Come Rain or Shine (Shine On Series, Book Three)

by Allison J. Jewell

  “Okay, I’m sorry. There must be some mistake,” she said pointedly at her father.

  These people were a basket of crazy and she didn’t want any of what they had to offer. Praise the Lord that her mother had made it away from these people. It might be the only good thing Marco ever did for her mother. He deserved some credit for that at least. She attempted to pull him back but his feet were rooted on the ground. He tilted his head to the side and arched his brow as if to ask her if she was sure. She answered his unspoken question aloud.

  “This was just a mistake. We are lost but can see you don’t want to be bothered right now.” She turned to face Cain and the older woman. “I’m sorry, again.”

  She and Marco had just started to turn and walk slowly back to the car when Cain spoke. “Wait, girl. Stop right there a second.”

  His boots thudded the ground in a slow rhythm as he made his way over to her. Grabbing her, he spun her around and looked at her curiously. He took in the sight of her from the tip of her shoes to her eyelashes. Emmie swallowed hard against his stare. She could feel Marco move instinctively closer to her. The man’s hand grabbed her so quickly she didn’t have to protect herself. His fingers bit her wrist.

  “Not so fast, girl,” he said, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Emmie tried to pull her arm away from him but his large, thick fingers had completely encircled her wrist. The large man pulled her into the house. Marco slid through the door behind her before it closed in his face.

  “Now Cain, don’t you go causing any trouble with this girl,” the older woman said, squinting in Emmie’s direction. In the doorway Emmie had assumed the older woman was scrutinizing them, now that she was in the house she realized that this woman was struggling to see.

  “Don’t you worry, Aunt Eve. These aren’t strangers or at least this one ain’t,” he said, pointing toward Emmie. The pointing she was fine with—the fact that he had a knife in his pointing hand, she was not.

  The old woman didn’t say a word; she just took a step closer to her and tilted her head to the side trying to get a better look. “Something about her looks familiar, but I’m sorry, Miss, my eyes ain’t so good.”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ve never met. If I do look familiar—” Emmie was interrupted.

  “Oh you and her ain’t never met but I know just who you are,” Cain said, taking a step closer to her, still pointing with the knife.

  Impulsively Emmie took a step back from the man. He wasn’t holding it in a position to stab her necessarily, but the way he balanced it in his hand so comfortably made her feel uneasy. That man and his knife were way too friendly with one another. She glanced over at Marco. She wasn’t sure if her look said help me or I’m going to kill you for bringing me here. Either way, he got the message. Marco took a step nearer her, but Cain put his free arm out to stop him.

  “I remember seeing you just outside of Bowling Green in Richardsville at the Johnson place but you sure looked a lot worse for wear that day. You seem to have healed up right nice,” he said, taking in her fancy dress from Silas.

  Emmie frowned at his words. She had no recollection of meeting this man at the Johnsons. The man noticed her confusion.

  “Course, I ain’t surprised you don’t remember. Forgive me, Miss, but I didn’t get your name,” he said with a grin.

  “Emma,” she said, telling him her given name. “My name is Emma.”

  “Emma, the last time I seen you, your man was carrying you outta that cabin and loading your broken body in the back of his shiny black automobile,” he said loudly.

  The cabin. This man had been at the cabin. She tried to take another step backward but couldn’t. She was standing with her back to a rocking chair that wouldn’t let her move any farther.

  He nodded. “That’s right, I was there. We are friends of Al DeCarmilla. So we help out his nephew from time to time. Now my question is, why would a pretty little thing like you be traveling here without your man? ’Cause see, that McDowell boy don’t seem like one to take his girl on business. Yet there you were in that cabin surrounded by trouble. Then I was thinking you were a girl just needed to be saved. But now you are here with some strange man, an uninvited guest in our house. And of all times for you to be showing up here—when we’ve got us in the middle of a little territory war. I ain’t much of a believer in coincidence, Emma. And you seem to keep showing up when trouble is around.”

  Emmie’s pulse pounded in her temples as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She was a fool to not expect this. Marco had met her mother through Al. How could she have not put together that the Sloan family was still involved with Al’s business? Looking at the knife in his hand, she realized he was involved in an ugly side of Al’s business. She looked at the man and tried to place him, but she didn’t have any memory of him. He must have come into the cabin after she left.

  Emmie reached a hand down to her purse that was dangling on her right shoulder. As she reached down, she felt the cool blade of the man’s knife press against her arm. “What are you pulling outta that purse, Emma?”

  Emmie froze. Marco tried to move near her again but the man pushed hard against his chest, knocking him to the ground. At that moment the front door flew open. Another man that could have passed for Cain’s twin came through the door, walking backward.

  She gasped loudly as he turned around to face her. He was carrying a half-dressed man whose feet and wrists were bound with thick rope. The man’s wild, scared eyes met hers. He attempted to shout something, but his mouth had been gagged so the sound came out as a muffled scream. She attempted to move but couldn’t. Cain still had the blade of his knife pointed right at her. She shoved the rocking chair that blocked her way with her hip. It slid across the wooden floor giving her just enough space to move away from Cain. Never mind the picture of her mother she was getting ready to pull from her purse—forget this family. She was out of here. Marco Del Grandé could follow her or hang around to catch the show. Emmie scanned the room for another way out but she could see only one exit and that was the door. Her moment of hesitation cost her an escape; his hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her into him. She could feel his knife at her throat.

