“Something wrong?”
Her body jolted at the sound of Will’s voice. She’d thought he was still in the kitchen, cleaning up from supper.
He chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Why’d you pull that shade down so fast?”
She frowned. “A stranger was gawking at me. It’s probably nothing, but, still, it gave me a fright. He’s standing out there still.”
One of Will’s thick eyebrows jutted upward. “A stranger? Gawking?” He advanced to the door in two long strides and lifted the shade. “Humph. I don’t see anyone.” He stepped aside to the front window and peeked out through the horizontal slats in the blinds. “Nope, no one out there.”
She hastened to his side and looked through the dusty pane herself. Sure enough, the guy had vanished. “He was right there—big as a gorilla, I swear—leaning against that lamppost and staring at me like he knew some sort of secret. He had a cigarette in his mouth.” Desperation to make him believe her gushed through her like a fast-moving stream. “And—and he had a big purple gash on his cheek. Right here.” She pointed at the left side of her face and peered up into Will’s crystalline eyes.
Will set his hands on her shoulders, giving her a steadying squeeze as he bent close. “Shh, it’s all right, Livvie. You don’t have to try to convince me. I believe you, okay? It’s just that he’s not there now.”
“Oh.” She hushed, finding herself wholly aware of his hands on her shoulders. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his soft, comforting gaze, and another shiver, albeit one of a pleasant nature, created a wave of goose pimples over her arms. Lord, his hands feel so tingly and…pleasant. She was shocked by her own silent admission. Even more shocking was that, when she should have stepped away from the man’s touch, she stood cemented to the ground, almost statue-like, helpless to move an inch.
“What did he look like?” Will asked. His voice was so low, it seemed to come from a distant room.
“What?”
His breath touched her cheek, and another dizzying chill streaked through her.
“The man, did he look at all familiar?”
“No, I’ve never seen him before.”
“Well, maybe he just wanted something to eat. He probably saw you lock the door and turn the sign over. Maybe he—”
“It wasn’t like that,” she insisted. “I saw a certain look in his eyes.”
“A certain look.”
“Yes. Very strange and mysterious.”
His hands brushed down her bare arms and stopped at her elbows. Then, they traversed back up again, almost caressing. Try as she might, she couldn’t budge, even though decorum dictated that she should take one giant step back. Gracious! Will Taylor was suddenly a lot of man to contend with—all six-plus feet of him, and every inch muscle and brawn. She gulped hard and, in her head, heard a loud plunk at the back of her throat.
“I wouldn’t worry,” he said, his voice soothing. “As you saw just a second ago, he’s gone now.”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
With his hands still lightly skimming her arms and his eyes still holding her face captive, she managed to eke out one word: “Well.” A wealth of meaning surrounded that single, shaky syllable, which could have segued effectively into, “Now would be a good time to excuse myself,” or “My, but it’s humid in here.”
To her relief, she didn’t have to make the first move, for he dropped his hands to his sides, as if he’d read her mind. He returned to the front door, checked the lock, and then flipped up the corner of the shade for one last peek outside. “Still gone,” he said, turning to grin at her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and wiped her suddenly damp palms on her skirt. “I’ll be going upstairs now.”
“I’ll walk you up.”
“No, you don’t have to do that. Goodness, I’ve been walking up there—”
“By yourself for over a year. Yeah, yeah, I know,” he teased. “Come on.” He took her gently by the elbow and led her toward the back of the restaurant.
And she went without resistance, all the while hating herself for acting the part of a helpless ninny.
At the landing on the second floor, she reached inside her skirt pocket and pulled out her ring of keys. “Thank you, Will. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”
Two couples dressed in their Sunday best paused in their giggling and said a hurried greeting as they whisked past them up to the third floor, no doubt on their way to a dance. “Yeah, Monday, if not before,” Will answered, glancing briefly at the couples as they mounted the stairs. Then, he gestured behind him with his thumb. “I’ll go down and close everything up. You have a nice day tomorrow.” He stepped backward, keeping his eyes on her.
