Diamond (2 page)

“Yep, cemetery. They’re havin’ a funeral…if you can call a preacher and three family members a funeral.” And then he snickered. “Hell, I plumb forgot the gravediggers. That makes two more. And they’re more than that sorry som’bitch deserves. He cheated me out of my honest wages more than oncet.”

Jesse frowned. It was his opinion that a man couldn’t be cheated out of money he never bet.

“Where?” he persisted as her voice pulled him toward the hill.

“…
once was lost
…
but now am found
…
was blind
…
but now
…”

“I see,” Jesse whispered, unconsciously saying the words he knew came next.

“Ifen you see, what the hell did you ask me for?” the man whined. And then he laughed, anxious that his customer not take offense and leave before the fill-up could be completed.

Jesse walked away. Drawn by the haunting voice and its message, he hurried toward the trees below the cemetery, his long, jean-clad legs quickly covering the distance. Coming to a halt beneath the shade of a sickly pine, he looked up at the thin but telltale covering of coal dust on the needles. Nothing grew healthy around places like this, including people.

“…
when we’ve been there, ten thousand years
…”

Jesse looked past the trees toward the grassy hillside. A staggering number of makeshift tombstones dotted the area. Miners were a strange lot. Men who were willing to work beneath the ground their entire lives also spent eternity in the same location. It was a juxtaposition of logic.

And then he saw them. Standing side by side, not touching. But in the moment he looked, he felt their togetherness as strongly as if they’d been bound. It was the one in the middle who was singing. The unconscious sway of her body gave her away. Lost in the song and its words, she moved to a silent rhythm that only a true singer would recognize. Jesse felt her emotion…and her pain. And he wondered if everything she sang came from her heart as this had. If it did…

“…
than when we’ve first begun
…”

The song ended, as did Jesse’s reverie. He stared long and hard, willing them to turn. He had an overwhelming need to look at her face.

They were tall. All three were dressed in faded blue jeans and shirts that looked as if they’d first been bought to fit someone smaller. But that was where their similarities ended. One had lush curves and a mane of wild red hair. Another was almost boyishly slender with a rope of hair hanging down her back that was nearly as black as the coal dug from these hills.

It was the one in the middle, the one who’d been singing, who caught his eye. Somewhere between the other sisters in build, her distinction lay in a swath of wild honey hair catching the heat of the overhead sun. And then she turned, and it moved across her neck and shoulders like melted butter.

Jesse grunted. He hadn’t expected her beauty to match her build. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, and leaned against the tree trunk as they came off the hill toward him.

No tears. No emotion whatsoever showed on their faces. They neither touched nor looked at each other or at him as they walked by. But he saw their eyes, all vividly green and bright with unshed tears. He shuddered and knew that what he’d considered moments ago was suddenly foolish and useless as hell.

He watched until they turned a street corner and disappeared. Feeling strangely bereft that he’d been unable to touch what had touched him so deeply, he cursed beneath his breath and stomped back to his car.

“Twenty-two fifty,” the man said, and then added, “Don’t take no checks or plastic.”

Jesse fanned the bills in his wallet, pulled out a twenty and three ones, slapped them in the man’s hand and then slammed his backside into the driver’s seat, suddenly eager to get away.

“Thanks, mister,” the man said. “Say…you know what? You look awful familiar.”

Jesse frowned. He’d wondered how long it would take for this to happen.

The man persisted. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a dead ringer for that country singer fella…what’s his name…Hawk?…or some bird name like that.”

“Eagle.”

“Yeah! That’s it! You look just like Jesse Eagle. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“No,” Jesse said shortly, and shot out onto the road, leaving Cradle Creek and that voice behind him where they belonged.

“Well, hell!” the man said, turning away from the rising dust. “He wadn’t none too friendly.” And then he felt in his pocket for the money and hustled into the station. It was his opinion that when a man had money, he had no need of friends.

“What are we going to do now?” Diamond asked. “I don’t want to stay here.” She closed the door to her father’s room, unwilling to look at that empty bed against the wall. “I
can’t
stay here.” The words burned in her throat.

