Kiernan’s arm is paused in midpunch. Blood pours from a cut on his cheek. His knuckles are smeared with even more blood, but from the looks of the guy in front of him, some of that isn’t Kiernan’s.
Mitchell, the man with the gun, nods at two guys on the periphery. “Carlton, Briggs—y’all grab the Negro and put him in the back of my truck. There’s some rope back there. Tie his hands and feet.” They step forward and take Abel, who is barely conscious, from the guys who were holding him down so that Willis could punch him.
“Willis, you gonna go peacefully down to the jail, or you gonna fight me? ’Cause we can do this either way. Entirely up to you.”
Willis is bent over, clutching his right thigh. His pants leg is drenched in blood, and the knife, bloodied as well, is in the dirt at his feet. He spits on the ground, and there’s blood in that, too. “If you mean do I want to press charges, then the answer is hell, yes. But it’d be a whole lot easier if you’d just go on home, Mitchell, or write some traffic tickets or whatever it is you’re s’posed to do and let us handle this matter.”
“Well, that ain’t happenin’,” Mitchell says amiably. “Come on, Willis. You know as well as I do that the sheriff ain’t gonna let you string that boy up, ’specially when you started the whole thing and pulled the knife.”
Willis and several others protest that point, but Mitchell holds up his hand. “Save it for Judge Cramer.” He nods toward the guys who were holding Abel’s arms during the fight. “I ain’t got room for all of you in my truck, so I’m gonna hold the two of you responsible for seein’ to it that your uncle is at the jailhouse by the time I get there. And y’all don’t go wanderin’ off, ’cause we’re gonna need statements from both of you, too.”
Willis leans against one of the younger guys, muttering something about jurisdiction as they go off toward the cars. Mitchell watches them for a couple of seconds and then turns and motions toward Kiernan. “What’s your name, son?”
Kiernan looks over at me and then back at Mitchell. “Dunne, sir. Kiernan Dunne.”
“You two boys go get in my truck. Jody, you get up front. Dunne, you’re in the back. I’ll be there in a minute.” He turns back to the people milling around. “The rest of y’all, go home. I know who was here, and I’ll pass that along to the sheriff. If he needs information from any of you, he’ll be in touch.”
Jody starts off toward the cars. Kiernan stops and hands me the truck key, then pulls me close so that he can stick his pistol into the pocket of my skirt.
“Go to the cabin, and get some cash—under my mattress, up in the loft. You may need to bail me out. Maybe both of us. I’d rather not use my key unless I have to, and this will give me a chance to talk to Abel. You work on Delia and Grant.” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek.
“Boy?” Mitchell is staring at him. “This ain’t the time.”
“Sorry, sir. She’s with me. I had to give her the keys to my truck. Didn’t want her stranded out here alone.”
Mitchell glances at me, and there’s a touch of sympathy in his blue eyes. “Can you drive, miss? If not, I can give you a lift into town. You’d have to sit next to Jody, but . . .”
My first thought is that I’d much rather ride in the back with Kiernan and Abel than up front with the jerk who hit him, but I shake my head. “I think I can handle it, sir.”
I’m actually pretty positive that I can’t handle it, given that I’ve never driven a car, let alone anything with a clutch, but Kiernan’s right—I need to talk to Delia and Grant.
Mitchell looks around, scanning the area on both sides of the street. Everyone else is near their vehicles, about half of which have already pulled away. He rubs the bridge of his nose and huffs out a long breath.
“Dear Lord, what a mess,” Mitchell says, more to himself than to me. He starts off toward his truck and then turns back. “You friends with the woman that fool Willis injured?”
I decide to go with the truth. “I know her, but not very well.”
“I’m guessing that other fella took her into Athens to get her nose looked at. If you see ’em, tell her that they’re gonna need to come back into Watkinsville and give a statement. Otherwise things could go a lot worse for her driver. Your young man should be out by nightfall, or tomorrow at the latest, dependin’ on how annoyed the judge is at havin’ to deal with all this. He got family around here? Anyone who can vouch for him aside from you?”
“His family is up in Boston, but his dad owns a farm over near Bogart. He has some friends over there.”
“Well, all I can say is you both shoulda kept out of it. Yeah, I saw you stomp Willis’s hand, but I’m gonna do you a favor and forget it. There’s a fine line between brave and stupid, young lady. It ain’t ever a good idea to get in the middle of these things.”
I don’t say anything, but I guess he can tell from my expression that I don’t agree, and to his credit, he looks a little embarrassed. “I didn’t say what Willis did was right. Not by a long shot. He’s about as big an idiot as they come, and ever’body in town knows it. I’m just sayin’ that it don’t pay to interfere, especially when you ain’t from around here.”
I give him a curt nod but don’t respond.
“Tell your friend to come on down to the jailhouse if you see her, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
When I turn back toward the road, Delia’s car is no longer there, and I have no idea where they’ve gone. I climb into the cab of Kiernan’s truck and lean my head back against the seat, taking a few deep breaths to settle my nerves. After about a minute, Mitchell pulls up beside me.
“You okay?” he asks, leaning across the guy he called Jody, who I’m delighted to see has a busted lip and rapidly swelling eye.
“Yes, sir,” I respond. “Just need a minute to catch my breath.”
He nods and drives away, pausing at the intersection as a couple of cars pass. Abel is sitting up now, propped against the corner of the truck bed. Kiernan waves as they pass, glancing at the spot where Abel and Delia’s car had been. I just shrug, and then the truck turns right and disappears down the highway.
I wait until the last car pulls away, because I don’t want an audience when I try to start this thing. I really wish I’d paid closer attention to what Kiernan was doing when he was driving. I stick the key into the ignition, scooching forward on the seat to reach the pedals, which are odd-looking round things rather than the type I’m used to seeing.
Nothing happens the first time I turn the key. I think it’s because the seat is too far back and I can’t push down hard enough, so I crouch down to search for the lever to adjust the seat.
“You’ll need to use the clutch, love.”
I jump at the voice, my head banging against the steering column.
“Holy crap, Kiernan. Could you give me a little warning next time?”
He’s standing outside the truck in a clean shirt. His face has been washed, and the cut on his face is bandaged. He looks angry.
“Give me my gun back.”
“Why? When . . . are you coming from?”
“Because I need it, and tonight around ten.”
I hand him the gun. “Do I want to know why you need it?”
“Probably not.” He sighs, and some of the anger seems to evaporate. “I don’t want to screw things up worse than they already are by making you second-guess yourself. Just go with your instincts.” He shoves the gun into his pocket. “And Kate?”
“Yes?”
“This other thing—with Pru. It’s business.” He reaches inside and tilts my chin toward him so that I can’t look away. “Unpleasant business, but I’d do it again, even knowing the mistrust in your eyes. Just know that I have only ever loved one girl, and that girl is you. Past, present, future, this timeline or some other—still you.”
And then he kisses me.
I don’t kiss him back. Part of me wants to, but my rational side has a secret weapon now. All it has to do is toss up the visual of him with Prudence.