“Eli,” Matthew called from his office, cantankerous after the late run and the subsequent brawl waiting for him at the end of it.

Eli leaned his head in. “Yeah?”

“Run into town and pick up a shipment, then find Nathaniel and tell him to get his ass up to the stills. Gotta get them jars full for tomorrow night.”

“Sure thing, cousin.”

Eager to be out of the grill and away from the monotony of washing dishes, Eli took his time picking up jars, sugar, and other assorted ingredients required to make quality shine. As he was securing the load, Gap Mill’s local postman came lumbering over.

“Eli Emerson, parcel come from Chicago this morning for Devil’s Hollow.”

Eli tossed the thing in the truck so he might step into the parlor of Fontannes Boardinghouse. Using his best manners, he smiled at the patroness. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fontanne. I came to see if Miss Elliot was in.”

His charming smile didn’t earn one in return. “That woman’s been gone for days.” The needle jabbed through her mending. “Just comes and goes as she pleases with no concern to tell us when or where.”

“I’m… awful sorry to hear that. You know when she’ll be back?”

Eyes flashed behind the glasses resting on the tip of Mrs. Fontanne’s nose. “No, Eli Emerson, I don’t know when she’ll be back - just like I told Matthew two days ago.”

“Matthew was here?” Eli was downright amazed.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Mrs. Fontanne set aside the mending, looking the youth dead in the eye. “You tell your cousin he’s wasting his time if he’s thinking of courtin that woman. There’s something unnatural about her.”

“You shouldn’t be saying harsh words about a new person in town, Mrs. Fontanne.” Eli stood tall, looking a lot more like Matthew as his brows drew tight. “Us Emersons call her friend, and I don’t suspect your husband would take too kindly to starting trouble with the family who loaned him the money to keep this place afloat.” Eli put on his hat, ignoring her indignant huff, and left with a polite, “Have a good afternoon now.”

By the time he was back at Devil’s Hollow, Eli was worked up and muttering under his breath. Carrying the strange package through the door, he went straight to the counter, dumping the box on the polished wood before announcing to his cousin, “I think that old biddy, Mrs. Fontanne, is givin our Charlie a hard time. Called her unnatural…”

There were a few local men eating lunch and sipping on jars; one or two looked up at Eli’s outburst.

Matthew didn’t glance from his figures, yet asked gruffly, “You called on Miss Elliot?”

“Yeah, wanted to see if she might come down for lunch... but she’s gone off somewhere.” Eli began to pull the ties of the package.

“What’s that you got there?” Pale eyes looked to the address.

“Package came this morning for Devil’s Hollow,” Eli answered.

Matthew reached forward and snatched the package from his cousin. Irritated Eli would open something that was clearly intended for him, Matthew pulled off the brown paper, revealing an embellished House of Vionnet stamped atop a shiny white box. A crease formed between his brows. He lifted the lid, and found tissue paper covering something smelling of lavender. Pushing the paper aside, Matthew ran his fingertips over the mystery, never having felt satin before.

The card read:

-Feathers for little Blackbird

Realizing just what was inside, he quickly snapped on the lid, grabbing the damn thing to hide in his office before anyone saw him touching a woman’s dress.

When he got back to the bar, Eli was laughing at him. “It ain’t gonna bite you, Matthew.”

Matthew ignored the boy and retook his seat.

Eli picked a piece of lint off Matthew’s shoulder. “You better see to getting yourself a nice suit, cousin, if you plan on standing anywhere near her while she’s wearing something like that.”

Slamming down his pencil, Matthew grabbed his ledger, and retreated into the office, barking, “Get back to work.”

Business grew busy and it was almost dusk before Matthew and Eli climbed into the truck to head to the stills. The entire drive Matthew was making a mental list of all the jars that should’ve been filled, preparing to lay into his brother if he found Nathaniel drunk and loafing.

The scene he arrived to was far worse.

Walking through the forest canopy to the secret shack where hundreds of dollars of necessary equipment brewed shine, he heard the muffled voice of his brother telling what had to be the raunchiest jokes in the hills.

Nathaniel sat before a fire, a man facing him, the stranger’s shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

Prowling forward, ready to tear into his brother for bringing an outsider to their stills, Matthew froze. The laughing stranger had the voice of his golden girl, Charlotte telling an equally bawdy joke that made Nathaniel slap his knee and throw his head back he was howling so hard.

“Damn, Charlie, where the hell you pick up that one?”

“Whorehouse outside of Nashville,” she answered unashamed, sipping the jar in her hand.

Right behind her Matthew growled, “And just what the hell were you doin at a whorehouse, Charlotte?”