Queen nodded in agreement. There was no longer anything—or anyone—to stay for. “I don’t want to either,” she said, “but where would we go? And more important, with what? We can hardly take our inheritance and jet off to see the world.” As always, bitterness hovered just below the surface of her voice.

She, more than the others, had resented the hell out of her father and his lackadaisical life. He’d cheated her out of her childhood by leaving her to raise her two younger sisters. Even when they were old enough to take care of themselves, she’d still been unable to break the ties of responsibility that life had ingrained into her personality.

Lucky sighed and sank down onto the couch, avoiding the cracked leather in the middle cushion. “Morton Whitelaw repeated his offer to buy this house,” she said softly.

They turned and stared at her, shocked by the announcement.

“When?” Queen asked.

“Yesterday, before you got home from cleaning the Abercrombie house.”

Diamond frowned. In a small way she felt betrayed. There was no love lost between Morton Whitelaw and herself, but she
did
work for the man.

The first time she’d crossed the alley and walked into the bar to ask for a job, tall and well developed beyond her eighteen years, she’d known he would hire her. Even though he was older than her father, she’d seen that look of wanting in his eyes. She’d asked if he wanted a singer, and he’d hired her as a waitress. On busy nights he let her sing for tips.

He’d never crossed the line she’d drawn, and in return she’d given him seven years of hard work for little pay. Anger flared in her now. So this was how he repaid her loyalty.

She leaned against the window and stared at the fading daylight. Night came swiftly in the mountains, even in summer.

“It’s okay, Queenie,” Lucky said. “It’s not like it was the first time he’d asked.”

Queen frowned. First at the childish usage of her name that she hated and only allowed her baby sister to use, and second at the fact that Whitelaw hadn’t had the decency to wait until their father had been buried.

She sighed, dropped down on the other end of the couch, and stared at the buckled and peeling wallpaper, the faded linoleum, and the limp curtains hanging at the windows. What did it matter when he asked? She should be thankful that he still wanted the place. They didn’t.

Cradle Creek had little to offer in the way of employment for women. Lucky didn’t work, and never had. She’d simply hovered at her father’s side all of her life. Her sisters knew of her skill with cards and of the fascination they held for her. Wagering was no secret either. Her slim, nimble fingers could shuffle and deal with the best of players. But she didn’t have the fever. Just a secret desire to go to one of the shiny places, maybe Vegas or Reno, and display her skill and expertise. Thanks to Johnny Houston, it was all she knew.

Lucky frowned, remembering Whitelaw’s knowing stare and the way his hands had twitched as he watched her breasts instead of her face when he’d made the offer. If Johnny’d been alive, Whitelaw wouldn’t have dared behave in such a manner. But he wasn’t. Her lip trembled. She had a horrible suspicion that their bad luck had taken an unbelievable turn for the worse.

To sell or not to sell had been a bone of contention between the Houstons and the owner of the bar next door for over ten years. Whitelaw had wanted to expand. Johnny had laughingly refused.

Oddly, it was the one and only thing that Johnny Houston had refused to wager. Every time Whitelaw had asked, Johnny had responded with a cryptic “I lost my luck, but I’ll be damned if I lose my home.” It had infuriated Whitelaw, but he’d had no choice but to accept.

The news Lucky had just given them made Queen livid. Obviously Whitelaw had been unable to contain his greed until Johnny was decently buried.

“What did he offer?” Queen asked, expecting to hear the usual amount quoted.

“Five thousand,” Lucky whispered, knowing the eruption that would ensue.

She was right. Queen came off the couch in a flash of red hair and anger. Diamond turned away from the window and grabbed her older sister just as she started through the door.

“Don’t,” she begged her. “It’ll only make things worse. He doesn’t have to give us a thing. If he wanted, all he has to do is wait until it’s time to pay taxes and then buy it for nothing, and you know it.”

