Part 29
Madeline squirmed against the heat of Chris’ ailing body. How was he even upright, much less preventing her from going to her husband? Frustrated, she tried to speak against his palm but he merely tightened his grip and waited for her to settle down. “Be still, Mrs. Hobson,” he warned her in a low voice. When his breath blew across her ear, she froze. “I need you to stay quiet until we find out what’s going on. Can you do that?”
She nodded slowly and waited for him to remove his hand. “That was Joseph,” she whispered. “Please let me go to him.”
“Was he with the Nichols when they left?”
“He had to be.”
“Why?”
“They needed him to carry Mr. Standish. They were…” she looked down.
“Mrs. Hobson?”
“They had plans for Mr. Standish.”
Chris closed his eyes for several seconds before he took Madeline gently by the arms. “Tell me what you know.”
“Mrs. Nichols wanted to get that horrible contraption of hers from the livery and leave Four Corners. I thought that would be a good thing until she said they were going to take Mr. Standish with them.”
“Well that yell we heard didn’t come from the livery. They’re out back.”
She rested a hand on his. “Please, I have to find Joseph. If they’ve hurt him…”
“Don’t worry. I’m puttin’ a stop to the Nichols right now.” He stepped around her on his way to the back door. “Stay here and be quiet.”
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Mark hastily checked the rigging on the horses before he threw the reins up and climbed on board the coach. “Luke,” he called, “you ready to get on outta here?” He leaned over the side when he heard his brother cursing below.
“I don’t believe it! They ran off with every firearm we had hidden in here!” Luke shoved the door aside and jumped down.
“Well we don’t have time to find ‘em, Ma’ll be waiting.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I tell you what; you ride ‘round to pick up Ma and Peter. I’ll nose around and meet you there.”
“Ma ain’t gonna like that. When she’s ready to go she means now.”
“She won’t like it if we go back without our guns either. Just get a move on!”
“It’s your hide. I know I wouldn’t want to…”
“You boys lose somethin’?” Both men looked up to see Buck Wilmington standing near the exit of the livery with his sidearm leveled at Luke. Mark made a play for his gun but Vin and Nathan came into view with their guns drawn and ready to fire. “I wouldn’t,” Buck advised.
“Where’s the stuff you stole from us?” Luke yelled.
“Confiscated, not stole. There’s a difference.”
“How d’ya figure?” Mark asked.
“You’re wanted for murder. In the eyes of the law, any firearms you’re carryin’ should be,” Buck paused and glanced at Vin. “What’s that word Ezra likes to use when he don’t wanna say he stole somethin’?”
“Appropriated,” Vin answered snidely.
“You don’t have anything on us,” Luke replied. “We ain’t murdered nobody.”
“You murdered a good friend of mine, you sick son-of-a-bitch, when you torched that clinic. You shot his father-in-law in the street. You killed a man outside o’ town named Aubrey Candler whose only mistake must’ve been he didn’t answer you quick enough. And I ain’t forgettin’ you tortured another friend of mine who’d damn well better be breathin’ when you take me to him.”
“I ain’t takin’ you no place.”
“I’d rethink that if I were you ‘cause it’s the only reason I ain’t puttin’ a bullet in ya where ya stand.”
Luke stumbled back a couple of steps when Buck moved forward.
“Wait,” Mark cried from atop the carriage, but Buck was in no mood to listen.
“I ain’t waitin’ for you to kill again,” the ladies man growled. He made a rush for Luke but the large man reached inside his coat and pulled a knife. A single slice through the air caught Buck across the knuckles, and a boot behind the knee sent him to the ground.
“Get in,” Mark shouted to his brother.
Luke fumbled his way into the belly of the coach and slammed the door. “Go, go, go!”
Vin and Nathan, blocked by Wilmington’s tall frame, weren’t able to make a shot until he fell to the ground. By that time their bullets merely ricocheted off the armored exterior of the coach as it made its escape out the livery doors.
“Damn it,” Buck roared, clutching his hand to his chest. “Get after them!” Nathan tried to help but was shoved away for his trouble. “I’m alright! Just get those bastards!”
Vin was already at the door to the alley. “Nathan, throw me your rifle!”
The healer complied and fell into step behind Vin as he ran into the street. “You see ‘em?”
“I hear ‘em,” Tanner answered. “Sounds like they’re near the church.”
