Chapter 34
DODGE KNEW HE SHOULD LET GO OF HER, but he didn’t want to. And she didn’t move away.
The quickness of her breath lit a slow burn inside him, and he pulled her closer, already imagining what it would be like to—
No. Even if he didn’t believe Josephine’s story about being married, his life wasn’t his own anymore.
He had Bethie now. He’d sworn to take care of her.
Had sworn to give the kind of guardianship he hadn’t given Kathleen.
So as drawn as he was to this woman, despite their differences, and perhaps because of them . . .
He loosened his hold. Just as the door of the building swung open.
Josephine stepped back at once, and Dodge caught the flash of regret—or was it guilt?—that crossed her face. He turned as George Green walked in.
George slowed, whether to let his eyes adjust or because he’d seen them, Dodge couldn’t say. His own conscience voiced the latter.
“George,” Dodge called, forcing steadiness to his voice. “Good to see you! I was just showing Mrs. Dunham the vats, explaining the charcoal process. Uncle Jack asked me to give her a tour.”
If his voice sounded normal to them, it didn’t to him.
“Mrs. Dunham, good to see you again, ma’am.” George seemed his usual self.
“And you, Mr. Green,” she replied, surprisingly composed, save for the faint color still warming her cheeks.
“So you’re learning how we make Old No. 7?” George asked.
“Yes. And it’s far more . . . involved than I expected.”
“Well Uncle Jack’s had nigh onto fifty years to get it right.”
Her brow creased. “But that can’t be right. That would mean he started as a boy.”
“Well, not the distillery part.” George smiled. “He and my papa started making whiskey after Uncle Jack came to live with Dan Call and his wife, Mary Jane. Uncle Jack couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.”
“Your father taught him how to make whiskey?” Josephine asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Years back, my papa was a slave for Dan Call. He ran Dan’s still. Young Jack told Dan he wanted to learn how to make whiskey, and Dan took him to meet my papa . . . Nearest. Uncle Nearest, folks called him.”
Josephine listened intently.
Dodge never tired of hearing George tell this story. He hoped he’d keep telling it, so no one ever forgot how it all began. A preacher, a boy, and a slave.
“Dan Call told Jack,” George continued, his voice taking on the echo of his father’s, “Uncle Nearest is the best whiskey maker that I know of. He is George’s daddy, and he will show you exactly what he is doing.
Dan tacked on, I’ll show you what I know, too.
And Mrs. Dunham, something you’ve got to know is that young Jack did a real good turn for the Call family.
As Dan once told my papa, Uncle Nearest, the young fellow here saved our baby from trouble when she was caught under the house, and he saved my life from a rattlesnake less than an hour ago, with that stick.
” Memory deepened George’s smile. “Dan said, I want him to become the world’s best whiskey distiller—if he wants to be.
You help me teach him. To which my papa said back, I’ll teach him everything I know, Marse Dan. And that they did.”
Josephine exhaled softly. “I would love to meet your father, Mr. Green.”
“I wish you could, ma’am. He passed on a few years back. Mama followed not long after.”
“They were good people,” Dodge said. “You would’ve liked them.”
“I’m sure of it.” She smoothed her skirt. “Thank you, Mr. Green, for sharing that story.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. I get joy in the retelling. Every time.”
She turned to Dodge. “Thank you for the tour, Mr. Coburn. I need to get back to work.”
“Would you like me to walk you back?”
“No, thank you. I know the way.”
She left without another glance, and Dodge wished he could follow her. To apologize, to explain. To somehow undo what had almost happened.
The door closed.
“So . . . what’s going on, my friend?” George asked quietly.
“Nothing,” Dodge said, hearing the gentle reprimand. “Nothing is going on, George. And nothing will. She tripped on a board. I caught her. That’s all.” Dodge shook his head. “I just . . . lost my head there for a minute.”
George nodded. “Hurt draws hurt sometimes. And she is a pretty woman. But—”
“She’s married.”
“So she says.”
“Believe me, it won’t happen again.”
George didn’t speak immediately. “Lottie says you need a woman, especially now that you got Bethie.”
“Don’t even mention Rowena Gibbs. She’s a child.”
George laughed. “That’s what my Lottie said, too. That you need a woman, not a girl.”
Dodge raked a hand over his beard. “What I need is news from Washington. And a cure. Before Texas fever takes the rest of the herd.”