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

by Allison J. Jewell

  “Maybe, I’m not sure though. I don’t like any of this. I don’t like our responsibility-to-shooter ratio in this house.” He turned his face and yelled down a long narrow hall, “Walter, let’s go. Now.”

  “Ratio?” Emmie asked, making the word a question.

  “You, Max, and Mae are responsibility; Trick, Walter, and I are shooters. I’m starting to wish I’d had Vincent come along just to be sure. They weren’t supposed to be here until tonight but I don’t like the risk of being outnumbered,” he explained.

  Walter and Mae came down the hall with Max close on their heels. All three looked frightened at the urgency in Silas’s voice. They walked out the door and Silas asked Trick if he’d checked their truck. Emmie wasn’t sure what that meant. Whatever it was, Trick said he had. Walter, Mae, and Max all climbed into the front of the truck. There wasn’t room for Emmie but she knew she needed to go with them. Silas didn’t have time to be driving her all over town today. Clearly he needed to get back to the others.

  “I’ll ride in the back of the truck. You go on back to the butcher brothers’. Let this house go if you have to, as long as there’s no one here they can hurt—that’s all that matters,” Emmie said, putting a hand on Silas’s chest.

  Walter got out of the car, still holding his shotgun and turned back toward the house. “Mae forgot her knitting and won’t stop squawking about it. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  Silas nodded to tell him to go on then turned back to Emmie.

  “I’m not letting you ride back to town in the back of a truck. We can take you. Besides, I’d feel better following you all anyway,” Silas said.

  Emmie frowned but didn’t argue. The truth was she felt better when he was with her. He opened the car door for her. Trick stood out in the yard, scanning the surroundings like he was expecting to be attacked. Just as she was about to drop down into the passenger seat, Emmie saw something that made her stop in her tracks.

  “Silas,” she said, his name barely above a whisper.

  “Oh hell,” he swore, “go get Max and Mae. Get in the house, lock the door, and don’t you come out until you hear my voice. Stay away from the windows.”

  His demeanor took on an icy calm, but she knew he was anxious. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she ran to the truck parked in front of her. Trick moved over to join his brother with his arms crossed around his chest. Emmie opened the truck door and spoke quickly.

  “Mae, has the house got a back door?”

  “Yes, why?” the older woman asked, turning in the truck.

  “Because we’ve got company,” Emmie said, not wanting to alarm Max.

  Mae started to reach for her belongings, Emmie put her hand on the older woman’s softly. “I think we just need to go, now.”

  Mae nodded and grabbed Max’s hand.

  “What is it?” he asked, looking at his grandmother, his eyes large and bewildered.

  “Nothing child. Come on, let’s get you in the house,” she said with a smile in an attempt to calm the boy down.

  Emmie took Max’s other hand and they made their way out of the car. She and Mae pulled Max in tow as quickly as they could. But Max was anxious and tripped twice on the uneven ground. She turned around and stole a glance at Silas. Millie, Mr. Johnson, and a man she didn’t know got out of the car. Millie looked worse for wear. Her hair was matted to her head and she rubbed her red swollen eyes. It looked like her father was half-pulling her along.

  Silas’s gaze met Emmie’s for just for a moment and he nodded at Max. The child was scared and struggling to move quickly. She could tell by Silas’s face he wanted them in the house immediately. Emmie stopped, grabbed Max under the arms and put him on her hip like you would a toddler. Silas nodded in approval and turned back to the men that were closing in on him.

  “Walter,” Mae whispered loudly the minute they hit the house.

  Emmie locked the door behind them.

  “I see them,” Walter said. He was crouched down just to the side in front of the window. He was watching the discussion in the front of the house. “Go get the extra sawed-off outta the bedroom, Mae.”

  Emmie looked around the kitchen and found a small pantry under the stairs. When she put Max down she saw his hands were trembling. “I’m scared, Miss Emmie. What’s going on with those men?”