“They’re leavin’ town?”
“I doubt it, more like they’re circlin’ it.” He caught sight of the coach. “There!” He pointed out by aiming his rifle. He followed the driver with the weapon and fired.
M7M7M7M7M7M7M7
Joseph couldn’t take any more. He scrambled to his feet and once again placed himself between Mrs. Nichols and Ezra when it became clear she wasn’t going to stop beating the gambler despite the fact he laid as still as death at her feet. “Please, stop,” he shouted with his hands raised.
“You weren’t given permission to let him go, Mr. Hobson, and you certainly weren’t given leave to interfere in my business,” she bellowed. “Now move!” She turned the lash on him.
The shopkeeper yelped when he felt the bite of the whip and eyed the old lady with contempt. “You have to stop this!”
“I said ‘move!’” She raised her whip again.
“Mrs. Nichols, you’re beating a dead man,” Hobson cried in desperation.
She paused to catch her breath. “Peter, take a look.”
Her son motioned Hobson away with his gun before moving to straddle Ezra. He squatted, nearly sitting on the lifeless body before he snaked a hand around to feel for a pulse or a breath.
“You had better pray he really is dead,” she snarled at Joseph, “or you’ll be finding yourself in that condition very soon.”
“And you, you sadistic sister to Satan,” a dangerous voice growled at her back, “had better pray he isn’t.”
She whirled around and searched the shadows near the store. “Who’s there?”
The barrel of a Colt Peacemaker entered the moonlight ahead of a bloody hand.
Peter stiffened at the sight and rested his gun on Ezra’s back. “Well look at that. It appears the dead have risen.”
Chris stepped into the meager moonlight.
“You!” Mrs. Nichols snapped. “You’re dead. I saw you die in the street!”
“You saw what you wanted to see,” he replied and stepped closer.
“No.”
He looked at the man stooped over behind Peter. “Mr. Hobson, you okay?” Once Joseph nodded his head, Chris followed Peter’s arm to Ezra. “Get away from him, Nichols.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I heard what Hobson said. You can’t hurt him any more so just move away.”
“Yeah well, the store clerk doesn’t know what he’s talking about. The gambler here’s about as dead as you are.”
Chris felt his heartbeat quicken. Was Ezra still alive? The way the gambler looked it was almost too much to hope for. He took another step nearer, careful to keep his gun aimed directly at Peter. “I told you to back off.”
“Stand your ground, son,” Mrs. Nichols ordered.
Peter obeyed, moving further up Ezra’s body until his legs were astride the Southerner’s tattered bare back.
Chris’ anger at the move slowly gave way to light-headedness. He steadied himself. “Seems you just can’t make a move without your ma, can you?” he said sarcastically.
Nichols looked as if he’d been sucker punched.
“Then again, bein’ unable to think for yourself it must be comforting havin’ someone tell you what to do all the time.” Chris’ vision blurred a moment before a wave of dizziness washed over him.
“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
He swallowed against the nauseating feeling in his stomach and continued. “You’ve had what, three brothers to die in the past few days because they had no mind of their own. Don’t you reckon it’s about time to step up and be a man before you end up the same way?”
“Why I oughtta…”
“Peter,” his mother called, “don’t be lettin’ him goad ya.”
“See what I mean? She’s one bossy bitch,” Chris said in as nasty a tone as he could muster in an effort to distract them from the trembling in his gun hand.
“Shut up, damn you!”
Chris could see Peter waver between heeding his mother’s words and strangling the gunfighter with his bare hands. He pushed harder. “Grow a backbone, Nichols!”
“You son-of-a-bitch!” Peter yelled angrily.
Mrs. Nichols knew instantly what Larabee was up to. “Peter, don’t!” She raised her whip in the air and lunged at the gunfighter.
“You heard me, you spineless piece of…” Chris shouted just as the leather talons of her whip bit into the soft skin of his cheek and neck.
In a single motion, Peter came to his feet, raised his gun and fired.
Chris was sent backwards by the force of the old woman’s heavy frame but managed to twist away from her before he hit the ground. Despite his body’s less than healthy condition, he rolled quickly and smoothly before he scrambled into the dark cover of night. When he looked back, he saw the Nichols matriarch raising herself off the ground in the middle of the alley, hand fisted beneath her collarbone. It wasn’t until she hoisted herself upright he saw she had been shot through the shoulder.
