An Untimely Frost Read Free Page A

sought to impose on women. A knock on the head was not about to change that. She bit back a reply unsuitable to a lady and responded in an arrogant tone that would have done Priscilla proud. “I am not here to be served, sir. I’m looking for my husband.”
    The brute crossed his arms across his massive chest. “Rules is rules, ma’am.”
    Lilly met his gaze head-on and schooled her tone to one reeking with calculated patience. “As you can see, sir, I am already inside, so what good is it for me to go out and come in another door? Now,” she said, as if the matter were settled, “would you kindly point out the owner?”
    Uncertain how to handle the situation without resorting to force, the bouncer jerked his head toward the bar.
    â€œThank you.”
    She stepped around him and marched across the tavern to the long span of mahogany scarred with cigar and cigarette burns and dulled by years of spilled alcohol. The splotched, hazy surface of a mirror hanging crookedly behind the bar reflected the happenings in the smoke-filled room as well as the back of a stout man in a white apron who was drawing a mug of foaming beer. His fleshy face sported at least two days’ stubble of beard below a thick, untidy mustache that drooped at the corners, giving him a frowning appearance. When Lilly plopped her beaded handbag down next to a bowl marked C HARITABLE C ONTRIBUTIONS , he looked up in feigned surprise—as if, she thought crossly, he had not witnessed her encounter with the ape guarding the door.
    With that innate sense that something unpleasant was about to transpire, the men standing nearest her glanced from her to the bartender and back, snatched up their drinks, and headed toward the gaming tables.
    â€œMr. MacGregor?”
    â€œAye,” he said with a cautious nod. “I’m Danny MacGregor. And you might be?”
    â€œLilly Long. Timothy’s wife. I was wondering if you’d seen him tonight.”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am, but I know na Timothy Long.” MacGregor’s Irish brogue was as thick as the head of foam on the mug. Shifting his gaze, he lifted the flagon toward someone behind her to let him know his drink was ready.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Lilly said, realizing her error. “My husband is Timothy Warner.”
    Was that a flicker of sympathy in MacGregor’s eyes? With a disgruntled laugh, he leaned his hairy forearms on the bar. Lilly took an involuntary step back. He reeked of cigar smoke and sweat.
    â€œI’ve no’ seen Tim Warner tonight, or any night fer more than a week, and I’m no’ holdin’ my breath in the hope of it since the lad’s run up quite a bar tab as well as owing Boatwright a bundle he lost in a game of Monte.”
    Lilly’s stomach took a sickening dive. So that’s why Tim needed the money. Still, despite disappointment, humiliation, and anger, dreams and love die hard. Before she could stop herself, she’d blurted a very un-Priscilla-like question. “Are you certain you have the right man in mind?”
    MacGregor’s laughter held no mirth. “I’m sure. Even in a city the size of Chicago how many Timothy Warners can there be come wanderin’ through my door? I’ve got the right man. He told Boatwright he’d get the money from his wife the very next day, and we’ve not seen him since. The boy has a silver tongue, don’t ya know?”
    Lilly felt her face drain of what bit of color it might still possess. More lies. Lies to her, lies to MacGregor, lies to this Boatwright person.
    â€œYou do na look so good, Missus,” MacGregor said, genuine concern in his voice. “I shouldna ha’ been so blunt.”
    Lilly attempted a smile. “No apology necessary, Mr. MacGregor. Tell me, did he frequent any other taverns that you know of?”
    With a thoughtful frown, MacGregor rubbed a palm against his whiskery face. “I