Charlie choked mid swallow and began to cough, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Jesus, Matthew, you just about gave me a heart attack.”

“Answer the question.” His tone had fallen deeper, the brim of his hat hiding whatever malice made him so mad.

“Tracking a man named Franco Ramirez.” She gave him a cocky grin. “I’ll let you in on a trade secret. If you slip the ladies two dollars, they tend to wear out your prey. Then all you gotta do is tie them up and drag them off. Everybody’s happy…” Winking at Nathaniel, Charlie clarified, “Well, Franco wasn’t happy. The Texas marshals hung him.”

“How much you been drinkin?” Matthew demanded, crouching down to look her over.

Dressed in trousers, her hair tucked under an old hat, with dirt smeared on her face, Charlie shrugged, the blue flannel shirt gaping just enough that if he leaned forward he’d be able to see right down her…

“Leave her alone, Matthew,” Nathaniel grumbled, cocking his head towards the corner and catching his brother’s attention. “She barely even touched the jar in her hand. Besides, while you two pansies were relaxing, Charlie helped me fill the order for tomorrow. Work’s all done.”

Pale eyes darted across the darkening room, finding what Nathaniel claimed to be true. It didn’t soften his accusation. “And just how did she come to be here, Nathaniel?”

Charlie came to his defense, “I was hunting, Matthew. He heard me shoot a deer nearby.”

“Found her walking through the woods, pleased as could be, with a doe hangin right cross her shoulders.” Nathaniel explained, laughing as if still struck with what an odd sight it had been. “We’ve been waiting for you two to show up so we could eat.”

On cue, Charlie rose to her feet and went out the door to where her cleaned deer hung from a tree. Hunting knife in hand, she stabbed into the carcass, sawing down the back for the backstrap and loin, smiling when Matthew eased up behind her.

“She’s a nice young doe, a little small. Still, should be plenty to feed us all and then some.” Stopping for a moment, she tried to explain, “I want you to know, Matthew, I had no idea your stills were hidden around here. I meant no harm and I wasn’t snooping.”

“Ain’t safe to hunt alone.”

She snorted. “I don’t know any hunters around here who would feel comfortable traipsing through the woods with a woman. And I’ve seen you Emersons fire a weapon - you can’t hit the broadside of a barn. You’d scare all the deer away.”

The way she was talking to him, the playfulness she usually reserved for his brother, it made him keep his mouth shut instead of rising to the bait. When the meat was stacked up and ready, Charlie stepped to the adjacent creek, splashing her face and scrubbing clean in the frigid water.

Hat in hand, she found Matthew waiting just behind her, holding out his handkerchief. She took it with a grateful smile, leaning her head back to swipe the moisture running down her neck, Matthew enthralled by the show.

Folding the cloth politely, she handed it back, tugging his arm. “Come on, Matthew. Let me feed you for once.”

An hour later, the four of them sat around the fire, stomachs near to bursting on the venison steaks Charlie had grilled for them. Eli set to talking about his sweetheart, Ruth, ribbed constantly by Nathaniel while Matthew leaned back against some crates and smoked a cigar.

The way his lips wrapped around the stogie, Charlie kept finding her eye drawn to it, sneaking glances from under the brim of her hat when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He caught her staring and Matthew finally spoke. “How long you been out in these woods?”

Charlie’s eyes darted back to the fire. After a warm swallow of applejack smoothed her tongue, she answered, “Since around noon, I suppose.”

“Lookin at things?” Nathaniel kidded, glad the focus was no longer on Eli’s blather.

Charlie grinned. “Looking at things.”

“And just what did you see?” He knew a tirade of local flora and fauna was about to burst from her lips, that she’d get all glassy-eyed, that she’d grow limp and content.

Charlie detailed the rich earthy hills, the smell of the woods in the valley, the interesting shape of a foundation half lost in briars.

“When you talk about my home, I feel like it’s a place I’ve never really been,” Eli said, leaning back on his elbows. “I don’t think anyone sees Monroe like you do, Miss Charlie.”

“It’s funny you say that,” Charlie answered, enjoying Eli’s boyish grin. “Since it was your stories that made me want to come here.”

“You should get out of that boarding house and find a proper home.” Eli placed a cigarette between his lips. After striking a match on the ground and pulling in a breath of smoke, he added, “A place with a big porch. I think you’d like that.”

A contemplative hum was her only answer.

“I’m surprised you don’t find Monroe boring after living in Chicago. All the excitement, Al Capone, Bugs Moran…”

Charlie sat up straighter, her soft smile gone. “I hear a touch of hero worship in your voice when you say those gangsters’ names, Eli. So listen to me when I tell you this. No matter how glamorous the newspapers make them out to be - calling men like Al Capone a modern day Robin Hood and other such rubbish - they are not like you and your cousins.”

