by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
“I’m sorry,” Lorelei murmured. She finished preparing the pies for the oven and turned to Drub. “I can’t reach the stove with this.” She waggled her roped ankle.
“Tweedy, put the pies in the oven,” Drub commanded.
Lorelei watched the gangly young man insert the pies into the oven and latch the door.
“Does anyone have a watch?”
All four shook their heads. If they were truly leading lives of crime, beyond taking her hostage, they weren’t very successful at it.
“All right. We’ll have to keep checking on them.”
She lowered herself to a wobbly three-legged stool close to the table and dropped her head into her hands.
Lord, please don’t let any of them die. I just want them to fall asleep long enough for me to get away.
She didn’t even want to call the marshal on them now. She felt sorry for them. Even Drub. They needed work and hope. Mostly hope. She knew what it was to feel hopeless; she’d been experiencing it since the day she opened the letter from the bank.
The spicy, sweet scent of apple pie began to permeate the room. If her plan failed … She raised her head and looked at her captors. Three of them had their eyes closed, sniffing the air with rapturous expressions. Drub stared out the window, a haunted expression on his bloated face. When it came right down to it, the only thing separating her and her parents from these desperate men was a flimsy piece of paper from the bank.
Chapter 9
Sparks flew from the pedal-operated grinder as Emmett held the edge of the hoe against the stone and worked the treadle with his feet, sharpening the tool’s edge. To his right lay multiple shovels, spades, shears, and other tools of the beet grower’s trade, now sharp and shiny and ready for use. On his other side, propped against the wall of the barn, was a seemingly endless line of implements still in need of care.
When the hoe was done, he placed it in the finished pile. The wheel slowed and stilled, its whirring noise silenced. Emmett took off his driving goggles—he’d gotten them from the roadster after the first bit of rusty metal flew off a spade and smacked him in the face—and wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with his shirtsleeve. Mr. Boyd was perched on a nearby bench, his swollen foot propped on a bale of hay, rubbing saddle soap into a leather harness.
Emmett understood why Mr. Boyd had wanted someone else to work the treadle. It put significant pressure on the feet, something a gout-sufferer would want to avoid.
“How are you doing over there?” Mr. Boyd asked.
“Slow and steady,” Emmett answered, reaching for a wide-tined fork used to lift the beets from the ground before the pickers pulled them out, the loppers sliced off the frothy greens, and they were stacked for transport. Mr. Boyd had explained all of this to him the day before. Touching the tools make the task come to life for Emmett.
“We’ll knock off in another hour or so. Lorelei should be back by then and ready for lunch.”
Emmett picked up the pace on the treadle and began holding the edges of the tines to the grinder, one at a time.
An hour later Emmett used a borrowed bandanna to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It was turning into a scorcher outside, and the temperature in the barn had risen accordingly. He straightened the stack of sharpened tools lined up against the wall. There was something satisfying about doing work that would last longer than a month or two. He wanted, he realized, to see this year’s beet harvest, to be here to use these tools.
“You’ve done more in one morning than I could have finished in three days. I’m mighty grateful.”
“I’m happy to help, sir.”
“Why don’t we head in and see about lunch?”
Emmett’s stomach rumbled in response. “Shouldn’t Lorelei … er … Miss Boyd be back by now?”
Mr. Boyd’s heavy black brows drew together. He reached into one of his multiple pockets, withdrew a battered pocket watch, and held it at arm’s length to read it. “She’s a bit late.”
Unease spiraled up Emmett’s spine and settled, constrictor-like, in a tight band around his skull. Leaving his completed chore behind, he followed Mr. Boyd out of the barn.
Mrs. Boyd met them at the door. “Is Lorelei with you?”
Mr. Boyd hobbled to a standstill. “No.”
Mrs. Boyd twisted the corner of her apron between her fingers. “She should have been back by now.”
Emmett’s discomfort intensified.
Mr. Boyd kissed his wife’s forehead. “I’m sure she got caught up cleaning. You know how she is. Once she gets started she doesn’t like to stop.”
