Palms clammy, heart pounding an uneven beat inside her chest, Debbie reluctantly allowed Ginny to parade her around the campsite, introducing her to person after person.
She met Doc's wife June-a slim woman with indistinct features who seemed as quiet and reserved as her husband. And Whiskey Jim, an older man with a head full of white hair, and his much younger wife, Anne. Blonde and beautiful, Anne looked as if she'd stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.
Best friends with Anne was Louisa. And the two women couldn't have been more different. Whereas Anne was tall and slim, polished and well-dressed, Louisa was much shorter, curvier, and covered in tattoos. Wearing a ratty band tee and jeans, she was cuddled up to a biker named Crazy-8. Also heavily tattooed, Crazy-8 had a rough and tough appearance, contrasted by an easygoing smile.
She met Smokey and Knuckles next. Smokey, a middle-aged widower who had a look to him that gave Debbie the impression that he'd seen and done it all. And Knuckles, twenty-two years old with an unruly mass of blond curls framing his flirtatious smile, he wore a T-shirt that read in big, bold lettering: FUCK HAIRCUTS.
Faking smiles and shaking hands, Debbie began feeling strange and desperate. Everyone was mostly kind, if not overly so, but made no effort to hide their questions. They stared at her with blatant curiosity, their thoughts clear. Who was she? And what was she doing with Preacher?
Each new face added to her growing anxiety, worse because Preacher seemed to have abandoned her to Ginny.
Eventually Ginny led Debbie to the picnic tables, where Preacher's father still stood at the head, stone-faced and unmoving. He was an intimidating-looking man, his stiff, unfriendly demeanor making him seem all the more threatening, even more so up close.
And he practically exuded authority, so much so that Debbie didn't need to read the PRESIDENT patch on his leather vest to know that, among these people, this man was king.
"Gerald, honey." Ginny placed her hand on her husband's arm. "This is Debbie. She arrived with Damon."
Gerald looked her up and down with a critical eye, as a buyer might look over a car they were considering purchasing. Finished, he glanced over at his wife, his mouth pressed into a thin, grim line, leaving Debbie feeling not quite sure she'd passed his inspection.
"This is what he's been doing all this time?" Gerald bit out. "Messin' with girls? He couldn't have done this shit at home?"
"Gerry," Ginny admonished quietly. "Don't start."
"Don't start?" Gerald shot back. "He can't just waltz back in here like nothin' happened!"
Unsure of what to do, Debbie glanced down at her hands, suddenly very interested in her nails. She was contemplating slinking away when a familiar arm came down around her shoulders.
"You doin' okay, Wheels?" Preacher gave her a crooked smile. "You look a little green."
"I'm fine," she whispered through clenched teeth. She glanced longingly at her pack on his back, feeling naked without it. "Can I have my backpack?"
"Lie," he retorted softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "And no. Can't have you runnin' off with my stuff."
She met his gaze, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove his stuff if he didn't give her the bag back, only to find his attention was elsewhere. His eyes were locked with Gerald's, and both father and son were wearing identical scathing expressions.
"The prodigal son returns," Gerald said flatly.
"The prodigal son is just visiting," Preacher amended tersely.
Gerald's nostrils flared, his fists clenched, and if Preacher's arm hadn't been wrapped around her shoulders, Debbie would have backed away.
Clearing her throat, Ginny glanced nervously between her husband and son. "You must be hungry, Damon," she said. "We have-"
"Yeah," Gerald loudly interrupted, "you must be hungry. And while you're eatin' my food, why don't you tell us what your plans are? Will you be comin' home with us, or headin' back to God only knows where to do God only knows what with God only knows who?" At that, Gerald gave Debbie a pointed, disapproving look.
Beside Debbie, Preacher had gone stiff. His arm resting on her shoulders grew rigid. All around them, the campsite fell quiet, and Debbie didn't need to look to know that all eyes were now on them.
"Gerry," Ginny snapped quietly, "please. He just got here."
Gerald's hard stare remained fixed on Preacher. "Still doesn't change the fact that he just up and took off on us, been gone for months now with no word."