Love’s Sweet Revenge(77)

“Who let that man in?” Jake roared, walking closer to Arlis. “You?” He pointed his gun at her. “You bitch!”

“Jake—” Randy whispered. She glanced at him, but right now he wasn’t seeing or hearing her. She hurried Katie out of the room, wanting to scream in fear for what might happen to her husband.

“You let him in here, didn’t you?” Jake seethed at Arlis. “Let me hear you deny it!”

God, keep him safe! Randy prayed as she left the room.

Those left behind saw a darkness about Jake Harkner that no one dared to challenge, not even Harley Wicks. Arlis gasped, putting a hand to her chest and stepping back from Jake.

“You’re goddamn lucky you’re a woman!” Jake roared at her. “Otherwise, you’d already be dead! In all my years and all my crimes, I never once hurt a woman, but by God, I want to hurt one now! I’ll see you go to prison for this! It’s aiding and abetting! If my son dies, you’re no better than a murderer yourself!”

“You will go to prison for taking the law into your own hands again!” Arlis screamed back daringly.

Jake turned his gun on Harley Wicks. “Try arresting me, and you’ll regret it!”

There came a loud poof! and a flash as the reporter attending the event took a picture of Jake holding his gun on Wicks. Jake whirled, aiming at the reporter, who quickly turned and ran out. Jake kicked over the tripod that held the camera, then kicked the camera across the dance floor. He turned back to Wicks. “I am going upstairs to my son’s room,” he told him, “and I’m staying there! If you send anyone to arrest me, I’ll shoot them, understand?”

Wicks nodded.

“I’m not leaving my son’s side until I know he’ll be all right,” Jake added. “I’ll kill anybody who tries to take me out of there!” He looked over at Sam and Gretta. “Do me a favor and stay close,” he told Gretta. “It’s room eighteen on the second floor. I might need you to help my family in some way.”

“Sure, Jake.” Gretta hurried out after the others.

“Mr. Harkner, let us help, too.”

The words came from the preacher’s wife Evie had relieved at the punch table.

“I’m Linda French, and my husband is a Methodist minister. I met your daughter just before all this happened. I’d like to go and be with her, and my husband might…he might be able to help in some way, even if it’s just prayer.”

Jake looked her way. “I appreciate the offer,” he told her gruffly. “It’s not likely that God of yours will listen to any of my prayers now, but maybe He’ll listen to yours. And my beautiful daughter has a real deep faith, but right now she’s suffering after having to face one of the men who…” His voice wavered again. My God, Evie…my beautiful Evie! I’m so sorry! And Lloyd! My son! My son! “Where is your husband?” he asked Linda.

“I’m Reverend Daryl French.” A young man with blond hair and blue eyes stepped forward.

“Take your wife and go see what you can do,” Jake ordered him.

The reverend hurried over to Linda and took her arm, leading her out of the room.

Jake continued to hold the gun steady, studying the crowd closely as though looking for someone. “Has anybody here ever heard of a Brad Buckley?” he asked. “Ever seen him around?”

Most shook their heads, a few mumbled the word no.

“If you do, you tell me, understand? Buckley and that dead man over there were both plotting to come after me and my son, so if anybody runs into him, you tell the sheriff and have him arrested! I guarantee he had something to do with this!” He waved his gun at Arlis again. “Have you seen him?”

“No!” she answered quickly. “I swear! I’ve never even heard of him.”

“You belong in jail for what you’ve done!”

“I just… That man over there…that dead man…I did let him in, but he only said he had a score to settle with…with you and your son. I thought he’d make trouble, but I didn’t want…I didn’t want your son to get shot! It…it should have been you!”

Jake struggled against an urge to pull the trigger of his .44. For the first time in his life, even when he was at his worst in his younger years, he wanted to shoot a woman. “It should have been me, lady! It should have been me clear back in that shoot-out in California. It should have been me shot on the Outlaw Trail! I should have died in prison! It should have been me in the shoot-out in Guthrie, or when I rescued my daughter! It should have been me a hundred times over! And if my son dies, it will be me! You’ll get your wish, because I’ll put this gun to my own head!” He stepped closer. “And may you rot in hell!” he told her.