Part 20 (1/2)

I brush the hair out of his eyes. ”What happened after I got shot?”

Ethan frowns. ”You were bad, crying and bleeding all over. I thought you were gonna die. Clay said we had to take you to the hospital. I didn't want to, but we had to.”

I nod rapidly. ”How'd we get outta town?”

”Clay found gas and we took a car and drove to that big hospital, the one with all the s.h.i.+ny lights.”

My eyes flick out the open front door. Out there are men. ”What else?”

Ethan scratches his head and looks across the room. His eyes lock on a splash of red in the corner-a plastic toy car, melted and half-buried under a pile fallen plaster. I lean over until my head blocks his view. ”What. Else.”

His eyes flick back to me. ”After we dropped you off, Clay got us a room. We sat on our b.u.t.ts for days, trying to figure how to get you out once you was better. One day, Clay's daddy just shows up at the door. Riley, I thought you and Dad were bad, but you should hear Clay and his daddy fight.”

Arn. A mention of him still hurts like a finger dug into a raw wound. I twirl my hand in a hurry-up gesture. ”How did they get me out of the hospital?”

Ethan shrugs. ”Clay just said, 'We're gonna get Riley.' That was yesterday. We got in the van and drove to that big hospital. What's it like in there?”

”Later.” I stare up at the charred ceiling as I try to piece it all together. A cloud slips over the setting sun, plunging us into shadow. The birdcalls stop for a moment. I s.h.i.+ver. What does the Sheriff have to gain from getting me out?

Clay's voice calls from the front door. ”Hey, you two in there?”

”Yeah, Clay,” Ethan yells back.

”It's getting dark.” Clay's voice sounds strained.

My time is up. I grab Ethan's shoulders and turn him around. ”Look away if you don't want to see me pee.”

As we step over the broken concrete steps and into the open, Clay's there. His hat's tucked into the crook of his arm and his damp hair clings to his forehead. His s.h.i.+rts stuck to his body with sweat. His normally clean-shaven face sprouts a stubbly beard. His eyes flick to mine for a second and then swing uncomfortably away. He throws his arm around my brother's neck. ”Come on, little bro. Pa brought us some chicken.”

Little bro? Pa? A flash of anger burns through me. He knows how to pile it on. I clench my hands and follow.

Clay leads us back to the campfire the boys have constructed in our house's backyard. They've even pulled out some seating: a log, a kitchen chair with three legs, a nightstand, a fraying armchair. Hatch sets pink hunks of raw chicken on a cast iron skillet near the fire. The Sheriff sits in the armchair and tips a jar of brown liquid up to his mouth. Clay gestures to the log for Ethan and I. Then he sits down next to his father and takes a pull from the jar when it's pa.s.sed to him. The tart smell of homemade liquor fills the air.

My eyes flick to the Sheriff. He lounges in his ratty jeans, the stains around his pits a dark yellow. His little paunch belly sags over his belt buckle. His jagged C-shaped scar crinkles when he lets out one of his big belly laughs. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

”So, missus,” he says, leaning toward me, his thick hand on his knee. ”Tell me what's so special 'bout you that made my son run out on his ol' man.” His smile is wide, but in the flickering firelight, his eyes look calculating.

Clay fingers tighten around the jar he's holding. ”Pa, don't.”

The Sheriff emits a dark laugh. ”I'm just introducin' m'self since you wouldn't do me the pleasure.”

Clay glowers at his father. ”Riley doesn't want to talk.” Then he takes a big drink from the jar, swallows and winces.

The Sheriff s.n.a.t.c.hes the jar out of Clay's hands, takes a long pull and wipes his mouth across the back on his arm. ”See, here's the thing. I paid for this filly-”

Clay stiffens. ”She has a name.”

The Sheriff cackles and slaps his knee. He tilts his head toward me slightly. ”Beg yer pardon, missus. Force a habit.” His smile widens to let us all know he's not one bit sorry.

”All's I want to know, Riley,” he says exaggeratedly, looking at Clay. ”Exactly what feminine wiles you worked on C-boy here,” he slaps Clay on the shoulder roughly, ”to make 'im pick a cooz over his own pa.”

My cheeks burn red at what he's insinuating. Clay's jaw is a rock.

”'Cause, see, I'm not sure she's worth what we paid, but you're the one who got a taste, not me.” He elbows Clay in the ribs and cackles. ”Might have to have a taste m'self, just to see.”

Clay stands, his arms ramrod straight at his sides, fists clenched. ”I swear to G.o.d, Sheriff, if you don't shut up-”

The Sheriff barrels upward, both elbows plowing into Clay's chest. Clay topples back, landing hard in the dust beside the campfire.

Everyone goes silent. The Sheriff hovers over Clay, fists clenched. Clay lies on his back, shock spreading over his face. Then his hands curl into b.a.l.l.s. He pops up and stands a foot from his old man.

The Sheriff points a thick finger in Clay's face. ”Lest you forgit who you speakin' to, boy.”

Clay holds his father's gaze, venom blazing in his eyes. ”I didn't forget.”

Their hands stretch toward their hips like they'll draw guns, but the Sheriff lets out another dark laugh, thumping his thigh with his hand. He turns to Hatch and points to Clay. ”Boys, this stallion needs to stud or he'll buck his rider. Let's give the love birds some privacy.” He turns to me with a disgusting smile. ”You call me Daddy from now on. Make me a proud grandpa and we won't have no trouble.”

Hatch lumbers up and follows the Sheriff out of the circle. Even Ethan gets up. I want to protest and grab his arm, but he's gone. The Sheriff hollers as he's turns the corner. ”You kids behave.” I hear him cackling long after I can see him.

I feel like a tornado has just torn through the campsite. My hands shake as I curl them over my knees. I glance up at Clay. He's still standing between the fire and me. In the wake of his father, he looks as shaken as I am.

He stares at the flames a long time, his hands squeezed into fists. Finally, he turns to me. ”Sorry.”

”What did he mean by make me a proud grandpa?” My voice trembles more than I'd like.

The log I'm sitting on rocks as Clay settles beside me. He keeps his eyes to the fire, his face slack, his hands still in fists. ”My G.o.dd.a.m.n father.” He rubs his hands over his face. ”That s...o...b.. doesn't understand why I wanted you back so bad. Why I couldn't just take one of the infertile girls the Breeders s.h.i.+p us. He thinks ...” his eyes flick to my face and then away. ”He thinks I'm in love with you.”

”Oh.” I clutch my hands together at my knees and stare at them.

Clay s.h.i.+fts on the log beside me. ”Anyway, I just thought it'd be easier to let him think that.”

”Right.” My ears burn red. ”So when we get home,” I say slowly, ”you and I would be what, exactly?” It feels as though the fire's burning hotter each second.

Clay flicks at a bug crawling up the log. ”According to my pa,” he pauses and swallows, ”you'd belong to me.”

I look to his face. ”I'd belong to you?”

He shakes his head, holding up his palms in an it's-not-what-you-think gesture. ”Only according to my pa. It wouldn't mean you'd be mine, I mean, to, you know ... We'd just be the same. As before.” He clutches at the log as if he might fall off.

I stare at the cooking chicken on the skillet, once pink, now singed. I can't meet Clay's eyes.

Clay stands abruptly, rocking the log back. ”Just don't worry about it, okay? Everything will be fine. I, uh, I gotta go help ... I'll get Ethan to show you to your room.”

When he leaves, I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the flickering fire. Even in its glow, I feel chilled to the bone.

Chapter Twenty-One.