His laughter dying in his throat, Preacher looked up from his hands and into his mother’s eyes. Bienenstich was his favorite dessert. Hearing that she’d been making it every week, hoping that would be the week he’d come home, felt like a fist to the face.
“Now don’t go and look at me like that, Damon,” Ginny said tenderly, her slate-colored eyes misting over, shining like liquid silver. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I only want you to know you’re missed, and you’re loved. And that’s never going to change.”
Preacher drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but his mother stopped him with a wagging finger. “No, no,” she said, “enough about that. Tell me about this girl—Debbie. What’s her story? I couldn’t get more than two words out of her.”
Preacher blew out his breath. “Your guess is as good as mine. She won’t talk about herself.”
“And you like her?”
“… She’s okay.”
“And you’re sleeping with her?”
Preacher glared at his mother, who smirked in return.
“Ahhh,” Ginny mused. “So you’re not sleeping with her. That’s your tell, you know? I ask and ask, and if you get embarrassed, that’s a yes. If you get angry, that’s a no.”
“Mo-om,” he groaned, dropping his face back into his hands. “Please, for the love of fuckin’ God, stop! I’m not talkin’ to you about this!”
“But you like her,” Ginny continued, unbothered. “And she’s halfway in love with you. So what’s the problem? Why are you sitting around here moping instead of spending time with her?”
Preacher glanced up. “She’s what?”
“Oh Lord,” Ginny sighed. “Don’t tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you, Damon. That girl is head over heels. Even your father noticed, and you know your father. If it isn’t business, he’d be hard pressed to notice a falling anvil until he was buried beneath it.”
He shook his head slowly. No. Well, yeah… he’d seen the way she looked at him and he’d thought it was lust, same as him. But love? No way. They hardly knew each other.
“It ain’t like that,” he said quickly. “She’s too young for me… and I’m just givin’ her a ride.”
“Then why’d you bring her here?” she asked. Several moments passed in silence while Ginny eyed him shrewdly. “You brought her to me, didn’t you?”
Unwilling to admit to anything, Preacher only stared at his mother.
Ginny laughed softly. “You care about her, Damon. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have brought her here—to me.”
“Mom,” he finally said, “I don’t know, I really don’t. I wasn’t thinkin’, haven’t been thinkin’ clearly for a long time now. My head’s a mess, and I was just out there ridin’, and I meet this chick and… I don’t know. She’s been on her own a while now, makin’ a go of it on the road. But I just had this feeling that if I didn’t help her out, something might happen to her.”
Reaching across the table, Ginny placed her hand over his. “And?” she prompted.
“And what?”
“And you didn’t want anything to happen to her because…?”
Blank-faced, Preacher stared at his mother. “Because… that would suck for her?”
Ginny slapped his head. “Because you like her, you dolt!”
Exasperated, Preacher rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Ma. You got me. I like her. So fuckin’ what?”
A self-satisfied smile on her face, Ginny got to her feet. “Nothing,” she shrugged, turning away. “Just wanted to hear you say it.
“By the way, you remind me of him,” she called over her shoulder.
Preacher’s eyes narrowed. “Who?” he growled.
Ginny’s smile was downright wicked as she strode through camp. “Nobody,” she replied in a sing-song voice.
Shaking his head, Preacher picked up his knife and resumed twisting the tip into the picnic table. He wasn’t anything like his father. The Judge wouldn’t know a good time if it bit him in the ass. He was all business, all the time. The man lived by a strict code of laughable ethics and deprived himself of every fun thing the world had to offer.
Only Preacher couldn’t recall the last time he’d been able to let loose, either. And hadn’t Max accused him of acting just like Dad?
Scowling, Preacher continued mutilating the picnic table, trying to think about something else—anything else. He thought of Bienenstich, and then of Max being chased down the block by a gang of angry fathers wielding shotguns. He started to smile… and then froze.
Max. Max was at the swimming hole.
Debbie was at the swimming hole.
Max, that little fucking gigolo, was with Debbie.
Preacher shot up out of his seat, slipped his blade into his boot, and headed out of camp.
? ? ?
The heat had brought half the camp to the swimming hole. Overflowing with people, it took Preacher a good ten minutes searching the small space before finding a familiar face.
He spotted Sylvia first, easy to identify by her bulging belly and brightly colored sundress. Wearing a dark blue bikini top and white shorts, Louisa was sunbathing beside Sylvia, her nose in a book. Whiskey Jim and Joe were seated nearby, a pack of beer and Debbie’s backpack wedged between them.
Preacher glanced around. But no Debbie.
Dropping down beside his brother, he snagged a beer for himself. “Where’s everyone else?” he asked, scanning the area again.
Scowling, Joe shrugged. “Not bein’ forced to sit here. Probably havin’ fun.”
Sylvia lifted her sunglasses only long enough to shoot Joe what Preacher assumed was the look Joe had referred to earlier, but thankfully she didn’t say anything. Chuckling, Jim shook his head and pointed toward the swimming hole. “They’re swimmin’,” he said.
Preacher followed his finger across the water to the far end, where the waterfall flowed thick and heavy over the rocky outcropping. He spotted Anne first, wading through waist-high water in a skimpy red bikini top—just a tiny scrap of fabric that barely covered her. He saw Knuckles next, splashing and chasing two young women around. He followed their movements until he spied Max… but still no Debbie.
Just then a body broke through the water surface. Water droplets flying in all directions, Debbie shoved her sopping hair out of her face and smiled at Max.
Smiled.
At Max.
She fucking smiled at Max—his dirty dog of a little brother.
Frowning, Preacher straightened and shielded his eyes with his hand. Max was gesturing to Debbie, talking animatedly about something, and Debbie was… laughing?
Preacher stiffened, irritation prickling along his skin. Getting Debbie to talk was like pulling teeth, but making her smile was ten times more difficult. And yet here she was, smiling at and laughing with Max.
Preacher’s frown continued to deepen as Max drew closer to Debbie. Max pointed at something off in the distance, and when Debbie turned to look, Max casually slid his arm over her shoulders.
Preacher shot to his feet. He was two seconds away from jumping into the water, jeans, boots, and leather vest be damned, and dragging Max out by the scruff of his neck. And he would have if Debbie hadn’t immediately shrugged out from beneath Max’s arm and swam away.
“What’s it gonna be?” Joe asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with Preacher, peering out across the water. “Wedgie? Swirly? Purple nurple?”