Ace's Wild (Hqn)

by Sarah McCarty

  Thoughts raced through her mind. Would Hester climb through the window if she lost her key? She didn’t think so, but what did she know of Hester? She knew nothing about the woman except that she was bold as brass. Maybe she would climb through the window. Maybe it was just Hester. Maybe her heart was thundering in her chest for nothing, and maybe two minutes from now she’d be at the stove boiling water, getting ready to share a cup of tea with the woman.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose in warning. Tingles spread across her skin. Somehow, she didn’t think it was Hester.

  “All right, Lord,” she half prayed, half said under her breath, “it’s just you and me on this one.”

  It was her habit to talk to God when she was in these situations. She liked to believe that He backed her in all her endeavors. She was on the side of good, but there was always a chance on any given day that God was preoccupied elsewhere. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be that day. She had three little responsibilities upstairs. It was her job to keep them safe.

  She debated screaming but the house was on the edge of the town. No one would hear and again, whoever was in the house, because he had to be in the house by now, might assume she didn’t know he was there. A scream would take away her only advantage.

  She felt the slightest of gives on the next stair. The squeaky stair. She quickly pulled her foot back, but not fast enough. It made a slight soft little groan, so soft a sound she wasn’t sure it even carried past her. Gripping the railing with a shaking hand, she tried to steady her breath. That was close, too close.

  “Terrance,” a man’s voice called, the words slurring together. “Where are you, boy? I’ve come to get you.”

  Brian. Brian Winter was in her house, and from the sound of things, he’d been drinking. It was too easy to recall the size of the man. The weight of the lamp in her hand that had been so soothing just minutes before became pathetically inadequate. She tightened her grip on it nevertheless. There was no chance Brian would leave without his son. There was nothing to do but to confront him, but she wasn’t going to do it on the stairs. She didn’t want him anywhere near the children.

  From the noise, he was near the kitchen. Petunia forced her feet to the bottom of the stairs. A crash from the hall, probably the little key table, alerted her Brian was close. Too close.

  Her first thought was that if he passed by her, she could slip behind him into the parlor and then get to the kitchen to the gun. She knew where it was. Right there beside the back door leaning against the wall. Why tonight of all nights had she forgotten the gun?

  He was almost to the door. She could hear him. Smell him.

  Please, Lord.

  Holding her breath, she inched a little farther into the shadows. Too far. Her hip bumped the table on the landing, and the glass hurricane lamp on top of it teetered. She grabbed for it, only to send it sailing. The crash echoed through the house.

  Shadows shifted as Brian whirled around. “Who’s there?”

  There was no choice. She was going to have to confront him. Petunia took another breath, trying to make her voice as calm as possible.

  “I believe that should be my question.”

  Hopefully, he was too drunk to hear the quiver of fear laced through every word.

  There was a snort that could have been disgust or victory.

  “That you, teacher?”

  “Who else would you expect to be greeting you at this hour of the night in my home?”

  “I might be expecting my goddamn kid.” Another shift in the shadows. He was coming toward her. “The one you took away.”

  “I didn’t take anybody away.” She inched along the wall toward the kitchen. “Mr. Parker brought Terrance to my care.”

  She didn’t feel a bit guilty throwing Ace out there. That was one man that could take care of himself.

  “Bullshit. He wouldn’t have done anything, if you hadn’t pushed the issue.”

  For a drunk, he was amazingly logical. Damn it.

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it, who brought him to me?” She stubbed her finger against the molding of the parlor arch. “The fact is he needed bringing.”

  “The hell he did. He’s my kid, and you have no goddamn right to take him.”

  As far as she could tell, he wasn’t moving. “The right of it isn’t in dispute.”

  She didn’t know what good stalling would do, but until a better idea came along, she was going with it.

  “I’ve been talking with a lawyer over there in the saloon, and he says you can’t take my kid.”

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She was close. So close. “Are you sure he was an attorney?”

  “He knows more than you do.”

  She didn’t want to argue with him. She backed into the room. He didn’t follow.

  “I’m going to get my kid now.”

  The heck he was. “No, Mr. Winter, you’re not.”

  He was following now. His silhouette filled the doorway, pushing out the light. His hands were balled into fists. For a horrifying moment she had the cowardly thought that if she just let him have Terrance, he’d go.

  He snarled, “Fucking bitch.”

  She hefted the lamp and pulled herself up straight. If he persisted in trying to take his anger out on Terrance, he was going to find out just how much of a bitch she could be.

  “You need to go. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without my son.”

  She made a last ditch grasp at reason. “Your son is sleeping, unless your boorish behavior woke him up. You can come by in the morning, and we’ll discuss this.”

  “There is no discussion to be had.” He surged into the room. “I’m taking my kid.”

