Firefly Hollow (30 page)

Chapter Forty-Two

J
ACK WAS STANDING ON THE back porch, hands on his hips, studying the yard when Owen came downstairs. “Somebody’s been working in the garden. Is Sarah okay?”

“She had a nightmare,” Owen answered. From the way Jack swung around, Owen guessed he was not expecting to see him there. “And I’m the one who was in the garden. I was about to get started on the grass when Sarah woke up screaming.”

“You! What the hell are you still doing here?”

“Just trying to help. Some things needed doing, and I was here. That’s all.”

Jack was practically vibrating with anger. “You’ve done enough, thanks very much. Leave. Now.”

Owen held up his hands. “Okay.” He knew better to argue or try to reason with Jack. The look in the younger man’s eyes said he was itching for a fight. Owen figured that with the week the family had had, on top of his mistreatment of Sarah, it wouldn’t take very much to set spark to Jack’s temper. He edged around Jack and walked down the steps.

“What? Nothing to say to defend yourself, Campbell?”

With a low hiss of frustration, Owen turned to face Jack. “Are we going to do this, then?”

“Oh, I think so.” Jack launched himself off the porch at Owen, tackling him to the ground.

The grass cushioned the impact of the fall somewhat, but it still knocked the breath out of Owen. “You’re heavier than you look,” he panted as he blocked Jack’s first punch. He braced his stomach muscles and let the next one make contact. While Owen wasn’t immortal, he could take a heavier beating than the average man, and he figured letting Jack get a few blows out of his system would go a long way toward defusing the situation. He didn’t want Jack to feel as if he was winning too easily, however, so he heaved upward and flipped Jack off of him. As Owen scrambled to his feet, he saw Gilly and Sarah come out onto the porch from the corner of his eye.

“Jack! Don’t you think that’s enough?” Gilly asked.

“No.” Back on his feet, Jack circled Owen, looking for an angle of attack. “Not even close.”

“Well, try to not bruise each other where Kathy or Mama can see it,” Sarah said. “That’s the last thing we need, the two of you looking like you tried to kill each other.”

“But it’s okay to hit him where the bruises don’t show?” Jack asked. “I want to make sure I understand you right, sis.”

“If the two of you want to spend the rest of the evening scrapping around out here, who am I to stop you? Try to stay away from the garden and the flowers.”

Owen turned to look at her, and when he did, Jack pounced again. Owen was able to stay on his feet, but keeping himself upright took his focus away from blocking Jack’s punches. After one particularly stinging blow, Owen grunted. He tried to get Jack in a headlock, but Jack danced away from him.

“What’s the matter? You afraid to hit me, Campbell?”

“No. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Jack laughed. “As if you could. Come on. Take your best shot. Right here. Prove to me that you’re man enough.” He tapped his chin, angling it upward toward Owen.

Owen’s temper flared at the taunting words, but he rolled his shoulders and pushed back his anger. “Your sister asked me to avoid your face. I’m not going against her.”

Jack sneered. “I figured you’d hide behind the women. Good to know I was right.”

Owen let out a low growl. “Watch yourself, Browning.”

“Oh, ho, the big man doesn’t like being called a mama’s boy. What’s wrong, Owen? Did I hurt your feelings?” Jack stepped in and shoved Owen’s shoulder with one hand. Owen looked down at where Jack had pushed him, then slowly raised his eyes to meet Jack’s. The words were too close to what Harlan used to say to him when they were boys. A flash of anger went through him, rapid fire, and Jack’s eyes widened.

“You should
not
have said that.” With a roar, Owen tackled Jack. They rolled onto the grass, and Owen punched Jack in the stomach, the shoulder, and the face. He didn’t hit hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting, and he knew Jack would be feeling it the next day. Jack snapped Owen’s head back with a right uppercut. “You aren’t the only one who’s had a bad week or two, Browning.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t kill Randall, so I’ll have to settle for you.” Jack flipped them so that he was straddling Owen, then drew back his fist. Before he could let fly with the punch, though, a cold jet of water hit him in the back of the head. Jack rolled off Owen and tried to get away from the water, but it followed him.

“That’s enough!” Sarah aimed the hose at the ground while Jack sputtered and coughed. As she stood over him, fury rolled off of her in waves. “What is wrong with you two? I thought a few little punches here, some sniping there, and you’d be over your mad. Instead, I think you’re trying to kill each other.”

“Sarah, we’re just—” Owen started, but she turned the water his way, soaking him with an icy blast.

“Hush! I don’t care what you were ‘just.’ What I know is that the two of you needed to blow off some steam. I get that. Well, you’d better be un-steamed now is all I can say. Because I am not explaining to Mama why her baby boy and my… my whatever-the-hell-you-are put each other in the hospital.” With one last blast for each of them, she threw down the hose and stalked toward the house.

Gilly, standing by the spigot, twisted the knob and followed. She stopped at the kitchen door. “Here are some towels and a couple of beers. Go make friends somewhere. But neither of you is getting back in this house until you apologize and shake hands. And mean it!” She slammed the kitchen door, and Owen heard the lock slide into place.

Jack, still on the ground, stared at the door with astonishment. “She locked me out. My wife locked me out.”

Weary, Owen got to his feet and went to the other man. He held out his hand. “Come on.”

Jack took the offered hand and got to his feet with a grunt. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can talk.”

Owen took Jack to the pool. It was the nearest, most comfortable place they could speak privately, and Owen hoped Jack would see the invitation as the olive branch he intended.

