What the hell was he doing?
He had been near exhausted just getting the cat into the house, and he hadn’t walked that far. He had to make some decisions. And the first decision was to get his fucking life together.
He poured the whiskey down the drain.
Instead of drinking, he took off his crooked leg, took a shower, and laid down in bed. He picked up the phone and called over to Ellen, to tell her he’d found Bobby’s cat.
There was no answer.
He’d try again in a bit.
Travis put his leg back on. Yeah, the metal was bent, but not too badly, and he forced it back into place. It now made a noise when he walked. He’d have to go in and get it fixed, but at least he could get around.
He went to the kitchen, dumped all his alcohol down the drain. If he hadn’t been drunk, he probably wouldn’t have slipped down the stairs. Or he might have thought of a better way to get that cat and her kittens into the house. Then he cracked open the kitchen window to let in some fresh air—outside it was humid and thick, but it was better than the stale whiskey and sweat that filled the space. He cleaned. Not just the kitchen, but the living room, too, and then he changed his sheets as well. He doubted he’d changed them in a month.
An hour later, after he started a load of laundry, he opened the pantry door and peered inside.
Cleo was in the bed he had made her, four kittens nursing. He looked in the crate. One left. Travis touched it. It was stiff. He hadn’t made it.
“Good job, Mama. You’re a fighter.” He picked up the crate. “I’ll take care of this little guy for you. It wasn’t your fault.”
He left and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jake had to drive the truck practically at a crawl along the slick, rutted road, one cautious foot at a time. The tires sloshed and slipped in the mud, fishtailing whenever he touched the brakes too hard or tried to accelerate too fast. Twice, the truck dipped dangerously into unseen holes.
The first time, Jake rocked it free by backing up and easing forward, again and again, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth would crack. The second time, he and Bobby had to shove it out—in knee-deep cold water. Mud sucked at his boots, and Jake didn’t want to think about Bobby’s bare feet. To his little brother’s credit, he didn’t complain. Jake’s hands trembled as he climbed back behind the wheel, soaked, their breath steaming the window. Jake turned the defrost on high, and put the heat on for Bobby’s feet.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did Bobby. He wanted to ease Bobby’s worried mind, but didn’t know what to say. His headache pulsed behind his eyes with every bounce and lurch of the truck.
“We’ll get home,” he finally said as they started forward again.
“I know,” Bobby said. And that was it.
Bobby trusted him, and Jake needed to earn that trust by keeping them safe.
He was even more worried about Avery than about the storm they were driving through. Where was she? Was she safe? Would he ever see her again?
The rain had let up just enough for the wipers to smear the windshield into something that resembled visibility. But as the rain lightened, the wind rose, shrieking through the trees. Leaves and twigs slapped against the glass. A chunk of bark bounced off the hood with a loudclankthat made Jake’s spine jolt straight and Bobby yelp.
He turned down Hopper Bend—Baldwin’s road—and managed only a quarter mile before the way was blocked. A massive oak had come down across the road, its limbs sprawled wide, its roots torn up and pointing skyward like claws. Water gushed in the ditches, brown and fast-moving, impassable. The tree blocked one ditch, causing the water to pool there and rise, making it impossible to walk through.
He hadn’t been able to go directly home because Whisper Creek had flooded the road; now he couldn’t go what they’d always called the long way, basically a four-mile square. Now, he had no choice. He threw the truck into reverse and turned around, tires skidding close to the ditch’s edge. He cursed under his breath, jaw tight. The blocked road meant he would have to go miles out of the way, halfway to Rock Creek Road, then cut across a private stretch of land he knew only by rumor and caution.
The Chisum family owned most of the land Jake would have to cross. They weren’t always friendly, they were very territorial and mostly kept to themselves. Rumor was they made their living legally from their cattle, illegally from moonshine. They didn’t like people coming onto their land, and Jake supposed if they were illegally distilling liquor, that was a reason to be distrustful. Still, his dad had had a cordial relationship with the patriarch of thefamily, Wyatt Chisum, who had gone to high school with Jake’s grandfather.
But today he had no alternative if he wanted to be home tonight, and he hoped they would understand. They were practically neighbors, and they had something in common—neither of them had sold out to Verdacorp. That had to mean something. And tomorrow, he’d come back and bring a peace offering and an explanation. Because when they saw the ruts his truck made in their muddy road, they’ll know someone came through and that would make them more distrustful.
When he reached the Chisum’s private lane marked only with aNO TRESPASSINGsign, he took a breath and told Bobby to keep his eyes open and be ready to hit the floor. He turned and drove in. Nervous, but resolute. The lane was similar to the McKennas’ driveway—packed dirt and gravel. But this one was thicker, and while his beams reflected water in the fields, the road itself wasn’t flooded.
He braced for headlights, for a shout, a bullet. The land passed in eerie quiet, fields dark and wet, air heavy with rain. He could barely see beyond the hood of his truck because sheets of rain continued to fall. Maybe the Chisums were hunkered down for the night, tending to their own troubles during the storm. He was mindful of cattle—though he figured their herd would have been moved to the highest area of the property, which was the southern half of their acreage.
Then bright lights came at him from the east, right in his driver’s side window, nearly blinding him. They were so close and he hadn’t seen them approach. They must have driven out here with only their fog lights on or completely blind in order to surprise him.
Dammit. If they made him turn around, there was nowhere he could go.
He slowed to a stop. He made out two pickup trucks withmonster tires, each with spotlights over the cab. Now he knew exactly where he was—the end of the driveway that went directly to their house.