Offended, Eli mistook her meaning. “We’re just as tough-”

Charlie cut him off. “Those men are dark-hearted, Eli. They’re evil.” She took a sip of applejack, felt it burn down to her toes. “It’s more than harmless bootlegging. I’ve seen it firsthand: extortion, corruption, murder, rape. They take advantage of the weak to build their legacy. That’s what they really are - just bad men in nice suits.”

Eli had never heard her so sharp and unfriendly. “What about your Beaumont Radcliffe?”

“He’s just like the rest of them. And don’t go thinking a man like that is a friend to you. He ain’t.” She gestured at the kid with her jar. “Radcliffe has his hands full with lawmen and the constant power struggle in Chicago, too busy to risk his steady supply being cut off, or worse, mass quantities sold to his competition. He knows he needs you right now; banks on the amount of product you can furnish. Otherwise Beau would never have wasted his men’s time sending them down here to make sure things were solid - that your reputation could stand up under intimidation. Had you flinched, you’d probably all be dead. Didn’t hurt I was there neither.”

Her point made Eli’s eyes go wide. “How’d you end up close to a man like Radcliffe?”

Charlie tipped her head back, leaning against a stack of crates, and closed her eyes. Silent minutes passed until, at length, Charlie muttered, “My brother worked for Radcliffe when we were kids. The men never even noticed when I took his place. Work was hard, but I stuck around. By the time I was thirteen I was running liquor… and real sweet on one of the boys in the gang.” Her eyes remained closed, unaware Matthew leaned closer. “One day he caught me staring at him, all starry eyed, and busted my lip,” she pointed at the visible scar, “before punching me in the gut and calling me a queer.”

Shaking her head, Charlie admitted, “I didn’t know what that word meant, but I did see the look of disgust the men had on their faces, including Radcliffe. I socked the boy back, afraid I’d lose my job. He beat me good. Even so I didn’t back down. It got so wild the gangsters had to tear us apart.”

Her eyes opened. “Needless to say, I was a little heartbroken. That night I was sent with a load to a small speakeasy in the midst of a turf war between the Italians and Radcliffe - basically a lamb to the slaughter. If I hadn’t been mooning over what had happened earlier, I probably would’ve seen trouble. But I didn’t. Capone himself gunned our group down. I caught a bullet in the gut and fell face first onto the street. Scarface used his shiny shoes to flip me on my back, ordering me to crawl on home and tell Radcliffe just what had been done - to let him know Capone would kill him himself if he saw one more of Beaumont’s trucks in the neighborhood.

“I drove to the warehouse, hand pressed to my belly. By the time I made it back, I could hardly breathe. One of the men pulled me from the car and laid me in the gutter. Beaumont himself stood over me with a pistol pointed at my skull. I told him what Capone said and Radcliffe just laughed. I’ll never forget watching his eyes look to my gut, Beau smiling as he told me, ‘Lead in the belly is a slow way to die. Consider this an act of mercy.’ He cocked his gun and asked if I had any last words.

“I motioned for him to lean down and whispered my secret in his ear. I told him my name was Charlotte, needing someone to know before I died.”

She could see it in her head - the flash of disbelief on Beaumont’s face - the kingpin appalled, then mortified. He’d yelled for the men to fetch a doctor and carried her inside, ordering everyone else away. They were alone when Radcliffe lifted her bloody shirt and found small breasts bound with strips of filthy rags. He’d cursed a string of words Charlie had never imagined could be put together. Even in all that pain she’d laughed.

Lost in memory, she gave a weak smile. “He got the bullet out and kept my secret. Beau is a villain, but it seems even he has his limits - executing a young girl being one of them. He kept me close as I recovered, and I told him about my mother, made him see why he needed to keep me around. I’d always been a hard worker, willing to do anything, the most menial task or the most dangerous. I think he saw I would just walk straight to the next gangster down the road for work, so he kept me. I became his errand boy, cleaned the offices, organized papers, and eventually rode the trucks as his personal rifleman. A few times a week, Beau took me home, and his wife, Martha, scrubbed me clean and fed me a decent meal before I scampered back to whatever hole I was living in that month.

“When no one was looking, he taught me to read, how to keep the books. Beau is the closest thing I ever had to a father. And he did right by me in his way; made it so I could still take care of my mama. I keep her fed and tended when the rest of the city was starving.”

Eli asked, “What happened to the boy?”

“The boy?” Charlie looked confused.

“The one you were sweet on.”

