By the time dawn arrived, Matthew had turned in his sleep, his arms wrapped tightly around the golden girl. Coming awake, the man took a deep breath and froze when the scent of warm things, the unaccountable feeling of his nose and lips pressed to soft hair, snapped him out of what had been one very peaceful moment. Realizing what he’d done - what he was doing - pale eyes went wide.

Mortified Charlotte would wake up to find him all over her, he uncurled, moving as if he might set off a landmine. Easing out of bed, watching for signs of disturbance, Matthew found he couldn’t help but find it nice to see her natural - to see the telling scar on her lower lip usually hidden under rouge.

After dressing quiet as a church mouse, he made his way downstairs, expecting Eli to come bounding through the back door any minute now to make breakfast.

Matthew was kept waiting.

By the time his cousin decided to grace the grill with his presence, it was obvious what had caused his delay. Grinning madly, a half-awake Nathaniel was in tow behind the kid.

“Well, I’ll be. When Eli came running to tell me there was lady clothes hanging on your back porch, Matthew, I just had to come see it for myself…” Nathaniel wasn’t even half sober, but he sure was sly enough to rile up his brother. “I’m certain I recognize that dress. Must’ve taken a goddamn miracle to get her into your bed.”

Eli started snorting.

“Lower your goddamn voice before she hears you.” Matthew thumped down his coffee. “Charlotte was run off the road yesterday and walked here through the storm. Heard her pounding on my door in the middle of the night, half frozen and hurt. She’s sleeping, and I swear to God, if you wake her up and embarrass her, I’ll wring your fuckin necks.”

Instantly abashed, Nathaniel’s smile slipped. “She all right?”

“Sprained ankle’s all.” Matthew glared at Eli. “Make breakfast, then you two jackasses go find her car and pull it out of the ditch it’s stuck in.”

Nathaniel took to sucking down what coffee was left on the stove, Eli going about his business, ears red, and looking guilty.

In no time flat, the boys ran out to do as they were told.

When two hours passed, Matthew was certain Charlotte would be waking soon. The woman probably hadn’t eaten the night before and must have walked pretty far if the time it was taking his kin to return was any sign. She would be half-starved. Setting his chores aside, Matthew fired up the grill, and went to get the special tea he’d purchased at the general store - the flashy brand he’d picked up the day after he’d hurt Charlotte’s feelings.

Tray in hand, he climbed the steps. Matthew found her still sleeping, sprawled on her belly, one arm reaching to where his body had been.

Clearing his throat, he tried to wake her. “Miss Elliot.”

Charlie pressed her face into the pillow and groaned. He was about to leave when he heard her grumble, “For God’s sake, Matthew, would you please start calling me Charlie?”

He set the tray on the bedside table, watching her turn over and peep up at him through her messy hair. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Sleepy eyes sharpened. With a grin, Charlie sat up. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I ate downstairs? I don’t want to get crumbs in your bed.”

“S’alright.” Trying not to stare where her shoulder peeked out of his nightshirt, Matthew said, “Your dress ain’t dry yet. It’s best you stay up here and rest your ankle in the meantime.”

He’d brought her quite a spread - flapjacks, eggs, bacon - more than she’d ever be able to eat. There was even a steaming cup of tea she smiled over. Tray in her lap, she called his name as he tried to shuffle off. “Matthew?”

Pausing at the door, he threw her a glance.

This was her chance to find some middle ground with him, but she wasn’t really sure how to go about it. On a whim, she stopped chewing her bottom lip and blurted out, “Could I copy down a few of your recipes? Not any Emerson family secrets, mind you, just the simple ones. I... I like your cooking.”

Ears turning red, he made some low, unintelligible mutter and shut the door.

At least she’d tried...

Charlie ate. When she had all but licked the plate clean, she lay back on the pillow, awful sleepy again, and stared at the lackluster room.

Flaked plaster walls, sparse spindle furnishings. Aside from the quilt on his bed, there were no decorations. No curtains, no rug - nothing.

The room was downright spartan.

