“Where. Is. It?” Wade’s eyes were bulging and his teeth were clenched.
“Honest to God,” Brandon said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been in this shed for years. I wasn’t even sure the Power Wagon was here. I have no idea where the keys are.”
He tried to rise up on his elbows but the pressure of the muzzle held him down.
“Fuck the keys,” Wade said. He barked at Pingston, “Look again.”
Pingston practically hurled himself into the cab of the truck. His cowboy boots stuck out and flutter-kicked like he was swimming.
“Don’t lie to me or I’ll kill you and your wife,” Wade said and Brandon didn’t doubt it. “Where is it?”
Brandon took a trembling breath. He said, “This is my first day back on this place. I have no idea what you’re asking me. I’ve not been in this shed. You saw how rusty that lock was, Wade. It hasn’t been opened in a long time.”
Something registered behind Wade’s eyes. The pressure of the muzzle eased but he didn’t move the gun.
“My old man was in this shed since I was here last. Hell, Dwayne Pingston was in this shed after I left. I don’t know what you’re looking for. I’m an accountant, for God’s sake.”
Wade appeared to be making his mind up about something. Then his features contorted into a snarl and he withdrew the revolver and hit Brandon in the face with the butt of it. Brandon heard his nose break and felt the hot rush of blood down his cheeks and into his mouth. Wade struck again and Brandon stopped trying to get up.
Wade got off him and Brandon tried to roll to his side but he couldn’t move his arms or legs. He was blacking out, but he fought it. For some reason he thought about the fact that the only violence he had ever encountered in his life was here on this ranch. And Marissa was back in the house...
His head flopped so he was facing into the shed. Through a red gauzy curtain, he watched Wade stride toward the Power Wagon with the gun at his side.
And he heard Wade say to Pingston, “You stupid, miserable old son of a bitch. I knew I should have never believed you about anything. You kept me on the hook for years so I’d watch your back inside.”
Pingston said, “Wade! Put that down.”
Pop. Pop.
Brandon didn’t want to wake up, and each time he got close, he faded back. He dreamed of freezing to death because he was.
He groaned and rolled to his side and his head swooned. He threw up on the sleeve of the old man’s ranch coat and it steamed in the early-morning light. His limbs were stiff with cold and it hurt to move them. His face throbbed and he didn’t know why. When he touched the area above his right ear he could feel a crusty wound that he couldn’t recall receiving.
But he was alive.
He gathered his knees under him and pushed himself clumsily to his feet. When a wave of dizziness hit him, he reached out and grabbed the end of the open shed door so he wouldn’t fall again.
It took a minute for him to realize where he was and recall what had happened. He staggered toward the Power Wagon, toward the pair of boots that hung out of the open truck door.
Dwayne Pingston was dead and stiff with a bullet hole in his cheek and another in the palm of his hand. No doubt he’d raised it at the last second before Wade pulled the trigger.
Brandon turned and lurched toward the open shed door.
The morning sun was streaming through the east wall of willows, creating gold jail bars across the snow.
The Jeep was gone but Tater’s body lay facedown near the tracks. Peggy was splayed out on her back on the front porch, her floral dress hiked up over blue-white thighs. Both had been shot to death.
“Marissa!”
He stepped over Peggy’s body like he’d once stepped over the old man. The front door was unlocked and his eyes were wide open and he was breathing fast when he went inside.
His movement and the warmth of the house made his nose bleed again, and it felt like someone was applying a blowtorch to his temple. He could hear his blood pattering on the linoleum.
“Marissa!”
“Oh my God, Brandon, you’re alive!” she cried. “I’m in here.”
She was in the old man’s den.
When he filled the door frame and leaned on it to stay up, she looked up from behind the desk and her face contorted.
“You’re hurt,” she said. “You look awful.”
He didn’t want to nod.
Five tiny hairless mice, so new their eyes were still shut, wriggled in a pile of paper scraps on the desk in front of her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Checking on my babies.”
It was incomprehensible to him. “What happened?”