Читать книгу Unanswered Prayers - Penny Richards - Страница 7

“There’s Miss High and Mighty, herself.”

The feminine, sibilant whisper carried down the aisle, transmitted on the deodorized air. Maggie Langley, who had stopped her supermarket buggy in front of the ice cream section, was too engrossed in planning the impromptu celebration of her two-month-old marriage to Rio Langley to pay the comment any mind.

She and Rio had been so busy since they got married, they hadn’t had much time for fun-or romance. But tonight would be different, Maggie silently vowed.

A willful smile curved her mouth. If anything could take her mind off the upcoming appointment with her gynecologist in Austin the following day, it was a romantic evening with the man she loved…

“Just look at her! Don’t she think she’s somethin’ in that fancy outfit!”

Outfit. Hmm. She would wear that satin cocktail dress she’d picked up on sale for New Year’s Eve and never had the courage to put on. Forget the ice cream. She’d play soft music and have candles-lots of candles.

“Shush. She’ll hear.”

“Don’t shush me. She ain’t no better’n the rest of us, married to that half-breed! Why, even his own father wouldn’t claim him. And now she’s tryin’ to tell the rest of us how to raise our kids? That’s a hoot, now idn’t it?”

Hearing the word half-breed alerted Maggie to the fact that the woman was talking about her. She froze, as stiff and unyielding as the container of ice cream in her hands.

“I said shush up,” cautioned the other voice. “She’ll hear, and besides, he did marry her.”

“Well, whoop-de-dang-do!” the harpy said, in a voice that dripped sarcasm. “That broke-down rodeo rider ain’t no prize.”

Maggie was too shocked to realize that her hands were stinging with cold. Hot color scalded her face, but it wasn’t the heat of shame or embarrassment. It was anger. Fury, in fact.

Having grown up with a preacher father, in a family whose very cornerstone was love, it was hard for her to imagine how anyone could be so self-righteous, not to mention bigoted. Every time she confronted either attitude, she grew angry-and more than a little sad. Gossip was as much a part of Crystal Creek as its small-town friendliness, but Maggie wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. Didn’t these women have any idea how much potential pain their comments carried?

She wondered if she should confront the spiteful woman or pretend she hadn’t heard the unkind comments. She didn’t care what was said about her, but Rio had suffered enough during his life for being a “halfbreed” born out of wedlock with no father in sight. She wanted to march over to the woman and inform her that whatever Rio Langley’s heritage might be, he was a good man, one who didn’t have to boost his self-esteem by hurting other people. He was kind and generous, with a heart as big as the state they lived in.

Drawing in another quivering breath, Maggie cast a sideways look at the two women. A gasp of shock escaped her. Fran Dunbarr and Ada Farmer! Why, they were both women she saw often in her capacity as a social worker.

Fran’s daughter, Chrissie, who was marginally retarded from an oxygen depletion at birth, had two illegitimate children, and Ada’s husband, Bull, was an alcoholic who battered his family on a regular basis.

Like many abused women, Ada refused to press charges, and her unwillingness to get help was affecting her children. Her seventeen-year-old son, Rick, had experienced several minor brushes with the law the past year. Most recently, he and his buddies had gained notoriety for taking turns shooting at a neighbor’s dog with a .22 rifle.

Though he denied pulling the trigger, Rick was now on six months’ probation. Feeling he needed something to occupy his time and keep him away from the negative influence of the boys he hung out with, Maggie and the county psychologist had suggested an after-school job.

Unfortunately, even if Bull Farmer’s reputation hadn’t extended to his son, news of the dog shooting made prospective employers wary. When no one would hire the boy, Rio had seen Maggie’s dilemma and offered Rick a job at the ranch, assuring her that he and his brother, Jeremy, could always use another hand with the stock. Since Rick didn’t have transportation, Rio even hauled the boy back and forth to work.

And this was the thanks he got. Slurs and name calling. The urge to reciprocate rose in Maggie on a dark wave of indignation. Angry words trembled on her tongue. Her hands shook; the cooler of ice cream wavered through the sheen of her tears.

Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good. The familiar passage from Romans came to her so clearly, her father might have been standing next to her. Heap coals of fire. Turn the other cheek. Pray for your enemies. All avenues of behavior she’d grown up hearing and done her best to incorporate into her life.