The man’s bootlegging brought in a pretty penny, but he certainly didn’t spend it on himself. Unsure why it made her feel bad, Charlie shut her eyes, humming at the comfortable feeling of a full belly and the sweetness of syrup on her tongue.

When she woke again, the tray was gone and the small suitcase she’d left in her car sat in its place. After pulling on a fresh dress, she stumbled to the lavatory. One look at herself and Charlie rolled her eyes. She did her best to smooth her hair, brushed her teeth, pinched her cheeks, and covered up her scar with rouge. The effort was wasted; the woman in the mirror still looked like something the cat had dragged home.

Hobbling to the top of the stairs, luggage in hand, Charlie climbed down one step at a time. The downstairs chattering lunch crowd covered her cursing each time her ankle twinged, but it didn’t camouflage the angry, stomping footsteps of one irate Matthew barreling down on her.

He snatched her suitcase out of her hand. “You crazy, woman? You’ll break your neck going down the stairs with a bum foot and heavy bag.”

Charlie waved him off. “Matthew, I can manage just fine.”

There was a snap to his words, an edge of irritated sarcasm. “Miss Charlotte, if you could manage just fine, you wouldn’t have been bangin on my door last night.”

The room went quiet, everyone staring, Charlie’s cheeks flaming red.

Pleased he’d managed to get her to shut her mouth, Matthew slid an arm around her waist, hitching her up before she might yap. He carried her right back to the same seat by the fire. Expression daring her to speak a word, another chair was yanked forward and set down with a thud before Matthew gestured that either she could prop up her ankle, or he’d do it for her.

Eli was slack jawed, Nathaniel smart enough to not make a peep - not that anyone was speaking - everyone was just plain gawking.

Matthew’s disapproving eyes left Charlotte’s pinkened cheeks and ran over the men gathered, a glare warning that each of them had their own business to mind. When that weighty gaze got to Eli, Matthew barked, “Watch the grill,” then left, letting the screen bang shut behind him.

Nathaniel followed him right out.

Eli broke the awful silence, stepping closer. “We found your car. Uh, the front axle got busted when you ran into the ditch.” That car wasn’t going anywhere until repaired. “Sorry.”

Muttering under her breath, embarrassment turned to far more comfortable frustration. “Who names a road Devil’s Hollow anyway? That damn stretch keeps trying to kill me.”

Seeing she was upset, Eli offered a small bit of reassurance. “I can fix it for you, Miss Charlie, but it’ll take me a few days. Till then, I’m afraid you’ll have to walk.” Stupidly, he looked down at her ankle. “I mean, well…”

Charlie slumped back and smirked. “I catch your meaning, Eli.”

“If you like,” Eli reached towards a nearby table and snatched the day’s newspaper, “read while you rest up. When Matthew gets back, I’ll drive you home.”

Charlie took the offered paper, not at all happy with the idea of being trapped at the roadhouse.

Lunch ended and the grill grew empty, not that Charlie noticed. She kept her head in the paper, read every damn article, and was about to toss the dumb thing aside when a meaty finger tapped her shoulder.

A group of ragged men, faces worse for wear, stood abashed, the Emerson brothers fierce behind them.

“Excuse me, Miss Elliot, but me and my boys here would like to apologize,” the eldest of the group lisped, his bloodied lip and backwoods accent butchering the words. “You see, Miss, we didn’t mean to run you off the road. It was an accident. But, uhhh,” the older man swallowed and clearly didn’t want to finish the statement, “we’ll pay to fix your car.”

Charlie was not amused. “That’s very gentlemanly of you, Mr.?”

“Grimes, ma’am.”

“Mr. Grimes.” She stood from her chair and offered a hand. When the man took it in his dirty paw, she wrapped her fingers around his and began to squeeze. “I have the distinct impression that if Nathaniel and Matthew here hadn’t kindly informed you of my situation, you would never have taken the time to find out just who you nearly killed last night.” Her grip tightened, grinding bone, the man trying to jerk his hand away.

Charlie’s voice grew deadly. “Damn straight you’ll pay to fix my car.” Pumping their fists in the mockery of a handshake, she dropped his greasy palm. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Alright. Now get,” Matthew ordered, waving towards the door with his hat.