Mrs. Boyd leaned into her husband. “You’re probably right. But I can’t shake the feeling something is wrong.”
The vise around Emmett’s head moved to his chest. “I’ll drive down to the cabin and pick her up.” Emmett did an about-face and jogged down the porch steps toward the Paige.
Chapter 10
Ain’t them pies cooked?” Drub groused.
Lorelei shoved her trembling hands into her pockets. The pies were done. She knew the smell of a finished pie. But she hesitated. She couldn’t remove the morphine she’d added, and she regretted her actions. Surely now that she knew their sad stories—and they hers—she could talk them into letting her go.
Tweedy rubbed his concave abdomen. “I’m starvin’, miss. How much longer?”
Oh, heavens.
She fingered the empty morphine bottle in her pocket. How much had Otto taken when his old joints were aching? How much had she dumped in the pies?
“Come on, missy. Get them pies out,” Drub demanded. She reached for a ragged towel marred by multiple scorch marks—Otto’s idea of an oven mitt—and opened the oven door. Apple-and-spice-infused steam wafted out, triggering audible groans.
Oh, Lord, please, don’t let me kill them.
She transferred the pies from the oven to the scarred table.
“Find plates and forks,” she said, reaching for the spatula. The four men scrambled into the mess they’d made.
Tweedy popped up at her elbow first, holding a battered tin plate in one hand, a fork in the other, and a ridiculous smile on his too-lean face. Lorelei suppressed a groan. She should confess what she’d done. She served a slice of drugged pie with a shaky hand as an engine rumbled to a stop outside.
Drub jerked to attention. He gestured to Righty and Lefty to move to either side of the door.
No! Not Emmett, not yet.
Drub reached into his pocket.
A gun? He had a gun?
Lorelei banged the spatula onto the table. “Emmett? Is that you? I’ll be right out,” she called. Her voice sounded funny: high-pitched and shaky.
Drub grunted, waving his tiny pistol to keep her away from the door.
“Let me go,” she whispered. “He came to pick me up. If I go now, he’ll never know you’re here. I won’t tell, I promise.”
Drub glowered and shook his head.
“Lorelei? Are you all right? Your mother is worried.” Emmett’s voice was muffled by the closed door.
“I’m fine. It’s taking longer than I thought. I’ll be right out. Wait for me in the car.” She turned a pleading glance on Drub. “Please! Let me go!”
“No!” Spittle flew from Drab’s mouth.
The doorknob rattled. “Who are you talking to? Why do I smell pie?” Righty and Lefty raised their weapons of choice, a skillet and a fireplace poker, over their heads.
Lorelei lunged forward, but Tweedy caught her and yanked her back as the door burst open, striking Righty in the face and knocking him backward. Emmett’s eyes widened as he took in the scene, and then Lefty brought the skillet down on Emmett’s skull. Lorelei gasped in horror as he crumpled to the cabin floor.
She wrenched herself free and flew to Emmett’s side, touching his face, his back, making sure he was still breathing. Then fury flooded through her. She glared up at her—their—captors.
“What did you do that for? You could have killed him!”
&n
bsp; Righty bumbled upright, blood gushing from his nose. “He done broke my nose!”
Lorelei turned her wrath on him. “You were standing on the wrong side of the door! What did you expect?”
Drub grunted. A sound that might have been an assent, but she wasn’t sure.
“Lefty, take care of your brother. Tweedy, drag him in here and shut the door. I’ve gotta decide what we’re gonna do now.” Drub sank into a chair, the gun dangling from his fingers pointed at the floor.
“You’re going to let us go, that’s what. And here to think I was ready to try and help the four of you find work.” Lorelei scrambled out of the way as Tweedy hauled Emmett’s prone form far enough into the cabin to shut the door.
“Nnuu nrrr?” Righty mumbled through his swelling proboscis, eyes hopeful. Lorelei glared at him.