She gave a breathy laugh and took a swig. “You met him the other night. Tommy Kennedy, Beau’s current right-hand man.”

Matthew grumbled and chewed his cigar, glaring at the fire as he thought of the pretty boy who’d kissed Charlie’s hand. He fumed about it so long Matthew failed to notice Nathaniel passed out, dead drunk, with Eli snoring softly beside him. Even Charlotte was lying with her head on her arm, fast asleep.

Tossing the stump of his cigar into the fire, he stared openly at her face for what felt like hours. She shivered.

Slipping off his jacket, Matthew placed it over her before laying down, his head near hers so he might look a bit longer.

When Matthew woke, he found his coat had been returned, draped across him, and the golden girl was gone. Snoring louder than a sawmill, Nathaniel leaned against a crate, head tipped back at what seemed an uncomfortable angle. Beside him, Eli was curled up like a dog, slumbering peacefully as well.

Pulling on his jacket, Matthew walked out to see where on earth Charlotte had got to so early. It didn’t take long to find her, splashing as she was in the stream. Her face and hair, wet from the rinse she’d given them, dripped but were ignored once she got to working.

Spying from a distance, Matthew watched her butcher the doe, wrapping up hearty cuts in paper from her pack.

“Radcliffe’s going to try to keep you in Chicago.”

Head darting up, Charlie found Matthew leaning against a tree, his breath steaming in the cold air. “I suspect he might. I suppose dinner and dancing at the Drake are part of the enticement. Though once he sees my sorry way of dancing, I might just embarrass him enough to have him wash his hands of me.” Charlie turned back to her work. “Should be pretty interesting either way.”

“You danced just fine at the Willard’s barn a few months back,” Matthew offered.

Pausing mid slice, Charlie admitted, “I never could figure out why you were glaring at me that night. Especially if you didn’t know who I was.”

“I wasn’t glarin at you.”

Turning her attention from the doe, she found the man staring off into the woods. “Every time I looked up you were staring straight at me, Matthew - scowling something awful.”

He shifted his weight against the tree. “New woman in town shouldn’t be dancing with strangers.”

“If I didn’t dance with strangers, I wouldn’t have danced at all. That’s the point of barn dances - to socialize. And if you were so concerned for a strange woman’s public image, then you should have asked me to dance yourself.”

“I don’t dance.”

Sitting back on her heels, somewhat annoyed, she gave him a long look. “If after a lifetime of pretending to be a man I can learn to wear a dress, walk in heels, and dance badly with strangers, then you have no excuse. Coward.”

Grumbling about obstinate, moody men, Charlie finished the last slice of hindquarter. Once it was wrapped, Matthew took her elbow, pulling her to stand.

“What are you doing?”

Setting a hand at her waist, drawing her a little closer, he said, “I’m gonna dance with you.”

Stupidly she stared, then, in a very unladylike fashion, wiped her bloody hands on the front of her shirt. Throat dry, feeling a blush creeping into her cheeks, Charlie set one dirty hand on his shoulder and the other in a rough palm.

The fallen autumn leaves, slippery under their boots, made her stumble, but before she could make an apology, Matthew lifted his arm and gave her a spin, catching her as she giggled instead.

“You’re a liar, Matthew Emerson. You can dance just fine.”

He spun her again. She almost had it - but overstepped and stomped his foot. Muttering an apology, Charlie stepping back, red-faced, and stammered, “I think we can both agree I’m terrible at this.”

“You just need practice,” he said, tugging her back.

And so they kept at it, Charlie wearing a smile that wouldn’t quit. After several steps with no mistakes, triumph blazed all over her flushed face. With a flourish, Matthew spun her again, caught her too close and found himself staring hard at her mouth.

There was no stopping it, not when he saw her tongue dart out to wet her scar. With a growl he captured her lips, pressing a heated kiss on the startled woman.

The feel of him, the insistent pressure, sent her head swimming, Charlie drugged further when Matthew grew relentless, sliding his mouth over hers. When the golden girl whimpered, the decadent sensation came to an end, and Matthew pulled back to gauge her reaction. What he found was a dreamy smile and half-closed eyes.

Soft and wondrous, she said, “I never… No one has ever…” She could still feel the tingle where he’d sucked her lower lip. Dazed, she pressed closer, her voice suddenly husky. “Do it again.”

His response was immediate. Matthew’s lips crashed down and Charlie shyly began to kiss him back. A calloused grip wrapped around her nape, his thumb brushed her jaw, inspiring a shameless moan.

