"What's going on here?"
"Something you shouldn't've stumbled into, fancy dude," Carver sneered. He motioned with the gun. "Sit your asses down, right over there at the table, where I can keep an eye on you."
"Now, hold on—" Owen began, raising his hands. "We'll just be on our way. No need for us to be here. Your foot feeling better, son?" He glanced quickly at Sam, who managed a quick nod.
"Too late for that," Carver spat. "Sit! And do it now!"
Owen pulled out two of the rickety arrow-back chairs and helped Sam lower himself into one, then sat down beside him. "At least tell us what's going on," he said in a somber voice.
"Dyin', that's what." Carver turned to look out the open door. "All of y'all are dyin' here in the next few minutes." He gave them a caustic sneer. "Say your prayers."
Owen started up out of his chair, and Carver turned quickly, the rifle at the ready. "I'll blow you to hell."
"You'll do that, anyway."
"You want it right here in front of your boy?"
Their gazes locked, and finally, Owen looked down. "No."
"Awright, then. Don't give me any trouble. It'll go a lot easier on you – and the boy. Understand?"
Owen nodded, meeting his eyes again. He blew out a harsh breath. "Yes," he ground out. "I understand."
"Take your shoes off, you and the kid."
Owen bent to remove his dress shoes. "My son's ankle is swollen."
Carver stepped forward and put the barrel of his gun under Owen's chin. "You have a hearing problem? I said, both of you, take off your footgear."
"Why make the boy suffer, Carver?" Doc put in. There was a reason Owen didn't want Sam to pull off his boots.
"Because I said so, dammit! Do it! Or else!"
Owen sighed heavily, giving up the pretense. He nodded at Sam. "Do as he says."
Sam's eyes narrowed mutinously, but he crossed his legs and reached for his left boot.
Owen shot Doc a look of helpless frustration and he had the sinking feeling that whatever plan they'd engineered was about to be dispensed with – and not as they'd planned.
If Brandon didn't show up in the next few minutes, they were all going to be lying dead on the cabin floor.
****
Brandon carefully flexed his hand. It ached all the way into his elbow, but he kept it from showing on his face. Jay would be worried, if he had even the slightest doubt of the outcome.
Jay walked beside him with confident strides that were matched to his, only because he was walking more slowly than usual. The need to hurry was burning inside him, but the methodical caution he'd learned tempered it. Rushing could put a very quick end to things.
"It's right yonder, on the other side of this meadow," Jay said, pointing through the thick stand of elm trees. "Do you want me to show you?"
Brandon smiled at the boy's eagerness. "No." He stopped and knelt, looking Jay in the eyes. "Jay, I don't know…how this will turn out, so—"
"Well, you'll fix Tom Carver, that's how! Clean his clock for 'im!"
"Maybe. But I don't know what to expect. If everything goes right, then—" He broke off. 'If everything goes right,' I kill another man. What kind of legacy was that? Yet, he hadn't gone looking for trouble. Tom Carver, Arnie Smith, and the others had laid it at his doorstep. He was only finishing what they'd begun with their betrayal.
It was important that he do this right for so many reasons, and the look of pure faith and trust on Jay's face was not the least of them. He couldn't let Jay down, but he had to make sure he understood. There was killing to rid the world of vermin, and there was killing to stay alive. Sometimes, the killing accomplished both things.
"Jay, you know I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to."
"I know. But you have to. Doc needs us. And Jimmy's pa, too."
He was surprised at that. Jimmy's pa could rot in hell, he wanted to reply, but instead, he said, "You're worryin' for Arnie Smith? Why?" His tone was sharper than he'd intended, and Jay looked down at the ground.
"I know he's bad," Jay said, "but I think Jimmy would be all alone without him. I'd be sad if my pa – if you – had to…go away." He looked up at Brandon once more. "Besides, I think he might be a good pa. I seen him put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder one time, and he smiled at him."
Brandon couldn't speak. Jay's innocent observations had opened a window into his own soul that he could see through clearly. Allie had given the boy her compassion; that much was obvious.
He nodded. "All right, Jay. I'll see what I can do. But Doc, Sam, and Owen Morris have to come first." He stood up and started forward again. "You better go on back, now. I don't want to be worryin'—"
"I'll stay out of the way. Please, let me come with you!"
"No. Jay, I can't take a chance that you might get hurt."
"I won't. An' you're my pa! You need me."
Brandon stopped and put a finger under Jay's chin to lift his head. "Don't you ever forget it, Jay. I need you. You're mine. But I have to protect you too."