Pieces of Sky Read Online Free PDF Page B

past him without crowding the stove.
    Finally, with the stiff movements of a man who had traveled too many bumpy roads, the driver rose. He hesitated, then turned to the silent man at the end of the table. “Ramirez might not go to the ranch, Brady.”
    Wilkins stared into his mug.
    Jessica watched the rim slowly bend.
    Phelps didn’t seem to notice. “Why would he? The feud’s long over.”
    “Is it?” Wilkins lifted his head. Light slanted across his face, and for a moment Jessica glimpsed such a profound fury, his eyes seemed to glow like blue fire.
    Finally taking note, Phelps edged back, almost bumping into Jessica. He raised both palms in a conciliatory gesture. “All I’m saying is, things have changed. We got a Federal Marshal now.”
    Wilkins’s hand jerked. Coffee sloshed over the bent rim. Jessica watched it drip across his knuckles and thought he had the most powerful hands she’d ever seen. Broad and long-fingered, roughened by dark hair and marred by calluses and scars. Capable, hardworking hands. Hands that could cause a great deal of pain.
    “Hell, Brady, your father’s been dead more’n eight years. It’s over.”
    Control shattered. Wilkins exploded off the bench, the mug flying through the air. “I’ll kill him! This time I’ll kill the sonofabitch!”
    Cook lunged for the door. Jessica ducked behind Phelps. The mug bounced off the wall, spattering coffee in all directions. Then silence.
    Parasol at the ready, she peered around Phelps.
    Wilkins stood staring at the wall, his big hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His rage was so consuming it seemed to suck all the air from the room. He took a deep shuddering breath, exhaled, took another. Bending, he snatched his hat from the floor. He studied it for a moment, turning it slowly in his hands. Then in a voice so taut with fury his lips scarcely moved, he said, “This feud has cost me most of my family and a lot of good men.” As he spoke, he settled the hat on his head, tipping it front to back, a final tug on the brim. “I’ve got two brothers left.”
    His head swung toward Phelps. His expression held such deadly intent it lifted the hairs on Jessica’s nape. “I won’t bury another brother, Oran. This time I’ll kill the bastard and I don’t care who gets in my way. Tell that to your Marshal.”
     
     
    CHRIST! HOW COULD THEY LET THE BASTARD OUT?
    Brady charged toward the corrals, driven by emotions he hadn’t felt in a decade—fear that he’d be burying Hank or Jack next—rage that everything he’d worked for could still be lost—guilt that he hadn’t ended this ten years ago when he’d had the chance. But mostly, churning inside hot and bitter as bile, there was hate, not just for Ramirez but also for the man who had set all these events in motion over two decades ago—his own father, Jacob.
    Are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted, you bastard?
    A kaleidoscope of images spun through his mind. The cabin, fire, his father silhouetted by flames, his head thrown back in a howl of despair.
    Was she worth it?
    Fury swirled through him, aimless and impotent, leaving Brady shaking and wet with sweat. Breathing hard, he gripped the top rail of the corral and waited for reason to return.
    He’d end this damn feud and this time he wouldn’t let the truth get in his way. He’d kill Sancho Ramirez and end it once and for all.
     
     
    JESSICA STEPPED FROM THE CABIN INTO A BREEZE THAT FELT like a gasp from hell. Squinting against sunlight so stark it robbed the world of color, she looked around.
    The other passengers stood at the open door of the coach, arguing with Bodine, who sat inside. Cook was leading two horses from the corrals. No sign of Wilkins.
    Relieved, she descended the steps and went in search of Phelps. She found him at the front of the coach, hitching the new teams. “Might I ask a favor, sir?”
    He threaded the reins through the harness rings then checked the girth buckle. “Such as?” As he