a sister.' Fine spit sprayed Tucker's face as Austin's skin turned a mottled, angry red. 'You'll rot in hell, the lot of you, just like your sin-soaked father.'
As a matter of course, Tucker preferred to talk, charm, or run his way out of confrontations. But there was always a point, no matter how he tried to prevent it, when pride and temper kicked in.
He plowed a fist into Austin's midsection, surprising the older man enough to make him loosen his grip. 'You listen to me, you sanctimonious bastard, you're dealing with me, not my family. Just me. I told you once I'll do right by Edda Lou, and I'm not telling you again. If you think I was the first one to get her on her back, then you're crazier than I figured.' He was getting himself worked up, and knew better. But the embarrassment, the annoyance, and the insult outweighed caution. 'And don't think being lazy means stupid. I know damn well what she's trying to do. If the pair of you think that screams and threats are going to have me dancing down the aisle, then think again.'
The muscles in Austin's jaw quivered. 'So, she's good enough to fuck but not good enough to marry.'
'That says it plain enough.'
Tucker was quick enough to duck the first swing, but not the second. Austin's ham-sized fist shot into his gut, stealing his breath and doubling him over. He took a rain of blows on the face and neck before he managed to find the wind to defend himself.
He tasted blood, smelled it. The fact that it was his own sent a ripe, dazzling fury pouring through him. He didn't feel the pain when his knuckles rammed into Austin's chin, but the power of the punch sang up his arm.
It felt good. Damn good.
A part of him continued to think with a silver-edged clarity. He had to stay on his feet. He would never match Austin for size or strength, and had to depend on agility and quickness. If he was brought down, and managed to get up again, he'd likely do so with broken bones and a bloody pulp for a face.
He took one just beneath the ear and heard the archangels sing.
Fists thudded against bone. Blood and sweat flew out in a grisly spray. As they grappled, lips peeled back in animal snarls, Tucker realized it wasn't simply his pride he was defending, it was his life. There was a dull gleam of madness in Austin's eyes that spoke more clearly than hard grunts or sneering curses. The sight of it had a snake of panic curling in Tucker's gut.
His worst fears were realized when Austin came at him, head down, bulldozer body behind it. He let out a long triumphant cry as Tucker's feet skidded on the gravel and he went flying backward into the peonies.
His wind was gone. He could hear the pathetic wheeze of air struggling to get down his throat and into his lungs. But he still had his fury, and he had fear. When he started to scrabble up, Austin fell on him, one beefy hand closing over Tucker's throat, the other pummeling his kidneys.
Even as he levered a hand under Austin's chin, frantically struggling to pry the head up and away, his vision dimmed. All he could see were those eyes, bright now with the pleasure of the kill, blank with madness.
'Send you to Satan,' Austin chanted. 'Send you to Satan. Should've killed you before, Beau. Should've done it.'
Feeling his life passing, Tucker went for the eyes.
Austin threw back his head and howled like a wounded cur. When his hand slipped off Tucker's throat, Tucker sucked air in big greedy gulps that burned and revived.
'You crazy sonofabitch, I'm not my father.' He choked, gagged, and managed to haul himself to his hands and knees. He was terrified he would toss his breakfast into the crushed peonies. 'Get the hell off my land.'
He turned his head and felt a moment's thrill of satisfaction at seeing Austin's bloodied face. He'd given as good as he'd got-and a man couldn't ask for more. Unless it was a cool shower, an ice pack, and a bottle of aspirin. He started to sit back on his heels. Quick as a snake, Austin's hand darted out for one of the heavy stones that circled the peonies.
'Good Christ' was all Tucker could manage as Austin levered the stone over his head.
The shotgun blast had them both jolting. Pellets skimmed through the peonies.
'I've got another full barrel, you bastard,' Delia said from the porch. 'And it's aiming right at your useless dick. You put that stone back where you got it, and mighty quick, 'cause my finger's dripping sweat.'