“And you, as well.” She turned and unlocked the door. When she pushed it open, a whoosh of hot, stagnant air wafted at her. “Phew! It’s stuffy in here.”
“You should open all your windows to get some cross ventilation going,” Will suggested.
She looked back at him. “Yes, I think I’ll do that.”
He smiled and turned to leave, but then, she thought of something to add. “You’ve been working out real fine in the restaurant, Will.”
He swiveled on his heel and beamed at her. Oh, forevermore! Such a nice smile minus that shaggy beard.
“So, you don’t regret hiring me?”
“Not yet.”
He gave a low chuckle. “That’s reassuring—I think. Good night, again.”
“Good night.” She watched him scuttle down the stairs.
At the door to the restaurant, he stopped and peered up at her. “I think I’ll check out that dance tonight. You wouldn’t want to go up there with me, would you?”
She put a hand to her throat. Was he asking her on a date? “Good gracious, no. But you go ahead.” As if he needed her permission! She wanted to bite her tongue for sounding so ridiculous.
“Your loss,” he said, waving.
She nodded and watched him disappear through the back entrance. Inside her apartment, she closed the door behind her, then slumped against it, pressing a palm to her chest to quiet her quaking heart. “My stars in heaven,” she muttered. “What’s gotten into me?”
***
What had possessed him to touch Olivia Beckman? Granted, all he’d done was reach out to steady her, but it still qualified as a touch, especially since he’d let his hands linger there and run up and down her arms. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking. She was completely out of his league. Still, it had been nice while it had lasted—standing near to her, close enough to have bent right down and kissed her pretty lips. And wouldn’t that have sent her into a regular tailspin! She’d looked alarmed enough as it was when he’d invited her to check out the dance upstairs. He could only imagine what she’d do or think if he were to give her a light peck. Why, she’d fire him, for sure! And, since he needed this job, he decided it was best to mind his manners. Besides, he hadn’t kissed a woman in about a dozen years, and he couldn’t be sure he still knew how to go about it.
He surveyed the restaurant, satisfied with how neat and tidy it looked. The floor had been swept, the dishes washed, dried, and put away, the pots and pans returned to their proper hooks above the stove, and the bar area scrubbed clean. At the front of the restaurant, a single lightbulb glowed. Livvie liked to keep it on all night—not a bad idea, even though the streetlights outside put off enough light that shafts of it slanted through the window blinds, casting long shadows across the room after dark.
On a table by the door sat the box Alex and Nathan had decorated for the Family Feast, and, already, women had been stuffing recipe cards through the slot in the lid, hoping theirs would be selected for a Tuesday or Thursday night meal. Will could hardly wait to start testing the tastiest-looking recipes.
The sound of dogs barking made him curious about what had set them off, so he sauntered to the front window to take one last look outside. He nearly jumped when he saw a stout fellow in scruffy
clothes ogling Livvie’s Kitchen from across the street—at least, that’s how it appeared to him. Could this be the same man Livvie had seen? On impulse, he yanked open the door, but the guy moved from his spot and scurried down an alley. Will was tempted to chase him, but for what? He could hardly fault someone for standing on the sidewalk on a hot summer night. He closed the door again, taking extra care with the lock, and then headed for the third floor.
Will couldn’t begin to count the number of people in the expansive ballroom, which buzzed with loud chatter and rowdy laughter. Every window had been propped open, but that accomplished little, other than to usher in a breeze that pushed around the hot air generated by the mass of sweaty bodies. Arranged near the walls were a few tables and chairs, but most of the space was open, with people milling about, evidently waiting for the music to start. At the far end of the room was a makeshift wooden stage on which a few men were tuning guitars, fiddles, banjos, and whatnot. Will wondered if they planned to sing, as well.