  “Shh . . .” She opened the door to the pantry and set him inside. She found a coal-oil lamp on a nearby table and lit it quickly. She moved into the small space with Max, brushing his hair out of his face and said, “I want you to sit in here and be really quiet, okay. Don’t come out until you hear the voice of someone you know.”

  “Miss Emmie, I’m scared,” he repeated.

  Mae appeared at the door with a small kitchen knife in her hand. “I’ll stay in here with him.”

  Emmie nodded and shut the pantry door. She bent down and half crawled through the living room, wanting to be careful not to draw any attention from the men outside. Walter saw her coming and pointed where he wanted her to be. She sat on the opposite side of the window. She watched as the men appeared to talk on the front lawn. To an uninformed passerby it might appear to be just a casual conversation about anything—the weather, baseball, moonshine wars, blowing up cars, or burning houses.

  Silas was grinning. He said something that made Mr. Johnson frown. The stranger laughed and said something, pointing at Trick. If Emmie had ever been unsure what the term itchy-trigger-finger meant, she could see it personified in front of her now. Trick pulled on the stranger, holding his gun at nearly point blank range. Millie screamed. That was the exact moment when Emmie’s world stopped turning. The first shot rang out. It came from the car. There had been another man hidden in the car. Silas stumbled backward, pulling out his gun, and shooting at the car as he did so. Walter broke out the glass and was firing out the window. More shots rang out, more shouting, more screaming. Emmie never realized the screams were coming from her. She couldn’t say how she made it from the house to the yard. She didn’t know if anyone else was around her or if the shooting had stopped. She could only see Silas lying at her feet. His white shirt was stained crimson red. A painful plea erupted from her chest, straight from her heart.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  “What are you . . .?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Get back in the house.”

  The blood had soaked through his shirt and vest.

  Emmie cried, “Somebody help him.”

  Emmie pleaded, but her voice wasn’t working right. The words came out too slow as the world spun around her. Emmie pressed her hands against his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Silas sucked in a breath against the pain of her touch.

  “Oh my God, oh my God . . .” She couldn’t say how many times she repeated the phrase, but it seemed to be the only thing she could make herself say.

  “Trick,” Silas said, his voice much quieter this time.

  “I’m here, brother,” Trick said, attempting to nudge Emmie out of the way. She didn’t budge.

  “Emmie, let me help him.” Trick’s voice was eerily calm.

  She moved to his other side. His good side. The blood-free side. She put her hands on each side of his face. Her fingers left crimson fingerprints on his cheeks. They were stained from covering his wound with her hands. His eyes were dark and piercing as he looked at her. Emmie saw Trick rip his sleeve and shout something to someone standing nearby. The shooting had stopped. The world had gone quiet.

  “Silas,” her voice quivered as she spoke softly. Tears dripped from her eyes to his chest. He brought his good arm up and touched her face, running his thumb over her cheekbone.

  “Mo Chuisle,” he said softly.

  “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry for everything. I’m so sorry, Silas,” Emmie rambled, putting her right hand on top of his.

  “You were right,” his voice came out as a groan as Trick tied something around his brother’s shoulder. “I was a coward to leave you.”

  “No,
you’re the bravest man I know. Oh God please.” Emmie looked up at the sky making her words a prayer.

  His fingers closed around the ring on her hands. “I wish I would have put that on the other hand.”

  Emmie moved the ring over to her left hand. “I’ve always been yours, right or left, it never mattered. Please don’t go, Silas. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

  She leaned down and kissed his lips, framing his face with her shaking hands again. He closed his eyes against the pain. He looked weaker, his eyes looked tired. It looked as if shadows were descending on him. She leaned down into his ear and whispered again, “My pulse, Mo Chuisle, please don’t leave me.”

  “Walter,” she heard Trick shout and saw him grab Silas’s chin to get his attention. “We’re gonna get you to the hospital, brother. Emmie keep talking to him. Millie put pressure on that while I move him.”