Peter blanched when he realized what he had done. “Ma!” he cried. “Oh my God, Ma, I’m sorry!” He left Ezra and Hobson by the wood box and ran to her side. Keeping his gun at the ready, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and timidly pressed it to her wound. “Why did you do that? I was aiming for him! Why did you get in the way?”
“He was lurin’ ya away… from the gambler,” she said with a wheeze.
“I don’t care about that stupid gambler.”
“He was the only thing stopping Larabee… from shooting us.” The old woman gasped but managed to keep herself erect. “I’m… I’m all right. Just find him. Kill him. I want Chris Larabee… dead this time. You hear me?”
“Ma?”
“Do you hear me?”
The anger that shook her body flowed into him. “Yes, Ma!” He reached deep inside his coat and pulled a second gun. “Take this,” he said, and placed it in her hand.
Chris tried to stifle the pain that had erupted in his belly when he landed but there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He bit his lip, pressed a hand over the wound and dragged himself behind the base of a very large and very dead old tree. He propped himself against it and pulled his gun across his lap. He could see it, lying loosely in his grip, but he could barely feel it.
“Larabee!” he heard Peter shout. “It’s time you and I finish this!”
He couldn’t agree more. He just wished he had the strength.
“You talk about bein’ a man. How about you come on out and face me now?” Peter searched the shadows for his prey.
Chris’ ego bristled at the words but his body wasn’t impressed; it wanted to rest and to hell with the insults.
“You either come out here and face me or I’ll go over there and finish your friend once and for all.” Nichols glanced over his shoulder to see Hobson ministering to the gambler’s unconscious body.
Chris knew he had to pull himself together despite his body’s objections so he climbed the tree at his back. The blood rushed from his brain and sent his senses reeling as the sound of distant thunder boomed inside his head.
“I’m warnin’ you, Larabee.”
The roar in his ears was making it difficult to hear Peter’s ranting.
“Get out here, you coward!”
Well that he heard. He clung to the tree and took a look around. He spotted Peter darting in and out of the shadows. In the middle of the alley, Mrs. Nichols was getting to her knees. Great, the old biddy didn’t have the decency to stay down even with a bullet in her. Hobson was off to his left desperately trying to rouse Ezra. Chris shook his head against the low rumble filling his ears and slowly began to wonder if the sound was coming from inside his aching brain or from somewhere else in the alley. He looked the area up and down… nothing.
“Larabee!”
Enough, he thought. If the son-of-a-bitch wants to finish it then let’s do it! He raised his gun and pushed himself away from his support. “Nichols!” he returned the hail.
Peter rounded on the summons and fired in its direction. Chris felt a shot pass within inches of his head and at the same time heard another bullet kick off the tree trunk behind him. He saw Hobson out of the corner of his eye fall flat across Ezra on the ground while Peter maneuvered deeper into the blackness to find him. All hell was breaking loose and all he could do was duck into the darkness and reload. He fumbled with his gun, having to prop it against his thighs to hold it steady, but he managed to replenish its bullets just as Peter skidded to a stop at his feet. He watched his enemy’s eyes light with discovery and knew the time had come for one of them to die.
“It’s over, Larabee. You’re mine,” Peter boasted.
Chris didn’t take the time to reply or aim. He simply tilted his weapon upward between his knees and fired. Peter jerked and stumbled backwards.
“Peter!” Mrs. Nichols screamed when she saw her son stagger into the moonlight with his hands clutching his chest.
“M-ma?” he called in disbelief with lips that spewed his life’s blood. He stared at the red soaking his fingers only a moment before he dropped to the ground in a boneless heap.
“Peter!” She tried to go to him but was so weakened by her own injury she could do little more than sway on her knees. “What have you done?” She howled into the night. “What have you done?”
Chris ignored her, wearily running a hand over his face as he pulled himself to his feet and made his way to Ezra. The roar in his ears was gaining intensity and fast becoming all-consuming until yet another sound joined the chaos. A sound he knew better than any man should -- a familiar click. He lowered his hand and looked over his shoulder to see Mrs. Nichols pointing a cocked Remington revolver in his direction. Although he couldn’t be certain, he had a feeling it was the second time in the past few days one of Ezra’s guns had been aimed in his direction.