A staunch belief in God and His word was Howard Blake’s answer to everything, which, Maggie supposed, was the good and right way to deal with life’s problems. But her husband Greg’s senseless death had weakened her faith in God’s wisdom, and finding Rio’s love was the only thing that had given it back.

Maybe she was just more like her mama than she was her daddy—not that Eva Blake was anything but the perfect minister’s wife. But, as her mother often said, Howard had been born good; she had to work at it. The same way Maggie did.

Maggie set the ice cream down as carefully as if it were a vial of nitroglycerin. She uttered a little prayer, lifted her chin and, plastering a bright, false smile on her face, turned and gipped the handle of her grocery cart.

“Fran! Ada!” she exclaimed, heading toward the women as if she’d just noticed them. “How are you?”

She had the satisfaction of seeing Fran’s narrow face pale and the brief flickering of shame in Ada’s dark, birdlike eyes.

“I’m fine, Miz Langley, and you?” Ada said, careful to keep her gaze averted.

“Very well, thanks. How’s Rick?”

Ada looked as if the question surprised her. “Why, uh, he’s fine.”

Overcome evil with good, Maggie, remember?

“That’s great,” she said with a gentle smile. “My husband says he’s a conscientious worker. He doesn’t know much about animals, but he’s willing to learn.”

The few words of praise brought a flush of pleasure and pride to Ada’s sallow face. Maggie was suddenly glad she’d reacted to the situation the way she had. She wondered how long it had been since Ada had heard anything good about her son, and realized what a shame it was that Rick was branded a loser simply because of his father. The stereotyping was no more fair than the stigma Rio had carried on his shoulders while growing up in Crystal Creek, Texas.

“Ain’t you gonna ask about Chrissie?” Fran said with a sniff and a look of disapproval down her narrow nose.

Maggie smiled politely. “I was just about to. How is she?”

“Pukin’ up her guts.”

“Oh,” Maggie said in concern. “Don’t-tell me she’s picked up that virus that’s going around.”

Fran shook her head. “Nope. She’s pregnant agin.”

Maggie couldn’t disguise her horror-or her dismay. Chrissie’s baby was only five months old.

“Oh, Fran! Why didn’t she use the birth control pulls the health clinic provided?”

“‘Cause Delbert was sick and Billy Don was workin’ over’t the quarry. She didn’t have no way to get there.”

Billy Don was generally presumed to be the father of Chrissie’s daughter, though by her own admission she couldn’t be sure.

“She could have called me,” Maggie said. “I’d have been glad to take her.”

“I’ll ‘member that next time,” Fran said.

Next time. When would that be? Maggie wondered. Seven or so months from now? “Is there anything I can do?” she offered, feeling somehow responsible. Even though she knew that she and the system could only do so much, and that there came a time a person had to help himself, Maggie felt as if she’d failed the Dunbarrs.

“You might bring her some of them candies she likes so well,” Fran said. “Can’t get them with food stamps, you know, and she’s been cravin’ them something terrible. Them candies and Co’-Colas.”

Candy and Cokes. Maggie started to tell Fran that Chrissie needed well-balanced meals, but realized that the advice would be not only resented but ignored.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. Fighting a feeling of futility, she glanced at her watch. “Oh my!” She feigned surprise. “It’s later than I thought! I’ve got to run. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, ladies, OK?”

Without waiting for their answer, Maggie wheeled her grocery buggy around and started back down the aisle. She’d get her flowers and, as her Uncle Bud often said, get the heck out of Dodge.

Rio, his brother Jeremy and Rick were moving a pen full of broncs from one pasture to another. Rio sat the saddle easily as the horses meandered down the wide aisle between pens; his younger brother and Rick less so. Babydoll, Rio’s blue heeler, a recent gift from Maggie, trotted along by his gelding’s side, veering off to nip at a straggler’s heels at Rio’s command.

While Rio watched, a particularly ornery mare whirled and kicked at the dog. Just what happened after that was anyone’s guess. There was the staccato sound of barking, a shrill whinny and a sudden dusty burst of speed from the pack of horses. Rio saw Rick’s horse rear up and heard the boy’s startled cry as he tumbled off and landed in a heap on the ground.

