Christy hobbled across the floor. That’s when Vince stepped into the kitchen through the living room doorway. She jumped back and stifled a scream.
He trained his pistol on her face and slid closer. His hair was a greasy matted-down mess, and several days’ growth of beard stuck out of his face. She recognized the wrinkled and untucked shirt he wore as one of his dress oxfords. Christy prodded herself to breathe, keenly aware of the door at her back. Escape would be impossible with her bum ankle.
They stared at each other for what felt like hours. Why was she just standing there? She had to do something! But she was frozen. She couldn’t make herself speak or run.
Sweat beaded on Vince’s forehead, and she watched a drop glide into his eyebrows. Could she use a crutch to knock the gun out of his hand? Should she scream?
The perky DJ on the radio declared, “It’s shaping up to be a beautiful morning. Clear, cool, and sunny. Now here’s a classic from Mr. Randy Travis on KSPK, Southern Colorado’s Best Country.”
“They wrecked my house,” Vince said in a slow, deliberate tone barely over the first notes of “Deeper than the Holler.” “And it’s all your fault.”
Christy found her voice but couldn’t keep it steady. “What . . . did I do?”
“If you’d only listened,” Vince said louder. “Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?”
What if she kicked him with her good leg? Would the gun go off?
“They took my books.”
He was standing so close she could smell his rank hair. If only she could get the upper hand. “Who?”
“I deserved them.” His vein-streaked eyes widened. “They had no right to take them from me! And I can’t go back there now. Everything’s a wreck ’cause of your big mouth.”
“Vince, I—”
“I told you not to tell Hunter.” He gripped the gun barrel so hard she saw his knuckle bones move under the skin. “But you had to open your trap.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You two had this all planned, didn’t you?”
“No, we—”
“Shut up!”
She backed off. It was a dangerous game speaking at all without knowing what would drive him over the edge. But if she didn’t keep him talking there would be no reason for him to keep her alive.
“Thought you could pull one over on me?” Vince cocked his head ever so slightly, egging her to answer.
She gripped her crutch handles to keep her sweaty palms from slipping. Silence. Something told her to let him vent.
He reached out and touched her face. “We fit together perfectly.”
Christy bit her tongue to keep from snapping a response. His disoriented mind was leaping all over the place.
“We could’ve had a family. I loved you. You were mine.”
One foot separated her from that gun. She could see the bullets poised in the cylinder. What would it feel like to be shot?
“You’ll always be mine,” Vince whispered, his fingers snaking down her neck. She closed her eyes. It would be better to die fighting. She tensed, ready to swing her crutch.
Vince abruptly pulled his hand away. She opened her eyes to see him stiffen, his gaze locked on something behind her.
She dared a look herself. May was walking across the yard, coming back to the kitchen.
Christy ground her teeth together, her protective instincts coming to life. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”
Any movement toward the door could set him off. Alone, she might have risked bolting, crutches and all, but with May out there . . . she couldn’t.
Vince grabbed her chin and pulled her face toward his, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Get rid of her.” He hid his gun hand under his shirt. “Or she goes first.”
She knew he was serious. May was almost at the door.
Christy turned around and rested her right crutch against the counter. She twisted the door handle. What could she do? She had to keep May away.
“Hey,” she called out, trying to give her voice a normal lilt.
May reached the stoop. “Ready to go?”
“Um, not quite.”
“Decided to stay?”
“No, I . . .” Think. Think! Find an excuse. “Remember that guy I told you about at the bookstore? Hunter?”
“Sure,” May said, then looked past her shoulder.
Christy smiled, but didn’t move from blocking the door. “Well, he came to visit me.”
May half returned her smile, and Christy couldn’t tell if she was buying the story. Waving at Vince, May said hi to him.
He waved back and grinned cheerily.
“Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?” Christy said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.” Please go away.
“Oh, I’d like to meet him,” May said.
Christy tried to fill the doorway with her body. “Later, all right?”
May slowly nodded. “How long will you be?”
“I’ll come get you.”
“I guess I can check on the cows,” May said. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. Thanks, May.”
Her sister turned, and Christy watched her only chance of rescue walk away. But it didn’t matter. She had to keep Vince from hurting May. Christy faced him again.
“Come here,” he said, pulling out the gun again.
Christy knew if she wasn’t close to him she’d have no chance to strike. She picked her crutch back up and obeyed.
Vince smirked. “Hunter?”
“You’re not gonna get away with this.”
He laughed in mock surprise. “I’m not?” But when his eyes locked on Christy, the sarcasm drained from his face.
She had to stall him. But for what? So he could murder May too? Jim wouldn’t be back for hours, and she had no idea when Ruth would return either.
Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open. Christy jumped, and Vince leveled the gun on May who stood planted in the doorway wielding an ax she held with both hands.
“So you’re the little sister,” Vince said.
“That’s right,” May said.
Tears stung Christy’s eyes. “Why didn’t you listen to me? I told you to leave!”