“I was. I felt sorry for you.” She bent over Emmett again. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, abducting a woman and assaulting an innocent man.” What if he doesn’t wake up? “You may not have had an easy start in life, but if you keep making terrible choices, it’s never going to get any better.”
The cabin’s occupants fell silent. When Tweedy made a suspicious sniffling sound, Drub rose to his feet, shoving the gun back into his pocket.
“That’s enough, woman. You be quiet.” He paced. Which in the cabin’s tiny, cluttered confines meant taking three steps, turning around, taking three steps, and repeating the process.
“Drub, I ain’t all right with murder.”
Drub glowered at Tweedy. “I have no intention of murdering anybody, you dolt.” He turned to Lefty, who had one arm around his twin’s shoulders. “You two, get those pies, take ’em out to that fancy car. By the time he wakes up, we’ll be long gone.”
The Paige! Lorelei’s throat tightened. She hated for Emmett to lose his beautiful car. And it was all her fault. She sat up straight.
“You should eat first. Everybody knows apple pie tastes best warm.”
Drub eyed her with suspicion.
“Tie us up if you’re afraid. Go ahead.” She held out her wrists.
Drub spat. “I ain’t afraid of either of you.” He glanced at the pies, still steaming. “But you make a good point, missy. Tweedy, serve us up some pie.”
Emmett groaned and shifted. Lorelei placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, hoping he would remain still. If he awoke, they’d be left tied up in the cabin until someone else came searching for them. For a tense quarter hour, with her heart hammering in her chest, she watched the four men devour both pies, chasing the dessert with illegal moonshine.
Emmett twitched under her hand. When his eyes flickered open, she met his gaze. She was thankful his face was turned away from the men. She pursed her lips and gave the slightest shake of her head then pressed his shoulder again. To her relief, he remained still, but the energy in his muscled frame hummed beneath her palm. It cost him something to lie there, passive, in the face of danger.
“You sure there’s nothin’ here worth takin’ with us?” Drub asked. He plopped onto a stool. Was he slurring his speech more than usual?
“Nfn, Dbb,” Righty mumbled. His nose was most definitely broken.
“Tweedy, you get our stuff out to that car,” Drub ordered.
Tweedy nodded in response then sat down very suddenly on the floor. “I don’t feel so good.”
Lorelei thought her heart might climb right up her throat and choke her. Was the morphine working? Lefty collapsed against the wall with a thump and slithered to the floor. His brother followed suit.
“Wha’ the—?” Drub asked, and then he, too, slumped sideways, toppling off the stool in a snoring heap.
Lorelei held her breath for a beat. Emmett stirred like a rousing volcano under her hand, surging upright. Then he grabbed both sides of his head and groaned.
“Try not to move,” she admonished.
“Now you tell me,” he growled, head between his drawn-up knees. “What did you do to them?”
She withdrew the empty morphine bottle from her pocket and held it in front of his face. He looked at the bottle then looked up at her with a smile that made his dimples appear. She couldn’t help but smile back.
Lorelei helped him to his feet. Together they checked on the four incapacitated vagrants. All four were breathing.
“Thank the Lord. I was afraid I might kill them.”
“Not enough in that tiny bottle for all four of them, but I suspect the combination of morphine and spirits did the trick.”
She nodded. “Now what? Shall we tie them up?”
“Did you mean what you said? That you felt sorry for them and were thinking of helping them?”
“You heard all that?”
“I did.”
Lorelei blushed. “I was trying to stall them—that’s why I made the pies—and then they started telling me their stories.” She glanced at Righty and Lefty, propped against each other like two rag dolls in the corner. “They’re so young, and they’ve never had a real chance.”
“And as you said, they’ve all made terrible choices.”
“Yes, they have, but I don’t think any of them ever thought they had any real choices. It’s as though they’ve had to choose the lesser of two evils all their lives.” Her fingers curled around his forearm. “Oh, Emmett, that could easily be me or you lying there.”
Emmett’s chest swelled at her use of his given name. It sounded better, somehow, on her lips. He covered her fingers with his hand and squeezed.
