Free The Fire of Home (A Powell Springs Novel) by Alexis Harrington Page A

cowardly bastard who cheated at cards, complained about everything, and was always the last one over the top going into battle. He tightened his grip.
    “What are you doing in Powell Springs?”
    “Let—let go of—my throat,” Milo croaked.
    Slowly, Bax released his bristled neck. “Well?”
    Milo slid farther along the wall to put some distance between himself and Bax. “I’m just passing through on business.”
    “Yeah? What kind of business goes on in alleys? Purse-snatching?”
    “I just had to take a piss—”
    “Powell Springs isn’t that kind of town. We don’t put up with that stuff. I could arrest you for that alone.”
    Now Milo smiled again through his ratty mustache. “I don’t think so, Duncan. Don’t you need a record as clean as a choirboy’s to get a job with the county sheriff’s office? I’ll bet you didn’t tell them about those good old days in the army.”
    Bax clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. “What are you doing in Powell Springs?” he repeated.
    “I told you I have business here and it’s none of yours.” He nodded at the deputy’s badge pinned to Bax’s shirt. “But I’ll bet the sheriff would like to know about his helper’s past.”
    “He already knows I was in the army.”
    “But does he know the rest of the story?”
    “What’s it to you, Breninger?” Bax said, growing more tense and angry by the moment.
    “It looks like you made a new start here, with a nice job. If you want to keep it, I think we need to strike a bargain, you and me.”
    Bax suspected where this was heading, but he wanted to hear the rest of Breninger’s threat—because he felt certain that’s what this was—so h e’d know where he stood. “Bargain. You mean blackmail.”
    “Yeah, call it what you want. For the right price, I keep my mouth shut and you keep your job. Otherwise”—he shrugged—“I’ll sing like a canary for the county.”
    “And get nothing.”
    “Not money. But sometimes satisfaction is good enough.” His voice dropped and his smirking, oily tone turned dark with a lazy contempt. “You thought you were so high and mighty. Sergeant American Hero. In the end, you were just the same as everyone else. Worse, maybe.”
    Bax’s insides were churning like Amy Jacobsen’s washing machine. H e’d be damned if h e’d pay this scummy son of a bitch a single dime to buy his silence and give Breninger control over him. There would be no end to the harassment if he started paying him. He was willing to take his chances and hope that this was a bluff. After all, the man was no saint, either. But if it wasn’t a bluff, well, h e’d been to rock bottom before. “If I were you, I’d leave Powell Springs. It wouldn’t be hard to find information about you that would interest the law. But sing, canary—sing if you want to.” He looked Breninger up and down, from his cheap suit to his greasy sneer. “Who would believe you ?I’m not giving you one damned cent.”
    Obviously insulted, and disappointed with the outcome of his brilliant plan, Breninger turned red in the face and actually shook his finger at Bax. “Don’t think I won’t, you piece of shit! This isn’t over!”
    Bax waved him off and turned to walk away, hoping h e’d successfully hidden his rattled nerves and shown only strength and fury.
    “And I can go anywhere I want. This is a free country!” Breninger yelled.
    Bax almost laughed at the juvenile absurdity of his declaration.

    Amy left Deirdre in her bed with a hot water bottle, Granny Mae’s medicine, a cup of tea, and some toast. She looked miserable and sounded worse, like a honking goose. Amy would handle dinner tonight, but she was up to that. Domesticity had always been her chief talent in her youth. Jessica might have had a scientific mind, but she could barely boil water. Amy knew her way around a kitchen and homemaking very well.
    The first man in the door was Tom, but he dropped by just long enough for Amy to make him three