Come Rain Or Shine Part 11

"Oh, I can't move my body like that." She tried to pull away from him and failed.

"Where's my brave girl? Just follow my lead," he said.

Emmie couldn't stop laughing. She did her best to keep pace with him but struggled. She'd never been so thankful for two shots of whiskey. If it hadn't been for those little shots of courage she would have never made it this long on the dance floor. She'd seen Silas dance plenty of times, but never had she seen him let loose like this. His shirt was sticking to his body. He rubbed his brow with the back of his arm to catch a drip of sweat that was about to run into his eye.

Emmie laughed and put her hand out toward his face. "Silas you look so-" she started but didn't have the chance to finish. Some pretty girl with fire red hair stepped between them.

"Silas McDowell, you are in trouble," the girl said with a thick northern accent.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn't let him finish.

"You never called me. I've been waiting months to hear back from you," she said, her voice just barely below a yell.

"I, uh . . . didn't know you expected me to call you," Silas stumbled as he tried to move around the girl.

Emmie watched the whole altercation with wide eyes.

The girl smiled and batted her eyes. "The least you could do is give me a dance for old time's sake."

"I'm already dancing," Silas said, nodding to Emmie.

Emmie was annoyed. She knew Silas had a past but she didn't like his past standing in front of her. Smothering. He'd said he didn't want them to smother one another. His words came back to her. "No, it's fine. Go ahead, dance." Emmie shrugged. "We don't want to be smothering one another."

She turned to leave the dance floor. Her heart was pounding. Oddly enough, she didn't feel threatened by the redhead. She could tell by the look on Silas's face he didn't want anything to do with her. Emmie never made it off the floor. Two sweaty arms snaked around her waist and pulled her back into the thick of the dancing. She probably should have been frightened, but she couldn't keep from laughing. Maybe that was the whiskey? When she finally got herself turned to see her partner, she gave him a wide smile. Trick had gotten hold of her, flipping her this way and that. She wasn't surprised he was a good dancer. He held her a little closer than was probably appropriate.

"There's our little ball of trouble," he panted as he flipped her over his shoulder and caught her before she hit the ground. She couldn't hold in the squeal of excitement that escaped her.

Trick looked her over before he flipped her again. "You're looking good tonight, Em."

She didn't have the chance to say thanks. The pace of the music changed and she was tossed farther down the line. The next guy wasn't as good of a dancer as Trick but it was still fun. As the new tune had barely gotten started she felt herself pulled from the stranger's arms.

"Hey," the man shouted, gripping tightly to her arm. "I'm dancing with her . . ." The man's face fell when he saw it was Silas taking her away. "Oh, sorry Silas. Didn't mean any disrespect . . ."

Silas didn't say a word to the guy. He just frowned and turned Emmie to face him. "I'll let you have some fun and dance with my brother, if you want. But I'll not stand here and watch as you get pa.s.sed from man to man."

She grinned at him. "I thought you wanted me to live a little. This is me, living . . . besides I seem to remember that I left you with a pretty redhead that you never called back."

"A crazy redhead that has been not called back by nearly every guy in this joint." He rubbed his jaw the bent down to look her right in the eye. "I want you to live a little before we are married, yes. But dancing with other men in a dress that's so short your . . . flour sacks are showing is where I draw the line," he growled possessively.

Chapter Twenty-two.

"You can't have your cake and eat it too, Silas. Either I'm your girl or I'm not," she said over the music.

"Of course you're my girl. Do you not see?" Silas pulled her to a quieter corner. "I'd walk through fire for you. I'd kill for you. I already have . . . and, I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I. Love. You. Emmie. What do I need to do, tattoo it on my chest?"

Emmie shook her head to clear her mind. What was she doing? She was going to push Silas away with this game she was playing. "Sorry, I was petty. I've just had too much going on. Maybe all this wedding talk with Ava has me confused. I didn't mean to put pressure on you."

"You didn't put pressure-" Silas started but didn't get the chance to finish.

A group of guys walked up smiling and shouting his name. She heard him sigh and then he said, "This conversation is not over." He composed his face before he turned around. These guys were his friends; Emmie could tell by his demeanor. He gave them the manly version of a hug-slap on the back. He pulled Emmie into his side, his arm dangling loosely on her shoulder, as he introduced her as "his girl" to the guys. His choice of words didn't escape her notice. She sort of hated how good it felt to be tucked safely in his arm.

Time seemed to pa.s.s slowly down in the Irish speakeasy but not in a bad way. She loved listening to the stories these men were telling. The more whiskey that was consumed, the bigger the tales were. Glancing around she noticed Jemma had taken the dance floor. She was a pretty good dancer too. It must be in their genes. Trick had left the floor and was standing at her other side. Out of nowhere he asked her about Millie.

Emmie worked hard to keep her face indifferent but knew she came up short. She moved from Silas's arm to turn to face Trick head-on. She wanted to hear this conversation and be able to look in his face as he talked.

"Are you interested in Millie, Patrick McDowell?" She squeezed his arm as she teased him.