“You have murdered for the last time, Chris Larabee,” she screamed as she tried to steady the weapon with both hands.
“Put it down,” he said.
“You and yours have taken the last child you’re goin’ ta take from me.”
“Your child was long past saving, old lady. He and his brothers have held an entire town hostage for days now. You’ve killed, tortured and destroyed everything you’ve touched. Why? For what reason?”
“All we wanted was Hank Connelly. All this precious town of yours had to do was turn him over.”
“So you could kill him.”
“Yes. He had to die for what he did.”
“He did die.”
“Not soon enough!”
“You mean not in your own time. You would have liked to have tortured him like you did Ezra.”
She lowered her eyes to the gambler’s unmoving form. “He had to pay for letting Connelly escape… and pay he did,” she said coldly and dropped her aim to him.
Chris took a step sideways to shield Ezra.
Mrs. Nichols glared. “Now look at that. You do make a practice of protecting the worthless, don’t you?”
“He’s a friend.”
“A friend is it?” She laughed. “Does he know that?”
He frowned.
“Would you like to know something about your friend? He gave up on you, early on I might add. It took very little on our part to convince him you’d leave him to die. It made his time with us that much better.”
Chris let his eyes wander to the Southerner’s face.
“Every time we cut into him, we reminded him you weren’t coming. Every time we whipped him, he knew he was on his own. He suffered, Chris Larabee. Your friend suffered because of you!”
The gunfighter felt rage fill his very soul, but the sickness that filled his body was the real threat now. He had to get Ezra to Nathan and he simply didn’t have the time or the strength to deal with a maniacal old woman with bereavement issues. He watched her hands shake and knew if she didn’t pull the trigger by intent she’d shoot him with her trembling. “There’s been enough suffering to go around. Put the gun down.”
“No.”
He was about to repeat himself when he heard the rumbling noise return. He pressed his hands to his ears and shook his head.
“I want you to die,” Mrs. Nichols growled as she raised her aim to his chest. “I want you to burn in hell.”
The noise was getting louder but this time he didn’t think it was coming from inside his own brain. He looked around, searched the shadows with tired eyes, and then he saw it, there at the edge of town, spilling from the darkness like a demon from hell. The Nichols coach rushed forward in the alley, a single man on the driver’s bench flailing long leather reins at horses that were stampeding out of control. He turned to the old lady and yelled as loud as he could, “Get out of the way!” He couldn’t hear her reply above the thunder of hooves. “Move, damn you! Move!”
The fury she felt froze her to the spot. Over and over she repeated, “Burn in hell, burn in hell,” as her hands shook and her aim faltered. So determined was she to shoot him, she didn’t see the horses bearing down on her until it was too late.
Chris heard her cry out when she realized she couldn’t get out of the way. Heard her scream as the horses’ hooves trampled her body into a broken jumble of bone and flesh. Heard the unforgettable sound of her dying gurgle as the wheels of her beloved coach crushed her remains with unforgiving force. He heard it all despite the roar of the heavy coach, the clamor of the buggy’s gear, the snorts of frightened animals and the frantic stomping of their turbulent gate.
The coach stormed past and disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind dust and silence and little remorse. Chris stared without moving for several moments as the old woman’s terror echoed in his mind. It was over, she was dead, and he wanted to be sick. But the sound of men running forced him once again to gather his gun and fight. He dropped beside Ezra and readied himself for one last battle. No less than three men ran towards him as he cocked his weapon.
“Careful there, pard,” Buck said, his hands in the air when he saw his friend. “It’s just us.”
The gunfighter hesitated.
“Chris?”
Weary green eyes looked up to see Buck, Vin and Nathan step around the bloody mess that had been Mrs. Nichols. He squinted just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“Chris, it’s us.”
His shoulders slumped and his gun dropped to the ground.
Buck pushed it away with his foot and squatted down. “It’s okay, pard, we got ‘em.”
Chris smoothed a hand over the back of Ezra’s head and mumbled, “’Bout time.”
“Yeah, I know. You okay, buddy?”
“No,” he answered softly and fell unconscious alongside the man he had tried so hard to save.
Part 30
“God Almighty,” Josiah mumbled when he first laid eyes on the carnage behind the general store. Nathan, along with Joseph and Madeline Hobson, were huddled on the ground around a body the preacher recognized as Ezra by his bandaged feet and bare legs. Buck was struggling with a semiconscious and somewhat argumentative Chris. The body of Peter Nichols lay face down in the dirt, apparently dead. And his mother, whose first name Josiah had never thought to ask, most definitely lay dead in a mangled mass of flesh and bone.
