poor dead sheriff, the poor dead mule. Over and over, she could see herself pulling her pistol, really fast, fanning it against the back of Macavee’s jaw, and him going down face first in the mud, then Morgan getting punched by Clyde, falling face forward in what that mule had left.
In her sleep she shivered a little, then chuckled.
Sunset rolled over in bed about daybreak and saw the dog was lying with his head just inside the tent flap. He had his paws under his chin and was watching her.
She slowly got out of bed.
The dog raised his head.
“Easy, boy,” she said.
She inched toward him, her hand extended. As she neared, the dog backed out of the tent.
Sunset gathered up the corn dodgers from the night before, unfastened the flap, went outside. The dog was lying down again, paws under his chin.
Sunset held out her right hand with a corn dodger in it. She held the other dodgers in her left hand.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know what it’s like to lose family. Have em run off. Course, you ain’t never shot any of yours, have you?”
The dog looked at her, turned his head from side to side, eased forward, grabbed the dodger, stepped back, gulped it down.
Sunset held out another dodger. The dog inched over and took it. This time he did not move away. She gave him another. And another. By the time she fed him the last corn dodger she was able to put out her hand and stroke his head.
“Want to be my dog? I ain’t ever gonna run off and leave you. I promise.”
The dog licked her hand.
When Karen awoke, Sunset was dressed and cooking breakfast. Pancakes. She had also poured some molasses syrup into a pan and was heating it on the stove.
The big dog was lying on the floor near Sunset’s feet.
Sunset turned, saw Karen rise up, said, “Be easy. He’s still a little skiddish.”
“Will he bite?”
“Any dog will bite sometimes.”
“Will he bite me?”
“Not if you’re nice. Don’t scare him.”
“He don’t look scared to me.”
Sunset smiled. “Didn’t have no butter. But the syrup is warm. It’ll be on the table in a minute.”
“Are we gonna keep him?”
“Yeah. I promised him. Reckon he’s had enough promises broken.”
“What’s his name?”
“I think it’s Ben. Think Clyde said Ben. I’m gonna call him Ben, anyway. Your daddy never would let me have a dog.”
“I always wanted one too.”
“He’s a big old pretty thing, ain’t he?”
Karen nodded, got up slowly, eased out of bed.
Sunset said, “Stick out your hand, easy like, and come toward him slowly.”
Karen did that.
The dog stood up and licked her hand.
“He likes me,” Karen said.
“There’s a lot to like.”
Karen bent down and hugged the dog. The dog licked her ear.
“Hello, Ben,” Karen said.
“Wash your hands before you eat,” Sunset said.
12
After about a week on the job, which was mostly sitting around Sunset’s tent, delivering one foreclosure paper and making a drunk leave the Camp Rapture store after a fight, Clyde awoke in his broken-down bed thinking of Sunset. He had dreamed about her, and in the dream she was his, but the truth was he wasn’t ever going to have her. Not with Hillbilly around.
He even had one dream where he killed Hillbilly by beating him to death with a chicken, then buried him in the yard, with the bird. He liked that dream almost as much as the one where Sunset loved him.
Clyde sat up on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. Newspapers, all manner of junk. Just a path from the bed to the door. And all the rest of the house the same way. Worse.
How did he think he could attract a woman when his house was a pile of shit. Hell, he was a pile of shit. You could stack shit any way you wanted, arrange it any way you wanted, but in the end, no matter how you worked it, a pile of shit was a pile of shit.
It never occurred to him to be any other way.
And then, when Sunset killed her husband, he felt the wind from a door being opened-a door he wanted to walk through. One that led to a room with him and Sunset. The possibility had not been there before, but now…
He wanted her. He wanted her to want him. And for the first time in years, he was worried about the way his house looked, the way he looked. And he was damn worried about Hillbilly. The sonofabitch could roll in dirt and come up looking good. He looked as if he had been created for the girls. All lean and handsome, thick hair, no nose, ear or back hair. Hell, his balls were probably smooth.
Clyde pulled on his pants, went through the newspaper path to the room where Hillbilly slept. It was a large room, but it seemed small, as all manner of junk was collected there. Clyde no longer knew what junk it was or why he kept it.
Hillbilly was asleep on a mattress on the floor. Nearby, a big pot was still full of water from the last rain that had leaked through the ceiling. Bugs had died in the pot. It looked real nasty. Clyde hadn’t thought about it looking nasty before. But now he could see it. It was nasty.
“You might ought to go on and get up,” Clyde said.
Hillbilly turned over slowly, blinked his eyes open. “Time already?”
“You go in today. Tell Sunset I got to take some time off, but I’ll be back. I ain’t quitting or nothing. And if she needs me bad, come get me. Take the truck.”
After Hillbilly left, Clyde stood outside and studied the old worn-out house. Finally he went inside and dragged out a tarp he had saved. It was rotten in spots, but mostly sound, and he tied it between trees, moved some other items out of the house he thought he might need, like his guns, ammunition, pots and pans, lanterns, and such, tucked them under the tarp.
He spent half the day doing this, and pretty soon realized he was merely taking what was in the house outside, and therefore solving little to nothing.
He thought on it a while, put some of the items back in the house, came out and wet his finger by poking it in his mouth, held it up. There was no wind to speak of.
Back inside he got some matches, lit one to a pile of newspapers. The papers were so mildewed and stuck together, the fire went out. He got some kerosene and spread it throughout the house in a winding trail. On his way out the door he struck a match to it.
Outside, Clyde watched, hoping the wind wouldn’t change and carry it to the woods. He was amazed at how fast the house caught. Pretty soon flames were licking out of the open door and broken
