Roy made it to the window but kept his eyes sweeping over Cassidy’s truck, not paying any attention to me at all. It seemed like he was looking for anything he could that would let him write me a ticket or otherwise get me in trouble. Or rather Cassidy, since as far as he knew, he was driving the truck. I smiled. Boy was he in for a surprise.
“A little birdie told me,” Roy began coldly, “that you’ve been talking to my little sister, Cass. Care to explain what the hell that’s all about?”
The light of the flashlight swept up to my grinning face and he instantly recoiled, jumping back like he’d seen a ghost.
“What the fuck are you doing back here?” he said, shouting loud enough that I was sure he woke up the dead. I looked him up and down, rolling down the window more. I noticed his hand instantly had gone to his gun. Not exactly boding well for our interaction.
I grinned as I took in his stupid, shocked face. “I’ve missed you,” I said mockingly.
Roy straightened up, no longer clutching his gun, and instead puffed out his chest. Almost like he was a real man. Almost.
“Get out of the truck,” he spat.
I knew if I got out of the truck at that moment, things were going to escalate exponentially. I had barely been in town for more than a couple of nights, and I had to ask myself seriously, did I really want to get myself into a brawl with a Hayes so damn soon after getting home and have to get bailed out of jail?
“I said get out of the damn truck,” Roy said again, this time with as much bass as he could force into his voice.
Clearly, the answer to my question was yes. But first, I figured I should try to get him to start whatever was going to go down. Fair is fair. I opened the door and stepped out slowly. When I was standing in front of him, my hands open by my sides and his clenched at his, I opened my big fat mouth like always.
“How is that sister of yours, Roy? Still got that stick up her ass?”
Roy lunged and caught me good with a fist on the jaw. It rocked me pretty well, and I hit shoulder first into the side of the truck, the taste of blood exploding in my mouth. Straightening up, I wiped a streak of it away from my busted lip and squared up.
“You want to go? Let’s go,” I said and took a swing.
Roy ducked it like he always did, to his right. The Hayes family may have liked to fight, but they were damn stupid about it. Roy in particular always tried the same things over and over, and when he got his ass whipped, he wondered why. As usual, when he ducked right, I shifted my weight and came down hard with my right hand to his cheek.
Roy spread his arms out to catch himself as he went down onto the pavement. He landed and kicked up gravel. Sometimes, a punch or two would be the end of it, as Roy knew he’d either have to beat me, which wasn’t really possible, or draw his gun on me to get me to go in. So sometimes we would trade a shot or two, he would get on his walkie, I’d call my brothers, and we’d stand off until cooler heads talked us into going home.
But Roy didn’t particularly seem keen on calling for backup that night, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to call my brothers unless there were bars in front of me. Maybe not even then. When Roy stood up, the lights of his cruiser showing off the already blackening spot by his eye and the small nicks and cuts the gravel had made to his forehead when he landed, I knew we were in for a tussle.
“You shouldn’t have come back here, Garrett,” Roy said, unbuckling his belt.
I put up my dukes and prepared myself, but Roy was taking his time, backing up to drop the belt off in the driver’s seat of his car and then tossing his walkie in as well.
“I thought I ran you off already,” he said. “Now I’m fixing to do it for good.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that? Bleeding on me until I run out of patience? You know I can take you seven days a week and twice on Sunday, Roy Hayes. If you come stepping up to me right now, I’m liable to leave you missing more teeth than that hillbilly sister of yours.”
“You son of a bitch,” Roy yelled and charged. I always knew how to push his buttons.
Roy tried to tackle me low, but I just crumpled my weight down on him, and he went to the ground hard. I tried to lock him up in a headlock, but he gave me a few good shots to the ribs, and I lost my grip. When I did, he shoved me into Cassidy’s truck and landed a hard blow to my kidneys. I winced in pain and tried to turn around, but when I got halfway, he tackled me again, this time up high, and we landed on the roof of the truck. Both of us rolled down until we landed in front, and momentarily, the lights blinded me. Roy took advantage of it and hit me square in the face.
I fell back on my ass and tried to shake it off, but Roy kicked me hard in the ribs, and I rolled away. Roy was particularly fond of his ridiculous-looking cowboy boots with a lifted heel. He thought nobody knew, but we all knew he wore them because it made him an extra inch or two taller. The bastard was also really good at using said heel for maximum effect when kicking a person who was already down. Especially when that person was me.
“Had enough, Garrett? Or do I need to kick your ass some more?” Roy was wheezing from all the expended energy. He was always just out of shape, but apparently not having to deal with me on a regular basis put him on his elevated heels. He was already tiring out and I was just getting started.
It wasn’t really a fight until I was bleeding and dirty anyway.
“I’ve been punched by a lot of people, Roy Hayes,” I said, getting to my knees. “But I had never gotten punched by a dickless coward until you.”