He hadn’t come up here to make friends or even socialize. All he wanted was to hear a few tunes. Prison had put him way behind in his familiarity with popular songs, not that he’d really cared. On his harmonica, he would play his own mix of jazz, blues, and folk music, singing intermittently to fill in the measures, and his mournful, twangy tunes would always attract a crowd when he and his fellow inmates were sent outside for fresh air or exercise breaks.
“Hey, good-lookin’. Want to have some fun?” came a sultry female voice. Was she talking to him? He turned and found himself face-to-face with a tall, buxom woman with fake-looking blonde curls that fell at her shoulders. Her painted eyebrows, brightly rouged cheeks, and long, batting eyelashes put him in mind of a harlot. And then, there was the matter of her low-cut dress! “I’m Marva Dulane. What’s your name? You want to have some fun?”
Unease zipped through his veins. He did not want to get caught up with the wrong crowd, and this woman reeked of trouble, her potent, cheap-smelling perfume a sure giveaway. Been there, done that, he thought to himself. The last thing he needed was some hussy messing up his life.
“Name’s Will Taylor, and I’m just here to hear some music. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else?” Her plump lower lip jutted out in a pout as she reached up and fingered one of his shirt buttons with long, red nails that looked like talons.
He felt his back stiffen like a fence post, and raspy laughter immediately spilled out of her. “I’m not scaring you, am I, Will? Not a big, rough-and-tumble fella like you. Where you from, sugar? I’ve never seen you up here before.”
He wasn’t about to tell her anything. In fact, the less she knew of him, the better. He’d learned firsthand that women like this could be venomous. “You’ll excuse me?” he said, stepping back.
She took him by the forearm and gently pressed. “Mercy, I love a man with muscles.”
His eyes landed on a couple of robust-looking guys across the room, standing in a circle and talking. “Maybe you ought to attach yourself to one of those farmers over there.” He had no clue as to their true occupations, but, with their sun-washed faces and bib overalls, they looked like the type to sit on tractors by day.
Marva glanced behind her and exhaled noisily. “Now, Will, do I look like the husband-stealing type?”
Her perfume was so strong, it should have been illegal. “Do you want me to answer honestly?”
Her talons sank deeper into his arm as she whispered in his ear, “You’re not married, are you? It’d be an awful waste if you were.”
He peeled her fingers off and smiled. “Excuse me, ma’am. I think I’ll move a little closer to the stage.”
“How about favoring me with a dance tonight, Will Taylor? I promise not to step on your toes.”
“Sorry, I’m not much of a dancer.” He started to walk away, but she stayed on his heels.
“I bet I could teach you a few steps.”
The sizzle in her voice told him she had more than dancing on her mind. He had to get away from her.
“Hey, Taylor!”
“New cook at Livvie’s Kitchen!”
He glanced in the direction of the voices and discovered Quinn Baxter and Sam Campbell, a couple of Livvie’s regulars, pushing their ways toward him through the masses. “Good to see you, Will,” Quinn said. “You come up here to play your harmonica? The band should be starting anytime now.”
“What? No, I just….”
Miss Hussy stuck out her hip and looked at him. “Well, I’ll be a sweet pea in a pod! You work for Livvie, do you?” She fingered his lapel and licked her rose-red lips. “Livvie and I went to school together. She’s such a….”
But her words were lost under Quinn’s piercing announcement: “Hey, Berkeley! I got you a fine musician. From what I hear, he plays a mean mouth harp.” Quinn raised a beefy arm and pointed at Will.
Good grief! This was not how Will had intended the evening to pan out. He wished for a trapdoor when the man slipping a guitar strap over his shoulder—Berkeley, presumably—skimmed the audience to locate his target. The crowd quieted.
“Well, come on up here, mister,” Berkeley said. “We could use some good harmonica playin’. Isn’t that right, boys?”
“Durn tootin’. I ain’t heard a good mouth harp in years,” said another man as he rosined up his bow.