Before Rio could do more than wonder if the kid had been hurt—and how badly—Rick leaped to his feet. Rio gave a relieved sigh, but then, to his stunned disbelief, Rick screamed a blistering curse and aimed a vicious kick at the dog’s ribs. Babydoll yelped and ran, cowering from the attack.

Muttering an epithet of his own, Rio slung a denimclad leg over the buckskin’s neck and slid from his broad back, stalking toward his young charge. Before he got to Rick, the boy had whipped off his belt and was about to flail Babydoll.

Rio grabbed the belt just in time. Falling off a horse was no excuse for abusing the dog. Radiating fury, he snatched the leather strap from Rick’s hands.

The sudden action caught Rick off guard. Confronted with the rage on Rio’s face, he stumbled back a step. Rio folded the belt and took a step toward Rick, who raised his arms and ducked his head in a protective gesture that said more than words ever could.

Rio stopped dead still, his anger at the boy draining away like the waters of the Claro River when they’d built the dam several years back. There was little doubt that Bull Farmer was at the root of Rick’s fear. A new spark of anger flared inside Rio.

Jeremy trotted up on his mare. Without taking his gaze off Rick, Rio said, “Go ahead and move the horses, Jeremy.”

Though Jeremy hadn’t known of his brother’s existence until a few short months ago, he already knew better than to interfere when Rio used that hard, clipped tone of voice. Without a word, he wheeled the mare and followed the string of broncs now meandering calmly between the woven wire fences.

“It’s all right, Rick,” Rio said, his voice low and soothing.

Cautiously Rick lowered his arms. The expression in his eyes was that wild, panicky look an animal had when it was caught in a trap and knew there was no way out. Which was exactly what Rick Farmer and the rest of his family were. Trapped. Trapped in a hell of Bull Farmer’s making.

Rio’s stomach churned in an old, familiar way. He’d suffered a lot of abuse growing up-slurs about his illegitimacy and his mixed blood-but nobody had ever laid a hand on him but his mama. Delora Langley had only spanked him when it was absolutely necessary, and then only because she’d known she had to get the upper hand on a headstrong boy who was in dire need of a man’s firm direction. Afterward she had held him, their tears mingling, while she’d crooned over and over that she was sorry. Those well-remembered spankings had been just that, not the beatings Rick Farmer had no doubt endured.

Rio blew out a deep breath and shook his head to rid himself of the memories. He squatted on his haunches and smooched the dog. “Come here, Babydoll,” he coaxed, holding out a hand in entreaty. The dog sidled up to him slowly, uncertain what to expect. Then, sensing Rio’s mood, she lay down and rolled to her back in the age-old, accepted sign of submission.

Rio gave her a quick but thorough examination, feeling her legs and probing her rib cage to check for broken bones. Satisfied that the dog was all right, he picked her up and held her against his broad chest. She gave him a grateful lick on the chin.

With the dog safe in his arms, Rio turned to face a wary Rick. “I’m not going to hurt you, boy,” he said. “But I don’t believe in mistreating animals, and if I ever see you abusing one of mine again, I’ll run you off this place so fast it’ll make your head swim.”

Rick gave a nervous nod and licked his lips.

“Animals are unpredictable. Horses kick. Dogs bite. Things like this happen all the time-and for a lot less reason sometimes. Taking out your anger on a poor beast doesn’t do anything but make you look like a danged fool…a stupid fool at that.”

“Yes, sir,” Rick said, his face flaming.

Rio nodded and gave the dog’s head a loving caress. “Now tell her you’re sorry.”

The dumbfounded look on the boy’s face was comical. “What?”

“You heard me. Come over here and pet Babydoll and tell her you’re sorry.”

“B-but she’s just a dumb dog. She won’t know what I’m doing.”

“She’s a lot smarter than a lot of people I know, and she’ll know, all right. Now get yourself over here.”

Rick took one slow step and then two. He stopped an arm’s length from Rio and stretched out a tentative hand toward the dog. The instant Rick’s fingers made contact with her nose, Rio said a soft “Boo!” Rick jumped back so fast he lost his footing and fell onto the ground with another curse.

Seeing Rio’s slow, unrepentant smile, Rick pushed himself to his feet and thrust out his chin. “You’re a sick man, you know that?”

