Chapter 54: Arthur’s Former Lover
Moonshine—illegal liquor distilled under the cover of night—was also known as “moonlight liquor.”
The moonshine that Davey produced easily crushed all competition. It was every bit as fine as whiskey, brandy, or rum. Its distinctive sweetness suited the tastes of people across the United States perfectly, and the moment it hit the shelves, it took Valentine by storm.
Over four hundred bottles sold out completely in just three hours.
A portion of those sales came from Donal’s own men. He sold to them at $1.80 a bottle—essentially the group-buying rate for a team of twenty.
For them, getting such high-quality moonshine at that price was an incredible deal. Most of Donal’s men were loafers who already knew every drunkard in Valentine. Donal even allowed customers to taste before buying. If they thought a sip wasn’t worth two dollars, they didn’t have to pay.
And in Valentine, Donal could afford to be that confident. Before Davey showed up, his crew already held the most power in town—no one dared to cross them lightly.
But one sip was all it took to know the new moonshine was worth every cent.
Because it sold so quickly—and four hundred bottles simply weren’t enough—the entire stock was gone before Donal even had the chance to promote the group-buy discount.
Worse yet, word spread fast. More people came asking to buy, but Donal had nothing left to sell.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “That’s a massive loss.”
Even after nightfall, people were still coming by to ask for more, and it tore at him to turn them away. All he could see were stacks of dollar bills slipping through his fingers.
Still, in just a few short hours, after deducting Davey’s share, Donal had made $139.50 in pure profit. It was only the beginning, and he’d never imagined money could come this easily.
The problem was the distillery had run out of bottles, and the next shipment of glass containers wouldn’t arrive until the day after tomorrow.
Determined to keep the profits flowing, Donal gathered his men and scoured every corner of Valentine for empty bottles.
Then, a clever idea struck him—why not start a bottle buyback program?
He offered five cents for every empty bottle. Naturally, no one refused.
For most people, an empty bottle was useless.
By that very night, Donal had hauled nearly two thousand empty bottles to the cellar, even though it cost him around a hundred dollars to collect them.
“Oh, good Lord, Mr. Donal,” Benedict groaned when he saw the pile. “Are you trying to work me to death? There’s no way I can bottle that many tonight. Unless, of course, you plan to help me—after I finish mixing the liquor, that is.”
Benedict had been planning to take a break in town, but Donal had just dumped an enormous workload on him.
Mixing the batches wasn’t hard, but bottling two thousand bottles? That was pure labor.
“Of course, Benedict,” Donal said with a grin. “Leave the hard work to us.”
With two trusted men beside him, Donal waited for Benedict to finish blending the moonshine before they started bottling through the night.
To Donal and his men, that wasn’t liquor flowing from the barrels—it was pure money.
They worked harder and faster than ever, driven by the sight of every bottle filling up like stacks of cash.
...
Horseshoe Overlook Camp
When Arthur read Mary’s letter, his heart stirred with emotion.
Once he saw her address, he didn’t hesitate—he saddled his horse and rode straight toward Chadwick Farm, north of Valentine.
But he didn’t get far before turning back to camp.
He changed into a cleaner, more presentable outfit, shaved his beard, and tidied himself up as best he could. Once he felt ready, he mounted up again and spurred his horse forward, pushing it hard without a care for its stamina. All he wanted was to see Mary as soon as possible.
Though Arthur had once been married and even had a child, deep down, the woman he loved most had always been his first love—Mary.
Years ago, her family’s disapproval had forced them apart, and even after all that time, he realized that he’d never truly moved on.
His horse galloped swiftly, but to Arthur, it never felt fast enough.
At last, he reached Chadwick Farm, north of Valentine. After asking a ranch hand for directions, he found out exactly which house Mary lived in.
He dismounted in front of the modest farmhouse, straightened his clothes, and walked to the door, his heart pounding with nerves, hope, and fear all at once.
He knocked.
The door opened—but it wasn’t Mary. Instead, a woman holding a shotgun stood before him.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Arthur said quickly. “Didn’t mean to intrude. I’m looking for Mrs. Linton.”
“I’ll check,” the woman replied, shutting the door.
Moments later, it opened again—and this time, Arthur froze.
Standing before him was the woman he had thought about for years—Mary.
Author's Note
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