The old man complained. “But we ain’t got our truck.”

Arms flexing, Matthew crossed them over his chest. “You can walk just like the lady did.”

Not looking for another beating, the four men got the hell out. But when that screen shut, Charlie flat out guffawed, slapping her thigh and looking to the heavens. “Was that your idea of Monroe justice?”

“Yeah,” Matthew confirmed, only to see her laugh even harder.

“And y’all wonder why I like it here so much.” Hobbling towards the bar, Charlie grabbed a towel and got it wet. Facing Matthew, she wiped a bit of blood spatter from his forehead. “I’m not really sure if I should be honored you two did what you did, or angry that you took it upon yourselves to fight my battles for me. But my gut tells me to say thank you. So, thank you.”

The man kept his eyes closed and brow furrowed as she cleaned him up, Matthew disappointed when the touch on his face ended. But then she took his hands and dabbed at dirty knuckles, mindful that they might be sore from cracking skulls.

When it was Nathaniel’s turn, the man backed away from her towel. “Ain’t no way you’re coming after me with that.”

Charlie cocked a brow. “It would do you some good. How long’s it been since you took a bath?”

Nathaniel defended himself. “We went swimming two weeks back.”

The look Matthew gave his brother would have sent a smaller man running.

Making a face, Nathaniel groused, “We wasn’t naked, Matthew.”

Charlie turned her back and limped towards the washroom so she might clean the soiled linen. Once her skirt disappeared behind the corner, Matthew raised his finger, ready to lay into Nathaniel.

Before he could begin his reprimand, the screen whined.

Matthew was already fuming, but taking one look at what slithered into his home unannounced, darkened his eyes considerably.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Emerson.” Jacky Brindle, a slime ball straight out of Chicago, crossed the threshold.

Nathaniel, far more obvious in his anger, stood tall at his brother’s shoulder, unsmiling and silent.

It was Eli who thought to calm the tension. He offered a hand. “What brings you out here, Mr. Brindle?”

“Just passing through.”

“That right?” Matthew stepped nearer, looking over the polished gangster and the four men who’d made the hours-long drive at Brindle’s back. “Well, we ain’t open.”

Jacky was older, leaner, but unlike the Emersons, he was armed. “Since I’m here, Mr. Radcliffe thought I might make sure things are running right. You sure have been bringing in a lot of product; wouldn’t want you to get in over your heads...”

“I’m gonna warn you once. Tell your boss if he’s thinking of moving on in, he’s gonna be disappointed.”

As if he hadn’t heard a word of the threat, Jacky continued, “He’s offering further partnership - our expertise in oversight.”

No flashy three-piece suit could hide what those men were: Killers. Killers sent by a Chicago Kingpin who thrived on greed and violence. Radcliffe wanted to push on in and take a greater piece of the pie - to intimidate, take his business, probably his life too, if Matthew let the villain get even a toe in the door.

Matthew, towering over the lanky gangster, threatened, “You tell Beaumont Radcliffe I don’t fuck around. If he sends his lapdogs out to sniff around again, the deal’s off. There are plenty of other buyers waiting in Chicago with better manners, I hear.”

“I’ll pass that message forward. In the meantime, we’ll just, ah, take a rest.” Jacky took a drag off his cigarette. “Won’t we boys?”

Charlie came back in the room.

All eyes went to her, Jacky taking the moment’s distraction to cock his head towards the nearest table so his goons might take a seat.

Acting as if she’d seen nothing, Charlie went to her suitcase. That room, Matthew’s business, was no place for her, and it was clear as day he wanted her to disappear.

“Eli, give Miss Charlotte your keys.”

Obeying, the boy stepped forward and swept up her suitcase, setting off for the door to put it in the car instead of offering an arm to help her manage her ankle.

Knowing neither Matthew nor Nathaniel could budge from where they stood, Charlie gave a nod goodbye, shuffling towards the door.

It all would have been fine, everything dandy, except one of Jacky’s goons reached out and swatted her on the rump as she passed.