“I don’t think you would ever fall to such levels, regardless of your situation.”
To his shock—and horror—tears filled her gray eyes, reminding him of a summer storm.
“I’m a piece of paper away from being homeless and helpless, just like these men,” she said. Her voice was so despondent that he couldn’t keep himself from pulling her into his embrace. He patted her back.
“That’s not so, Lorelei.”
“You don’t know.” She pushed away, swiping at angry tears. “The bank has been threatening to foreclose for months. Da doesn’t have the money to increase his payments, so he stopped opening the envelopes. Without a miracle, we’re going to lose the farm.”
Her words sank through his pain-addled head before she spun away from him. She stumbled over Drub’s legs and caught herself on the stool before she toppled.
“I can help—”
A firm hand wrapped around his ankle and jerked. Emmett kicked out with his free foot, connecting with soft flesh and hard bone. Tweedy grunted and released his grip. Emmett grabbed hold of Lorelei, pulling them both well out of reach.
“Oh dear,” she murmured. “Are they coming ’round?”
“They might be. We should go,” Emmett said. He bent over Drub’s inert form. He withdrew the pistol from the man’s pocket. “No need to leave them with this.”
Lorelei shuddered. “I suppose we should go call the marshal.”
Emmett checked the weapon. “It’s not even loaded, and the trigger is so rusty I doubt it would function.”
Lorelei frowned. “You see? They’re the most pitiful excuses for criminals I’ve ever met.”
“And you’ve met how many criminals?” Emmett quirked a brow.
She shrugged. “I can’t help but feel sorry for them.”
A look of despair crossed her features and reminded him of her earlier confession. But this wasn’t the time to continue that conversation.
“Come on, we need to get out of here before they wake up,” he said, tugging her toward the door.
Outside, Emmett leaned against the door. His head throbbed mercilessly. “Can you find a hammer and a board and some nails?”
Lorelei looked at him in shock. “You plan to trap them in there?”
“Yes. Otherwise by the time the marshal gets here they’ll be gone, kidnapping some other young woman. Is that what you want?”
She shot him a look. “Of course not.” She marched toward the ramshackle tool-shed, returning a few minute
s later with a length of board, a handful of long nails, and a hammer.
When the cabin door was nailed shut, Emmett sagged against it. “Can you drive?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. I mean, I think so. I’ve driven the farm truck, at least.”
He pressed a hand to his head. “I don’t think I can focus on the road. I’ll talk you through it.”
Lorelei helped Emmett into the roadster. He was pasty as an unbaked piecrust and shaking like an old man with the palsy.
“Are you all right?”
“No. But I will be.”
She climbed behind the steering wheel, heart pounding. She’d driven the farm truck around an empty field a few times, but that was nothing like the Paige.
Emmett slumped against the car door, sweat beaded on his forehead. Lorelei drove as fast as she dared, wincing every time she bounced through a pothole. The Paige wasn’t designed for the rough country roads.
When she braked outside the farmhouse, her parents appeared on the front porch before she was out of the car.
“Momma, help Mr. Dewey. He’s been hit in the head. Da, I have to call the marshal. There are four vagrants locked in Otto’s cabin.” She bounded past them into the house. In the parlor she picked up the telephone receiver. When she’d delivered her breathless message to the operator, who passed it to the marshal’s office, she hung up and turned to see her parents assisting a weak and groggy Emmett into the parlor. They settled him on the sofa and propped pillows behind his head and shoulders.
“Young lady, explain yourself,” Da said, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.
Lorelei poured out the whole story, from being captured by Tweedy, to baking morphine-tainted pies, to Emmett’s arrival and their subsequent escape. By the time she was finished, her mother was in tears and her father was patting her on the back.
She reached up and gripped his hand. “I’m fine, Da. I’m worried for Mr. Dewey.”
“Emmett.” His voice startled them all, and they turned. He was awake, though still pale. “Back at the cabin you called me Emmett. I think we’ve been through enough today to use our Christian names, don’t you?”