“Josiah,” Buck hollered as he made a grab for Chris’ floundering hands. “Get over here and help me!”
Sanchez moved quickly. He gathered the gunfighter’s hands, pinned his wrists together and pressed them to his chest. “What the hell’s been happenin’?”
“Chris has been happenin’,” Buck replied.
“I’ve been lookin’ for him. He snuck outta the jail when the men from Eagle Bend arrived but he was so sick I didn’t think he’d’ve been able to make it all the way back here.”
Larabee’s head jerked back against Buck’s shoulder. “Easy, pard,” Wilmington said.
Josiah shook his head. “Did he do all this?”
“Most of it from what Hobson told me, but he didn’t do that,” he motioned with his chin towards Mrs. Nichols. “Two of her boys were tryin’ to drive that buggy of theirs ‘round to pick her up. Evidently they lost control and ran her down.”
“God in Heaven. So how’s Ezra?”
“Nathan’s checkin’ him now.”
“And Chris?”
“Passed out right after we got here.”
“He ain’t out now.”
“No, but he ain’t quite come to neither.”
Josiah put a palm to the gunfighter’s face. Fevered eyes shied away but couldn’t avoid the touch. “He’s even hotter than he was back at the jail. How’d he make it all the way here on his own?”
“You know Chris,” Buck answered.
The preacher gave a half-hearted smile before he heard Vin call out from somewhere down the back alley.
“Go on, sounds like Vin’s found somethin’. Could be the last two Nichols boys.”
Josiah pulled one of Buck’s hands over Chris’. “You got him?”
“Yeah, I got ‘im. Go help Vin.”
Sanchez climbed to his feet, gave the group huddled around Ezra a worried look then took off in Tanner’s direction.
“Nathan?” Buck called when he finally got Chris settled against him. “How’s he doin’?”
Nathan was on the ground next to Ezra’s head checking for a pulse, a breath or any other sign he might be alive. “He’s bad, Buck, real bad. They beat him and whipped him again.”
“Damn it. You think you can help him?”
“I don’t know. His fever’s outta control, his wounds from before are lookin’ infected and these new cuts on ‘im are bleeding pretty bad. He’s been hurt so long now, I don’t know if he’s got it in him to keep fightin’.”
Madeline wiped at the cuts on Ezra shoulder with the clean folds of her skirt. “He’ll fight, Mr. Jackson, I know he will.” Nathan saw Joseph wrap an arm around her and squeeze. She hugged him back. “It seems to me he and Mr. Larabee have each come a long way to save the other. The last thing the Nichols did to him was tell him his friend was dead; we need to convince him they lied. If he thinks Mr. Larabee still needs him, he’ll fight.”
Nathan stared at her, encouraged by her determination.
“What do you need?” she asked.
He took a deep breath and organized his thoughts. “We need to bathe him. If we could get him to the bathhouse, we could wash his wounds and cool him off at the same time. If we don’t get this fever down his body’s gonna give out.”
“There’s no need to take him to the bathhouse,” Joseph announced. “There’s a tub in storage in the back of the store. I’ll get someone to help me move it and have Archie haul in some water.”
“You have a tub?”
“One of the perks of running a general store, Mr. Jackson,” Madeline said and left it at that.
Nathan looked surprised.
Madeline looked suddenly alarmed. “Oh dear.”
“What is it?”
“Your clinic, it was on fire. Although I’m sure we have a few of the medicines and supplies you’ll need, I’m not sure we have everything.”
“That’s alright, Mrs. Hobson. I have some supplies at the jail. I’m sure I can make do.”
“Well until we know more about the condition of your clinic, would you like to work here at the store? We have plenty of room.”
“That’s kind of ya to offer, ma’am, but I reckon it’d be best to tend Ezra back at his place.”
“At the saloon?” she asked doubtfully.
“His room’s not so bad. It may be over the saloon, but it’s quiet and clean and large enough for me to take care of both him and Chris. It’s also familiar to Ezra, so if he wakes up he might fret less if he’s in a place he knows.”
“If?”
“When,” Nathan corrected himself.
She smiled.
