A Week From Sunday Read Online Free PDF Page A

The louder the better.”
    “Maybe you could play a record.”
    “Yeah.” Quinn looked at his friend as if he’d lost his mind. “Goddammit,” he cursed. “Why’d this have to happen now?” He looked at the bulky bandage on Gabe’s hand. “Are you sure you can’t play with one hand?”
    Gabe knew his friend was frustrated. He’d had a lot on his mind lately, trying to keep the supply of logs going to the mill, looking after his brother, and attempting to keep the tavern going so that Jesse could get the medical attention he needed. Dr. Bordeaux had said there was a place in Atlanta that might be able to help him.
    The doctor poured herself a cup of coffee. “The woman will be all right. She may have a slight concussion, and I’m keeping her overnight.” The doctor went to the door. “Do you need some pain pills, Gabe? That was a really bad cut on your hand. You’re lucky the glass didn’t cut a tendon.”
    “Thanks for fixing me up, Doc. What do I owe you?”
    The doctor smiled. “I’ll take two quarts of blood and a hunk of boudin.”
    “You’d get that anyway, Doc. The boudin, not the blood.” Gabe’s dark eyes swept caressingly over the doctor’s face as she smiled at him and left the room. He had loved this woman for the past three years, and she had no idea he even thought of her in that way. But he did. He’d walk through fire for her. Quinn was the only person who was aware of Gabe’s feelings for the doctor.
    “Every bottle in the back of that truck was broken,” Quinn said irritably.
    “Not every bottle,
mon ami
.”
    “But damn near it,” Quinn snorted. “The Whipsaw needed that liquor. Where are we going to get the money to replace it?”
    Gabriel LeBlanc shrugged his wide shoulders. In his early forties, he had ink-black hair and dark eyes. The broad smile he normally wore was tempered by the pain that now raced through him. His left hand was wrapped tightly in bandages and throbbed ferociously. The cut had gone almost to the bone, and he’d wager a month’s pay that he would not be using the fingers for several weeks.
    “We’ll come up with the money. We always do. Ain’t no use in worryin’.”
    Quinn stopped moving and looked hard at Gabe. The man had been by his side for a long time, ever since Quinn’s father had passed away. As Lee’s Point’s only tavern, the Whipsaw served the men who worked in the mills north of town, as well as the Cajuns. It took a hard worker with a steady hand to operate it. Quinn had found the perfect man in Gabe. More than just his helper, the Cajun was his best friend.
    “I got more worries than money,” Quinn continued. “I took the day off from the mill to make that run with you.” For all his life he’d worked as a logger; his father’s death hadn’t changed that. Juggling both responsibilities, he had made the best of it . . . for Jesse. “Taking time off isn’t the easiest thing for me. Times are tough. You see all these fellas coming through town looking for work. One of these days they’ll find someone else to cut their logs.”
    “Good.” Gabe chuckled. “You get fired, then I’ll have some help.”
    “Very funny. Your ass isn’t the one on the line.”
    “Is that right? How many jobs do you see for a one-handed musician?” Gabe raised his left hand for emphasis. A wave of pain shot through it, and he winced.
    “The loggers want music. There isn’t a Cajun alive that doesn’t want music when he drinks.”
    “What about Karl? He can play. Those two sing-along nights pay the bills.”
    Quinn frowned. Karl was one of the Whipsaw’s fill-in bartenders, little more than a kid. Quinn had heard him plunking away at the keys one night. He would have sworn a jackass had a better ear for music.
    “When we need someone to drive the customers away, we’ll hire Karl to play the piano.”
    “He’s not that bad. Who else do we have?”
    Unable to answer, Quinn started to pace again.
    The thunderstorm had finally begun