Jeff shook his head. “Maybe I should let you write this book, Lloyd. You have a way with words.”
Lloyd shrugged. “When we were growing up, my mother sometimes read poetry to us. I like learning how to express feelings with the right words…pretty words, Pa calls them. He has his own way of expressing himself, as you well know.”
They both laughed again. “And it’s far from pretty most of the time,” Jeff answered. “He’s a man who says exactly what he’s thinking.”
“Maybe so. And he’s real good at changing the subject when you start hitting the raw spots.”
After three more hours of riding, Lloyd noticed Jake slow his horse. He was watching what looked like a small camp ahead. Lloyd rode closer to take a look. He could see a covered wagon, a few horses and a campfire. Jeff rode up beside him. It was then that Lloyd heard it—a child screaming and crying. From where he and Jeff sat, it looked like a man was whaling on a young boy, with a belt.
Jake charged forward.
“Jesus God Almighty, he’ll kill him with his bare hands!” Lloyd kicked his horse into a run, and Jeff hurried behind him.
Twenty-eight
Jake ducked out of his extra ammunition belt, ripping it off his shoulder and throwing it down as he drew closer. Before Prince even came to a halt, he pulled both guns from their holsters and tossed them, then jumped off the horse and slammed into the man who’d been wielding a belt. They landed hard, and Jake hit the left side of his face on the sharp edge of a shovel tied to the wagon bed.
The injury didn’t seem to faze him. Jeff and Lloyd watched in shock as Jake wrested the belt from a man almost the same size as he and began whaling on the man with it.
“Jesus!” Lloyd cursed, quickly dismounting. “Go pick up his guns,” he ordered Jeff. He hurried over to the young boy, who stood shaking and sobbing as he stared at Jake viciously whacking what Lloyd guessed must be the boy’s father.
“Come on, son, get out of the way.”
The boy jerked with pain as Lloyd picked him up and moved him back. The child was no older than Lloyd’s own son Stephen, and Lloyd ached at seeing a huge white welt on the side of his face. He imagined the rest of the kid’s body was a mess. How could any man do this to his own son?
The man lay curled up and screaming as Jake continued wielding the leather belt. Lloyd ran up to him, knowing that when Jake Harkner was raging mad, he had a strength that belied his age—and he was definitely raging mad.
Lloyd dove at Jake’s back, trying to grab him around his arms. “Pa, you’re killing him!”
Jake shook him off as though he were a bug.
Lloyd bent low and grabbed him about the waist from behind, using all his strength to pull Jake away. “Pa, you’ll go back to prison! Stop it! This isn’t part of your job!”
Jake whirled, accidentally slamming the belt across Lloyd’s shoulder. Lloyd cried out and let go of him.
The minute Jake realized what he’d done, he hesitated, standing there panting and staring at Lloyd. “Shit,” he muttered, dropping the belt. “Lloyd, I’m sorry!” He groaned. The man he’d beaten lay writhing with pain, still curled up in defense. Jake stumbled over to Lloyd. “I’m sorry!” he repeated.
Lloyd straightened, rubbing his shoulder. “Now I know how it feels,” he commented. He met Jake’s gaze, seeing the hatred and terror in the man’s eyes. Blood poured down his face and shirt from where he shovel had cut him, and the area around the wound was growing purple.
“Pa, you’re hurt.”
Jake shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We have to help the boy first.” He walked over to where the boy stood, still sobbing. He backed away from Jake. Jake knelt down. “I’m not going to use that belt on you, kid. Let me help you. We can pour water on those welts. That helps. And I have something with me that might help the pain.”
The boy continued staring, his tears creating white lines through the dirt on his cheeks. “Did you…kill him?” he asked Jake. “He’s…my pa…but I hate him. I hope you killed him.” He was trying to stop crying, but his body continued to jerk in silent sobs.
Jake closed his eyes and collapsed to a sitting position. “Come here and take your shirt off.”
The boy moved closer and started unbuttoning his shirt. “It hurts…to move my arms.”
“I damn well know it hurts.” Jake yelled for Jeff to bring over a canteen. He got to his knees and unbuttoned the boy’s shirt, gently removing it for him. The sight of the welts on his body brought literal pain to Jake’s chest. “What’s your name?”