“You doin’ okay, Wheels?” Preacher gave her a crooked smile. “You look a little green.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered through clenched teeth. She glanced longingly at her pack on his back, feeling naked without it. “Can I have my backpack?”
“Lie,” he retorted softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “And no. Can’t have you runnin’ off with my stuff.”
She met his gaze, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove his stuff if he didn’t give her the bag back, only to find his attention was elsewhere. His eyes were locked with Gerald’s, and both father and son were wearing identical scathing expressions.
“The prodigal son returns,” Gerald said flatly.
“The prodigal son is just visiting,” Preacher amended tersely.
Gerald’s nostrils flared, his fists clenched, and if Preacher’s arm hadn’t been wrapped around her shoulders, Debbie would have backed away.
Clearing her throat, Ginny glanced nervously between her husband and son. “You must be hungry, Damon,” she said. “We have—”
“Yeah,” Gerald loudly interrupted, “you must be hungry. And while you’re eatin’ my food, why don’t you tell us what your plans are? Will you be comin’ home with us, or headin’ back to God only knows where to do God only knows what with God only knows who?” At that, Gerald gave Debbie a pointed, disapproving look.
Beside Debbie, Preacher had gone stiff. His arm resting on her shoulders grew rigid. All around them, the campsite fell quiet, and Debbie didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were now on them.
“Gerry,” Ginny snapped quietly, “please. He just got here.”
Gerald’s hard stare remained fixed on Preacher. “Still doesn’t change the fact that he just up and took off on us, been gone for months now with no word.”
Debbie looked to Preacher, a dozen questions brewing. If Preacher noticed her eyes on him, he’d didn’t show it. His attention remained on his father.
“Well?” Gerald growled. “What have you got to say for yourself, boy?”
Preacher’s arm fell away from Debbie’s shoulders, his angry expression turning downright murderous.
“This ain’t the army.” Preacher’s voice quivered with rage. “And I ain’t your fuckin’ soldier.”
Gerald’s thick salt-and-pepper brows drew together, deep grooves appearing between them. His nostrils continued to flare, faster and faster like tiny hummingbird wings. His suntanned skin appeared to darken, reddening with anger. And just when Debbie thought Gerald was going to quite literally explode, he spun away and stalked off across the campsite. There were several slams as he disappeared inside the trailer, followed by a worrisome crash and several shouted curses.
Also cursing, Preacher marched away in the opposite direction. Biting down on her bottom lip, Debbie stared blankly after him. What was she supposed to do?
“Damon!” Ginny called. She gestured wildly with her hands. “Dammit, someone follow him!”
“I got this!” Tiny declared, waving at Ginny as he hurried out of camp.
Debbie eyed the rest of the group. Knowing glances were being exchanged. Others shook their heads and rolled their eyes. It seemed this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence where Preacher and Gerald were concerned.
“Lord help me with fathers and sons,” Ginny muttered. Pulling a leather pouch from her dress pocket, she flicked it open, revealing the dark brown cigarettes inside. Long and slim, they smelled both spicy and sweet once lit.
Sighing, Ginny gave Debbie a small, strained smile. “You must be hungry.” She gestured to the picnic tables. “Let me make you a plate.”
Chapter 17
“Wait up, will you?” Tiny called out breathlessly.
Preacher picked up his pace, weaving in and around campsites without looking where he was going and barreled straight into a young couple holding hands, forcing them apart. Muttering apologies, he made a quick right and ended up clipping a leather-clad man on the arm. He plowed through another few campsites before finally finding the dirt path that would lead him to the swimming hole.
“Five fuckin’ minutes,” he hissed under his breath. Five minutes was all it had taken for The Judge to start in on him. He hadn’t seen the man in months—he could have at least said hello before laying into him. But no. The Judge was all business, all the fucking time. Nothing else ever seemed to matter.
Jesus Christ. Why had he come here? Had he really missed any of this? Shaking his head, he let out a derisive snort. The Judge would never be capable of seeing anything other than his own obscured judgment.
“Preacher, man! I said, wait the fuck up!”
Fists clenched, jaw locked, Preacher forced himself to stop. Seconds later Tiny reached him, sweat dripping down his forehead and both his cheeks. Leaning forward, hands on his knees, Tiny wheezed through his next several breaths.
