Lacy's End (34 page)

His heart began to beat wildly. He moved his light around the barn. “Hey!” he yelled. “Over here, near the tack room. I found something.”

Thundering footsteps echoed through the barn as the others hastily made their way to Chase. Flashlight beams danced on the dirt floor. Brett leaned down next to him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I just twisted my ankle. But look what I’ve found.” He held up the rifle.

Brett took the rifle from Chase. “Your father wouldn’t have come to the barn at night without protection.”

“Then where is he?”

“And where is Jackson?” Allen added.

Three pairs of eyes found each other, glowing eerily from the flashlight’s illumination.

“Grandpa, where’s my dad?” Chase choked out.

Brett took a deep breath and let it out. He looked at Allen. “Help him to that bench.”

Allen moved to help him. “Then I’m going to call the sheriff.”

“You won’t be able to reach him. The storm will have knocked out the phone lines. It happens every time. Damned phone company’s too cheap to upgrade to better lines.”

“I have my cell.”             

“The wind will be causing too much interference with the cell towers.” Brett said. “You won’t have adequate signal strength.”

As if he didn’t believe him, Allen took out his cell phone, looked at the number of bars he had, and cursed.

Brett shined his flashlight down on the ground. He was familiar with the barn’s layout and found it easy to make his way to the tack room. The door, usually kept locked, stood open. An alarm went off in Brett’s head. Jackson never would have left it open. The tack was far too expensive, not to mention the guns locked inside the gun cabinet. He fumbled his way to the phone, trying it just in case. It was out.

He shined the light around the room. The guns were kept in a steel cabinet set inside a panel in the wall. Both the panel and the cabinet required a combination to open them. Both of these doors stood open. Brett peered inside the cabinet and closed his eyes. “Damn it,” he uttered.

He made his way back to Allen and Chase. “Two rifles and a box of ammo are missing,” he said.

Allen held up the rifle Chase had found on the floor. “Here’s one. Where’s the other?”

Brett locked eyes with his son. “How much of a threat is this man who’s after your women?”

“I didn’t think he would take it this far, but I guess I may have been wrong.”

They heard a scraping noise coming from the closed barn door. Brett took the rifle from his son, checked to make sure it was loaded. “You two wait here.”

“No way, Dad, I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

“I’m just going to the door, to see if I can figure out who’s there. You need to take care of Chase. Go into the tack room and get some ice out of the freezer for his ankle. We need to keep the swelling down.”

Brett made his way to the door. By now the scraping was getting louder. The cattle locked inside for the night began mooing loudly. With his body pressed against the door, Brett asked, “Who’s there?”

The scraping became louder, followed by a meek, “Help me.”

Brett removed the pitchfork and, with the rifle held at the ready, and his body blocking one door, he flung open the other one and gasped as the bloodied body of Jackson fell inside.

He dropped to one knee, grasped Jackson by his jacket and pulled him farther inside. Then he slammed shut the door and replaced the pitchfork. “Allen. I need some help over here,” he shouted.

Within seconds, Allen was by his side, kneeling over Jackson. “What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Brett said.

“Is he alive?”

“He’s breathing.” He tore open Jackson’s shirt. “Give me some more light.” They both shined their flashlights over his chest area. A large hole gaped open on his right side, gushing blood.

“Holy shit!” Allen exclaimed.

“It looks as though he’s lost a lot of blood." He felt around his back. “No exit wound,” he said. “We have to get him to a hospital.”

They both looked at the door. “Can we get out?” Allen asked.

“We have to try.” The truth was he didn’t know if they could get out or not, because he had no way of predicting where Peter Waldrip might be now. Had the sudden appearance of a bloodied Jackson been the sheriff’s doing?

Chase hobbled up. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed upon seeing Jackson. “What happened?”

Brett ignored his grandson’s question, saying instead, “Sit here, Chase.” He tugged the boy’s arm, pulling him into a sitting position beside Jackson. He pulled off his jacket and then his shirt. He rolled the shirt into a ball and pressed it against the hole in Jackson’s side. He looked into his grandson’s frightened eyes, guided his hand to the shirt. “Put pressure here, and don’t let up.”

Chase nodded his understanding.

Brett looked at Allen. “I’m going to try to make it out the back.”

“What if he’s watching the back?”

“What if he’s watching the front?”

“Let me go, Dad.”

He shook his head. “The man has no beef with me. I’m the one he’s least likely to shoot.”

Allen put his hand on his father’s arm. “Exactly. It’s not your beef. Let me go. Mama needs you here.”

Brett nodded. Allen let go of his arm. Turning to Chase, he said, “You keep that pressure on.” Chase nodded.

Allen made his way to the rear of the barn. He opened the door a crack. Nothing happened. He eased his body between the narrow gap, took two steps, and heard the crack of a rifle as a bullet punctured the side of the barn two feet above his head.

In the house, the four women sat sipping tea. Lacy’s mind wandered as the two other women exchanged small talk. She tried not to imagine what might be going on out in the barn. The men had been gone a long time, surely long enough to have found Chase’s dad and returned. An odd thought struck her. Where were all the ranch hands?

She cocked a quizzical look at Alice, who stopped and looked at her. “What is it, dear?”

Lacy shook her head, saying, “I was just wondering where all the ranch hands were. Doesn’t a ranch like this require a lot of help?”

Alice smiled. “It’s Thanksgiving. They’ve all been given the weekend off to spend with their families. Oh, a few of them have hung around, but they’re probably out drinking it up.” She laughed. “They’re good boys, but you know how it is to be young and free.”