“Maybe so, but you deserved that one. You ought to be glad Babydoll didn’t bite your finger off. Now tell her you’re sorry.”

Rick glared at Rio. “No more funny stuff. I’m on to you.”

Cautiously Rick approached the dog once more. Babydoll looked up at Rio as if to ask if everything was all right. He murmured comforting words to her. Her baleful brown gaze slewed back to Rick, who riffled the hair of her neck in a tentative way. Babydoll’s tail moved in a single, halfhearted wag.

“Tell her,” Rio prompted.

Rick gave Rio a look that could kill. “I’m sorry,” he growled.

Babydoll looked at Rio.

“She doesn’t believe it,” Rio said, “and frankly, neither do I. Dogs are like women, son. You’ve got to be nice to them. Sweet-talk them, and they’re yours forever.” Rio followed the sexist statement with a sheepish grin. “‘Course, don’t ever tell my wife I said that. She’ll have my hide.”

The irritation in Rick’s eyes softened the slightest bit. It might have been a trick of the dying light, but Rio thought he saw one corner of the boy’s mouth twitch.

“I’m sorry, Babydoll,” Rick crooned, scratching the dog’s hide harder. “I won’t ever hurt you again.”

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” Rio said.

The dog must have sensed that he was telling the truth, because she turned her head into his palm and began to lick it. Little kids and dogs were so forgiving it was downright sad, Rio thought. Maybe mankind in general ought to take a few lessons.

“She forgives you,” Rio said. “And she believes you.”

Rick looked at him, suspicion gleaming in his yes. “How do you know?”

“Communicating with animals is an old Indian trick,” Rio said, straight-faced.

The kid bought it. “Oh.”

“See that you don’t let her—or me—down,” Rio charged, putting the dog to the ground, where she stood wagging her tail and grinning up at them.

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I won’t.”

“We won’t talk about this again,” Rio said. “It’s forgotten.” He gave Rick a hearty slap on the back.

Rick gave an anguished cry, and his knees buckled.

“What is it?” Rio asked, but even as he asked the question, he knew.

Rick squared his shoulders. “Nothing,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m just body sore from all this manual labor.”

“And I’m your friendly Avon lady,” Rio quipped, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Take off your shirt.”

Rick clenched his fists and shook his head. Moisture glimmered in his eyes. “You can’t make me.”

Rio’s voice was as gentle to Rick as it had been to the dog a few minutes earlier. “You’re dead wrong there, boy, but I’m not up to proving it, and neither are you. I know what I’ll find under that shirt…”

A single tear slithered down Rick’s pale cheek with its end-of-the-day stubble that somehow made him look younger.

“And I know your life is hell. I know that you get so mad you want to do to the whole world what he does to you, but there’s a better way.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Rick asked in an angry, sarcastic voice.

“Don’t get mad—get even.”

Rick looked surprised. “How?”

“By being a bigger man than he is and not lowering yourself to his standards. By taking all that frustration and anger inside you and channeling it into something constructive.” Rio thought he saw a glimmer of hope in Rick’s dark eyes. “You do it by standing beside your mom and giving her the strength to press charges. You do it by making good grades and going to college so that you can walk away from this life to something better.”

A single sob racked Rick’s wiry body. He crossed his arms and hugged himself tightly, regarding Rio from eyes that had seen far too much. “How do I do all that?”

“I’ll help you,” Rio said. “Maggie and I will help you. If you’ll let us.”

For long moments Rick just stood there, looking into Rio’s steady gaze as if he were trying to figure out whether or not he was telling the truth. Finally he swiped at his face with his shirtsleeve and gave a sharp nod.

Rio felt his body relax. “And you won’t show me your back?”

Rick shook his head.

“Probably just as well,” Rio said. “If I saw what he’d done, I’d just have to knock some sense into him. He’d press charges, I’d wind up in jail, and Maggie’d have my hide.”

Rick gave him a quick, sideways glance. “I thought you didn’t hold with violence.”

Rio rubbed at his eyebrow with his thumb. His smile bordered on sheepish. “I don’t believe in abusing animals, but then, I like them a lot better than most men I’ve met. Usually when an animal hurts you, it doesn’t mean any harm. Can’t say the same for most of mankind, though. They seem to like to brood on other people’s misdeeds and plot their own little revenges.”

