Pop.”
“Forget it. You’re a coward. A momma’s boy. Had you pegged
from the start.”
Garvey’s face blanched. “He had the upper hand, is all.”
Furious, Clint resisted the urge to split his lip further.
“Boy, one day you’ll be running this town. You want to embarrass the Mitchum
name?”
“No, sir.”
“You looking to drag our family name into the ground?”
“No, sir. I’m not.”
“Then prove to me you ain’t a coward. It’s nothing to kill
someone.” He swiped Garvey’s gun from his holster. “You point and shoot.”
“’K, Pop.”
Through the wispy smoke of his cigarette, he watched Garvey
sulk into his bedroom. Clint shut his eyes tight. Times like this made him want
to come clean to the boy that he wasn’t his flesh and blood. That he’d been
duped by a whore into thinking he’d fathered him, until he’d received a letter
from a nurse. She’d mentioned that the whore had died the week prior from
pneumonia, but not before confessing in a state of delirium that she’d robbed
and stabbed the man who was Garvey’s real father.
A note had followed with a birth certificate, his name
scratched out. Straight after, he’d taken Garvey to a specialist in another
town for confirmation. Not wanting anyone to know, he chose to raise Garvey and
mold him into a Mitchum.
Except his idea continued to fail. The boy lacked sense,
balls and a gut for violence. Nothing like a Mitchum.
Clint extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray and knocked
on Garvey’s door.
“I’m off. Your gun’s on the counter. When you’re done
sniveling like a baby, get your ass to the jail.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Fuming, he grabbed a strong cup
of coffee. He’d need it to get through the morning.
* * * * *
Stretched out on his bed, Garvey forced his trembling hands
still. His father’s disappointment left him distraught. He’d seen the regret in
his eyes. Regret at having a son who failed him. He hated being a Mitchum.
Because of his name, everyone loathed him, including Montana.
He recalled her body squirming beneath him. He’d have taken
her all the way had the stranger not interrupted.
Garvey rolled to his side. His throat felt tight. He wanted
to please his pop. Be the son he expected. Be the man he expected. He didn’t
want to be a coward. The next time he encountered the stranger, he’d shoot him
between the eyes, and he’d do so in front of Montana to show her how tough he
could be when provoked. His future wife needed to fear him, and to understand
what he’d do to any man who messed with her. She needed to know that he’d be
handling her body, and her life.
Chapter Eleven
Montana didn’t sleep, too busy hashing over Lawson’s words.
She’d displayed a horrid temper to a man she wanted to impress. Not push away.
He’d saved her, and she’d acted like a petulant child. She was losing sight of
her goal.
Out her window, the sun peeked over the treetops. A brand
new day. A fresh start. She showered and threw on a short black skirt and a
tight red tank. Empowered, she left to find Lawson and make him forget all
about her tantrum.
Several knocks later on his motel room door, she wondered if
he’d gone to Libby’s or just plain wanted nothing to do with her. She persuaded
Frank, with a little cleavage-baring move, to open Lawson’s door.
Relieved to see the room empty, she poked her head inside Libby’s.
“Morning, Montana,” greeted Libby. “Haven’t seen your lovely
face in here for ages. How you been, darlin’?”
“Good, thanks.” She checked the tables but didn’t see any
sign of Lawson.
“Can I get you a menu? A cup of coffee?”
“Uh, no, thanks. I’m…I’ve gotta go.”
“Sure thing.” Libby leaned in, her voice soft. “If you’re
looking for Handsome, he’s in the motel parking lot. Been out there a while.”
Montana cocked her head toward the window and then looked
back at Libby. She wanted to ask how she knew, but remembered that Libby
“Forget it. You’re a coward. A momma’s boy. Had you pegged
from the start.”
Garvey’s face blanched. “He had the upper hand, is all.”
Furious, Clint resisted the urge to split his lip further.
“Boy, one day you’ll be running this town. You want to embarrass the Mitchum
name?”
“No, sir.”
“You looking to drag our family name into the ground?”
“No, sir. I’m not.”
“Then prove to me you ain’t a coward. It’s nothing to kill
someone.” He swiped Garvey’s gun from his holster. “You point and shoot.”
“’K, Pop.”
Through the wispy smoke of his cigarette, he watched Garvey
sulk into his bedroom. Clint shut his eyes tight. Times like this made him want
to come clean to the boy that he wasn’t his flesh and blood. That he’d been
duped by a whore into thinking he’d fathered him, until he’d received a letter
from a nurse. She’d mentioned that the whore had died the week prior from
pneumonia, but not before confessing in a state of delirium that she’d robbed
and stabbed the man who was Garvey’s real father.
A note had followed with a birth certificate, his name
scratched out. Straight after, he’d taken Garvey to a specialist in another
town for confirmation. Not wanting anyone to know, he chose to raise Garvey and
mold him into a Mitchum.
Except his idea continued to fail. The boy lacked sense,
balls and a gut for violence. Nothing like a Mitchum.
Clint extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray and knocked
on Garvey’s door.
“I’m off. Your gun’s on the counter. When you’re done
sniveling like a baby, get your ass to the jail.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Fuming, he grabbed a strong cup
of coffee. He’d need it to get through the morning.
* * * * *
Stretched out on his bed, Garvey forced his trembling hands
still. His father’s disappointment left him distraught. He’d seen the regret in
his eyes. Regret at having a son who failed him. He hated being a Mitchum.
Because of his name, everyone loathed him, including Montana.
He recalled her body squirming beneath him. He’d have taken
her all the way had the stranger not interrupted.
Garvey rolled to his side. His throat felt tight. He wanted
to please his pop. Be the son he expected. Be the man he expected. He didn’t
want to be a coward. The next time he encountered the stranger, he’d shoot him
between the eyes, and he’d do so in front of Montana to show her how tough he
could be when provoked. His future wife needed to fear him, and to understand
what he’d do to any man who messed with her. She needed to know that he’d be
handling her body, and her life.
Chapter Eleven
Montana didn’t sleep, too busy hashing over Lawson’s words.
She’d displayed a horrid temper to a man she wanted to impress. Not push away.
He’d saved her, and she’d acted like a petulant child. She was losing sight of
her goal.
Out her window, the sun peeked over the treetops. A brand
new day. A fresh start. She showered and threw on a short black skirt and a
tight red tank. Empowered, she left to find Lawson and make him forget all
about her tantrum.
Several knocks later on his motel room door, she wondered if
he’d gone to Libby’s or just plain wanted nothing to do with her. She persuaded
Frank, with a little cleavage-baring move, to open Lawson’s door.
Relieved to see the room empty, she poked her head inside Libby’s.
“Morning, Montana,” greeted Libby. “Haven’t seen your lovely
face in here for ages. How you been, darlin’?”
“Good, thanks.” She checked the tables but didn’t see any
sign of Lawson.
“Can I get you a menu? A cup of coffee?”
“Uh, no, thanks. I’m…I’ve gotta go.”
“Sure thing.” Libby leaned in, her voice soft. “If you’re
looking for Handsome, he’s in the motel parking lot. Been out there a while.”
Montana cocked her head toward the window and then looked
back at Libby. She wanted to ask how she knew, but remembered that Libby
Similar Books