Before he did something foolish like drag her down and take her right there on the forest floor, Matthew pulled back, panting, pale eyes burning against tan skin. Squeezing her hard, he found himself unable to look away from her mouth, all swollen and pink… her pretty lips and that eye-catching scar.

He felt his cock throb and had to force himself to seek out blue eyes before more salacious thoughts of Charlotte’s mouth might tempt him to take advantage. Confusion was written all over her face, Charlie peeking at him with shy darting glances. The proof was there: She was truly an innocent in the ways of men, no matter what she may have seen or how many colorful jokes she’d picked up.

Mistaking his brooding for anger, Charlie pushed back, stammering an apology, wondering what she’d done wrong. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked him to kiss her again? Maybe she shouldn’t have held on so tight? Maybe she’d been too forward for her first kiss?

Matthew’s fingers reached up to tuck a wild piece of hair behind her ear, saying with his actions what he didn’t know how to say with words. Catching her vulnerable gaze with a softer one of his own, he was about to mumble something sweet, but Eli’s voice boomed out across the valley, the boy bellyaching he was hungry and ready to head back to Devil’s Hollow. At the interruption, Charlie jumped like a scared rabbit, shuffling past Matthew to gather up the meat she’d carved. He helped the flustered woman manage the larger pieces, following to where she’d hidden her car.

Tossing everything inside, Charlie turned, cheeks pink, combing her hair with her fingers, certain she looked a right mess. “I’ll be on my way now. Thanks for helping me load the car.”

Trying to act the gentleman, Matthew pulled open her door, cleared his throat, and offered, “If you like, drive on down to the grill and I’ll cook you breakfast.”

What she’d like would be for Matthew to kiss her again, or maybe just to get the hell out of there with some scrap of dignity before he realized how badly she was panting after him.

Nodding mutely, she climbed behind the wheel, started the engine, driving off the second he closed her door.

She made it down the mountain before the boys, using the spare time to change into the dress tossed over her back seat. By the time Matthew’s old truck pulled up, she looked like a girl again. But Nathaniel’s blood shot eyes took one look at her and he burst out laughing - a cotton dress and men’s boots not really being a sight he’d seen on a woman.

Fully aware of what garnered the reaction, she admitted sheepishly, “I couldn’t find my shoes.”

A hidden tick came to the corner of Matthew’s lips, but he quickly squelched it, sauntering up the steps to unlock the door.

When they were all inside, Charlie found Matthew hadn’t been completely honest when he offered to make her breakfast. Instead, with Nathaniel sitting at the bar and Eli grumbling beside him, Matthew fired up the grill and handed Charlie his apron.

Her first lesson in cooking had been simple: how to properly fry an egg, make coffee, and toast bread.

You would have thought Charlie was cooking for the President the way she focused and took care to do precisely as he instructed. And despite the moody expression, Matthew was highly amused at her bumbling... as was his kin.

The men ate her simple breakfast, exclaiming it was delicious, Charlie aware they were being overly generous in their praise. She had broken several yolks and burnt half the toast. Only the coffee had turned out decent… or so she hoped. Charlie didn’t sample the brew.

“Next time, you should teach her how to make flapjacks,” Nathaniel grunted, shoveling food down his throat. “That’s my favorite.”

“I’ll get right on that, Nathaniel.” Charlie pulled off the apron. “Well, burning your breakfast has been fun, but I need to run.”

“Where on earth you goin now?” Matthew grouched, about ready to catch a hold of her before she might disappear.

Charlie winked at Eli. “I’m gonna visit Ruth.”

“Before you run off,” Eli chugged down his last bit of coffee, getting up. “You got a package.”

“Huh?”

Eli rushed to the office, found the parcel and brought it back to plop down before her.

With a confused, “Thanks, Eli,” Charlie set the shiny white lid on the counter, grinning once she recognized the name of the dressmaker. Checking to make sure her hands were clean, she reached in and lifted the length of glowing satin. “Well, that’s certainly a pretty dress.”

Matthew grumbled into his coffee, “That ain’t no dress.” Dresses were not supposed to make you look more naked than clothed.

“Sure it is. This is what women wear in the big cities for a night on the town.” Charlie held it against her body, taken with the gown.

Even Nathaniel spoke up. “Girl caught dressing like that around Monroe would draw a lot of attention.”

Charlie put the dress back in the box. “I dress like a man and y’all hardly bat an eyelash. You see one stylish evening gown, and you start muttering like I’m indecent. I don’t understand you Emerson men.”

“Why does he call you Blackbird?” Eli asked once she picked up the card.

“When I first started working for Radcliffe, I was starving and dirty. The men liked to drop food just to see me swipe it up and cram it in my mouth like a bird. The name stuck.”