"Just answer the question, do you think she'd take to a city boy like me?" he asked in a mock country accent.

"Yeah, I suppose so. She and Bo have always been adventurous. Bo's the one you should be worried about though. He's not a fan of Yankees, in case you've missed that in the hundreds of times he's told Silas," she teased again.

Trick rolled his eyes. "I'm not worried about that kid. He was only so hard on Silas because he was carrying a torch for you."

"Yeah and I can guarantee you that he loves his sister more than he ever cared for me. That's his baby sister . . . like Jemma is to you. I'm all for you and Millie. I'm rooting for you. But you need to know he isn't going to just go belly-up to ya," she said.

"Where'd Silas pick up this pretty thing?" one of the men who had clearly had too much whiskey asked Trick.

"Kentucky," Trick answered then turned back to Emmie.

"Kentucky," the boy laughed harder than he should have, "you know, from across the room she looked like some pretty Irish girl from Chicago, but then . . ." he worked to find the words and his speech slurred, "I heard her talking to you and, wow, I've never heard such a slow, hillbilly accent."

"You got me. I have an accent. But here's the kicker, so do you," Emmie said, touching the young man's arm. "It's just according to where you're from, right? We all have accents."

The man laughed again. She looked at Trick. He just made a motion like he was taking shots and rolled his eyes. She took that to mean this man had too much to drink. She'd already pieced that one together herself.

"Pat, maybe you should go sit down or have some water," Silas said to the man. Emmie hadn't realized until this moment he was listening to their conversation.

"Nah . . ." he waved his hand, "I'm good. Hey Kentucky, you wanna dance?"

"No, Chicago, I think I'm all tuckered out." She threw his sa.s.sy att.i.tude right back at him.

All of the guys laughed at her joke. Silas grinned at her, squeezed her leg, and leaned over to kiss her temple.

"You called me Chicago-that's funny," the man said, then his face became stone serious. "You think you're real funny. Tell me Kentucky, did you know this is an Irish party? You shouldn't come to an Irish party and make fun of a man when you don't even have a drop of Irish in your body. You might not be welcome here, Kentucky."

Emmie felt Silas and Trick stiffen on each side of her. She put an arm out to still each of them then stood to face the man. He was just drunk and she had wounded his pride by making his friends laugh at him. She could work this out by herself. "I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. No harm meant," she said, patting his arm.

He watched her every move as she touched him. He sneered, reaching an arm out and touching her arm exactly as she'd touched his. He patted her arm gently. "Oh, I guess it's all right. A friend of Silas's is always welcomed at our party, right?"

"That's right," one of the guys in the group said.

The man's eyes narrowed and he gave an ornery grin. "Besides, if Kentucky is really a friend of Silas's, chances are she's already had more than a little Irish in her."

Emmie frowned at his words. It took her a second to understand his meaning. When his words finally sank in she reached her hand out to slap the man but didn't have the chance. Before she made contact with his skin, someone had pulled her away. She glanced back to find Silas on top of the drunken fellow. She attempted to move near him, wanting to pull Silas away from the drunk. This wasn't worth the fight.

"No." She saw Trick's face in front of her.

"This has to happen. He can't let that go." Trick's face was stone serious.

Emmie noticed one of Chicago's friends was making his way to the fight. Trick moved to join his brother, keeping the other guy away. One fight broke into two, two into three. She looked around the room and found that most of the women were gone. Jemma stayed close to the walls as she made her way over to Emmie.

"What's this about?" The younger girl nodded toward what once was the dance floor.

Emmie sighed. "I'm just a ball of trouble."

Jemma frowned at her in confusion, but Emmie didn't explain. Earlier Silas had said the party didn't start until there was at least one fight. Apparently the party didn't end without one either.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Silas sat on the kitchen counter as Emmie ran a cold rag along the jagged cut above his eye. Trick was at the kitchen table reliving the experience blow-by-blow. He and Silas laughed as they recounted fight that ended the party.

"You two are cavemen, you know that?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

Trick snorted, his voice still thick with whiskey. "You did a good job giving it right back to him Emmie. Chicago. That's funny. I think Pat's going to be officially known as Chicago from this day on. I'm going to make d.a.m.ned sure of it."

"Chicago's really too kind," Silas said, taking the cloth from Emmie. "I was thinking something more along the lines of fuc-"

"Silas," Emmie cut him off, "Jeeze. At first I was going to feel guilty about this fight but now I see that you two were probably looking for an excuse for a good brawl. I provided the match, but you were both already looking for a reason to build a fire. My smacking his freckled little face would have been enough. That boy seems to have more freckles than good sense, but I think he only meant it as a joke. A crude joke but I don't think he meant to offend you. I'd hurt his pride by making his friends laugh at him. There was no need for that ruckus at the end."

Silas leaned over and caught her face with his hand. "Joke or not, I'm not going to stand there and listen to a man, friend or foe, make jokes about me cracking you."

"Cracking?" Emmie frowned.

Silas leaned down and whispered a string of synonyms in her ear. Her eyes grew wider with each word he added to the list.