A frown creased Rick’s forehead as he thought about that. “I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “It doesn’t say much for us, does it?”

“No, son, it doesn’t,” Rio said, his heart heavy. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Bull Farmer’s battered truck sat in the front yard, angled as close to the porch as he could get. Probably so he wouldn’t have to crawl very far to the front door when he came home so drunk he couldn’t walk, Rio thought with rare uncharitableness.

When he recalled Rick’s tortured features and the tears of shame in his eyes, Rio’s jaw knotted in a fresh surge of anger. Come what might, he had to say something to the sorry outfit who’d sired Rick, just a little something to take him down a peg or two.

Rio could picture Maggie telling him it wasn’t his place to interfere, to let the law do its job, but without Ada’s cooperation, the law’s hands were tied. Besides, it was his place in a way. Rick was his employee, and Bull’s actions indirectly affected the boy’s work performance.

Rio stifled a sarcastic grin and shut off the truck’s engine. The reasoning sounded good, anyway, he thought, getting out of the truck.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked.

“I need to have a few words with your dad.”

Rick’s face turned chalky. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Langley.”

“If you’re worried about him taking it out on you, you can bunk at my place until he gets over it.”

Rick looked Rio straight in the eye. “Only thing left he can do to me is kill me, and that might be a blessing. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Rio reached out and clasped the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. And don’t you ever let me hear you say anything like that again, Rick Farmer. Life is a gift. Granted, yours might be rougher than most, but you can’t ever give up hoping and working toward something better.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“You could be right. I don’t know exactly where you’re coming from. Nobody ever beat me, but my life hasn’t been a bed of roses, believe me. I had a pretty sorry life myself until I met Maggie. Now I realize that everything I experienced was preparing me for her and our life together now.”

Rick just looked at him uncomprehendingly.

Rio shook his head. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is that if you don’t ever have any bad in your life, you can’t really appreciate the good when it comes along.” He offered Rick an embarrassed smile. “Let’s go in. Or would you rather wait out here?”

“No. I’m coming in, too,” Rick said, falling into step beside Rio. They crossed the yard to the small frame house. Rick wiped his feet on the mat outside the door and went inside. Rio followed suit, taking off his Stetson when he stepped through the entrance.

The first thing he noticed was that the Farmer house was scrupulously clean. Furnishings were minimal, and the decor was Early Flea Market with a little Chip and Scratch thrown in, but what possessions the Farmers owned were spotless.

An uninspired gray Formica-topped bar separated the living room from the kitchen, where Ada stood tending a skillet of frying pork chops.

Bull, who spent most of his time on the road driving an eighteen-wheeler, was the perfect stereotype of every redneck joke ever conceived. He wallowed in an oversize brown plaid recliner, his Western shirt stretched taut over a belly big enough to nearly hide a gigantic silver-and-turquoise belt buckle. The pointed toes of his cheap boots were tipped in some faux silver metal, and the fancystitched tops disappeared beneath the flared legs of his tan stretch jeans.

His neck was thick, and so were his lips, which were partly hidden by a waxed handlebar mustache. His bulbous, red-veined nose looked as if it had been broken a time or two. The fat of his cheeks almost hid his eyes when he smiled, which he was doing at the moment…maliciously.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s here,” he said, reaching for a glass of whiskey sitting on the Spanish-style end table at his side.

Ada whirled, the turning fork in her hand. When she caught sight of Rio, the haggard look on her face became one of apprehension. “Mr. Langley!”

“Ada,” Rio acknowledged with a nod.

“What can we do for you?” she asked.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Farmer, if I might.” Rio paused and added, “Alone.”

Ada’s anxious gaze darted to Bull, who scratched lazily at his stomach.

“Whatever you got to say, you can say in front of my wife.”

Rio’s smile was as taut as the emotions in the room. “I like that even better. That way there won’t be any misunderstandings later.”

Bull’s pelletlike eyes narrowed.

Rio shifted his weight to one leg and slapped his hat against his thigh in a slow, mesmerizing movement. “I’m not going to say this but once, so I’ll try to make myself clear.”