Will had wanted only to hang around and hear a few tunes. Tomorrow was the Lord’s Day, and he didn’t feel like staying out late. But, in the seconds he had to decline, he heard verbal encouragement from complete strangers—the brazen Marva included—and felt them nudging him in the direction of the stage. He brought a hand to his front pocket. Sure enough, the rectangular mouthpiece was still there. This was the first time he wished he’d mislaid it. Shoot! His last performance had been in a prison yard, with an audience of inmates who’d always cheered him on. But what did a bunch of jailbirds know about good music? He wasn’t even sure he really knew how to play the thing, never having made a formal appearance or taken lessons, unless he counted the few pointers his granddaddy had given him. Mostly, he’d just experimented with it till he’d gotten the sound he’d wanted.
As if God would give a hoot, he uttered a silent prayer for divine help. After all, he didn’t want to make a complete idiot of himself. He also thanked the Lord for the one good thing about his being pushed to the front: Marva the Hussy got lost in the shuffle. For good, he hoped.
“Name’s Lewis Berkeley, but you can call me Berk,” the guy said as soon as Will stepped up to the stage. “This here’s my band.” He made introductions all around. There was Bob on the fiddle, Pinky on bass guitar, Rollie on the upright piano, Mel with a banjo, and a fellow by the name of Willard on drums. They all greeted him, smiled, and offered a quick handshake.
It seemed necessary to explain himself. He couldn’t imagine what they’d need with a harmonica player! “Listen. I don’t quite know how I got up here. I’m not going to lie; I’ve never performed—I mean, really played for anybody.”
Berk smiled. “Name a song you know.”
Which one? He knew dozens, probably hundreds. Off the top of his head, he said, “‘Oh, Dem Golden Slippers.’”
“Ah, good old song,” Berk said, and the others nodded and readied their instruments. Berk set the rhythm with the toe of his boot and gave a sharp nod of his head, at which point Rollie made the piano nearly jump off its casters with his intro, Bob made his fiddle sing with chords Will had never heard before, the drummer held the beat, and the others dove in as if they’d practiced the song a hundred times before—and maybe they had.
For the first few measures, Will simply listened, enjoying the sound and wondering how and where to cut in. Soon, he decided just to go for it. Sucking in a breath, he put the harmonica to his mouth, then blew into the reeds, moving his lips up and down the ten-hole scale. He concentrated on blending in and keeping to the background. Yet it didn’t take long for him to get caught up in the music with a fervor that made him domin
ate the melody, doing improvisational trills and feeling freer than he had in a while. He was having the time of his life, thumping his foot on the wooden stage and taking in the enthusiastic claps, hoots, and roars of the swaying crowd.
Will Taylor was in his element.
Chapter Twelve
“The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” —John 10:10
Livvie moved about her apartment, trying to ignore the deafening noise overhead. Could that band be any louder? Granted, the beat was catchy, but it pounded like a thunderstorm.
She didn’t know why she was such a fuddy-duddy when it came to these Saturday night events. The folks who attended obeyed the no-smoking rule, as far as she knew, and, while she doubted their compliance with the ban on liquor sales, she’d never had to file a complaint with Sheriff Morris. Yet. Not that reporting it would do much good, considering his reputation for looking the other way when it came to bootlegging.
Still, the various groups that used the space, including the Wabash Rifle Club, who sponsored these dances, paid their monthly rent on time, thereby taking a financial load off Livvie’s shoulders. She could hardly complain about a little noise. And countless folks had told her they went for a good time, nothing more. Why, she could be up there herself this very minute if she’d accepted Will’s silly invitation. Thank heavens she hadn’t. Talk about rumors! She could almost hear them now: “Olivia Beckman must be done mourning her husband. Look, there she is with that new cook she hired. It’s about time that woman started living again.”
Never, she told herself. She would never stop mourning her loss. Besides, what would Frank think of her taking up with a mysterious man such as Will Taylor, never mind that he was a faithful churchgoer? Attending church could be part of a charade designed to make him appear to be someone he wasn’t. Scowling at her bizarre thoughts, she walked to her bedroom to disrobe and begin her nightly routine.
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