The Bourbon Thief(64)

“George Maddox was your daddy,” Bowen finally said.

“I know he was,” Levi said.

“You wish you didn’t.”

“Too late now. Ignorance may be bliss, but who really wants to be ignorant?”

“You do,” Bowen said. “I’m telling you right now that you do.”

“What about Nash? He was my half brother. I want to know why he died before I ever got to know him.”

“Then you have to know your daddy was a bad man.”

“So I hear.”

“He’s worse than you heard. Nash would come down often as he could, anything to get him away from that wife of his. Then he’d start feeling guilty about leaving Tamara alone, so he’d pack up and go back. One week the guilt gets him worse than usual and he goes back a day early to surprise Tamara. Instead, he finds his wife in bed with Big Daddy.”

“Virginia Maddox was sleeping with George Maddox? Her own father-in-law?”

“Not a lot of sleeping going on, I don’t imagine.”

Levi’s mouth opened a little.

“George Maddox fucking his daughter-in-law.”

“Oh, he had his reasons, I’m sure. Then again, they all have their reasons, don’t they? Reason number one being ‘I wanna.’ Second reason? He was an evil man. And he knew Nash hadn’t laid a hand on his wife their entire marriage, and George wanted another boy. Nash wasn’t the sort of son he wanted. Neither were you. But if George got a baby out of Miss Virginia, everyone would think that baby boy was Nash’s baby boy. George wanted another son and he was willing to do anything to get it. But if Nash were dead...”

“If Nash were dead, then nobody would think Virginia Maddox’s baby was a Maddox baby. Goddamn.” Levi scraped a hand through his hair, rubbed his face. “He told you all this?”

“In a letter he left me.”

“Did he... He didn’t say anything about me, did he?”

“In his letter? Nah. But he talked about you before. He kept tabs. Said his daddy hired you to manage the ponies, but Nash knew the truth about it. George wanted you around to scare Nash into behaving. You were plan Z, you know.”

“Plan Z?”

“Plan A was Eric inherits. Plan B was Nash’s child. Nash’s child was a girl, so plan C was Big Daddy and Virginia’s boy. Don’t even ask me what plans D through Y were. I don’t want to know.”

“And I was plan Z—the last resort.”

Bowen nodded. “That you were. If Nash didn’t do his job, give George little boy grandbabies, well, there was always you. George threatened Nash more than once that he’d leave every penny of that old Red Thread money to you. I don’t think he meant it—plan Z, after all—but it kept Nash in line. You were light, light enough to pass. And Nash knew you loved the ladies as much as he didn’t. He knew you’d have no problem giving the Maddox line all the baby boys George could ever dream of.”

“I wasn’t his son. I was a walking, talking threat, and I didn’t even know it. You know something—George Maddox always told me I was welcome to bring girlfriends over to the house to take them riding. I thought he was being nice. Turns out he wanted Nash to see his brother with a girl.”

“A girl?”

“All right, lots of girls.” Levi had taken George up on that offer and brought his girlfriend of the week over to Arden to go riding. It impressed the girls, yes, but it also reminded a too-precocious Tamara Belle that her crush on Granddaddy’s groom was a sweet fantasy and nothing more. Or at least that was what it was once upon a time.

“Before me, Nash had his fair share, too. This island was the Fire Island of South Carolina, if you know what that is.”

“I know.”

“You and Nash are a lot alike. I can see it. He was a sweet evenin’ breeze and so’re you. You breeze in at night. Breeze back out in the morning.”

“I used to be that. Not anymore. I got a seventeen-year-old wife I have to keep an eye on. No more breezing out.”

“You’ll breeze, you’ll see.” Bowen turned and faced the road. “And I will breeze myself home.”

“You drunk as a skunk.”

“So’re you.”

“You oughta let me walk you halfway there at least.”

“I got my own escort somewhere. Where’d that boy go?”

“Boy?” Levi asked. Oh, my.

Bowen put two fingers in his mouth and whistled so loud Levi winced. Bowen did it again and not one minute afterward a dog trotted out of the woods and down the road. It was a medium-size dog, short white fur with triangle ears sticking straight up and an eager smiling dog face.

“There he is. Come here, White Dog.” Bowen slapped his thigh and the dog ran to him.

“That’s a white dog, all right,” Levi said, scraping his hand over the dog’s coarse fur. He was all muscle and gristle and blind obedience. “What’s his name?”

“White Dog,” Bowen said. “Ain’t you, White Dog?”

“You named your white dog White Dog? You couldn’t think of anything better than that?”

“He’s not White Dog because he’s a white dog. He’s White Dog because that’s the shit they put in the barrels. It goes in white dog and comes out bourbon. But we won’t put White Dog in no bourbon barrel for four years. We won’t do that, will we, White Dog?” He scratched and rubbed the dog’s face. Levi only rolled his eyes.