  “Stop. Stop, I can explain why I’m here,” she screamed, her voice coming out high pinched and uneven. Marco made a run toward Cain. The other man dropped the half-naked man on the ground and went to restrain Marco. To Marco’s credit, he put up a decent fight against the larger, younger man.

  “Butcher, drop your knife. Now,” a steely voice called from the doorway.

  Cain didn’t exactly obey the man, but he did pull the knife back so it no longer rested against her throat, his grip still tight around her waist. The man stepped out of the shadow and into the light. Emmie swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the feeling of cold steel pressed against her skin or the sight of those piercing gray-blue eyes staring at her incredulously from across the cabin.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” he shouted so loudly his words popped in Emmie’s ears.

  Emmie pulled her eyes away from his and took in the sight of the room. She had been wrong earlier when she said the greeting on the front porch had been the most absurd thing she had experienced. That privilege now belonged to this moment—standing in her mother’s family’s house, held at knifepoint, while a bound half-naked man wiggled on the floor like a worm. She heard footsteps pound out an angry rhythm as they neared her but she couldn’t look away from the man still giving a muffled scream on the floor.

  “Look. At. Me.” Silas reached out with his leather-gloved hand, grabbed her chin, and pulled it up so she could see to his face. As soon as he had a hold of her Cain let go of her waist and took a step back. Clearly he thought he had passed her off, sending her to become someone else’s problem.

  Emmie forced her eyes to look into his. At this moment they looked like storm clouds, dark and angry.

  “What in
the hell are you doing here, Emmie?” he repeated loudly.

  She opened her mouth to try and find her voice. “I . . . I just . . .”

  He turned and caught sight of Marco for the first time. He let go of Emmie’s face and moved to the older man.

  “Did you bring her here?” he shouted.

  One of the men still standing in the doorway said something, but Emmie couldn’t make out the sound. Nothing in this house made sense.

  Marco nodded and opened his mouth to explain but Silas’s knuckles hit the man square in the jaw. Emmie ground her teeth together at the sight. Marco had no choice but to take the punch since he was still being restrained by one of the brothers. Marco’s lip busted and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Stop this,” she shouted, running over to him.

  Silas shouted at Marco, “Why would you bring her here?”

  Emmie was surprised to find Al at her side. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her face into his body. “Silas, go outside and cool off.”

  When Silas started to speak, Al shouted, “Get. Out. Of. This. House.”

  He turned to Trick, “Do not let your brother back in here until his blood has stopped boiling.”

  Trick nodded and pushed Silas out the door. Al released his grip on Emmie’s head. He pulled her away, his hands framing her face. Bending down so he could see her eyes he asked, “Do you know who these people are?”

  She nodded, unable to find her voice.

  Al turned to face his friend. “You’re timing has always left something to be desired, Marco.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  “You,” Al put his finger out at Marco who was pulling himself off the ground, “explain to them why you are here, now.”

  Emmie glanced out the window. She caught sight of Silas pacing the porch like a caged animal. Then she turned back to Marco.

  “Are these the boys coming for dinner?” the old woman asked from the corner of the room. Emmie knew she was half blind but surely she could hear the man’s muffled scream. He couldn’t be more than three feet from her. Yet here she was checking who was staying to eat. This was the strangest group of people Emmie had ever met. If possible, the Del Grandé family was her normal half, and that was saying something.

  “Come on, Aunt Eve, these people have some business to work out. I’m gonna take that one to the shed.” The big man let go of Marco and moved to the half-naked man on the ground.

  “No. Vincent, you take care of our friend,” Al said, nodding to the man on the ground. “You three need to hear what Marco has to say.”

  Vincent did as his father asked leaving Al, Marco, and Emmie alone with the three Sloans. Emmie crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at her mother’s family, each of them wearing a completely baffled expression. Marco wiped the blood off his lip and straightened his suit.

  “Miss Eve, Chris, Cain,” he said, “I was a friend of Ruby’s.”

  The men frowned. Eve’s face fell at the mention of her mother’s name.

  “We fell in love and she ran away with me to Chicago more than twenty years ago.”

  “Chicago. Ruby’s been in Chicago all these years?” Eve asked with a confused smile. Emmie wondered if her mind was giving way to old age.

  “No, things didn’t work out between us and she eventually came back to Kentucky,” he said. “She settled close to the Tennessee line.”

  “Yeah, well . . . why have you come here? Chris and I were only kids when she hightailed it outta here, saying something about how she thought she deserved better—like she was some kinda princess. She like to have broke Pa’s heart when she left. I don’t think he ever got over her leaving.” Cain’s brows knitted, “But we know our history. And I ain’t surprised it was some fancy fella like you that took her away. She always had one eye on the horizon. She woulda jumped this ship with anyone willing to take her.”