Her snarl, the feral bark, cut through the tittering men before it was overshadowed by the crack of her hand landing hard on the offender’s cheek.

The Chicago outfit burst out laughing, but the goon she’d struck thought to stand from his chair. He was going to put his hands on her if she didn’t get her hands on him first. That was the way of things, so her fist planted itself in the man’s throat. As he buckled over, gasping, she slammed her knee straight into his groin.

The gangsters shuffled back, chairs squeaking as they stood. All eyes were on the blonde who’d tackled a grown man and rained down blow after blow on his face.

The idiot thought to draw on her. Charlie snatched the gun right out of his grip, the barrel glancing the top of her head. As she cocked the piece, an arm came around her middle. Yanked back against a hard body, snarling, kicking like mad, Charlie went wild.

A voice at her ear came to pacify. “Calm down, spitfire.” Matthew hushed her even as he yanked the gun from Charlie’s fingers and pointed it straight at Jacky Brindle’s skull.

Jacky was stricken, nervously adjusting his tie, looking between a man poised to kill him and the older brother shouldering a shotgun he’d grabbed from behind the bar. Even Eli had been wise enough to take the pistol from his Ford, pointing it at the goon’s backs when he’d run back at the first sign of trouble.

“Mr. Emerson—“

Matthew tightened his grip on the female tornado, ignored her efforts to get free, and spoke so calmly it was chilling. “I think it’s time y’all packed up and took that sorry sack of shit with ya.”

Unsure what to do, the men began to back away, Jacky nodding.

Charlie called, “Jacky B.” Her voice drawled sharp and dangerous, her accent lilting and nasal in mimic of his. “Since that man there ain’t gonna be able to speak for a while, you go tell Beaumont Radcliffe to see me personally and ask forgiveness real sweet like. If he’s got a problem with that, tell him I said, caw.”

Brindle couldn’t believe her nerve. “Caw?”

She gave a nasty smirk. “You heard me.”

The arm around her tightened, Matthew silently commanding she shut her mouth. “Nathaniel, see that our friends here get on their way. Eli, go with Nathaniel.”

The door shut, the room got quiet, and they both waited for the sound of engines and the crunch of tires rolling over gravel.

The gangsters were gone but Charlie was still hanging, uncomfortably at that, against the chest of Matthew Emerson. “Feel free to put me down anytime.”

Her body slid lower until her toes touched the floor. She moved to step away but Matthew kept his arm firm around her middle. When he wouldn’t budge, she tossed her head back and warned him with one vicious glare that he better let go.

Pale eyes darted over her face, his expression nearing violence. “You’re hurt.”

“I am not hurt,” she countered. The other man was hurt. He’d be sitting funny for a week.

Furious, Matthew hoisted her up again and walked to an undisturbed table. Propping her on the edge, placing his hands on either side of her body, he boxed her in and leveled her with a glare. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman? You got any idea how dangerous those men are?” When she opened her mouth, ready to spit out something nasty, he cut her off. “Say one goddamn smartass word and I will make you regret it.”

Bristling, Charlie leaned nearer. “You don’t frighten me, Matthew Emerson. That man had it coming.”

Clenching his jaw, Matthew grit out, “You got any idea what men like that would do to a pretty thing like you?”

“Yes, I do.” Her expression made it clear she knew exactly what men like that were capable of. “Which is why he needed a beating. You think I don’t know what they were doing here? I just saved your ass! Radcliffe won’t mess with you again; your reputation stands. Business will continue.”

She didn’t think it was possible for him to look angrier. She was wrong. Belligerent, trying to get up, Charlie began to holler, “Why the hell won’t you let me up?”

He lifted a hand and wiped his fingers across her forehead, holding them out so she could see the bright smears of red. “This is why. This is why, Charlotte! You’re fuckin bleeding all over yourself.”

She looked confused when a small drip of warm liquid ran down the side of her face. Glancing down, Charlie found the little stream was staining the fabric of her collar. “Damn it. I liked this dress.”

