I don’t answer, and she somehow works it out in her head.
“Oh, wait. That’s not the job you’re getting paid to do.”
“I’m not getting paid for this job. Mount owes me a favor now.”
“You know what I mean.”
We both go quiet, sipping our drinks and no doubt considering similar things.
“I can’t make you any promises, except I’ll do what I can, and at the end of the day—youwill be safe.”
She studies me for long moments. She must realize that’s all she’s going to get from me, so she nods. “Okay.”
Now I have to change the subject before she twists herself up about this anymore. There’s nothing either of us can do tonight. I’ve put out the word I need carried, and now I wait.
“How did you start making metal sculptures?” I ask.
The question has been hovering in my subconscious since she confessed to being the artist of the piece I bought. I would have made the donation to Mary’s House regardless, but the piece hooked me. Once I saw it, I had to own it. Knowing Temperance made it ... that made both it and her even more incredible.
Temperance’s gaze drops to the liquor in her glass as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the entire world. “When you grew up how I did, there weren’t a lot of options to keep a kid busy. Rafe loved to hunt and fish and explore the swamp. He told me a story about an eighteen-foot gator he saw and scared the hell out of me one summer. I wouldn’t get in a boat for months, no matter how much my dad yelled at me. Instead, I hung around his workshop and collected scrap metal, and started to put it together to make stuff. Eventually, when I got older, I learned to solder and then weld, and it kind of took on a life of its own. I never intended to sell it. It didn’t occur to me that people would pay, especially that kind of money, for things like that.”
I think about how much all the other bidders had been willing to pay. Temperance’s work has a market. There’s no doubt about that.
“And now that you have? What does that mean for your job at Seven Sinners?”
She looks up at me from beneath long, dark eyelashes. “I’m pretty sure this is a case ofdon’t quit your day job.” She smiles, but it looks more like a grimace.
“But you don’t sound like you love your day job.” To myself, I add,and you don’t light up when you talk about it like you do your art.
“Parts of it,” she says, correcting me.
“So even if you make enough to live on from your sculptures, you’re going to keep working at the distillery?”
She pauses like she hasn’t even considered the possibility. “It’s not a reliable source of income. Plus, it’s not as respectable as being a COO.”
Her response surprises me. “Respectable? Really? You give a shit about that?”
Her eyes narrow on me. “You try being bayou trash and tell me how it feels.”
Ahhh. And another piece of the puzzle that is the fascinating Temperance Ransom falls into place. “So you’d keep a job you don’t like over quitting to do what you love, just because of what other people think?”
“You don’t get it.” She takes another sip.
“No, I guess I don’t. After all, I’m pretty sure I don’t have what you’d call a respectable job, and it doesn’t bother me a damn bit. Actually, fuck respectability and what anyone else thinks. It doesn’t matter. Having a respectable job doesn’t make someone a good person.”
11
Temperance
Kane’s answer is mind-blowing. He’s ahit man.He kills people for a living. How can he not care what people would think of that? Then again, it’s not something he probably tells many people, but still.
“You do have a point, I guess.”
To that, he says nothing, just drinks contemplatively. I take a cue from him and do the same.
When my glass is empty, the heat from the bourbon is flowing in my veins and I feel a lot more mellow.Maybe this is why people drink.It takes away all the bad shit.
Normally I’m only good for one or two glasses of wine, so multiple shots of hard liquor go straight to my head.