Heaven Sent (50 page)

"We know who you are, Whiskey Man. Friends have told us that you make the finest corn liquor in the territory, and we've come to buy some." His smile
didn't
quite make it to his eyes, but Henry Lee knew that he would never have noticed it had he not been warned.

"I'm afraid your friends have led you wrong," he answered, keeping his voice friendly and purposely not looking at Hannah. He hoped that she wouldn't say anything to contradict him, or give him away
with
a facial expression. There was no time to warn her, he would simply have to trust her to trust him.

"You won't sell us your whiskey?"

"I don't sell whiskey," Henry Lee answered him calmly. "And I don't own a still."

Pathkiller stood up. Pulling a bag from inside his coat, he poured out coins of silver and gold onto the table.

"We have money," he said angrily, fruitlessly, already knowing that the trap had not worked.

"I'm sure your money's good," Henry Lee agreed. "But I have nothing to sell, unless you'd be willing to buy some of my wife's blackberry preserves?"

Pathkiller picked up his money and prepared to leave. He knew when the game was over. When a man couldn't win he made a dignified retreat.

Tom Quick, who with his deputies
had
come quietly up to the house, listened with anger at the interchange between the two men. Watson had already got the best of him once and he would be damned if he'd let him do it again without a fight. With all the pent-up anger of a man who's been sitting patiently in the hot sun all day, Quick burst into the kitchen.

Hannah gave a little startled scream before she recognized the angry
marshall
. Henry Lee drew her to him protectively. He had hoped they would accept defeat and just go away, but he could see that
Quick
was too enraged to do that.

"You don't get off that easily, Watson," the
marshall
barked angrily.

"
Marshall
," Henry Lee said, refusing to act surprised that he was there. Henry Lee just hoped that he hadn't found the still. If there was no still, there was no way he could take him to jail. The
marshall
's next words caused Henry Lee to give an inaudible sigh of relief.

"It's got to be here in the house," he said to his deputies. "You men search every inch of this place, I want that still found!"

The men began turning over the furniture,
pulling
things out of the cabinets and generally creating havoc in Hannah's well-ordered house. When one of the deputies carelessly knocked over the dainty little milk pitcher that belonged to her mother, she moved to stop them. Henry Lee's strong arms came around her and held her fast.

"Let
the men do their job, Hannah," he told her, planting a consoling kiss on the
top
of her head. As his arms held her, she relaxed. Having a group of lawmen tear up your house is not a pleasant experience, but being cuddled in Henry Lee's arms made it bearable.

The mattress off the bed was lying in the middle of the sitting room, her clothes from the wardrobe were scattered everywhere. The deputies had a field day figuring out the Dufold: Hannah hoped it was not permanently ruined.

The men were stomping around on the floors when one said, "Marshall Quick, there's a cellar beneath this kitchen."

"Where's the door?"

"Don't see one, sir."

"
Wilson
," he called out. "Go get an axe and bust open this
floor."

"No!" Hannah screamed furiously. Pulling away from Henry Lee she spoke sharply to the man called
Wilson
. "For heaven's sake, there is no need to tear up the floor! The door to the cellar is right over here. Follow me and I'll light a candle."

As Hannah opened the well-hidden door, she led the deputy down into the cellar. Picking up a candle and matches from the stock kept back behind the ladder, she lighted his way. The deputy looked around for several minutes, noting the well-stocked shelves of vegetables and examining the rows of potatoes and barrels of cured meats. He finally nodded and they returned upstairs.

"Well?" Quick boomed the question at him.

"Looks about like my mother's cellar," the young deputy answered.

Quick was mad as well as disgusted.

"We must have missed it," he told the men roughly. "Get back out there and search this place again, and I don't want to hear from you until you've found it."

Deputy Wilson shot Pathkiller a look and a bond of understanding emerged between the two of them.

"
Marshall
,"
Wilson
told his superior. "There is no still here. He knew we were coming. I don't know how he knew but he knew. Do you think that he would still be here if there was evidence to be found? He'd be sitting in
Amarillo
resting his can if there was anything to find."

Quick realized that his deputy had the right of it.
And
cursed himself that he hadn't realized the truth himself without having to be told by a whippersnapper still wet behind the ears.

The
marshall
turned to Henry Lee. He didn't look much like his father, the old man thought. None of the snake-eyed evilness showed in this one. And he was a hell of a lot smarter, that was for sure. He could almost have liked him, if he hadn't been a lawbreaker.

"Watson, I guess luck was
with
you again this time. But it won't always be. I don't like wasting the taxpayers' money trying to catch no-accounts at their thieving business. If I so much as catch you spitting on the sidewalk,
I'll
throw you in jail and toss away the key."