"Cracking, wow. You sure do have a lot of words for it," she said, laughing. It was probably the whiskey making this so funny. Four drinks was a lot for Emmie. She didn't think she was drunk exactly, her tongue just felt like it was hanging loose in her mouth. Silas and Trick exchanged an amused expression as she repeated the list of the words Silas had whispered. "I've never heard most of them."

"I wouldn't go saying all those words in mixed company," Trick said. "It might make people think that we've been a bad influence on you."

Emmie laughed at his joke longer than she should have. "Well they don't need to worry about that." She pointed to Silas, "My chast.i.ty is a virtue he excels at. Guess I shoulda told ole Chicago that I've never had any Irish in me . . . I've actually tried," she said, looking at Trick. "But clearly . . . I repel the Irishman." Emmie's head swam as she spoke loudly. Maybe she was drunk.

Trick looked down at the ground with an amused expression. Silas hopped off the counter and spun Emmie to face him. "Don't talk like that."

"Oh, it's fine. I'm just teasing." She turned to head out of the kitchen. Jemma and a few of Silas's friends were now in the living room. Silas's place had turned into something of an after party. Emmie was exhausted. She couldn't remember the last time she had stayed awake this late.

Silas grabbed her arm and spun her around before she entered the living room. Trick moved around them silently. "You were not teasing. You're hurt because you think I've rejected you."

Emmie shrugged. "Maybe someday when I've had more experience . . . like that redheaded girl-"

"Will you stop saying that? You're testing my patience here, Emmie," Silas said quietly.

"You said it. You said I needed to live my life and have more experiences before you would have me. Before you would make promises to me. You don't like your words thrown back at you? You don't like the thought of me . . . becoming Irish with someone else . . ." she said in reference to the boy's joke earlier. "Or I guess I could have some Italian . . . or Bo's grandmother was half Cherokee, maybe I could become an Indian . . . I've got a whole melting pot of experiences ahead of me."

"d.a.m.n it, Emmie," Silas muttered. "You know I don't mean I want you with other men. You're drunk and feeling sa.s.sy. Your mouth's running away with you and I'm tired of hearing it."

"You punched that man tonight because you were worried he hurt my feelings. Well, I've got news for ya. He didn't hurt me like you did today. I offered everything I am to you and you rejected me," she said.

"I did not reject you. I said you needed to live a little before we got married," Silas practically shouted, attracting stares from those around the room.

Emmie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah that's clear. Don't you worry, Silas. I'll sow some oats before I make an attempt at your hand again."

"Sowing oats . . . you really are a ridiculous woman. You know that? This isn't about me not wanting to get you in the sack. There's more to living than sowing oats. You've never done half the things you should. This is probably the first time you've been out of Kentucky," he whispered angrily.

Her frown told him he was right about that one.

"Oh, don't you go making excuses, Silas. You know we could travel together. You're just afraid you're corrupting me or that I won't know what I'm doing. I'm not sure which one yet, but you've always been full of excuses. 'Oh, it's not the right time. Emmie, you've had too much to drink. No, doll, your ribs are broken.' You've always been full of some excuse not to see my flour sacks. Excuses, excuses. Did you make excuses for that redheaded floozy when you were with her or did you oblige her quickly?" Emmie knew she should stop talking but couldn't seem to make her lips stay closed.

At first she thought Silas may laugh but when he composed himself he ground his teeth together. He leaned his head back and groaned, "Fine."

He picked her up and tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She screamed in surprise, "Silas McDowell." The last time he had carried her like this was when he found her in the blind pig.

Jemma stood and started to walk over to them, a couple of guys put their arms out to stop her. "Keep your hands off my sister," he grumbled as he walked by them.

"Silas what on earth-" Jemma said, but he paid her no mind as he carried Emmie down the narrow hall that led to his bedroom.

He leaned over and flipped her onto the bed. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him standing over her. His hair was no longer neatly slicked back. It had fallen forward and kept covering his right eye. He pushed it out of the way. Without a word he took of his suit coat and threw it on the floor. Then he slid his arms out of his shoulder holster. The leather and metal made a loud thump as it landed on the table next to the bed. He never took his eyes from her as he worked the b.u.t.tons of his shirt with more force than necessary.

"Are you mad at me or your shirt?" she tried to tease.

"You," he said, tossing it to the ground. With one arm he reached down and unbuckled his pants. They fell low on his hips.

"What in the world are you doing, Silas?" she asked, crawling backward on the bed.

"I'm putting an end to this argument," he said.

"What?" Emmie's voice caught in her throat as he reached for her hips and pulled her closer to the end of the bed. Silas's hand slid up her thigh and made quick work of undoing her stockings.

"Maybe we should talk about this for a second," Emmie said, pulling her dress back down.

"Oh, sweetheart, you've talked enough for both of us tonight," he said as he pulled her dress up to her waist. Silas mumbled under his breath and leaned in closer to her. All she could hear was something about Indians and Bo Johnson.

"This isn't what I meant. This isn't how I want it to be," she whispered.