In fact, Lacy didn’t know. Young, sure, but free? Never! Not with her dad around. Once, when she was around fifteen, a boy had asked her to the school dance. This was an unheard of phenomenon. After all, who would have enough nerve to ask the sheriff’s daughter to a school dance? But he had asked, and her mother had said yes. “Don’t say anything to your father,” she had warned. “I’ll tell him you had to work. He won’t check. Have him come at four o’clock, before your father gets home.”

He had come at four, but as luck would have it, he picked up a nail on the road and had to take the time to change the tire.

As she stood there, dressed in her party attire, glancing impatiently from the car to the end of the lane, she urged him to hurry.

“What’s the big deal, Lacy? We have plenty of time.”

In her mind, she could still hear the sound of her father’s tires crunching the gravel as they drove down the lane and into the driveway. Then her father got out of the car and sized up the situation. He had marched over to the car, yanked the tire iron from the boy’s hands, and changed the tire, throwing the old one in the trunk. Then he grabbed the boy by his shirt collar and threw him into the driver’s seat. He reached across him, turned the key. The engine roared to life, and he’d pointed a finger toward the street.

Her father never uttered a single word during the entire scene. The boy turned momentarily toward Lacy, but she’d looked away. He drove away. That night she had taken five stitches in her mouth due to the mysterious collision with a paring knife.

At school the next Monday, she walked up to the boy and handed him his jacket that he had laid across the woodpile while he changed the tire. Neither of them had spoken a word since.

She sighed at the memory and wiped a stray tear. “I’m going to get more tea.”

Her mother looked at her and nodded. Despite the seriousness of the current situation, she had never seen her mother look so happy.

In the kitchen, she turned on the tea kettle. “Jake,” she whispered, but he didn’t come. She walked to the pantry and opened the door. She took out the tea and turned back toward the counter. “Jake,” she tried again. She sighed. “Where are you, Jake?”

“I’m right behind you.”

She whirled. “Oh, Jake!”

He smiled. She fell against him. He stroked her hair.

She pulled away after a moment. “You’re always here when I need you, Jake.”

He smiled again. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The kettle whistled. They both looked at it.

“Looks like tea time,” Jake said.

She poured the water over her used tea bag. “We must use the bag twice,” she said in her father’s voice. “No room in this house for waste.” Then she pursed her lips in a considerate pose and threw the tea bag away with a flair. She got a fresh one. “For once I’m going to splurge.”

Jake applauded.

“Do you know what hurts the most, Jake?”

He shook his head.

“In my mind’s eye, I have a fairytale dad. He tucks me in and kisses me goodnight. He takes care of knees skinned while learning to ride a bike. He gives the third degree when a handsome young man starts calling but grins behind the gruff façade.” She drew silent…and then, “My dad swore to serve and protect. I thought that would extend to me.”

He held her again, and although the embrace felt hollow and cold, she took comfort all the same.

She pulled away but stayed encircled within his arms. “When I was a small child, I would draw my family the way I wanted them to be. Then I would hang the picture on my wall, close my eyes, and say, ‘If I could have one wish.’ But it never worked. Do you know who disappointed me the most?” Jake shook his head. “My teachers.”

“Oh?”

“I know they all saw the pain, but they pretended they didn’t. All except Mrs. Horton, who tried to help but was prevented from intervening. Even my own pastor turned the other cheek.” She laughed at the biblical cliché. “Well, you know what, Jake? I’m tired of being a victim. I'm sick of his bullying. I've had enough of kicks, punches, hair pulling, and name calling…” She raged in pain, panting with exertion, her face red with anger. She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “And I’m tired of being beaten to the point of unconsciousness.” She raised her voice again. “It ends now, Jake. Here and now.”

His voice was quiet and soothing when he answered her, “Is that why you asked Chase to get you a gun?”

She didn’t know why she had asked Chase for a gun. She only knew that when he had shown her the cabinet where it was kept, and showed her where to find the key, and placed the cold steel in her hands—it had felt good. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, defiantly.

“Lacy…” Jake said. “Honey…I know you.” He touched her cheek. She closed her eyes. “I feel what you feel.”

Her mother came into the kitchen, startling her. “Honey, are you okay?”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I'm all right.”

Brenda came to her, put her arms around her. “Why are you crying?”

“I just am,” Lacy said sharply.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody, just myself.”

“Honey, let me help,” Brenda said.

She stared at her mother, incredulous. Now she wanted to help! The words were at the tip of her tongue, wanting desperately to spill from her mouth. Her lips were forming the words when another loud crack invaded the sky. Both of their heads swung toward the window, and they stared in wonder and fear.

“That was a rifle,” Brenda whispered.

Lacy nodded. “He’s out there, Mom.”

“I’m afraid so,” Brenda agreed. She grabbed Lacy by the shoulders and locked eyes with her. “Listen to me. He’s not going to get us. There are a lot of people in here, and they won’t let it happen. Allen won’t let it happen.”

“Where is Allen? They’ve been in that barn for a long time now.”

“They’re okay,” Brenda said, lacking conviction in her voice.

Pammy burst through the door. “Did you guys hear that?” They nodded. “I’m going to get Ethan.” She fled the room and mounted the stairs two at a time. She rushed into his room, expecting to find him huddled in a corner as he always did during a storm. “Ethan,” she called. “Ethan, don’t hide from Mommy.” She looked under the bed, and in the closet, but he was nowhere in the room.

She ran down the stairs. Lacy and Brenda had joined Alice in the den and were now sitting beside her. “I can’t find Ethan.”

“Mom,” Lacy said, turning to face Brenda.

Brenda shook her head. “He wouldn’t, honey.”

Brenda turned toward the other women. They were staring at her accusatorily as if she had invited her lunatic husband as a guest. “No! He wouldn’t hurt a child,” she said.