Picnic in Someday Valley (Honey Creek #2) - Jodi Thomas Page 0,3

a late-night snack.

Then she heard mumbling loud enough to pass through the cardboard that blocked her view. What good did it do to lock the door if anyone could come through the broken window? Cardboard wouldn’t stop a rat.

“You in there, Marcie?” A voice sounding very much like Joey Hattly yelled, then giggled. “Me and the boys thought we’d come by and talk to you. We brought beer.”

“Go away,” she said too low for them to hear.

Someone knocked on the door. Tried the knob.

Joey’s voice came again. “Now come on, Marcie. You don’t want us to have to break the lock. We thought we’d pay you a visit. Just to be friendly, you know. Let us in.”

Laughter came from the shadows.

“Go away,” she said a little louder. Tears slipped down her face. She was all alone. There was no one to help her. No one.

The knob rattled again, then someone pounded on the door as if she might not know they were there.

The man on the other side of the door cussed. His buddies snorted. Another yelled, “Hurry up, we ain’t got all night.”

The man at her door added, “You’re going to pay, tramp, for making us wait out here in the rain.”

Marcie moved to the window slit in the thin door and peeked out. Four, maybe five men, moving around in the moonlight. More creatures than humans, if only in her mind.

“Kick the door in,” the bald man in the yellow glow of the light growled, then threw his empty beer can against the trailer. “Let’s get this party started. She’ll play along after I rough her up a bit. Women like that. Lets them know who’s boss.”

Joey’s voice sounded a bit panicked. “Marcie. Come out. We ain’t going to hurt you. We just want to have a little fun.”

She heard the roar of an engine before she saw a black truck seem to fly from the trees. Branches broke and mud sprayed as tires hit the dirt.

Brand!

When he was ten feet away he hit the brakes, cut the engine, and jumped out with both boots hitting the ground with a thud.

He just stood there, his fists on his hips like he was a warlord bothered to have to drop to earth.

Among the drunks, Joey found his nerve first. “You better back down, Brand, unless you got a gun. There’s five of us. We’re just here to party with the lady. If she cooperates there ain’t going to be no trouble.”

Brand set his hat on the truck. “I don’t need a gun. Which one of you men wants to go first?”

The bald guy laughed. “How about we all go at once? We’ll beat you so far into the ground, folks will use you as a hitching post.”

“Yeah,” another yelled. “This ain’t none of your damn business.”

Brand didn’t move as they all started toward him.

Marcie watched from the tiny window. With the truck’s lights she saw the first two men rushing Brand. A heartbeat later their bodies were flying in two directions.

One drunk hit the trailer so hard he probably did damage. Another hollered something about his mother as he sailed through the night air. When he wrapped around a pine, he melted silently to the ground, breaking branches all the way down. Brand was out of the light’s beam, but every man that went after him came out crying in pain.

When Joey lowered his head and rushed into the fight like a bull, he boomeranged out faster than he went in. On his second try, he rolled out like a soccer ball and hit the concrete steps of her home.

The last man standing, the bald guy too old to still be running with the others, had enough sense to raise his hands and back away. He bumped into Joey and they both tumbled over her trash cans. The tall man picked up a lid and started beating Joey on the head for tripping him. Then both men fell over the concrete steps again.

Marcie couldn’t tell if they were helping each other up or fighting.

Brand finally stepped in front of his truck’s headlights and asked almost politely, “Anyone else want to continue this conversation?”

Joey’s voice was high when he yelled for everyone to stop. “I think my arm’s broke, damn it. It hurts like hell. One of you drunks has got to drive me over to Honey Creek to the clinic.”

“It’s closed until six in the morning.” The man in the dirt cussed between every word. He seemed in no