Picnic in Someday Valley (Honey Creek #2)(3)

“This is far enough,” she whispered. “You might get stuck in the mud if you go much further.”

He stopped and got out.

She did the same. “I can make it from here.”

He started walking beside her. “I’ll walk you to your door, Marcie.”

Brand didn’t seem to notice the mud or the slow drizzle of rain. He was a man who worked outside. He was used to the weather.

She had a feeling she’d be wasting her breath if she argued about him coming to the door. She didn’t want to tell him that no man had ever walked her to her home. Boone used to call and wait at the park entrance until she came out. He’d said he didn’t want to get his car dirty on the bad roads, but Marcie always thought it was more that he didn’t want anyone to see him picking her up. She was small-town trash and he was Austin rich.

Marcie stepped on the first concrete block that served as a step. She turned back to Brand. “Thanks. I’m home safe now.”

He touched the brim of his hat and stepped away without a word. It was so dark in the trees that she wondered if he’d find his way back to his truck.

Marcie slipped inside and locked the door. Loneliness closed in around her like a heavy fog, making the air so thick she had to work to breathe. All her life she’d felt alone. Even when her mother was around she never had time for her. Or, when her father was ill and never left the trailer. And now, people only talked to her when they had to.

She curled up on her couch and just sat in the dark. There were times she’d had dreams. This place seemed a pod where she could imagine a future, as a singer in Nashville or a rich man’s wife. She could mold herself into anyone. All she had to do was break free of this place, and bloom.

She was almost asleep when she heard movement in the brush outside. A stray dog. Maybe a coyote looking for a late-night snack.

Then she heard mumbling loud enough to pass through the cardboard that blocked her view. What good did it do to lock the door if anyone could come through the broken window? Cardboard wouldn’t stop a rat.

“You in there, Marcie?” A voice sounding very much like Joey Hattly yelled, then giggled. “Me and the boys thought we’d come by and talk to you. We brought beer.”

“Go away,” she said too low for them to hear.

Someone knocked on the door. Tried the knob.

Joey’s voice came again. “Now come on, Marcie. You don’t want us to have to break the lock. We thought we’d pay you a visit. Just to be friendly, you know. Let us in.”

Laughter came from the shadows.

“Go away,” she said a little louder. Tears slipped down her face. She was all alone. There was no one to help her. No one.

The knob rattled again, then someone pounded on the door as if she might not know they were there.

The man on the other side of the door cussed. His buddies snorted. Another yelled, “Hurry up, we ain’t got all night.”

The man at her door added, “You’re going to pay, tramp, for making us wait out here in the rain.”

Marcie moved to the window slit in the thin door and peeked out. Four, maybe five men, moving around in the moonlight. More creatures than humans, if only in her mind.

“Kick the door in,” the bald man in the yellow glow of the light growled, then threw his empty beer can against the trailer. “Let’s get this party started. She’ll play along after I rough her up a bit. Women like that. Lets them know who’s boss.”

Joey’s voice sounded a bit panicked. “Marcie. Come out. We ain’t going to hurt you. We just want to have a little fun.”

She heard the roar of an engine before she saw a black truck seem to fly from the trees. Branches broke and mud sprayed as tires hit the dirt.

Brand!

When he was ten feet away he hit the brakes, cut the engine, and jumped out with both boots hitting the ground with a thud.

He just stood there, his fists on his hips like he was a warlord bothered to have to drop to earth.

Among the drunks, Joey found his nerve first. “You better back down, Brand, unless you got a gun. There’s five of us. We’re just here to party with the lady. If she cooperates there ain’t going to be no trouble.”

Brand set his hat on the truck. “I don’t need a gun. Which one of you men wants to go first?”

The bald guy laughed. “How about we all go at once? We’ll beat you so far into the ground, folks will use you as a hitching post.”

“Yeah,” another yelled. “This ain’t none of your damn business.”

Brand didn’t move as they all started toward him.

Marcie watched from the tiny window. With the truck’s lights she saw the first two men rushing Brand. A heartbeat later their bodies were flying in two directions.

One drunk hit the trailer so hard he probably did damage. Another hollered something about his mother as he sailed through the night air. When he wrapped around a pine, he melted silently to the ground, breaking branches all the way down. Brand was out of the light’s beam, but every man that went after him came out crying in pain.

When Joey lowered his head and rushed into the fight like a bull, he boomeranged out faster than he went in. On his second try, he rolled out like a soccer ball and hit the concrete steps of her home.

The last man standing, the bald guy too old to still be running with the others, had enough sense to raise his hands and back away. He bumped into Joey and they both tumbled over her trash cans. The tall man picked up a lid and started beating Joey on the head for tripping him. Then both men fell over the concrete steps again.