Cole's nostrils flared wide in response, his fists clenched tighter, and the muscles in his arms twitched, bunching restlessly. He was primed and ready to fight, and Preacher knew it was only a matter of minutes before father and son went at it again.
"Give him hell," Preacher said, dipping his chin and taking a step back. Finding Debbie where he'd left her-the stupid girl didn't seem to know when to run-he snatched up her arm and strode quickly toward the dirt pathway that would lead them back to their campsite.
• • •
Holy crap.
Debbie glanced at where her arm was being squeezed uncomfortably inside Preacher's unforgiving grip, then up at his face, her gaze tracing the hard edge of his jaw all the way up to the tightness around his eyes. He was tense, practically vibrating with unspent energy and aggression.
She didn't blame him. That had been intense. And those men? She didn't really know how to describe them. Combined with their encounter with the Road Warriors, intense didn't even begin to scratch the surface of the type of people Preacher knew.
"Friend of yours?" she asked, hoping some humor would lighten his mood.
He glanced down at her briefly, his dark eyes nearly black. "I'm gonna tell you right now, stay the fuck away from those two and anyone else wearin' a Hell's Horsemen cut."
Debbie's eyes narrowed. Did he really think she was as stupid as all that? She liked to think she was a somewhat decent judge of character. Maybe she hadn't been at first, but she'd gotten smarter as time had passed. Just like she'd learned where to look for the things she needed, she'd learned to read people, figuring out who she could and couldn't scam, who was safe to hitch a ride with and who was not.
"Can't be pullin' stupid stunts like you did with the Road Warriors," he continued to mutter. "Gonna find yourself in a world of shit."
Debbie gaped at him. "Are you kidding? I was trying to help you!"
Preacher stopped suddenly and turned to face her. He lifted one dark, questioning brow. "Help me? Seems to me like you've been in nothin' but trouble."
With a huff, she pulled her arm free from his grasp. "You're the one who knows all these-these crazy people! You're the one who's-who's been in prison!" She hadn't so quickly forgotten that juicy revelation.
Shadows swirled in Preacher's gaze. His eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold, hard. "That scare you?" he asked evenly. "You think I'm the next Son of Sam or somethin'?"
Debbie didn't appreciate his twisted humor. Glaring up at him, she snapped, "I don't know, are you?"
They both fell silent as an elderly couple passed by, regarding them curiously. All around them the park was waking up. People were puttering around their campsites, while others headed to the bathhouses.
Flashing the passing couple a quick smile, Preacher grabbed hold of Debbie's arm and pulled her off the path into a small grove of maple trees.
"Don't seem to me like you've got a single fuckin' clue what you're doin' out here." His hand on her arm flexed and squeezed. "What would have happened if I hadn't saved your ass at the truck stop?" he demanded.
Debbie dropped both her bag and her sneakers and, with a hard shove to Preacher's chest, broke free from his grip. "What would have happened?" she spat. "Nothing that I couldn't handle!
"You don't know me," she continued, shaking her head furiously. "I can take care of myself!"
Eyes flashing, Preacher opened his mouth, and then promptly closed it. Unmoving, he breathed deliberately slow, as if he were fighting something back. The violent storm brewing in his eyes began to fade. Sighing, he ran a hand down over his mouth.
"Shit," he muttered. "Shit, Wheels, I'm sorry … I didn't mean that. That asshole back there had me all worked up. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
He sighed again. Looking at her, he held up his hands in defeat. "You're right. You can take care of yourself. I watched you in action. I'm only sayin' … you shouldn't have to."
Debbie sucked in a sharp breath. That statement, you shouldn't have to, had been both a punch in the gut and a soft caress. What did he mean? Was it a well-intentioned observation or … something more?
"Drugs," Preacher said suddenly.
Debbie blinked. "What?"
"Drugs," he repeated. "Dope? Junk? That's why I went to prison. Got caught with some shit, did two years. Got out a few months back." He gave her a crooked smile. "So you know I'm not some maniac killer."
Though Debbie's body was still buzzing with adrenaline, it was quickly waning, and she offered Preacher a small smile. "I didn't think you were. But that guy back there … " She made a face that drew a chuckle from Preacher.