Read Online Deep in the Heart of Trouble by Deeanne Gist - Free Book Online
Authors: Deeanne Gist
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Bottom line is, you’re his boss. He’ll come around.”
If he’d asked on any other day, she’d have put up more resistance.
But she simply didn’t have the heart to argue with him tonight. “Will you hire him back, Papa, so I don’t have to?”
Standing, he brought her to her feet, as well. “I’d rather you do it. I’d like to be alone for a while, if it’s all right with you.”
She frowned. “You mean, you want me to go find him right now? This minute? And leave you alone in the house?”
“Yes, please.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“He’s leaving at first light.”
“But what if he’s left the Slap Out already? I wouldn’t have a clue as to where he might go. He could be anywhere.”
“You’ll find him.” The words came out a croak. And she realized Papa truly did need to be alone with his memories without worrying she might overhear him grieving.
“Very well,” she sighed. “You sure you’ll be all right?”
He pulled her into another hug but gave her no assurances.
Tony could not believe he was being trounced in checkers by a ten-year-old. They’d been playing for best out of five, but when Tony went down early by two games, he’d convinced Harley to play the best out of seven. It was three to one. Harley.
The child’s shiny black hair had been parted on the side but would not stay slicked down. The barrel that the checkerboard rested on came up to his chest.
He jumped two of Tony’s pieces before landing on his king row, then leaned against his cane chair. “Crown, please,” he said with a smirk.
The door to the Slap Out—where Corsicanans came if they were slap outta something—was propped open by a basket of oranges, giving Tony a view of the darkening sky. The smell of stale coffee, tobacco, and vinegar wrestled for dominance over the mercantile. Mr. Crook, the slim and fastidious man who owned the store, began to prepare for closing.
“How’d you learn to play checkers so well?” Tony asked.
“Miss Essie taught me.”
“Miss Essie?” Tony asked, his finger poised on the checker he was fixing to move. “Miss Essie Spreckelmeyer?”
“Yep.”
The boy’s grin irritated Tony. Because of that pompous, shorttempered woman, he’d be heading over to Powell’s oil patch in the morning looking for another job. “You play checkers with her?”
Harley shook his head. “Not if I can help it. I cain’t hardly ever beat her.”
Tony slid his piece into a position to jump one of Harley’s blacks.
The boy leaned forward and studied the board. “Me and her go way back.”
Way back? The boy was only ten. “You’re friends, then?”
“Thicker ’n calf splatter.”
“She fired me yesterday.” Tony couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.
Harley snorted. “What’d ya do? Kick a dog or somethin’?”
“No. I told her she needed to update her father’s rigs.”
The boy looked up from the board. “Told her or askt her?”
“Told her.”
The shopkeeper, sweeping between two tables, began to chuckle.
Harley shook his head. “She don’t like to be told what to do. But she’s a square shooter and once you’re her friend, she’d back you ’til Sittin’ Bull stood up.”
“That a fact?”
“Sure is.” Harley moved his piece out of harm’s way.
The unmistakable sound of a lady’s bootheels approached the open door, then stopped. Tony looked up. Speak of the devil.
“Good evening, Hamilton,” Miss Spreckelmeyer said to the shopkeeper. “I was afraid you might be closed already.”
Crook set his broom aside. “No. Katherine has ladies from the Benevolent Society upstairs fawning over the twins. I thought I’d hide out here for a while longer.”
Tony couldn’t help staring, though she paid him no mind. She could pretend all she wanted that she hadn’t noticed him there, but he knew better.
She wore a simple skirt and white shirtwaist with a relatively plain straw hat. Her entire countenance had mellowed the moment
If he’d asked on any other day, she’d have put up more resistance.
But she simply didn’t have the heart to argue with him tonight. “Will you hire him back, Papa, so I don’t have to?”
Standing, he brought her to her feet, as well. “I’d rather you do it. I’d like to be alone for a while, if it’s all right with you.”
She frowned. “You mean, you want me to go find him right now? This minute? And leave you alone in the house?”
“Yes, please.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“He’s leaving at first light.”
“But what if he’s left the Slap Out already? I wouldn’t have a clue as to where he might go. He could be anywhere.”
“You’ll find him.” The words came out a croak. And she realized Papa truly did need to be alone with his memories without worrying she might overhear him grieving.
“Very well,” she sighed. “You sure you’ll be all right?”
He pulled her into another hug but gave her no assurances.
Tony could not believe he was being trounced in checkers by a ten-year-old. They’d been playing for best out of five, but when Tony went down early by two games, he’d convinced Harley to play the best out of seven. It was three to one. Harley.
The child’s shiny black hair had been parted on the side but would not stay slicked down. The barrel that the checkerboard rested on came up to his chest.
He jumped two of Tony’s pieces before landing on his king row, then leaned against his cane chair. “Crown, please,” he said with a smirk.
The door to the Slap Out—where Corsicanans came if they were slap outta something—was propped open by a basket of oranges, giving Tony a view of the darkening sky. The smell of stale coffee, tobacco, and vinegar wrestled for dominance over the mercantile. Mr. Crook, the slim and fastidious man who owned the store, began to prepare for closing.
“How’d you learn to play checkers so well?” Tony asked.
“Miss Essie taught me.”
“Miss Essie?” Tony asked, his finger poised on the checker he was fixing to move. “Miss Essie Spreckelmeyer?”
“Yep.”
The boy’s grin irritated Tony. Because of that pompous, shorttempered woman, he’d be heading over to Powell’s oil patch in the morning looking for another job. “You play checkers with her?”
Harley shook his head. “Not if I can help it. I cain’t hardly ever beat her.”
Tony slid his piece into a position to jump one of Harley’s blacks.
The boy leaned forward and studied the board. “Me and her go way back.”
Way back? The boy was only ten. “You’re friends, then?”
“Thicker ’n calf splatter.”
“She fired me yesterday.” Tony couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.
Harley snorted. “What’d ya do? Kick a dog or somethin’?”
“No. I told her she needed to update her father’s rigs.”
The boy looked up from the board. “Told her or askt her?”
“Told her.”
The shopkeeper, sweeping between two tables, began to chuckle.
Harley shook his head. “She don’t like to be told what to do. But she’s a square shooter and once you’re her friend, she’d back you ’til Sittin’ Bull stood up.”
“That a fact?”
“Sure is.” Harley moved his piece out of harm’s way.
The unmistakable sound of a lady’s bootheels approached the open door, then stopped. Tony looked up. Speak of the devil.
“Good evening, Hamilton,” Miss Spreckelmeyer said to the shopkeeper. “I was afraid you might be closed already.”
Crook set his broom aside. “No. Katherine has ladies from the Benevolent Society upstairs fawning over the twins. I thought I’d hide out here for a while longer.”
Tony couldn’t help staring, though she paid him no mind. She could pretend all she wanted that she hadn’t noticed him there, but he knew better.
She wore a simple skirt and white shirtwaist with a relatively plain straw hat. Her entire countenance had mellowed the moment
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