Bringing his face so close she could smell the tobacco on his breath, Matthew practically roared. “You dress like a man, catch one high profile criminal, and you think you’re so goddamn hard?”

She could hardly believe her ears. Growing before him, Charlie cracked her neck. “You think he was the first? There have been over two dozen. He was just the most important! I was eight when that bastard cut up my mama’s face and slit my twin brother’s throat. He would’ve killed me too if Charles hadn’t shoved me under the bed.

“In less than ten minutes that monster ruined my life, left me with a mama who was never right in the head again, who needed constant care - who I had to spoon feed and support. There were no jobs for little girls that would’ve paid enough and I was too young to sell my body. But I looked just like him… just like my brother… and that made it easier. I cut my hair, wore his clothes, and took his job, working with some of the most ungodly men around. I paid attention. I knew where the evil men liked to play, who they knew, where they fucked. I watched them my whole life. And that man you saw me with last winter - Ronnie Pearson, the Slasher himself - the one I sat and watched fry on Old Sparky.” Charlie showed her teeth. “I tracked him for two years once I got wind of where he might be. Hunted him down like a dog, made his life hell all the way to the electric chair. That man, he was my father, Matthew. So yeah, I think I’m pretty goddamn hard!”

The look on his face… If he’d found her unacceptable before, he sure as hell must have thought she was repulsive now. Sneering at his expression caused something foreign and mortifyingly warm to slide down her cheek. Confused, Charlie reached up to wipe it off and stared down in horror to find the clear fluid wasn’t more blood. She shoved Matthew away with all her strength, scurried off the table, and used her skirt to wipe off every last trace of tears.

Nathaniel and Eli stood at the door, each having heard, their expressions just as disturbed as Matthew’s.

Eli had finally pieced it together, knew who she was; of all of them, he was the most horrified, blinking at her like it couldn’t be true.

Charlie reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose, sighing.

“Get outside and keep watch.” Matthew growled at the men, “Brindle might be as stupid as he looks.”

Tripping over one another Nathaniel and Eli rushed to obey.

Her short-lived moment of weakness passed. Voice steady, Charlie said, “I need to get back to the boarding house.”

Matthew came up behind her, close enough she could feel the heat of his body. “You ain’t going nowhere till your wound gets tended.”

Jaw tight she argued, “I can do it myself.”

“Sit down, Charlotte.” It was the same tone he used on his bullheaded kin, the one that made it clear she better behave.

Wanting to get it over with, eager to leave, Charlie sat on the nearest table edge. Matthew gathered what he needed while she stared at her toes.

When he came back, she reached for the damp cloth in his hand, only to have him fist it and hold on tight when she gave it a yank. Letting go with an irritated snort, she closed her eyes and waited.

The brush against her skin was cool, cautious, Matthew following the path of blood that had trickled down the side of her face, dirtied her neck, washing all the way to where crimson stained the top of her dress. When the mess was cleaned, a fresh corner of the towel passed under her eyes.

“Stop coddling me. I’m not Eli, for Christ’s sake!”

Matthew agreed. “No you ain’t. If you was Eli, I would’ve slapped you twenty minutes ago.”

She couldn’t help but snicker. “You ever try to slap me, Mr. Emerson, and I think it’s safe to say it won’t end pretty for either of us.”

For a fraction of a second she thought she saw a tick at the corner of his lips.

Moving his fingers carefully to part her hair to find the source of all that blood, Matthew said, “This needs a stitch.”

Great… “I can do it. There’s a first aid kit in my car.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

Impatient, she grumbled, “Then you do it.”

He fetched her box, watched her thread a curved needle, while she explained sewing skin was no different than sewing a shirt.

Taking the needle, Matthew paused for a moment. “It’s gonna hurt.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, sarcasm thick as she mocked, “Is this where you offer to hold my hand?”

Those pale eyes glanced down to hostile sapphire blue, staring long and hard at her expression before he did what had to be done. Charlie didn’t flinch, but she did close her eyes as he pulled the thread through her skin.

When it was done, she felt his fingers take hers, opening her eyes to see their hands joined on her lap.