Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(59)
Author: Joanna Wylde

He lifted the lid, revealing a small revolver inlaid with mother-of-pearl on the stock.

“This belonged to my mother,” he said, his voice strong and plain. “My dad gave it to her when he left for World War II. She’d married him the day before. I’d like you to have it.”

My eyes widened.

“I can’t take that,” I whispered.

“Yes, you can,” he said. “This is a great weapon, and still in beautiful condition. It’s small and light, designed for a woman’s hand. Not only that, it’s completely untraceable. I hope you never have to use it, but if Teeny Patchel ever shows his face up here, I want you to take this and put a bullet in his brain. Then you call me and we’ll figure out what to do with the body. You keep Puck Redhouse in line, too.”

My mouth dropped.

“You can’t be serious.”

“You know me better, little girl. I never joke about guns.”

This was true. Earl had hunted his entire life. He’d shot the deer we’d eaten for dinner, and he’d taught me how to dress and butcher a kill the first year I lived with them, because “anyone who owns a gun should know exactly what a bullet can do to a living creature.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to shoot anyone.”

“Good,” he replied, smiling. “Let’s hope it never happens. But know this—we’re here for you. No matter what. You’re like our own flesh and blood, and there’s nothing you could do that’ll make us stop loving you.”

Tears welled up in my eyes and he coughed uncomfortably.

“Let’s go out and put her through her paces,” he said gruffly. I smiled and followed him out of the garage. They lived ten miles outside of town, straight up a mountainside, so Earl had his own little target range set up in the meadow.

He and I spent the next hour shooting, him telling corny jokes and me laughing as the light slowly faded. We’d spent so many evenings like this over the years. I’d never be a hunter and I could care less about guns, but I loved shooting with Earl.

Eventually it got dark enough that we couldn’t see the targets, so we called it quits. We strolled back to the house, where I saw Puck’s motorcycle parked right next to my little Subaru. That slowed me down. What was he doing here?

He was eating pie.

I discovered this when I walked into the kitchen, cigar box in my hand.

“Hey, Becca,” he said, nodding at me. Regina sat next to him drinking coffee like they’d been best friends for years. “Sorry to crash your dinner, but I had no idea what time you’d be back and I was in the area.”

I opened my mouth to call bullshit on him, then realized it might actually be true. Boonie and Darcy lived a couple miles down the mountain from here.

“He didn’t just barge in,” Regina chimed in. “He drove by and saw your car, and I found him tucking a note under the windshield wiper. Of course I invited him in.”

Puck smiled at me, then finished off his pie and stood up. “You ready to leave?”

“Yes,” Earl said. “I’m ready for bed. Remember what I told you, Becca. I may be an old man, but I mean what I say.”

Puck cocked a brow at me and I shrugged, because no way was I going to tell him that Earl had sort of offered to dispose of his body if he got on my bad side. Instead I gathered my things, and then Regina was handing me a plate full of leftovers, along with stern instructions to come again as soon as I could.

“So Earl didn’t break out the shotgun. That’s a good sign,” Puck said as we walked out. Oh, Puck, if you only knew . . . “I’ll follow you back to town on the bike. We’ll sleep at your place again.”

“You seem awful sure of yourself.”

“Yup,” he replied, and I had to laugh.

It’d been a crazy, fucked-up emotional roller coaster of a week, I thought as I pulled out of the driveway, but at least I still had Regina and Earl. The motorcycle roared to life behind me, and I glanced back to see Puck’s headlight in my mirror.

So now I had Regina and Earl and Puck. Well, I had Puck so long as I didn’t have to shoot him. If I did, I had no doubt that Earl would come through for me.

He always had.

—

Puck’s hand slid between my legs, pushing them apart. I didn’t know what time it was—felt like five in the morning. Cracking an eye I looked at the clock. Eight a.m. Impossible, it couldn’t be later than six . . . I moaned because I was tired and wanted to sleep longer. Then a mouth covered my clit and I started moaning for a better reason. An hour later I rolled off Puck and flopped down next to him, pleasantly awake and alert for the day.

“You’re a pretty good alarm clock.”

“I like to make myself useful,” he said. “What time do you need to be at school?”

“Not until eleven today.” I glanced over at the clock. Nine in the morning—I still had an hour to get ready before I had to leave. Time for breakfast and a shower, and I should probably pack a dinner, too. My shift didn’t start until seven, but Teresa had left a message asking if I could come in early. I could definitely use the money. Between my shopping trip to Walmart and paying the electric, I was down to fourteen dollars. Just enough to get me through, so long as I caught rides with Blake and didn’t eat too much. I started to sit up, but Puck caught my arm and pulled me back down.

“Just a minute,” he said. “Wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What’s that?”

“You work tomorrow night?”

“It’s Wednesday, so yeah,” I replied, curious. “Why?”

“We’re having a thing at the clubhouse,” he said. I wrapped my arm around him, snuggling down into his side. I had a feeling I knew what direction this was headed. I didn’t like it.

“I have to work,” I said again, firmly.

“If I talked to Teresa and got you the night off, would that be all right? She owes me a favor or two. Wouldn’t be a regular thing, but we’ve got guests coming in from out of town. I’d like them to see you.”

His words struck me as odd.

“I’d like them to see you.” Not “I’d like them to meet you.” Puck wanted them to look at me, like I was a thing to be owned and used . . . That brought up memories, and they weren’t all pleasant ones.

“I don’t like biker parties,” I said. “I should probably just work—I haven’t been there long enough to be asking for favors. I can’t really afford it anyway.”