  Silas’s eyes seemed to focus on Emmie again and then he groaned loudly, sucking in a breath as they moved him to the back of Walter’s truck. Emmie climbed up into the truck bed, kneeling at his side. Walter took off as fast as the little truck would go. She glanced at their surroundings as they pulled out of the house. Dead leaves and bodies littered the front yard. She saw Mae standing on the front porch with her hand over her heart.

  She and Trick did the best they could to keep him still but the gravel road was unforgiving. Trick kept one hand pressed firmly on his brother’s wound. She had never seen so much blood. She looked back down at Silas. He was staring at her so intently. His good hand came up to touch her waist; she gripped it tightly. She leaned over him again, whispering prayers in his ear. He grimaced with each bump and turn. When she leaned back he tried to smile but came up short. When he spoke, his voice came out as little more than a hoarse whisper, “M’Aingeal Álainn.”

  “Hell no, Silas,” Trick said, grabbing his brother’s face and turning it to face him. “She might be beautiful but you aren’t seeing an angel. That’s your ball of trouble. You hear me, you aren’t seeing angels.” Trick tried to make the words come out as a joke but his voice was thick with emotion.

  *

  Emmie sat on the hospital floor with her back against the wall. At some point she’d stopped crying. She could hear the rush of doctors and nurses moving around Silas on the other side of the wall. Emmie wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, attempting to find peace in the rhythmic movement. She felt someone drop down next to her. Long arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her head over to his shoulder. All she could see was a long gray beard. The sweet smell of tobacco clung to Walter’s clothes. She breathed it in. A sob escaped her.

  Walter kissed the top of her head like she was a child cradled in his arms. “Silas is a strong one. How could he not be when he’s got you to wake up to?”

  His words only made her start to cry again. Fire. She’d expected fires today, not gunshots. Was the risk for fires over? She had no idea what had happened outside. Were the others okay? Had someone shot at the folks at her uncles’? A startling thought entered her mind.

  “Walter, Max and Mae are alone in your house. You need to be with them,” she said, pulling back to look in his eyes.

  The old man didn’t object but he didn’t stand up either. “Millie’s there with them. She and Mae should be fair shots with the sawed-off.”

  “Walter, go be with them. Max is scared. I’ll be fine.” Fine. There was that word again. Ava was right. She only said she was fine when she wasn’t.

  Trick seemed to appear from nowhere. “Go on, Walter. I’d appreciate if you’d ride out to the Sloan place and let them know we are here. They don’t have a phone and I can’t get out there. Take the butcher brothers with you to clean up.”

  “You sure you won’t come with me?” Walter asked, biting his lip as he waited for her reply.

  Emmie just shook her head and kissed the old man on the cheek. “Be careful.”

  Trick looked apprehensive as he asked the next question, “Will you keep Millie with you tonight? Don’t let anyone take her—good or bad guy—until we can talk.”

  Bo’s phone call. Had he known they were going to shoot Silas? He’d said to tell them that Millie didn’t know better. Emmie looked up at Trick and swallowed hard. “When Bo called he said to tell you, all of you, that Millie didn’t know. That he had used her.”

  Trick frowned at Emmie. “I suppose the he Bo mentioned was referring to their father?”

  Emmie shrugged. “Bo said he was getting on a train tonight. He knew something was going to happen. That’s why he called. He said it would be too late by the time he got here.”

  “Can you tell me what happened outside?” Walter asked.

  Trick sat down next to Emmie, ran his hands through his hair and rubbed his mouth before he answered, “I think it’s my fault.” He put his hand over his mouth and struggled to continue. Emmie rubbed his knee. He shook his head as if to fight off the emotions, then opened his mouth to speak again, “They said they hadn’t expected to see us there. Silas made some smart mouth comment like surprise or something. Then he asked them about Emmie’s house and the word carved into her barn. Mr. Johnson just laughed and that other man said something about people who run with men like us are going to be punished.”

  Emmie’s mouth dropped open. What had been carved into her barn? What had happened to her house? “Wait, Trick. What are you talking about?”

