Page 127 of Trigger Happy

I shiver.

“Put the brand down,” he commands. “Now.”

63Lawton

I can’t look at Sabrina.

If I do, I might kill my own mother.

She did this to her. She’s responsible for that giant bruise on Sabrina’s head and her face that’s paler than I’ve ever seen it. She tied her up to a table until her wrists were rubbed raw from the bandages, shoved a gag in her mouth, and got out the branding iron.

You can’t kill the woman who gave birth to you.

“Ma,” I repeat, leaving no room for argument. “Put that down now.”

The glowing brand shakes in her arm. Between the bluebonnet apron splattered with blood and the knife in her other hand, I think she’s on the verge of a breakdown. “You said she killed him. I can’t let her get away with it.”

I take a slow step forward, not wanting to send her over the edge, but I’ll dodge in front of the brand if I need to. “I won’t let you hurt her. Sabrina’s mine to deal with.”

Mine to hate.

Mine.

“How could you be on her side? We’re your family,” she spits out. Ma’s arm shakes harder, and I know she’s struggling with this, hell, I am too, but I’m not letting Sabrina die. I’ll figure out everything else later.

Sabrina mutters something around the gag. I finally look at her, and it feels like someone took that branding iron to my chest.

There’s a bruise coloring her face, but she could be covered in blood and still steal my next breath. My chest tightens, and I hate that I still feel pity for this woman, but she’s gasping, and it’s my fault. I know I shouldn’t touch her, but I can’t stop myself.

Slowly, I walk over to her and reach forward to take the gag out of her mouth, but she flinches. Flinches. That burns worse than any brand ever could.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I whisper.

She relaxes and my chest loosens. I take the gag out of her mouth and then as gently as possible I brush my thumb over the bruise. I swear, if my own mother hadn’t done this, that person would be dead.

“Ma,” I say, still rubbing my thumb over Sabrina’s cheek. “Go check on Dad.”

“But she—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” I grind out. “I’ll handle Sabrina.”

“You’ll handle me?” Sabrina says at the same time Ma goes, “You’ll handle her?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. These women. They’re the same. “Yes, Ma. Go. My friend Arch is up at the main house with Dad. Sabrina and I need to talk. Alone.”

Ma stares Sabrina down, and I’m impressed she isn’t cowering. Then again, it’s Sabrina. She could win a stare down against a statue.

“Fine,” my mom eventually relents, using the brand to point at Sabrina. “Come find me when you’re done here. It’s enchilada night, and I’m not through with you. You like enchiladas, Sabrina?”

She blinks, whiplashed probably, then says, “They’re my favorite food on this entire planet.”

She jabs the brand at her. “Smart girl.”

My mom starts storming out of the barn, mumbling something about never forgiving that girl, but before she gets too far, I shout, “You’re not poisoning her with enchiladas, Ma!”

She grumbles I raised you better than that in response.

Then it’s just us.