself out of it. The decision has been made. Besides, I’ll feel better knowing that someone is here looking after Irv.”

Corrine watched as Thatcher and Ernie—who had finally been introduced—began to load Laurel’s car. “It’s not going to be the same without you here, though,” the girl said wistfully.

“No. But you have the post office box key. I’ll be writing to you at least once a week, so don’t forget to check it.”

“If it weren’t for you, I couldn’t read them letters you’ll send.”

Laurel reached out and pulled the girl to her. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too, Miss Laurel.” Lowering her voice, she said, “I wouldn’t trust you to nobody but him,” she said, casting a glance at Thatcher as he swung his saddle onto his shoulder. “He’s quality.”

“Yes, he is.”

As they broke their hug, Corrine dashed a tear from her eye, then said, “Oh hell, Ernie, you’re gonna bust open that suitcase carrying it like that.” She went over to instruct and assist him.

Laurel went in search of Irv and found him in his room. He was sitting on his barrel seat, staring at the floor.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked.

“The girl told me I was gettin’ in the way more than helping. And she’s right. Arm still hurts if I move it a certain way, and this damn bum hip.” He muttered the rest, but she knew that his crankiness wasn’t due to his ailments or Corrine’s criticism.

She sat down on the end of his bed, facing him, and said softly, “I’m going to miss you, too. Terribly.”

Frowning, he said, “It ain’t too late to change your mind. I’ve worked the rails over there in East Texas. It ain’t like here. It’s humid. They got mosquitoes as big as turkeys. Alligators.”

“I don’t think there are any alligators in Bynum.”

He harrumphed. She reached for his hands and held them. “Be careful with your new enterprise.”

His bushy eyebrows shot up. “Enterprise?”

She gave him a look. “The first giveaway was catching you in a tête-à-tête with Mike O’Connor yesterday. I thought you didn’t trust his dimples.”

“Who said I do?”

She continued, “Another giveaway is all that busywork you and Ernie have been doing down in the cellar. Did you really think I would believe that you two are opening a machine shop?”

“Why not?”

“A machine shop with a mirror along one wall?”

He gave up the pretense. “With Gert dead, Lefty abandoned the roadhouse. Nobody knows where he ran off to. The county’s condemned the building. The girl remembered that long mirror, so we helped ourselves to it and the gramophone. They’ll give the place some class.”

“I suppose you’ll serve Ernie’s moonshine. Is Mike supplying the bootlegged liquor?”

“He’s got some good connections.”

“I’m sure.”

“The girl will make snacks to serve.”

“When do you open?”

“Soon as you and Hutton clear town.”

“Does this speakeasy have a name?”