Clay scans my expression and then takes a tentative step forward. “Sure,” he says. “Just put away the brainin’ stick, will ya?”

I hand him the metal rod. “Take it. I’ll start the stove.”

Ethan leads Clay to the table and begins peppering him with questions as I try to figure out what the hell I’m doing. Mechanically, I open the stove, toss in the kindling and dig around for a match. When the flame ignites, the yellow-red tongues eat up the starter twigs until they are crumbled black husks of their former selves. Then there’s nothing left to do but make breakfast for my enemy.

Chapter Eight

I sit across from Clay as he eats bacon off my mother’s blue china plate. The three of us ignore the bullet holes shot into the table. Clay is telling some story to my little brother, who laughs and then chomps a rippled slice of bacon between his teeth.

I can’t laugh. I don’t even know what he’s saying. I pretend to eat and watch the words form in his mouth, but all I think about is Clay sitting in Arn’s chair. It makes me want to go find that stove poker again.

“Riley, did you hear that?”

“Huh?”

“Did you hear what Clay said? He said Mama and Auntie are still in town. He can take us to see them if we want.” Joy dances across Ethan’s face.

I stop eating and stare up at Clay. “Can I have a word with you outside?”

Clay gives a wary smile and drops his napkin on the table. “Sure.”

I lead him out onto the porch and shut the door tight. On the porch the air is searing, a perfect match for how I’m feeling inside. Clay clomps out, leans his hip against the rickety porch railing and offers me his smile again.

“I mean it, you know. I can take y’all into town. We’ll have to be caref—”

“You can get the hell out of here right now,” I say, trembling. I point to his motorcycle. “Just go. I had enough of your lies.”

“I’m not lying. Your ma’s in town. Won’t be for long, so if you want to see ’em, we need to shake tail.”

I clutch my hands together until my knuckles are white. “It’s just another trick. Another way to get us into town so you can finish what you started.”

Frustration deepens the lines between his eyes. He shakes his head slowly back and forth. “You’re really irritating, you know that?”

I stare at him with my jaw dropped. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He grips the porch rail and it rocks under his weight. “What do I have to do to prove I’m sorry? I saved y’all during the raid, I brought you food, medicine. What do I have to do?” He flaps his arms in frustration.

I cross my arms over my thrumming heart. “You can start by bringing my stepfather back to life.”

He winces and drops his head. “Wish I could.” He grips the porch railing and stares sadly off toward the barn. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. When they told me we were going on a raid, I had no idea we were coming here.” He points to my bullet-riddled house. “Then I saw you and your brother in the yard. I locked you in to keep you safe. By the time I got back, your pa was toe up. Nothing I could do.” Clay lifts his sorrowful eyes from the dirt to meet mine.