"I'll keep that in mind,
Marshall
."

As the men filed out and headed on their way, Henry Lee turned to Hannah.

"Wasn't much of a welcome home, darlin'." His voice was a loving, velvet caress. "But I'm glad you're here."

Hannah was still slightly overwhelmed by the events of the last hour. But she, too, was glad to be home. No matter how unlawful, or frightening, or dangerous, she wanted to be with Henry Lee. Without a word she stepped eagerly into his embrace.

 
CHAPTER
 
22

«
^

T
he sunlight was fading as Hannah hung the last of the soiled curtains on the clothesline and used the hot soapy water in the huge black kettle to douse the fire in the outdoor hearth.

After Tom Quick and his men had made their angry exit, she and Henry Lee had spent the better part of the day trying to put the house back in order.

Henry Lee told her the whole story, from the indecipherable note to the decision not to run away, but to risk imprisonment by standing his ground.

Once Henry Lee got her to see the funny side of it, they laughed together until Hannah couldn't stop. The shock the lawmen must have suffered at going to the whiskey peddler's to attend Sunday prayer service was enough to make her clutch her side in painful hilarity. When she could no longer stand she collapsed on the Dufold.

When Henry Lee lay down beside her and pulled her to his chest, the laughter gently subsided.

"I love you, Hannah," he stated firmly. "Last night I hadn't the courage to say it to your face, but I do have it now. I love you and I'm so glad you've come back to me."

Hannah smiled at the memory of the love that had shone in his eyes. He had been quick to loose her. The sparks that flew between them were too volatile to ignite unintentionally. They had laughed together and worked in harmony, taking care of the place they both now called
home. They exchanged bashful blushes and confident looks as they both dutifully took care of responsibilities and secretly indulged in fantasies of the night to come. Hannah glanced toward the western horizon. She had never known the sun to take so long to go down!

Henry Lee brought down the last load from the cave to the small clearing in the woods. The cave would remain a secret. He would never tell a soul about it. Well, he reconsidered, perhaps he would tell Hannah. The wedding whiskey was still there. Carefully stored in barrels, he planned to let it age a good long time. Maybe for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, he'd take her there and they'd break into a barrel. He imagined the two of them, hiding out from a flock of grandchildren and making love in the afternoon when everyone thought them busy at work. The idea made him smile. Any idea of making love to Hannah could put him in a good mood.

They had talked at the wellhouse about their lack of a proper courtship. Well, perhaps it was too late for a proper one, but Henry Lee could easily imagine a very improper courtship between the woman he loved and himself.

With that in mind, as he started toward the cabin, he began looking around for wildflowers in the grass. It was hopeless. Too late in the year, too hot and too dry for wildflowers. He did, however, see a big ugly brown-faced sunflower staring at him from the corner of the pigsty.

Taking his pocket knife out and carefully cutting it with about a foot of stem, he decided to carry it home to his pretty wife. It wasn't a bouquet of roses, but theirs was not an ordinary love.

As he walked to the house, he spotted her. Standing near the back door, she was gazing off into the sunset; her work dress was dusty and several of those precious honey-colored curls had escaped the confines of her neatly twisted plait. She was beautiful, Henry Lee thought. A strong, beautiful woman, so full of heart and love. He truly did not deserve her. He was very glad that men don't always get what they deserve.

Hannah looked up to see Henry Lee coming toward her and a buzz of excitement fluttered through her. In his hand he carried a sunflower and she knew that he had picked it for her.

He handed it to her and she held it in her hands as if it were precious and fragile.

"Oh Henry Lee, this is beautiful. Thank you so much. You are so sweet to me."

"I wish it were something better, Hannah. You deserve something better than a sunflower and a mixed-breed whiskey peddler."

She brushed the bright yellow petals tenderly against her lips. "No, Henry Lee," she protested. "I've been a very good girl for so very long. I deserve to have exactly what I want."

Laying her hands on his shoulders she raised herself on tiptoes and angling her head slightly kissed him with all the expertise she had learned from her whiskey man.

"Oh Hannah," he whispered moments later. "That's what I want, too."

Henry Lee slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms, whirling around in a circle. Her skirt flew in the breeze, giving her a strange surge of wanton freedom and him a tantalizing glimpse of black cotton stockings.

"Henry Lee, it's still daylight!" she objected halfheartedly as he leaped up the back steps with her laughing and squealing in his arms.

In answer he tossed her lightly in the air and then clasped her to him tightly.

"Don't expect me to wait until tonight, Mrs. Watson. Your husband has waited all that he's going to!"

He whisked her on into the bedroom, whirling her around twice more for good measure, and then leaped onto the bed. He landed on his back with Hannah astraddle him, both laughing like wayward children playing hookey from school.