I hopped up and charged him, slamming into him and then slamming him into the front of the truck. Cassidy was just going to have to forgive me for the damage to the grille. As mad as he was going to be, I figured he would say it was worth it if it caused Roy Hayes to wake up sore tomorrow. As far as any of the Montgomery boys were concerned, any chance to cause a little trouble for Roy Hayes was worth whatever property damage came with it, so long as the farm was okay.
Pushing Roy into the truck caused him to cry out in surprise, and I decided to shut his trap for a bit by thrusting my head upward and connecting with his jaw. I felt the crack of his teeth clacking together as he rocked backward, leaving his torso open. I laid in a couple of body shots and then slung my elbow into his jaw, sending him spiraling to the ground.
Rather than leave him space to get up, I jumped on him, trying to wrap one arm up while holding him in a modified choke. Roy saw it coming and put his other hand up to block my chokehold and rolled backward. When I landed on my back, he spun and threw a couple of shots at my ribs. I absorbed the blows and threw some elbows at the side of his head. Then he did the single most Roy Hayes thing to do in the whole world.
Getting to the balls of his feet for just a second, he stuck out one knee and drove it hard into my crotch.
I cried out and curled up, and Roy saw his opening. Throwing a few fists into my back, ribs, and chest, Roy took full advantage of the low blow. I tried reaching for him to lock him up in an armbar of a sort. I heard the sound of something metallic and just caught Roy pulling something from his pants pocket.
The explosion of pain on the side of my face was sudden and shocking, and for just a brief second, I lost control of my limbs. The shock of such a powerful hit rocked me, and my eyes rolled to try and focus on his hand. His abnormally large hand. His abnormally large hand that was somehow partially made of metal.
The son of a bitch had used a pair of brass knuckles on me. I watched blurrily as he put them away and reached into his back pocket to pull out handcuffs. I knew I had to get moving or else this fight was going to end up with a phone call I most certainly did not want to make, but before I had all my faculties, he had rolled me onto my stomach and slapped both wrists into the cuffs.
Chapter 22
Annabelle
For the most part, days on the farm were pretty much the same. That was one of the things I loved about it. Even though sometimes I complained about doing the same activities over and over and h
ow they could get monotonous. And though I really did enjoy breaking up the same old routine with writing my articles, there was something comforting and reassuring about knowing what was coming throughout the day.
It meant if the day was going well, I could tell. Things were the same, so everything was happening exactly as it should. While there was always a little bit of change here and there, a sick animal, chickens hiding their eggs, weather that made tending to the land more challenging, things stayed reliable and steady.
That was why I was standing at the edge of that field early Thursday evening. That was the time of day when my father and I tended to the vegetable patch out at this part of our land. It was a part of the day I always looked forward to. Not just because I liked getting my hands dirty and how special it was to watch little seeds spring up into strong healthy plants.
I particularly liked this time of the day and being able to work this area of the field because it meant working alongside my father again. I was always able to work close by him when I was a little girl. He liked to bring me out to help him with everything from planting to harvesting to doing repairs.
In all honesty, I was probably in his way more than I was actually helping him. But it made me feel special and it was a way I could spend more time with him. As an only child, it was particularly special to me, and I loved every opportunity I could get to enjoy more time with them.
This was especially true after my mother left. Looking back, I barely remembered the pain. I knew it was there. I knew I was sad and confused, but Dad made sure I didn’t suffer. He made sure I thought of my mother in a good way and focused on happy memories rather than ones that might hurt me.
As an adult, working the fields with my father took on new meaning. It was still an opportunity to spend time with him, which I cherished, but it was also about making memories with him in a new context. I wasn’t out there getting in his way in the name of helping him. I wasn’t just out there because he needed to both work and keep an eye on me. This was his legacy, and I was picking it up and carrying it. We were working alongside each other as equals.
I was proud of the farm and how hard both of us had worked over the years to make sure it stayed successful even through challenging times. This was the life I knew I was made for.
That Thursday, it all almost changed.
It was a gorgeous autumn day, but the hard work still brought beads of sweat to the back of my neck and along my forehead. I paused to wipe them off with the back of my arm and glanced over at my father. I noticed him hunched over like he was in pain.
“Dad?” I called out. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer and his hand went up to clutch his chest. He made a strange, terrifying sound and drew in a sharp breath.
“Daddy?” I called, more afraid now. Dropping my tool, I ran the few yards to him. Before I could get there, he collapsed onto the ground.
I dropped down beside him and reached for his hand. He was taking gasping breaths but didn’t respond to me being there. Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I called the emergency line.
“Do you need fire, police, or medical?” the dispatcher asked when she answered.
“Medical,” I said. “I think my father might have had a heart attack.”
“What is the address?” she asked. I gave her the address of the farm and told her which field we were in. “Is he breathing?”
“Yes,” I said. “But not very strong.”
“Just stay there with him and keep paying attention to his breathing. You say you think he had a heart attack?”
“Yes,” I said. “He’s been struggling with heart problems over the last few months. He has high blood pressure.”
“Is he conscious?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I was a few yards away from him when he collapsed. By the time I got here, he was unconscious.”
