Chapter 6
Chapter Six
GIA
The suffocating feeling started before I even turned onto the McClary driveway. By the end of the first quarter mile, it had teeth. I figured I was close enough, being on the Hurst property, to swing by and get this over with.
Each stretch of gravel under the work truck’s tires tightened something in my chest, like the place itself remembered me and was already closing in.
Nothing had changed. The same endless line of barbed wire cut across the fields.
It was meant to keep cattle in, but it had never been all that good at keeping anything else out.
The McClarys still ran beef. Always had.
I could see the black angus out in the lower pasture, at least thirty of them.
In contrast, the Hurst family had converted to dairy a long time ago.
To me, dairy seemed more elegant and less brutal.
It was more of a dance of life and the science of production to make a dairy work, whereas my father’s form of cattle production involved growth and killing.
There was still an art to raising the cattle, not that my father cared to perfect it.
No McClary on this farm cared if a beef cow gimped around on an abscessed foot for several months, whereas a dairy farmer would spend a buttload on a high producer to make sure her hooves remained healthy.
I pulled in beside Dad’s old Ford truck, the dented fenders catching the light like scars that never healed. My stomach dropped. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This was when he usually went out for groceries, according to Misty.
I killed the engine but didn’t move right away. My pulse ticked up, loud and uneven in my ears. I grabbed the list from Misty, shoved my key fob into my front pocket like a lifeline, and left my purse behind. Less to grab if I had to run.
I didn’t knock. The back doorknob gave under my hand.
I stepped straight into the kitchen. Dread hit me when I was assaulted by the familiar smell of flour and butter, the too-clean counters, and the way nothing had changed since I was a kid.
Mama stood at the counter, rolling out biscuits like she’d been doing every day for the last forty years.
She stilled when she saw me. A bruise bloomed along the left side of her face, darkening at the edges. Same old shit. Only, now I knew better. That wasn’t normal. It wasn’t something you could explain away.
“Are you okay, Mama?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
“Of course, dear.” Her hand trembled as she pressed it into the dough, like she needed something solid to push against. “Why are you here?”
Her eyes flicked to the window in warning.
“I’m grabbing some things for Misty. Can you help me find them? I don’t want to be here long.”
“Of course.” She wiped her hands on her apron, already moving, already choosing me. “You shouldn’t have come alone.”
“Who would I bring with me?”
We moved down the hall fast. Misty’s room hadn’t changed since middle school, with its lavender walls and frilly curtains. It was frozen in a version of life where things were still supposed to be soft, even if they never really were.
“Give me the list.” Mama wiggled her fingers, but when I handed it over, she squeezed my hand for half a second like she needed to feel I was real.
“How is she?” she asked, already moving, grabbing a duffel bag from the closet. Drawers opened and shut. Hangers scraped too loud in the quiet. She stuffed clothes and items into the bag.
“She’s having a rough time, but she’s fighting for what time she can get. She worries about you.” I swallowed. “I do too.”
Mama didn’t look at me. “Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t waste your worrying on me.” Her voice caught on the me.
“There.” She shoved the bag into my hands, breathing a little too fast. Then she pulled me in, sudden and fierce, like she didn’t have time to do it twice.
Her hand came up to cradle the back of my head like when I was little.
“Go,” she whispered against my shoulder.
“Get out of here before he comes up from the barn.”
“Come with me, Mama.” I held on tighter. “Please. I can take care of you.”
Her whole body went still. For a second I felt the want deep inside her. Then she pulled back, hands framing my face, her thumb brushing under my eye like she was memorizing me. “I know you would try,” she said, voice breaking in a way I’d never heard before. “That’s why you have to go.”
“This isn’t right.”
“No.” A faint, sad smile. “It isn’t.”
“Come with me.”
She shook her head, but her hand didn’t leave my cheek. “If I leave, he won’t stop. You know that.” Her voice dropped lower. “I can keep him here. I can manage it here.”
My eyes watered.