The madness was fading. Tucker could actually see it drain out of Austin's eyes, to be replaced by a violent but somehow saner anger.
'It probably won't kill you,' Delia said conversationally. She was standing on the edge of the porch, the 30-30 resting comfortably on her shoulder, her eye at the sight and a grim smile on her face. 'You might have another twenty years to pee in a plastic bag.'
Austin dropped the stone. The sickening thud it made when it hit the mulch had Tucker's stomach lurching. ' 'For judgment I am come,' ' Austin quoted. 'He's going to pay for what he did to my girl.'
'Paying's just what he'll do,' Delia said. 'If that girl's carrying what's his, Tucker'll see to it. But I ain't as gullible as the boy, Austin, and we're going to see what's what before he signs any papers or writes any checks.'
Fists clenched at his side, Austin rose. 'You saying my girl's lying?'
Delia kept the shotgun sighted mid-body. 'I'm saying Edda Lou's never been any better than she had to be, and I ain't saying I blame her for it. Now, you get the hell off this land, and if you're smart, you get that girl to Doc Shays and have him see if she's breeding. We'll talk this through, civilized. Or you can come ahead and I'll blow you apart.'
Austin 's impotent hands clenched and unclenched. Blood ran unheeded down his cheeks like tears. 'I'll be back.' He spat again as he turned to Tucker. 'And next time there won't be no woman 'round to protect you.'
He strode back to his pick-up, gunned around the circle of flowers, and rattled down the drive. Black smoke belched in his wake.
Tucker sat in the ruined flower bed and dropped his head on his knees. He wasn't getting up yet-no, not just yet. He'd sit a spell on the mangled blooms.
Letting out a long breath, Delia lowered the gun. Carefully, she propped it against the rail, then walked down, stepping over the border stones until she could reach Tucker. He looked up, the beginnings of thanks on his tongue. She smacked the side of his head hard enough to make his ears ring.
'Christ, Delia.'
'That's for thinking with your glands.' She smacked him again. 'And that's for bringing that Bible-thumping maniac around my house.' And another flat-handed slap on the top of his head. 'And that's for ruining your mama's flowers.' With a satisfied nod she folded her arms over her chest. 'Now, when you get your legs out from under you, you come back into the kitchen and I'll clean you up.'
Tucker wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and looked down absently at the smear of blood. 'Yes'm.'
Because she figured her hands were about steady now, she tipped a finger under his chin. 'Going to have a shiner,' she predicted. 'But it looked to me like he was going to have a pair of 'em. You didn't do too bad.'
'Guess not.' Gingerly he got to his knees again. Breathing shallowly, he inched his way to his feet. It felt as if he'd been trampled by a herd of runaway horses. 'I'll do what I can with the flowers later.'
'See that you do.' She slipped an arm around his waist, and taking his weight, helped him inside.
Though he didn't much care to get himself riled up on Edda Lou's behalf, Tucker couldn't quite get past the niggling sense of worry in his gut. He told himself to let crazy Austin worry about his crazy daughter-who'd more than likely gone to ground for a few days to avoid her daddy's wrath and to stir up Tucker's guilt. But he couldn't forget what it had been like to find sweet little Francie floating, those bloodless wounds gaping all over her fish- white skin.
So he stuck on a pair of sunglasses to conceal the worst of the sunburst bruise on his left eye and, downing two of the painkillers Josie took for menstrual cramps, set out to town.
The sun beat down mercilessly, making him wish he'd just crawled off to bed with an ice pack and a long whiskey. That was what he was going to do once he talked to Burke.
With any luck Edda Lou would be behind the counter at Larsson's selling tobacco and Popsicles and bags of charcoal for barbecues.
But he could see plainly through the wide front window as he drove past, and it was young, gawky Kirk Larsson at the main counter, not Edda Lou.
Tucker pulled up in front of the sheriff's office. If he'd been alone, he would have eased himself out inch by
