Unspoken by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

rose and fell.
    “What?”
    “I’m pregnant again, Shep.” She blinked hard and sniffed.
    “Oh, hell.” His world started to collapse. How could he feed one more mouth? Money was stretched too tight as it was. He finished his beer, tossed the empty into a trash can and walked toward her, but she cringed and held the knife between them. The blade flashed in the dimming light.
    “Don’t you come near me, y’hear.”
    “But—”
    “I mean it. You go to the clinic and make an appointment to git yourself fixed and don’t you even think about touching me again or I’ll take care of it myself.” She wasn’t kidding. “You and me both know we can’t afford another kid.”
    “We don’t have to have it,” he said slowly.
    “Oh, yes we do. You know how I feel about that.”
    Of course he did. They’d had the discussion before Candice and Donny were born. She hadn’t budged. He’d promised to get a vasectomy. Twice. It would never happen. No surgeon was gonna get a knife anywhere near his balls. Hell, he could end up a soprano in the church choir that Peggy Sue was so proud of.
    “We’ll find a way.”
    “You mean you will.” She twitched her wrist, and the knife wiggled near his chest. “Git fixed, Shep, and get that sheriff’s job, cause I’m tired of just scrapin’ by. Believe me, I ain’t sleepin’ with you ’til you do.”
    “Now, honey—”
    “Don’t.” Her lips curled angrily. “Don’t you even think about touchin’ me. Got it? I ain’t changin’ my mind. Not ever, so unless you want to spend the rest of your days horny as Judge Cole’s prize bull, you’ll go make yerself a damned appointment.”
    At that moment a wail loud enough to wake the dead in the next county ripped through the house, and Candice, red-faced and screaming to high heaven, ran in with Donny right behind her. “She got stunged,” he said, and Shep saw the two bright red circles that were rising on his daughter’s forearm. Candice howled and cried. Donny with his watery eyes melted into a comer. Peggy Sue picked up her daughter and glared wearily at her husband. “Do it, Shep,” she mouthed as the bacon sizzled and burned, smoking up a house already dark with silent accusations and dying dreams.
    Shep reached for his hat.
     
    What in the name of Jesus was he getting himself into? Nevada carried his sack of feed to the barn and threw it onto the floor. It landed with a thud. A cloud of dust rose and a rustle in the straw indicated that a denizen of the local mouse population was hurrying into a hidden crevice.
    He whistled to the horses, slit the burlap sack with his jackknife and, using an old Folgers coffee can, measured a ration of oats into each stall. Two mares appeared—his best, the only two worth any real money. Ears upright, nostrils quivering, bright eyes expectant, they trotted into the dimly lit interior. Outside, he heard an expectant nicker and the thunder of anxious hooves as the rest of the herd made its way inside.
    Crockett sniffed at the comers of the old corncrib and Nevada felt tense. Anxious. Restless. The way he used to feel whenever Shelby Cole was within driving distance. His jaw slid to the side as he thought of how many moonlit nights he’d coasted his old truck down the lane to the Judge’s house, his heart thudding, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel, his cock hard against the fly of his jeans as he’d thought about Shelby.
    Now his throat tightened at the memory of making love to her.
    Her breasts had been small, rosy-tipped and white in the moonglow, the thatch of curling hair at the juncture of her tanned legs a soft red color. God, he’d wanted her, though he’d tried to deny it.
    “Shit.” He was hard now, just thinking of their lovemaking late at night, before the storm, before all hell had broken loose.
    He finished with the feed, checked the water in the troughs and, with Crockett ambling behind, walked back into the house. He couldn’t think of Shelby now, not