  Chris cut his brother off, moving to stand nearly nose-to-nose with Marco. “We know our family history and don’t need to go over it with the likes of some city slicker like you. Why are you here?”

  Emmie walked up and gently touched Chris’s arm to get his attention. It worked. Both brothers snapped to look over at her almost in unison. She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. “I am Ruby’s daughter. This is my father, Marco.”

  Of all the things the men had planned to learn that day, this was not one of them. This time Cain was actually the one taking a step away from her. He nodded like he wanted to say something but couldn’t think how to reply. Emmie took his nod as a sign of acceptance.

  “I always assured your father that I was watching out for his daughter. Ruby lived near my family. Your father wanted her to be able to live her own life, as long as I could assure him she was living well,” Al said.

  “I guess since she’s here with him,” Chris nodded at Marco, “that means my sister has passed.”

  Emmie felt tears prick her eyes at the question. “The Spanish flu took her to the angels. But I couldn’t have asked for a better mother.”

  The boys nodded, looking down at the ground. It was silent for a moment before anyone spoke.

  “What do you want from us?” Cain asked skeptically, looking at Emmie.

  “Nothing,” Emmie answered honestly. “I can see I probably made a mistake coming here today. I just . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence because she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  It was actually the older woman who broke the silence. She walked slowly over to Emmie and ran her dry cracked hands down her forehead, nose, eyes, and lips before she rested them on the sides of Emmie’s face. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Would you like to help me with the noon meal? Ruby always was a good cook.”

  Emmie wanted to say no. She needed to leave this place. Her mouth formed the words but no sound came out. Al spoke for her, “Yes, Emmie is a good cook just like her mother. We’ve got some things to take care of and it’ll be good for you to get to know your great-aunt Eve.”

  Her eyes pleaded with Al but his face was resolved, leaving no room for argument.

  Eve grabbed the younger girl by her elbow and ushered her into the kitchen. Without a word, she handed Emmie a large bowl of potatoes and carrots. “Get to peeling, girl, we got us a lot of hungry men to feed at noon.”

  The old lady all but pushed Emmie down onto a short wooden chair with a wobbly leg and slid a knife across the table. What was with this family and their knives? Emmie had no idea what to do. Surely they didn’t expect her to sit in this kitchen and peel potatoes when her world had just been flipped upside down. She shrugged out of her coat, draping it on the back of the chair and sat back down. Her great-aunt looked back over again and nodded to the bowl. “The carrots ain’t gonna be peeling themselves. Do you need me to show ya how?”

  “No, I can peel,” Emmie said, grabbing the largest potato in the bowl and setting to work.

  The knife was the largest and sharpest knife Emmie had ever used in a kitchen. While her hands worked on the potatoes her eyes darted into the living room every few seconds anxiously watching for Silas to walk back through the front door. After a few minutes she began to give up hope. She finished the peeling and started chopping.

  “We need to talk.”

  She jumped, startled at the sound of his voice in her ear and nicked her finger. Silas fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to the wound. “I’ll be right back, Miss Eve.”

  “Hmm . . . oh,” she said, seeing Silas, “you take your time now, girl.” The older woman smiled and went back to work stirring an empty pot of boiling water. Emmie half worried about leaving the woman alone in the kitchen. But Silas pulled her from the room and out the back door.

  Silas stood in front of her. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, shaking his head. Emmie thought if he rubbed his jaw any harder he might actually rub the skin off. She knew him well enough to know he was getting ready to fish a cigarette out of his vest poc
ket before he made the move to do so. He inhaled deeply, squinting one eye as he did so, never moving his gaze from her face.

  Grabbing the cigarette with his thumb and first finger he pulled it away from his mouth and exhaled slowly. She watched his mouth as he bit his lower lip and nodded. “Let me ask this first.” She was surprised at how calm his voice was. She’d expected him to pull her out here and flip his lid.

  “Al explained to me that the butcher brothers are your uncles,” he said.

  That was not a question but she didn’t think this was the time to call him out on that. So she nodded in agreement.

  “I know that must have come as quite a shock. Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she answered too quickly for that to be the truth and they both knew it.

  “You sure about that?” he asked, taking another draw from his cigarette.

  “Yeah. As messed up as this is, it’s not my biggest problem right now,” she said, thinking about her conversation with Bo.

  Silas smirked, turned his head to the side, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and nodded in agreement. “Oh, Mo Chuisle, you are right about that . . .” The way he said the words typically reserved as a term of endearment made her take a step backward. He wasn’t shouting but the hint of his family’s Irish accent appeared in his tone, his voice laced with venom.

  “Why in the hell are you in Kentucky, Emma?” he shouted.

  Chapter Forty-four

  “Silas I just . . .” Emmie said, looking out at a field off to his left rather than directly at him.

  “You just what? What? You just wanted to be down here in the middle of the excitement? You were mad at me for leaving you and wanted to teach me a lesson about how you don’t need me to tell you what to do?”

  “No, no,” Emmie said, finding her voice and looking back at him, “I just wanted to help.”