“Yes, yes,” he was saying. “Ooh, I understand.”
Speaking of his favorite drink, he rose from the desk and poured us each a snifter of the cognac. Then he handed me a cigar and a lighter. I took all three with silent thanks.
It was a bit early for both, but it was my wife’s birthday, so what the hell. I’d celebrate with him all my life on that account.
The smoke from my cigar purled with his, and soon the office was coated in a sweet-smelling fog, bringing us both under. Each line of smoke was illuminated by the sun, swirls thin and thick. I took in a lungful, closed my eyes, and blew it out in slow puffs, wrapping my lips around the smoke.
Louis XIII de Rémy Martin cognac, which had been exclusive to only dignitaries, glowed amber against the dark mahogany of the wood, and it coated the mouth in a nutmeg-flavored honey before it glided down the throat and made a small fire in the pit of the stomach. An echo of the cognac’s blood in the cigar ran through the juice, reunited once again.
In the haze of smoke percolating around the office, I watched.
He still had a red flush about him, but I noticed in direct sunlight that shadows had started to color the skin underneath his eyes a light purple. There was no denying the man was a workaholic, but for as long as I knew him—almost my entire life—he had never had them before.
Under the flush, I got the feeling that his skin was paler than usual, but his temper was the polar opposite.
“That’s it!” He slapped the desk, giving a loud laugh. “Sure. Sure. We’ll discuss it over some Scotch whiskey. Look, look, as entertaining as this conversation has been, I must go. My daughter—Scarlett, you remember our little dancer? Sure. She’s hard to forget. No, no, she’s married now. They grow up so fast, don’t they?
“Today is her birthday. I must celebrate with my children before I grow too old to do it. I’ll let her know. She’ll appreciate it. I’ll have Cathy contact you with the details. Uh huh, all right then, goodbye.” He hung up the phone, closed his eyes, and enjoyed a lungful of smoke before he reached for his drink. “Fucking sharks,” he said, opening his eyes to meet mine.
I lifted my glass and he lifted his. “Here’s to no blood in the water,” I said.
“I’ll drink to that, son.”
We clanked and then both took a sip. This cognac wasn’t to be rushed. It had to be savored—for hours. I wondered how it would taste on my wife’s skin. I tucked the idea away for later.
He cleared the drink from his throat, leaning forward. “I trust all is good with the party?”
I almost grinned at that. It was close to war between him and I. Scarlett didn’t want a big thing, but he did. He was big on throwing parties where circulation came natural. But I didn’t want that for her. If it was going to be done, I wanted to do it in a way that she’d enjoy being celebrated.
“Yeah, all’s good,” I said, setting down my glass. “Damn, that’s a fine drink.”
He grinned. “You married my daughter; it’s only natural that you’d have a taste for the finer things in life. You’re a man after my own heart. Travis can take it or leave it—I find that I’m less likely to trust a man who doesn’t appreciate the finer things in life.”
“Speaking of which.” I took a puff and retrohaled it—blew it out of my nose. A cigar should be “tasted” through the nose, all of its flavors touching those sensitive olfactory receptors on its way out, leaving behind its subtle nuances. “Tell me what’s going on with Stone.”
The last time we had a sit-down in his office in Natchitoches, he made it known that we should leave the sheriff and his nephews alone. He didn’t appreciate Romeo sending the family an invitation to his wedding to Juliette. It had been taken for what it was worth, an insult—a salt rub in a deep wound.
Everett wanted to keep the peace between the two families as best as he could. His daughter was my wife, and the sheriff had been a good friend to him. He’d rather not have to make the choice to turn an old friend into an enemy, if he didn’t have to.
He attempted to placate me by saying that he understood that my family did things differently, and as much as he understood that, he asked that I speak to Romeo. We lived in a small town, andwedid things differently there as well.
There was something there that I couldn’t quite grasp though. The sheriff had never laid down for anyone—including an old friend—and he would for Everett every time he was pulled to the side or invited into my father-in-law’s office.
Sick and tired of the game, I decided it was time to lay the cards on the table. But since it was Everett setting his cards down, I had no idea how this was going to play out.
Everett was a good schmoozer, but he wasn’t to be underestimated. He was a ruthless tycoon, and the business his father had left him had grown substantially after he had taken over.
For as graceful as she was, Scarlett had inherited Everett’s savage instincts and strength of purpose. I had watched her judge dancing competitions, and her entire demeanor would change. Her eyes would become shrewd and her awareness keener—she knew exactly what she was looking at and for.
Everett removed a piece of tobacco from his mouth, rubbing it between his fingers for a minute or so while he gazed at me without a hint of diffidence. I gazed back through the clouds of smoke, in no rush.
“What makes you ask?” he finally said. He stopped rubbing and took another puff.
I lifted one shoulder and let it fall. I traded the cigar for another sip of cognac. “A feeling.” I breathed out through my nose again to merge the flavors.
“Has Scarlett—” he waved his cigar around “—been having, what does the little darlin’ call them? Feelings on the matter?”
“Not one,” I said. “She is worried though. You haven’t been yourself.”