“Okay,” she said. “Just stay right there. Do you know CPR?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. If he stops breathing, let me know and start administering chest compressions.”
I hoped so much I wouldn’t have to do that. I had gotten the training years ago for situations just like this. Working on a farm could be dangerous. Many different accidents could happen. The hot sun, dehydration, overworking, and even environmental issues like stings or snake bites could be treacherous. Getting first-aid training and CPR gave me at least a little bit of confidence I could help.
I never actually thought I would have to use it on my father. I kept watching him, staring into his face and hoping with everything in me he would open his eyes. It seemed like it took forever before I heard the sound of the sirens coming across the fields.
“I can hear them,” I said.
“Good,” the dispatcher said. “They know to look in the fields. Stand up and wave for them so they know they’re coming the right direction.”
I didn’t want to let go of my father’s hand, but I did what she said. A few seconds later, I saw an ambulance and a police car bouncing over the gravel road toward me. I ran toward them as they stopped and guided them back to my father. The emergency team moved me out of their way so they could work on him.
When they couldn’t get him conscious again within the first few moments, they called for the gurney. Tears streaming down my face, I choked for air as they piled him onto it and ran back to the ambulance.
I wanted to climb in with him, but I knew I would just take up valuable space the team needed in order to work on him. A police officer came up to me and asked what happened. I gave him a quick rundown and she nodded. I took that as permission to follow behind the ambulance. I started running across the field toward the pickup truck Dad left parked on the side road.
Jumping into the old beat-up truck, I chased after the ambulance, breaking away from it only when I had to pull into the visitor lot at the hospital. I ran inside so fast I was able to catch them wheeling the gurney into the back. All I could do was stand in the waiting room and wait.
I stood there for as long as I could take it. Anxiety crept up and I couldn’t stand the idea of being in that space anymore. I went to the registration desk and told the woman there I would be standing right outside. If there was any news about my father or if a doctor or nurse was willing to speak to me about him, I was right there. She nodded her acknowledgement and I headed outside.
Pacing back and forth up and down the sidewalk, I tried to calm myself down. Worry filled me so much it was hard to breathe. I had never seen my father like that before. He was always so strong. I knew he had dealt with a few scary incidents and that was why I ended up coming home to take care of him. But it was completely different to actually watch it.
I didn’t want to be alone. I reached for my phone and called the first person who came into my mind. Garrett.
The phone rang several times, but he didn’t answer. The first person on my list of recent calls was Bridget. I knew if I called her, she would immediately drop everything to be with me, but she was at work. I didn’t want her to do that and cause her any trouble. Sawyer would be working the ranch, and I didn’t want to bother him either, but I needed my best friend there with me.
“Hey, Annabelle,” he said.
“My father is in the hospital,” I said. “He collapsed when he was working in the field this afternoon. I think he had a heart attack.”
“I’m on my way,” he said.
I went back to pacing, praying every time the door opened that it would be a doctor coming out to tell me it was a false alarm. That my father was perfectly fine, and I could take him home.
Even though I knew deep down inside that wasn’t going to happen. People didn’t just spring back from collapsing and being unconscious like that. I had gotten myself somewhat composed, but when I saw Sawyer coming toward me, I fell apart again.
I ran into his arms and he held me close as I cried.
“What happened?”
“We were out working and he just fell. He wasn’t con
scious, but he was breathing. They took him into the back and I haven’t heard anything.”
I stepped back and for the first time realized what Sawyer was wearing.
His flannel shirt looked almost new and his jeans were clean and set off by a shiny belt buckle. The boots he was wearing certainly weren’t the ones he wore while working the ranch and I almost laughed at the brilliantly shiny spurs that topped off the entire look. He must have noticed me evaluating his outfit because he stepped back and gestured to it.
“A new dude-ranch-experience tour is arriving this afternoon,” he said. “Actually, they’re probably there now.”
“And you left?” I asked.
“Of course, I did,” he said without hesitation. “You needed me here. That’s more important than anything.”
“I feel bad that you bailed on them,” I said.
“Don’t,” he said. “And don’t worry. It’s not like I left them to fend for themselves on the ranch. I already spoke to Wade and he’s going to step in and take over until I get back.”
I arched an eyebrow at Sawyer. “Wade?” I asked. “He isn’t exactly a good match for the dude-ranch-experience tour. He may be a lot of things, but friendly and charismatic aren’t the first things that pop into my mind.”
“He’s friendly,” Sawyer argued. “Maybe not in the throw his arms open and welcome people into his space kind of friendly, but he’s not going to take out his shotgun and try to chase them off his land. It’ll be fine.”
We stood there for a few seconds in silence.
“Do you want to call him?” I asked.
“So much,” he said. “Can I borrow your phone, though? I left mine on the kitchen counter.”
“Sure,” I said. I took my phone out of my pocket where I had shoved it after talking to him and walked over to a nearby bench.
His Wicked Mouth Page 13