Queen slumped. It was one of the few times in her life that truth had stopped her fury. That and the fact that today they’d buried Johnny. Memories overwhelmed her. Di was nearly twenty-six, and Lucky, twenty-four. It didn’t seem possible. Where did the time go?

Tears began to form in her eyes, a rare event. She’d done all she could to hold this family together, and now they were going to lose what little they had.

“It’s half what he offered last month,” Lucky muttered, refusing to give in to panic. She waited. Queenie would have an answer. She always did. But the answer to their dilemma came from an unexpected source.

“I’ll deal with him,” Diamond said. The fierce glint in her eyes was a warning of how deeply this had affected her.

“I don’t know…” Queen began.

“No!” Diamond interrupted her. “Leave it to me. I said I’ll handle it—and him, okay?”

Silence was their agreement.

Jesse tossed his hat on a table and set his suitcase down beside the bureau. He dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was nearly midnight, and he was still a couple of hours out of Nashville. Too weary to attempt the drive in the dark, he’d opted for the next Motel 6 he’d seen. He’d registered and then made a quick getaway from the desk before he was recognized. He was beginning to appreciate what his manager usually did for him.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He’d been going to get a bottle of pop and some chips at that gas station back in…what was that town? Cradle something. Creek! Cradle Creek. But that was before he’d heard her. And seen her. And then run like the scared dog that he was.

He flung an arm across his eyes, trying to block out her image. It was no use. He’d driven the last hundred miles with her face staring back at him through his windshield as plainly as if she’d been a hood ornament.

“Godammit to hell,” Jesse muttered, rolling to a sitting position and grabbing for the phone. It didn’t take long to punch a series of buttons, nor for the raspy voice at the other end of the line to berate him once he’d identified himself.

“Hell yes, I’m alive,” he said, as his manager shrieked in his ear. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired and decided to spend the night in a motel.”

Another set of shrieks erupted, and for the first time that day, Jesse began to smile. “Yes, Mother, I’m alone,” he teased, knowing that nothing panicked his manager more than the thought of groupies and paternity suits. “Calm down, Tommy. I’m tired but fine. The visit home was worth it.” A sense of peace enveloped him as he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, remembering the voice…and the song. “Everything was worth it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep tight, buddy,” he said quietly, and disconnected.

For one long moment, silence reigned. Then he leaned down and pulled off his boots. In a few minutes the only sounds in the room were running water and Jesse singing a wet rendition of “All Shook Up.”

2

Diamond hefted the tray
of drinks and started across the floor, competently weaving her way through the tightly packed tables in the smoke-filled room. Most of the normal banter she would receive on a night like this was absent, as was the man who always sat in the corner chair at the last table. She’d known that coming back to work would be hard, but she’d had no idea how empty that spindle-back chair would look without her father in it. Nor how much she would miss the occasional wink he used to give her as she passed his way.

“Hey, blondie,” a regular yelled. “Bring another round. It’s thirsty work in the hole.” His reference to the mines was as well used as the bills he slapped on the table to punctuate his order.

She nodded and headed back toward the bar.

Grit crunched beneath her scuffed ropers as she scooted to a halt. “Five more at Murph’s table,” she said shortly, knowing that Morton Whitelaw kept a mental running tab on every table in the place.

He filled the mugs and slid them toward her. The overflowing brews left a wet trail along the counter as she quickly refilled her tray.

“Real sorry about Johnny,” Morton finally muttered.

It had taken him three hours to get up the nerve to say it. The comment had been on the tip of his tongue when she came to work, but the look on her face had put him off. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she’d glared. He’d expected sadness from her, even depression, but not anger.

Diamond watched his mottled complexion turn a deeper shade of red as she ignored his condolence and silently walked away with the order.

Morton frowned. She was obviously angry, and he would bet a month’s receipts he knew why. But what the hell did they expect? A man had to make a dollar when the opportunity arose, even if someone else suffered in the process. Besides, he told himself, if those three sisters weren’t so damned uppity, they’d do what any self-respecting woman in these parts did, and that was get themselves married. They needed to let someone else take care of them. Maybe then they wouldn’t be so high and mighty.