  The force of his anger drove her back like a blow. The folds of her sleeping gown wrapped around her legs. The sofa hit the backs of her legs. She was trapped, and he kept on coming. Dear God, where was the gun?

  “I’ve got a gun,” she bluffed.

  “No, you don’t.”

  Was she that bad a liar? “Do you want to take another step and find out?”

  He took another step. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t pull the trigger.”

  She could feel sweat breaking out on her back, taste the fear in her mouth. If she had the gun right now she’d be pulling the trigger if only because she was shaking so badly. The only other time she’d ever had to confront a man, there had been others around. But this, this was different. There was just her and him and three vulnerable children trapped in the sinister cloak of darkness.

  He lunged. She ducked to the side. His hand caught her nightgown. There was a jerk at her shoulder and the fabric ripped. She stumbled but miraculously was free. She spun around, shadows spinning with her. Bracing her feet, she spotted the deeper black of his bulk coming at her. She threw the lamp and screamed. She heard a shout from upstairs.

  “Stay back, children!” she yelled as Brian grabbed at her again. Dear God, stay back. She dived for the door. He caught her gown again, and she screamed again, pointless noise that somehow gave her strength. The material tore more. Two shadows shot past her.

  “Pa, stop!”

  Oh, God, that was Terrance. “Run, Terrance, run!”

  He didn’t run. There was another shadow, more swearing from Brian, the sound of a fist connecting with flesh. A young voice swore in the most foul of language.

  “Fucking bastard.”

  Then the awful thud of something hitting the floor.

  Another cry broke through the dark. Deeper and more guttural. It had to be from Brian. The boys were fighting him.

  Springing to her feet, Petunia sprinted for the kitchen and the gun, tripping over the table and her torn gown. She needed to get the gun. It was their only hope. Grabbing it from beside the back door, she ran back,
hearing the sounds of violence, willing herself faster, fearing for the kids, fearing for them all.

  Suddenly, there was a crash. The front door slammed against the wall.

  “You son of a bitch.” This time it was a woman’s voice.

  Glass smashed and then an agonized howl.

  “Touch my son, will you?” There was a soft hiss and then a burst of light. Another scream from Brian.

  “Get used to it, you bastard. There’re going to be a lot of flames where you’re going.”

  Petunia rushed back into the living room to see Brian jumping about, in horror, his arm on fire.

  “Oh, my God!” Petunia grabbed for the throw on the settee.

  “Let him burn,” Hester snarled.

  Petunia glared at her, covering the flames creeping up Brian’s back. “He’ll take the whole damn house with him!”

  Terrance already had the other blanket off the chair. Hester snatched it from him. Brian swung at her when she would have thrown it over his arm. “I’ll kill you.”

  The stench of burned wool, hair and kerosene filled the room.

  “Hold still, you ass.”

  He didn’t hold still. Instead, he just kept screaming, “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.”

  Petunia threw her weight on him, smothering the last of the flames as she did. “Not today you won’t.”

  Hester joined in. Brian collapsed to the floor. Terrance followed, crying, “Pa!”

  Petunia couldn’t tell if it was fear or love in his voice.

  Brian started to get to his feet. Hester kicked out, catching him in the chin. He dropped like a felled ox.

  Dusting off her hands, Hester looked over at Petunia. “Just another reason you need me around here.”

  Petunia leaned against the wall and pulled the remnants of her gown closed. Dear heavens, what a mess. “Why is that?”

  “I know how to fight dirty.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “So I see.”

  Brian still wasn’t moving. Terrance was sitting beside him stroking his hair, whispering things she couldn’t hear.

  “What are we going to do with him?”

  “Throw him out with the garbage.” Hester lit one of the few remaining lamps, and looked down at Brian before giving him a poke with her foot. “He’s a bit big for us to be tossing.” Turning, she called, “Phil!” Phillip looked up from where he sat. “Run over to the saloon and fetch Mr. Parker.”

  Petunia groaned. Anyone but him. “Why do we need him?”

  “Because he’ll know what to do.”

  “Everyone knows what to do. Call the sheriff and be done with it.”

  Hester shook her head, staring at the mess. “Ace’s not going to be pleased to see this.”

  “I’m not too pleased myself.” If word got out, the scandal and speculation would shut her down.

  “Ace will handle it.”

  “Why would he even bother?”

  Hester shot her a pitying look. “’Cause everyone knows, he’s got you marked as his. And no one messes with what belongs to that man.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT DIDN’T TAKE Ace long to arrive. Petunia expected him to blow through the door like a thunderstorm unleashed. Instead, he strode into the house more like the calm before the storm rather than the storm itself. As if coming to the rescue of two women and three children was an everyday occurrence. And maybe it was. Violence was a part of his life, not hers.

  With one glance he took in the broken door, the broken glass and her shaking hands as she stood at the top of the stairs after checking on Brenda. She got to the landing in time to see him absorb the spectacle of Brian cowering next to the fireplace, Terrance sitting at his side, tears dripping down his cheeks and Hester standing over both, a shotgun pointing at Brian’s privates.

