Abel Stoddard’s Emporium of Fine Antiquities, Junque, Ladies Goods, and Salvage contained all the advertised items and more. The front of the store held the nicer merchandise while the junk and salvage tended to cover the rough wooden tables set up along the back. Frozen food stuffs were concealed behind the fake rear wall.

The place was huge. Mal had never seen so much black-market contraband set up in plain view in his life. Abel had merely laughed when he casually mentioned it. Alliance had better things to do than worry about their little hole in the ‘verse he was assured. After all, the only thing they were famous for was their dust and the hybrid apples that seemed to thrive on it.

Given those hindrances, the tiny world had turned their lemons into lemonade, or to be exact, the best moonshine for ten worlds. It was called apple pie moonshine and it sold for more than the heavily-taxed Alliance champagne – when he could get it to his customers.

That’s where Malcolm Reynolds had come in. Abel had liked him from the minute he’d set eyes on him. He reminded him of his youngest son that he’d lost in the war. Mal’s firm handshake and straightforward manner had sold him completely. The fact that he’d done the job honestly was just icing on the cake. Mal didn’t know it yet, but Abel was going to make him enough money to keep that rattletrap of a ship in new parts for the next ten years.

But a shrewd businessman never showed all his cards. Abel had dickered with Mal until the younger man had turned to walk away, then he’d offered him enough store credit to get him to turn back. Damn, but it wrenched his heart to see how much Malcolm looked like his Michael. Now he watched from his seat at the register as his new smuggler tried to corral the two girls he’d brought in with him. The store was empty. Most of the locals slept through the hottest part of the day, so it gave him time to study Malcolm. His gentleness with the girls was a new facet.

Mal looked around the market with a sinking heart.