Page 11 of Lone Star Showdown


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Of course, his father hadn’t seen it that way. He’d insisted it was an accident, that his wife had fallen into the creek while they’d been in the middle of one of their arguments. Jericho had seen the so-called fall and knew it had been more of a push.

His dad might not have intended to kill his wife, but that’s what he’d done. He’d pushed her, and she’d fallen, hitting her head on a rock before the swift creek had carried her away. Jericho had dived in after her, had tried to swim to get to her.

But he had failed.

Hours later, they’d found her body upstream. And that was that. No more mother left to keep his father marginally in check.

Jericho had split the day Rachel and he finished high school. After that, his sonofabitch of a father had moved heaven knew where. Jericho didn’t have even a sliver of interest in finding him.

“I don’t see anyone,” Rachel said, yanking his focus back to her.

Jericho welcomed the shift in attention. Welcomed anything that would keep the memories at bay.

“Good. The van is bulletproof, but keep watching around us,” he instructed.

Jericho stopped right in front of the gates, put on his high beams and pressed down on his horn. Before that, the interior had been pitch black, but some lights flared on in the trailers and cabins. He suspected a big-assed scramble for guns was already in progress.

He lowered his window a little, and the cool September air washed over him, bringing him another flash of memories of the pungent scents of the cedars and the Texas kidneywood shrubs. As always, there was the smell of smoke pits and wood grills. Someone had recently cooked some venison.

“This is Jericho,” he shouted out. “I have Rachel with me, and we need to check on Tilda. She could be in danger.”

More lights flared on, and Jericho saw the first of what would no doubt be many people emerging from their homes. He groaned because the first one to appear was someone he knew all too well.

Arnez Beckett.

Extreme survivalist, convicted felon, and all-around dickhead. He was wearing full combat gear and had a gun in each hand, one of which Jericho knew was illegal in multiple states. He pointed both of them at Jericho’s van.

“Show yourselves,” Arnez demanded.

No chance in hell. “There could be a killer in the compound,” Jericho added to his greeting.

That caused Arnez to fire some nervy glances around him. And others came out to do the same. Woody Barrow, Hal Mendez, Jimbo Griffin. All men in their fifties and sixties who were considered the leaders of Stronghold. They were mostly level-headed. Mostly.

Women came out, too, and the majority of them were wearing the same combat gear as the men. All armed. Ready to take on any intruders. Jericho knew that most of them could kick some serious ass.

“Rachel?” someone called out.

The relief washed through Jericho, and he was pretty sure it was a drop in the bucket compared to what Rachel was feeling.

Because it was Tilda.

Even though the woman was in her seventies, she still looked plenty formidable. Sort of like a female Rambo in her dark pants, muscle tee, and a bandana to hold back her long gray hair. She was carrying a shotgun.

“Rachel, what’s going on?” Tilda asked.

Of course, Rachel bolted from the van, and since Jericho had anticipated nothing would have held her back, he was out, too, and he hurried to her to cover her as best he could. After all, no Kevlar vest would stop a shot to the head.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Arnez demanded.

The murmurs and chatter went through the crowd like a wave at a sporting event, and folks were moving closer to the gate. Jericho kept watch of them and anyone who might be coming at them from the sides or behind.

“There’s a killer after me,” Rachel said. “And he sent me a text saying he was going after Aunt Tilda.”

That silenced the murmurings for a couple of seconds. Silenced all but Tilda, who cursed and came closer to Rachel.

“Open the gate,” the woman insisted.

No one was quick to react to that. Not until Tilda shot Woody a hard look. The man sprang into action, unlocking the gate. The moment it was open, Tilda went to Rachel and pulled her into her arms.

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