Page 44 of Westin

His voice is as dry as the dust at our feet.

“So…what?” I manage.

“So get on Thomas Garrison’s good side. Better yet, get in Avery’s good books.”

I shudder. My stomach is too upset to eat. I toss the bread into the yard, and the chickens fight loudly over it.

“Avery is a horrible person,” I whisper.

He blows a cloud of smoke out. “So stick with Thomas. He’s the one who wants you anyway. He’s been nagging me about getting with you for years.”

“I don’t know that he’s any better.”

He stands abruptly, brushing past me. David didn’t get my blonde hair; he’s got dark curls and eyes that are almost black. He’s handsome on the surface but ugly underneath. I hope I get a chanceto warn any potential girlfriends that he’s not above slamming them into the wall if he’s angry enough.

I scramble to my feet. He glances over me and takes a drag off his cigarette.

“I’ve been sacrificing for this farm for years,” he says. “It’s time you did the same.”

“What are you asking me to do?” I snap.

His eyes crackle. “If Thomas Garrison wants you, I don’t give a fuck what your excuses are. You say yes to him. You get in that family’s good graces. Then I’ll see what I can do.”

Tears spill over. “Please don’t make me do this.”

His hand shoots out and he grabs my upper arm. I gasp—God, he’s strong. He yanks me closer, and the desperation in his eyes flashes like a thunderclap.

“I was there when she died too,” he snaps. “I heard what Nana said. She said bury me here on this land. So you be agreeable for one fucking minute, and you say yes to whatever Thomas Garrison asks. You hear me?”

I shudder. He’s got the same expression he had when he slammed me into the hallway wall.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“You swear?” His fingers tighten.

“I swear,” I sob.

“Good. I’m going to talk to him.”

He releases my arm, shoving me back. For a second, I think I’ve caught my balance. Then, my heel hooks on my skirt. My body plummets. I have a fleeting image of the porch railing hurtling towards my face before pain explodes in my temple.

I hit the ground like a sack of rocks.

The world spins.

Quick as a flash, I roll over, suddenly sick enough to throw up. The dirty floor presses to my face, grit stuck to my lips.

The door slams.

I lay there dazed. Then, a wave of shame moves through me that’s stronger. I ease myself onto my hands and knees. I graze my fingertips over my temple, and they come away bloody.

I need to get upstairs before anyone sees.

Holding my hand over my face, I run inside past the dining room door. The men will be done eating soon. I scramble as fast as my spinning head will allow upstairs to my room. There, I dart into my half bath and lock the door, sinking against it.

I lower my hand.

It’s not as bad as I feared. There’s a cut that broke the skin, but once I get it cleaned up, I can hide it with a bandage. I fumble under the sink and come up with a rag, which I wet with cold water and press to the wound.

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