“So this is where you bring Sarah?” Jack asked, looking around.

“Yeah. She found it on her own a few years back.” Owen led him to the top of the rock. “Have a seat.”

Jack got out his pocketknife and opened his beer, then held out the knife to Owen.

Owen shrugged. “I don’t usually drink, but I’ll make an exception today.”

They sat side by side on the ledge Owen and Sarah liked to use as a backrest. Owen took a swig of beer and grimaced at the taste. “Tastes like piss. Nasty stuff.”

Jack shot him a sidelong look. “How do you know what piss tastes like?”

“I don’t. But I still think beer tastes like piss. Looks like it, too.” He went to the branch and dumped the beer, then rinsed and filled the bottle with fresh water. “There, now we can pretend we’re having a beer together.”

Laughing, Jack shook his head. “So what are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you turn into? You’re not big enough to be a bear, I don’t think.”

Owen paused in the act of sitting, hanging in mid air for several long seconds. With a grunt, he dropped on his butt. “What are you talking about?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Come on, Owen. I saw the flash in your eyes. So what are you? Maybe a wolf?” When Owen sucked in a breath, Jack winced. “Damn. Does Sarah know?”

Owen considered trying to brazen it out, but he didn’t think that would work. Besides, he needed to find out the extent of Jack’s knowledge. “Not yet. I figured I’d tell her after everything calms down a little. How’d you know?”

“I saw the flash in your eyes. You hid it pretty fast, but it was there.” He studied Owen with consideration. “Are you kin to the Muncys from over in Harlan County?”

Owen shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

“Guy I was in the Army with, Harold Muncy—big guy, six-and-a-half-feet tall, three hundred pounds—we were in the same unit. He was a shifter, turned into the scruffiest black bear you’ve ever seen.” Beer finished, Jack went to the stream and filled his bottle. He took a long drink and topped it off, then moved to look out over the pool.

“And he just told you what he was?”

“No. We were out on practice maneuvers one night and got lost. Harold was always bragging about how he was a mountain man, could find his way home from anywhere. He was a nice guy—funny, affable—but it rubbed some of the Yanks the wrong way. So they got into our bags and swiped our compasses and maps. And we got lost.”

“Ouch. That had to be hard to live down.”

Jack smiled. “Nah. Because Harold managed to get us back to base, exactly like he’d said he could. They couldn’t believe it. Harold told them that next time we had R and R, he’d take us all camping and show us how he did it.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Yeah. Oh, boy. So we get out there in the woods, and Harold pulls out two quarts of ’shine. I don’t know where he got it, never asked.”

“Quarts?” Owen interrupted to ask. “Not pints?”

Jack shook his head. “Quarts. There were six of us, total. So, Harold proceeds to get the four other guys drunk off their asses. He’d been out drinking with them before, knew how well they held, or didn’t hold, their liquor. He worked them like a pro. They never even suspected what he was doing.” He came back and sat down. “I didn’t touch the stuff. Dad always warned us kids against moonshine. He knew too many people who got destroyed by drinking it. And Harold didn’t ask me to. I think he wanted me to know his secret.”

“So once they’re falling down, about ready to pass out, he asks them if they want to know what the secret is. They begged him to tell them, and he stands up and says, ‘Okay, boys. You want to know? Here it is.’ And just like that—” Jack snapped his fingers. “—his face and arms changed. He made a pitiful looking bear, let me tell you, but it was obvious that’s what he was. Scared the living daylights out of one of the guys so bad he peed his pants. The rest of us were too scared to move, myself included. I thought he’d slipped me something. Then, he changed back and started laughing like a loon. ‘I can smell you Yankees from twenty miles away,’ he said. ‘I followed the smell of your carcasses back to base.’”

Owen laughed, picturing the scenario in his mind. He shook his head, though, at the man’s recklessness. “Why in the world would he take a risk like that? Most of us would never be so bold. It only takes the wrong person knowing, and that’s all she wrote. It’s all torches and pitchforks from there on out.”

“He knew that. That’s why he made sure they were all stupefied drunk. Even if one of them did remember it, anyone they told wouldn’t believe them. He talked to me about it after that. He seemed to be relieved to have someone to share the burden with.”

“He sounds like quite a character, this Harold.”

Jack’s smile was sad. “He was. He got sent over to Asia in January. Hadn’t been there two weeks when he stepped on a land mine. I think it’s what he wanted, in a way. The girl he’d loved for half his life rejected him to marry a man who wasn’t a shifter. He couldn’t handle that. So he enlisted, and that was that.”

“I’m sorry.” There wasn’t really much more Owen could say. The loss was tragic, and words wouldn’t change that.

“Yeah, me, too. There’s been too damned much death lately.” Jack picked up a small rock and tossed it into the pool. “Why’d Randall have to kill them, anyhow? He could have let her go, been the injured party. Son of a bitch would have had women lined up to soothe him.”

“Because if he let her go, everyone would know he was a failure,” Owen said. “That’s the way my brother would have seen it, anyhow. As an assault on his manhood.”

“Did Sarah tell you that Randall raped Kathy? Before he shot Clay, he raped her, and he made Clay watch. How the hell does she get over that?”

Owen closed his eyes, sick at the thought. “I don’t know.”

“I want to go get him out of the ground and kill him all over again. If I believed he’d know I was doing it, I would.”

“They’ve already had his funeral?” Owen asked, surprised.

“Yesterday. His brother stopped by the garage today and let me know his parents won’t be at the kids’ funerals.”