“Drop that thing outside and close the door,” Vince said. “Try anything, and big sis’s blood will be on your hands.”
May glared at Vince, and Christy could see her lips tighten, but she did what he said, then leadenly walked toward Christy until she was standing beside her in the middle of the kitchen. Her hand constricted around Christy’s arm.
“You’ll go first,” Vince said, like he was bestowing May a gift. “Then I’ll have Christy all to myself.”
“You aren’t getting anyone today, buddy,” May said.
Without warning Vince whipped the pistol at May’s head. It sunk into her face, and her sister groaned, almost falling against Christy as she collapsed to her knees.
“No!” Christy threw down her crutches and reached for May. Her hands grazed May’s shoulders before Vince kicked her casted leg so hard the pain rocketed to her hip. She plunged backward, landing on her elbow. Scrambling, she forced herself to her feet, fire bursting through her ankle. Fear turned to rage, and she would’ve flown at Vince right then if he hadn’t aimed for the center of May’s chest.
“Stay back!” Vince said. “Or she’s dead right now.”
She stared into his eyes. They oozed hate. Why was he doing this? How could she save her sister? “You came for me, not her. She didn’t do anything to you!”
Grabbing May’s hair, Vince wrenched her to her feet. May was obviously dazed and couldn’t fight back, and blood dripped on the linoleum from the gash in her cheek. Vince jammed the gun against May’s temple and smiled at Christy.
“Vince, don’t! Please! Shoot me instead. I’m what you want.”
He threw May’s head back with a yank of her hair and crushed the gun even tighter against her head, glaring at Christy. “What’y
a gonna do now?”
Tears fell down her face. He was hurting May to torture her, and it was working. She was powerless to stop him. May was pulling in breaths through her mouth, each a ragged wheeze. She’d do anything to take her sister’s place.
“Hear me?” Vince spat in May’s face. “You can’t have her. No one can!”
“I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.” Christy could face dying herself but not May. She couldn’t watch him kill May.
Vince released May’s hair, shoving her away. Her sister tumbled to the floor, and he turned on Christy. She faced down the silver barrel. It was shaking. Keep it on me, Vince. On me. I’m not afraid to die.
He didn’t seem to notice May staggering to her feet.
“We were meant for each other,” he said. “Nothing can change that.”
Christy swallowed. “You’re right. Only leave her out of this . . . darling.” She choked on the last word and thought she saw Vince’s countenance soften.
“Let’s talk about this,” she said gently. He had to think she was coming around to his way of thinking. Get him to relax. Set the gun down.
His lips curled up slowly, a faint smile.
She didn’t allow herself a glance at May, who she sensed was waiting for an opportunity to strike. Christy focused solely on Vince.
“You can’t live without me,” Vince said, and something ruptured in his face. “I won’t let you.”
She knew then it was over. His finger twitched on the trigger.
That’s when May rushed him.
The revolver exploded, and May was instantly wrestling with both hands to keep Vince’s gun pointed at the floor. Just as fast, Vince clamped his free arm across May’s throat, and her face contorted, turning beet red.
Christy sprang toward them, dragging her hurt leg. She joined her hands with May’s around Vince’s gun arm, digging at his clenched fingers. If she could just pull one out of joint! Pain would compel him to let go.
May jammed her knee into Vince’s crotch, and he buckled with a curse but held on to the pistol, a pit bull in a death grip.
“Get . . . gun,” May gasped.
Frantically, Christy struggled to hold his arm down and grab a finger, but they were clamped around the gun barrel like a vise.
Another shot blasted through the room.
Stalemate. They were getting nowhere. She could struggle with May and hope his strength waned before theirs, or she could let go and find something to use as a club. Could she get that ax? What if he overcame her sister before she could find something?
May’s face was turning purple. She couldn’t hold him back for long. Go!
Christy dived for the first thing she saw. Coffeepot. On. Hot. Full of coffee. Her hand flew to the handle, yanking the pot from its base. She lunged toward Vince, lifted the weapon, and brought it down on the back of his head.
The glass shattered, and boiling coffee spilled down Vince’s neck. He dropped May with a howl, flailing at his back. His pistol clumped to the floor.
Another shot tore through the room. There was a bizarre moment of stillness as the acrid smell of gun smoke spread through the air.
Christy looked up to see Ruth standing in the living room doorway, a rifle in her hands.
“Get on the floor, and don’t move a muscle.” Ruth kept her rifle zeroed on Vince.
He turned toward Christy, a splotch of red quickly spreading across his shoulder. The hate in his eyes morphed into shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
“On your face!”
Falling to the linoleum, he moaned something unintelligible.
May scooped up Vince’s gun. She dropped it into the sink and hung over it, her shoulders shaking.
“You guys okay?” Ruth asked.
“Yeah,” Christy managed. She limped over to May and held her. Like she should’ve done all those years ago.