  Trick rolled his eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Emmie. I forgot he hadn’t told you yet.”

  His words registered. “My house is gone.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “And what was carved into the old barn?”

  “Moll,” he answered.

  Emmie felt bile rise in her throat. The same thing Mr. Parbour and Will Thomas had called her. Something clicked together in her mind.

  “Trick, that stranger who showed up at the house with Mr. Johnson was Parbour’s brother wasn’t he?” she asked.

  Trick nodded. “Mr. Johnson introduced him right before the shooting started. He said the bootleggers had united. He said Kentucky no longer answered to the boys from Chicago.”

  “Bootleggers? I get that for Johnson but aren’t Parbour’s family revenuers?” Emmie asked, confused.

  Walter nodded, putting the story together before Emmie. “No. He was only a revenuer to eliminate the competition.”

  Trick nodded in agreement. His eyes were hollow as he said, “Then he said some crude things about Millie being with me. Parbour said she was his gift. They were going to use a nineteen year old girl to unite their families.”

  “How would any of this be your fault?” Emmie asked.

  “I pulled first. I didn’t know about the man in the car. I thought Silas and I could take them, I guess. Hell, the truth was I was pissed at the things he’d said about me and Millie that I wanted to shoot that son of a bitch right between the eyes. Looks like I got what I wanted,” he sneered. “And now my brother’s blood is on my hands.”

  “Trick, don’t,” Emmie said, trying to comfort him.

  “No, it’s true. We didn’t even get all the answers we needed from him. I could tell Silas was going to needle them for more information. He didn’t want to fight them until we had more men. He was right.”

  An awful sort of quiet ate up a few minutes. Trick finally looked over at Walter and spoke, “You need to go be with them though. I’m counting on you to get the word to Al. I’d go do it myself but I can’t leave him right now.”

  Walter nodded, understanding. Emmie stood and walked him to the front door of the hospital. She watched until he pulled out onto the main road. When Emmie came back to Silas’s room, Trick was inside. His head was bowed in prayer. He wiped his eyes and made the sign of the cross, then bent down and kissed his brother’s forehead. He looked up, saw Emmie, and nodded for her to come in.

  The nurse had given him a shot to ease the pain. His breathing was slow but easier. She walked over and kissed
his forehead. Emmie leaned over him and brushed her fingertips across his forehead and through his hair. With each swipe of her hand she told him of times she’d seen him as handsome, funny, brave or strong: when he’d tossed her his jacket on the first day they’d met, when he’d taught her to dance, when he’d given her the box he’d found in her house, when he’d sent Mr. Thomas flowers . . . flour sacks, peacock feathers, pants, flasks of apple pie to make her feel at home, the college applications, the children’s books, Bell House, ice skating, and finally she talked to him about the ring he’d given her and his promises.

  She leaned down and put her lips against his as she said, “All I want is for you to promise to come back to me, Silas.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Emmie awoke to the gentle pulling of her hair. She batted her eyes and took in her surroundings. Her head rested on the side of the hospital bed, her body stiff from hours spent in the small wooden chair someone had brought in last night. She felt the pull again. Pushing herself back, she found Silas’s hand was running through her hair with clumsy movements. Her eyes met his. They were open, only barely, but they were open for the first time since they’d arrived at the hospital yesterday afternoon.

  “Mo Chuisle.” His voice was so raspy.

  “Silas,” she cried, moving to stand over him. Emmie ran her hands through his hair. “I love you, Silas.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up like he was trying to smile but it turned to a grimace as he tried to sit up. He reached over to hold the tender spot on his chest. “Trick?”

  “He’s right here. Silas, we’re both here. Let me go get the nurse. You need more pain medicine,” she said, running her fingers down his cheek.

  “Trick,” Silas said a little louder.

  Emmie leaned over and nudged Trick who had propped himself up on the ground against the chair she had been sitting in. He awoke with a startle. Impulsively she saw his hand reach for his holster. She gently put her hand on his. “It’s fine. Silas is asking to see you.”