“This is my lot, honey,” she said, softer now, like she was trying to make it gentle for me.
“But you—” Her fingers curled into my jacket, gripping tight.
“Look at how smart you turned out. You get to have a different life. You’re of good blood.
And a good heart. Nothing like him.” She pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, then turned me toward the door. “I love you.”
“Go,” she said again, more urgent now.
I slipped out the same door I’d come in. Made it around the corner of the house and stopped dead.
He was there. Jimmy McClary.
For a second, everything in me went still. This was the kind of stillness animals held right before they bolted.
I’d seen him over the years in pictures Misty sent, but I hadn’t seen him in person since that night before I ran to Tennessee. Most kids who ran when they were sixteen didn’t make it. In retrospect, that had been insane.
I’d had no choice. I wouldn’t be standing here—wouldn’t be alive—if I’d stayed.
The menace came off him in waves. His hate was etched into the deep lines of his face and set with the bricks of a hard life filled with disappointment and struggle. I’d spent years trying to understand why he was this way before giving up.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
My fingers tightened on the duffle bag. “I’m getting some things for Misty.”
His eyes dropped to it. Then rose back to my face. “You have no right to kidnap her from us or to steal things that don’t belong to you. She has a place here. A duty.”
Kidnap.
Something hot flared up, cutting through the fear. “She has cancer,” I shot back. “Can you say that out loud? Your daughter is dying. She’s not going to work herself into the ground for you while it happens. She can already barely make it out of bed.”
“That’s what a McClary does.” He took a step closer. “We work until we die.”
My pulse kicked up. “She needs treatment. Care. That’s what I’m giving her, what you denied her.”
He stepped closer. Too close. Every instinct I had screamed at me to move and put space between us, but I locked my knees, forcing myself to hold ground.
“She belongs here,” he said, voice dropping. Meaner. “Unlike you.”
His hands shot out. He grabbed my wrists before I could react, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, yanking me forward like I weighed nothing. The heavy bag slipped, thumping against my leg.
My breath hitched as he hauled me in close. I could smell sweat, dirt, and something sour.
His spit hit my cheek when he spoke. “If she’s abandoning her family, then you’ll step up. I expect free veterinary care for every animal on this farm.”
The old fear surged, hot and choking. Something else familiar rose with it. My need to defy him and hurt him back.
“No,” I said, my voice shaking. “Go to hell.”
The words hung there. For a split second, his expression shifted to surprise, then something uglier. His hand came up.
I deflected the blow, the impact stinging up my arm.
Instinct took over. I drove my palm into his chest hard enough to shove him back.
He stumbled, hitting the side of his truck with a grunt.
A flicker of satisfaction sparked inside me.
Those self-defense classes had paid off.
But that sparkle died just as fast. I knew exactly what came after that look in his eyes.
He lunged.
I didn’t get out of the way fast enough. His hands slammed into me, driving me back into the veterinary truck. The impact stole the air from my lungs in a sharp, panicked rush.
“You took a job with the Hursts,” he snarled, crowding in and caging me against the metal.
My heart raced so hard it made my vision pulse.
“You’re going to give me information,” he went on. “Everything they’re doing. You’re going to make sure I win this lawsuit. I’m going to take everything from them this time.”
“No.” The word scraped out thin, breathless.
He leaned in closer, his grip tightening just enough to hurt. “If you don’t, I’ll cut off Misty’s health insurance.”
My stomach dropped.
“You think those chemo treatments pay for themselves?” His mouth curved, slow and cruel. “You able to cover that, sweetheart?”
I couldn’t breathe.
He shoved off me like I was nothing, a laugh breaking out of him like this was all a joke.
“Get the hell off my property,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
He turned away.
My legs didn’t want to move. My hands were shaking so bad I fumbled the truck door twice before I got it open. By the time I slid inside, my whole body felt like it was buzzing under my skin. I locked the doors. Then checked them again.
And again.
Only when the engine turned over did I realize I was still holding my breath.