“By all means,” Bull said, waving his beefy arm in a magnanimous display of false cordiality.

“I know what’s going on here with Ada and Rick and probably the girls. It’s gonna stop, Bull,” Rio said in a gentle, almost weary voice. “And it’s gonna stop right now.”

Bull thrust his chin out to a pugnacious angle. “I don’t know what you think it is that I do to my family,” he said. “And I don’t really care. Now get the hell out of my house, before I call the law.”

Rio swept his hat toward the phone that hung on the far wall. “Don’t let my bein’ here stop you. I’d love the sheriff to get a gander of the boy’s back.”

Bull shot a murderous look at Rick, who stumbled backward as if he’d received a physical blow. Rio’s heart throbbed like the ache of a sore tooth.

“What you been doin’, boy? Spillin’ your guts?” Bull yelled, the veins in his neck standing out.

“No, sir,” Rick answered. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“He didn’t have to tell me,” Rio said, going to stand directly in front of the man. “It’s common knowledge that you beat your family, Bull. My wife has seen the evidence plenty of times.”

Bull’s face turned livid. He gripped the arms of the chair to heave himself up.

Rio placed his hand squarely in Bull’s chest. “Sit down, shut up and listen,” he commanded, giving a mighty shove.

Ada gave a little cry of surprise as her husband toppled back into the chair, knocking over his glass of liquor in the process. “You’re way outta line, Injun,” Bull blustered, pointing a sausagelike finger at Rio. “How I discipline my family is none of your business—or your snotty wife’s.”

For a man his size, Rio could move exceptionally fast. Before anyone realized what he was doing, his hat was on the floor. The fingers of his right hand closed around Bull’s thick throat in a grip that had grown strong from years of clenching the leather rigging on bulls and broncs, a grip that had been all that had stood between a broke and desperate cowboy and the hard, unforgiving ground of a rodeo arena and the final indignity of failure.

Bull gagged and glared up at Rio with so much malice he could feel the hate emanating upward in invisible waves.

Thrusting his face close to Bull’s, he said, “Don’t ever call my wife a name again, you sorry excuse for a human being. As a matter of fact, don’t call her anything except Mrs. Langley, ma’am, and then only if you’re spoken to.”

Rio released his hold on Bull and bent to pick up his hat. When he straightened, Bull’s glare was still fixed unwaveringly on him, while he massaged his throat with a hand that trembled the slightest bit. Rio combed his fingers through his dark hair and settled his Stetson on his head.

“I’ve got an even better idea,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “If you happen to be home when she stops by, why don’t you just make it a point to disappear? You’re not fit to breathe the same air she does. Is that clear enough?”

“You’re gonna be sorry you did this, breed,” Bull croaked through aching vocal cords.

“Yeah, well, we all do things we’re sorry for, and we all make mistakes, Bull,” Rio said, heading for the door. “But if I were you, I’d be real careful about making any more. I think your luck just ran out.”

He turned and headed for the door. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” he said to Rick. “Same time.”

Nodding, Rick followed Rio out the door, a combination of awe, admiration and fear in his eyes.

“You step a foot on this place again, and I’ll kill you,” Bull screamed after him. “I may kill you, anyway.” The sound of the whiskey bottle shattering against the door punctuated the threat.

Rio hardly heard. A final rush of adrenaline carried him to his truck. He felt better getting that off his chest. He just hoped he hadn’t made things worse for Rick and Ada.

“You better not come tomorrow,” Rick said as Rio climbed into the truck’s cab.

Rio paused, his hand on the door handle. “You don’t want to work for me anymore?”

“I do!” Rick said. He shook his head. “You don’t know him. He gets crazy out of his mind when he gets really drunk. Does all kinds of terrible things. Then when he sobers up, he doesn’t remember half of it.”

“What are you trying to say, Rick?”

“I’ll meet you in front of the mailbox on the highway. If you come here, he’ll be primed and ready for you, and there’s no use asking for trouble.”

Rio nodded. “Will you and your mom be all right, or did I just buy you another beating?”

“You rattled his cage pretty good,” Rick said. “He doesn’t know what you’ll really do.” He shrugged. “I imagine he’ll just drink and worry on it awhile. We’ll be fine.”

Rio nodded. “If you need me, you know where I am.”