  He tipped his hat. “Evening, Hester.”

  “Evening, Ace.”

  He looked at Brian. “I told you what would happen if you interfered, Winter.”

  Petunia entered the room just in time to hear the man mutter, “I just came by to get my boy.”

  “At two o’clock in the morning?”

  “Man’s got a right to see his son.”

  “Not at two o’clock in the morning and not after I told you to steer clear.”

  Terrance touched his father’s shoulder. “Pa, please.”

  Brian shrugged him off. “Get away.”

  Petunia had had enough. “Terrance, I need you to show Phillip how to make us all some coffee.”

  Terrance reluctantly stood and looked at his father.

  Ace backed her order with one of his own. “Go.”

  Terrance bolted from the room. One look at Ace’s eyes and Petunia wanted to bolt, too. She’d been wrong about Ace’s calm. The man was furious.

  And no one messes with what belongs to that man.

  Ordinarily, she’d have protested that claim, but right now having him in the house was a comfort.

  Ace rolled up his sleeves and squatted beside Brian. “You can put away the gun, Hester. I’ve got this.”

  “I think I’ll hold on to it.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Brian snarled. “You’re not the one facing a nervous woman at the trigger.”

  “If Hester was the nervous type, you’d be downright holey.” Ace lifted the charred remnant of Brian’s sleeve.

  “Fucking bitch set me afire.”

  “You touched my son,” Hester retorted.

  “He’s burned,” Petunia pointed out because she didn’t know what else to say.

  “He’s damn lucky he’s not chewing on his balls,” Hester shot back.

  “Hester! The children can hear.”

  The shake in Ace’s shoulders could have been a laugh. She couldn’t see his face well enough to tell. She didn’t see anything to laugh about here. Scandal in the first week of the school’s operation could jeopardize everything.

  “In case you’re too drunk to notice, you’ve had a lucky escape,” Ace said, standing. “Now, are you going to get your butt up off that floor or am I going to let Hester feed you your balls for breakfast?”

  Winter rolled to his feet, cradling his arm. “I got a right to see my son.”

  Ace grabbed the back of his shirt. “You don’t have any rights I don’t choose to give you.”

  “You’re not the sheriff.”

  “I’m better than the sheriff. I’m the law.”

  “What are you going to do with him?” Petunia asked.

  He looked at her under the brim of his hat. “Do you care?”

  Oddly enough, she did. “Yes.”

  “He’s a drunk and a wastrel.”

  “He’s still a human being.”

  Grabbing Brian by the back of the collar, Ace shoved him toward the door. “A piss-poor excuse for one.”

  “Amen,” Hester agreed, lowering the shotgun.

  Another shove had Brian bouncing off the opposite wall.

  “Be careful!” Petunia snapped.

  Ace paused, for once genuine surprise on his face. “You worried I’m going to break him?”

  “No. We just plastered that wall.”

  Ace gave him another shove. Brian started to snivel. “If he dents it, he’ll fix it.”

  Petunia checked the wall before following them to the front door. “I don’t want him around here.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Petunia stopped him when he opened the door with a cold deadly resolve. There was something in that “I’ll handle it” that gave her pause.

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  “Something he’s not going to forget.”

  “You’re not
going to kill him?”

  He looked at her. “You asked me to handle it. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “But...”

  With another look he cut her off. “You don’t get a but. You don’t get a say. You just get to have the scum out of your house.”

  She couldn’t be a party to murder.

  Another shove and Brian was out the door. “You run and I’ll put a bullet in your ass,” Ace growled.

  Petunia went to close the door. Ace stopped her, catching her chin in his hand, tipping her gaze to his. “When I get back, we’re going to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Where the hell was the gun?”

  “Um...”

  “I told you to keep it with you at all costs.”

  A fission of fear went through her. Or excitement. The man had her so addled she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

  “I won’t forget again.”

  His eyes were very dark as he nodded. “I know.”

  On that ominous note, he left. She closed the door slowly, leaning her head against it as she turned the key. How on earth had life gotten so complicated?

  “Locking the door isn’t going to change anything,” Hester said.

  “It might buy me some time.”

  “Did you see his face? That is one pissed-off man.”

  Petunia turned around. Hester stood in the doorway to the parlor, the shotgun cradled in her arms.

  “He has no right to threaten me.”

  Hester laughed and leaned the gun against the wall. “You’ve got a lot to learn about men, honey, if you think that makes any difference.”

  “Well, if he comes back—”

  Hester shook her head. “Oh, he’ll be back.”

  “If he comes back,” Petunia repeated, “then we will sit down and talk about it.”

  Hester folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t know Ace Parker very well, do you?”

  “And you do?”

  “Better than you, apparently.”