“Besides, now that the threat of the Nichols is over folks are gonna need you and Mr. Hobson to supply them with goods.” He eyed the gambler sadly. “We just need to get Ezra, the tub and the water to his place.”
Madeline jumped to her feet and ran inside the store. When she returned she carried two patchwork quilts. “Here, Mr. Jackson,” she said and once again knelt down. She handed Nathan one of the quilts and spread the other on the ground. She then tugged at the filthy sheet clinging to Ezra’s hips and pulled it away. If she was affected by the condition of his body or his lack of clothing, she never let on. She merely rested a hand to the side of his head and spoke to him as if to a child. “Now you listen to me, young man. We’re going to take good care of you and you’re going to get better. I’ve bragged to your friends how tough you are, so don’t go making a liar out of me.” She patted him gently before she turned to her husband. “Joseph, would you ask Archie for the use of his wagon? We’ll move Ezra to the saloon first then we’ll move the tub.” She turned back to Nathan. “Let’s get him onto the quilt now.”
Together, Nathan and Madeline raised and shifted the unconscious gambler so that he still lay on his stomach atop the clean cloth. While Madeline shook out the second quilt and gently covered his naked body, Nathan tried to situate his injured shoulder and stop the bleeding from the bullet hole in his back. A frightened look flashed across his face.
“What is it?” Maddie asked.
“This old wound is bleeding pretty heavy.”
“And that worries you more than his other injuries?”
“Yes ma’am, it does. This bullet hole goes all the way through, front to back. I’m afraid the Nichols might’ve busted somethin’ inside.”
“If they did, can you help him?”
“Nathan’ll fix him right as rain,” Buck said. He had tried not to interrupt their conversation, but felt compelled to remind the healer of his skills.
“I’ll try,” he replied, “ but he’s weak. I just don’t know how much more he can stand.”
Madeline folded her hands in her lap and fell silent. It wasn’t until she saw Vin and Josiah emerge from the shadows with one of the Nichols’ boys in tow that she spoke again. “Mr. Jackson, look.”
Nathan stood.
“Look what we found,” Vin said. He pulled Luke Nichols along by the rope binding his hands.
“Where was he?”
“In that buggy of theirs. It came to a stop a ways down the alley. He was out cold on the floor.”
Buck tugged at Chris and settled him against his shoulder. The gunfighter had given out and become dead weight. “What about the one doin’ the driving? Where’s he?”
“Dead. I spotted the coach after it got away from us at the livery and was able to get a shot off.”
“Appears you hit the mark.”
“Yeah, except the shot didn’t kill him right off. Looks like he bled out before he died.”
“That’d explain how he managed to run over his own mother. He was too messed up to control the horses.”
Luke shook his head and wiped at the blood trickling down his brow, obviously dazed. “Ma?”
“Let’s go, Nichols,” Vin said, at the same time drawing the man away from the broken body lying in the dirt. He had no love for the large thug, in fact, quite the opposite, but it wasn’t in him to rub Luke’s nose in his mother’s hideous demise.
“Where is she? Where’s ma?”
“I said ‘let’s go.’”
Josiah took Luke by the arm. “I’ll take him back to the jail, you stay here and help Nate.”
“I ain’t goin’ to no jail. Now tell me where ma is?”
“Son, you keep your mouth shut, come with me and I’ll tell you all about your ma.”
“I told you I ain’t goin’!”
“And I,” Josiah said just before he spun the man around and punched him hard in the face, “said you are!” He jerked him hard by the arm and threw him over his shoulder. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, Mr. Nichols here has a date with the law.” He turned a quick look toward Ezra. “I’ll be right back.”
Madeline heard Ezra groan. He didn’t open his eyes or offer to move, but he did push an anxious moan past bloody lips. “I think he heard that Nichols boy,” she said worriedly.
Nathan reached under the quilt to lay a hand on the Southerner’s overheated skin. “Rest easy, Ezra, it’s over. Ain’t nobody hurtin’ ya again.” He watched Josiah disappear into the shadows. “Nobody.”
PARTS 1-4 / PARTS 5-7 / PARTS 8-10 / PARTS 11-13 / PARTS 14-16 / PARTS 17-18 / PARTS 19-20 / PARTS 21-23 / PARTS 24-26 / PARTS 29-30 / PARTS 31-32 / PART 33 / PART 34
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