***
Harvey helped Christy into one of his cushy office chairs, and she let a moment pass before breaking the news. When she told him Vince was in jail, Harvey immediately barraged her with questions, and she smiled at his concern. Harvey had always been there for her. She’d just been too blind to see it.
It struck her that it had been the same with God. He’d been longing to help and protect her too, but until she took the first step, His hands were tied.
“Thanks for never giving up on me,” she said, both to Harvey and in her heart to God.
Harvey cleared his throat. She wouldn’t hold him in suspense any longer. It had been three days since Vince attacked her and May, and she told Harvey all about it. Vince had first been taken to the hospital and treated for his minor gunshot wound, head lacerations, and the second-degree burns on his neck. Yesterday the doctor released him to the county sheriff.
“Needless to say,” she concluded several minutes later, “I’m more than relieved.”
Harvey whacked his palm against his thigh. “If I were a prosecutor I’d give that creep one heck of a day in court.”
She had to laugh.
“Well,” Harvey said, seating himself behind his desk, “shall we move on to a happier note?”
“Gladly.”
He peered at her over his reading glasses. “First, I want to make sure this is really what you want.”
She took in the paperwork spread across the desktop, almost giddy with excitement over what she was about to do. “Definitely.”
“And you understand you won’t receive anything else?”
Christy met his caring eyes. “I know what I’m giving up. I want to do this.”
He regarded her with a look she couldn’t place. When he pulled out a pen from his coat pocket and beamed at her, she realized it was approval. Then, with his secretary notarizing, she signed everything, including the statement:
I, Christy Williams, do hereby waive my rights as co-beneficiary of the financial portion of the estate of Ms. Edna Williams. It is my wish that my portion of the estate be inherited wholly by my only sibling, May Williams.
Signed,
Christy Williams
Capping the pen, she pictured the look on May’s face when she found out the ranch could be saved. May’s share alone hadn’t been enough to pay what was owed, but the two shares combined covered it all. Harvey had already sent a letter to the bank stating that the full amount was forthcoming. He would let May know later today. Christy couldn’t remember a time in her life when she felt lighter.
Harvey surveyed her from across the desk. “It’s wonderful to see you happy.”
She was glad he noticed. “May trusted God to take care of her. I’m just so amazed He used me to do it.” There was a lot more to share with him about her visit with May, but for the moment she left it at that.
“What are your plans?” Harvey asked.
Christy took up her crutches. “I have to take care of some things back home, but after that, everything’s up in the air.” Apparently her first lesson was going to be about trusting too. She still had nowhere to live and no job. But she’d seen what God could do. If He could take care of May, He could take care of her too. Surely He wouldn’t have brought her this far to throw her out on the street.
“How about a place to stay?”
“Got a room at the Super 8.”
Harvey shot her a surprised look. “Well, cancel it. You’ll be needing a real home until you get back on your feet.” He eyed her cast with an ill-concealed smile. “Literally. And I do believe I saw Betty making up the guest room today.”
She smiled. “I’m there.”
As Christy drove back to the motel for her suitcase, she reveled in the same peace she’d once envied in May. Somehow in the last couple weeks it had crept into her own heart, and it had nothing to do with her circumstances. Months would pass before she could walk normally again. She had only one credit card that wasn’t maxed out. And there was still no promise of anything better in her future than a Mcjob at minimum wage.
But despite all that, she was content. Even though she’d just given up more money than she’d ever dreamed of having, she knew she’d be okay.
Christy glanced at the passenger seat. Tucked in a manila envelope on top of May’s Bible were copies of the papers she’d just signed. Smiling to herself, she hoped May was right about Aunt Edna being proud. She gave the car gas as the freeway spread before her like an invitation to a new life.
Continue the Thicker than Blood series . . .
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Thicker than Blood is Book #1 in the Thicker than Blood series. All books stand alone entirely and can be read independently of each other, but for the best reading experience, I suggest reading them in order:
Book #1: Thicker than Blood
Book #2: Bound by Guilt
Book #3: Ties that Bind
Book #4: Running on Empty
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Acknowledgments
My deepest gratitude to God, my Savior, for making my dreams come true. You chose to place me in a family that nurtured my writing aspirations, and for that I’m eternally grateful.
Mom—what can I say? My characters would still be singing “How Great Thou Art” if it weren’t for you! Your red pen has made this book ten times stronger. Thank you for helping me grow as a writer and a person.
Papa—for showing me that love truly is thicker than blood. I always looked forward to giving you my stories to read. You had terrific insights, and I have many fun memories of you reading my stories out loud.
Tracy—my sister and best friend. I’m so glad our relationship is nothing like May and Christy’s! Thanks for always being interested and letting me ramble on and on about my writing.
James Scott Bell—my writing mentor. Your encouragement and advice has meant so much to me. Thanks for giving so freely of your time to a newbie.
Jerry B. Jenkins and The Christian Writers Guild Staff—if it weren’t for you, Thicker than Blood would be sitting in a drawer.
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