Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

She’d straightened her backbone. “But if in my opinion they’re unsuitable for any reason, I’ll hire someone else and pay him out of my share, in which case, your percentage will be reduced to thirteen percent. That’s the deal, Mr. Logan. Nonnegotiable.”

“I’m agreeing because I’m confident that the O’Connor twins will work well for you.”

Laurel had been confident of that herself.

That evening, Davy O’Connor had showed up at her front door, a box of groceries balanced on his shoulder. He flashed her a winning smile. “Mrs. Plummer, good evening. Whenever you come into the store, the very sight of you makes my day. But in this gloaming light, you look a vision. Your—”

“Cut it out. Mr. Logan went for it. Have Mike drive around to the back. I baked a strawberry and rhubarb pie for our celebration.”

Her deal with the O’Connor brothers had been struck even before she had approached Logan.

Irv had been downright apoplectic when she’d advanced her idea to use the twins. “They’re crazy kids. Rambunctious and reckless. Wish I’d never told you about them.”

“Well you did. Please arrange a meeting.”

Davy and Mike would have been interchangeable except for Davy’s front tooth, which at some point in his boyhood had been chipped by a fist thrown by Mike. Both were handsome, flirtatious, and devilishly witty. Laurel liked them instantly.

Irv had informed them that the meeting was to discuss the peddling of moonshine. Already enticed, the two had been eager to hear what Laurel had in mind. Gathered around the kitchen table, she’d gotten down to business. “We need runners to move our product. You seem qualified.”

“Count us in,” Davy had said, winking at her. “We like excitement, right, brother?”

“We only went to work in that bloody store because we need to eat.”

Laurel had explained why they would need to continue working at the store. “At least for the time being. We need the cover of a legitimate business.”

The twins had looked at each other, obviously troubled. Speaking for both, Davy had said, “You know the Logans walk the straight and narrow.”

“I’ve told her that,” Irv had said.

“Mrs. Logan is trying to save our souls.” Mike had grinned when he said that. “Being Catholic is failing in that regard, according to her.”

“So when I approach Mr. Logan I should—”

“Act the prude, lady Laurel.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” When she’d told them her plans for expanding the business, they’d surprised Irv and her by contributing ideas of their own.

“All those men who used to hang out at the pool hall have worked up powerful thirsts, Mrs. Plummer. We can sell them your whiskey, whether or not they buy the baked goods.”

“But we’ll push your pies, too,” Mike had said as though pledging fealty.

As hoped, Mr. Logan’s customers had gone wild for Laurel’s pies. The twins delivered them after hours and, while at it, peddled moonshine to standing customers. Two weeks into their sideline, the twins had asked for another meeting with Irv and Laurel.

Davy had acted as spokesperson. “One of our friends from the pool hall is working up in Ranger. He says if we deliver your pies up there, he could sell them for a dollar a slice.”

Irv had dismissed that with a harrumph. “That ain’t worth the bother or the price of gasoline. It’s seventy miles one way.”

Mike had said, “If, along with the pies, we delivered five gallons of whiskey—”

“Five gallons?”

“Every other day.” Davy had turned to Laurel and winked.

Irv and she had given the O’Connors the go-ahead. Wearing their Saint Christopher medals for protection, they’d begun making trips to places where angels feared to tread. Irv and Ernie had difficulty keeping up with the demand.

And so had Laurel. A second oven had become necessary. She’d applied at the First National Bank for a loan. The bank officer, a long-standing customer of Irv’s moonshine, had approved the note. To accommodate the new appliance, Laurel had moved their dining table from the kitchen into the unfurnished dining room.

Between making deliveries and baking, she’d become so busy that hours would go by without Pearl crossing her mind. Her marriage to Derby seemed to have belonged to another woman in another life far removed from the one she was living. But as exhilarating as this venture was, it came with constant threats to her newfound independence, even to her life. She’d had a shocking reminder of that tonight when, once again, she’d crossed paths with Thatcher Hutton.

Recently, on a trip out to the still to deliver supplies to Ernie, as they passed the cutoff to the shack, she’d casually remarked to Irv that it seemed a long time ago since Mr. Hutton had wandered into the yard asking for directions.

Irv had said, “If he wandered, and if it was directions he was after.”

Her father-in-law still had Thatcher typed as a man who was polite, quiet, calm. And deadly.

Now, as she huddled on the side of her bed, Laurel wondered if the cowboy who broke horses was a guise for a government agent who broke up stills.

On the front page of today’s newspaper had been a picture of a still in northeast Texas near the Arkansas line that had been discovered and destroyed by state and federal law enforcement officers, unsmiling men with firearms and stern resolve.