He leaned down to speak in her ear. “Katie, this doesn’t mean—”
She wheeled on him. “It means he’s upset,” she angrily hissed. “This is all my fault!” She stomped up the steps to the house, Joe close on her heels.
“How can you say this is your fault?” he asked. A rumble of thunder from a late afternoon storm punctuated his question as he caught up to her at the front door.
Was he truly that dense? “Because,” she said, her vision blurry from tears as she fumbled for the latch, “if I hadn’t moved in with y’all, none of this would have happened!”
He forced her to turn around and look at him. “You saying you ashamed of me? Or that you don’t love me?”
Her throat hurt from the effort it took to choke back her sobs. “No,” she whispered. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just don’t think very kindly of myself right now.”
Joe gently cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “This will be okay,” he assured her. “I will talk with him and believe me, it will be all right.” He reached around her to open the door as the sky broke open and a deluge of fat raindrops pattered against the grass in the yard.
She stared out from the safety of the porch. “You should go look for him,” she softly said. “Make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s okay, Katie. I’m sure of it. He might be drowning his misery in a bottle of whiskey, but he’s okay. He’ll come home when he’s good and ready to, and then I can talk to him.” He pressed his hand into the small of her back and guided her through the door into the dim house. “Go on, now,” he gently said. “Go change into your house coat and wash your face and I’ll help you with dinner.”
Nodding and still close to tears, she headed to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her, resting her forehead against it for a moment before turning. The first thing she saw was the clock and picture of Paul.
That brought on a renewed spate of tears that left her sprawled across her bed. She never heard her door open a few minutes later, but she felt Joe’s touch and the mattress sink beside her as he gathered her into his arms. A renewed bout of crying left her sniffling, her cheek pressed against his shoulder as he stroked her hair.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“No. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better again.”
He tipped her chin to look into her eyes. “Stop thinking like that. Let me talk to him before you go assuming the worst.”
She glanced out the window, where the rain had stopped and the greenish-grey light of dusk had settled across the yard, with speckles of golden sunlight holding on for dear life as the sun sank below the trees on the other side of the pastures.
“It’s late. Shouldn’t he be back by now? Can’t you please go look for him?”
He kissed her forehead and sat up, pulling her with him. “I don’t need to. He’ll come home when he’s ready.” He stood and held out his hand. She finally took it and he helped her stand. “Change, wash up, and meet me in the kitchen.”
She nodded and he kissed her again before leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Trying to avoid looking at Paul’s photograph, she quickly shed her dress and donned a simple, comfortable housedress. Joe was already out in the kitchen and had fired up the stove to boil water for the potatoes. When she heard the sound of hoofbeats in the yard, she almost didn’t recognize the angry, slurred bellow accompanying them.
“Joe! Get yer worthless hide out here right now, goddamn it!”
Joe ran out the back door onto the porch with Katie on his heels. Mason, a nearly empty whiskey bottle in hand, rode up into the back dooryard, scattering chickens in his wake as he unsteadily slouched over his mount’s neck. Tight-lipped, Joe wanted to order Katie into the house but knew she probably wouldn’t go anyway.
“Mase, get down from there before you get hurt.” His cousin was sop-soaking wet, obviously caught in the afternoon deluge. His horse looked mud caked and miserable, but none the worse for wear.
Joe stepped off the porch to make a grab for the horse’s reins, but Mason lurched back in the saddle, forcing the horse to take a couple of steps backward. Mason pointed the bottle at him.
“You. You fuggin’ sumbitch. Din waste no time, didja?” He took one last, long pull from the bottle, draining it before throwing it at Joe. The wild pitch sent the bottle sailing against the water trough, where it shattered. “Jus couldn’t wait, cudja?”
Joe held out his hands in supplication. “Mase, it’s not like that. Let me explain.”
He lurched forward in the saddle again as he jabbed an unsteady finger at Joe. “Waz to explain, you bastard! You took her!”
Joe bit back his temper. His cousin was upset and drunk, neither of those conditions ones he wanted to tackle alone on a good day, much less together at the same time. First things first, he had to get Mason off that horse before he got himself hurt.
“Mase, please. Get down and let me talk to you—”
“Nuttin’ to talk about!” Mason roared, taking a wild swing in the air. “I love her, and you stoled her from me!”
Joe was painfully aware of Katie’s presence on the porch, standing there, holding on to one of the columns, the soft sound of her tears ripping his heart apart. He’d gladly trounce Mason for putting her through this, but first he needed to get control of the situation. He forced his voice to remain calm and steady.
“You and me need to talk about this. She loves you, too. She loves both of us.”
Mason’s mouth gaped. “What?” He made an unsteady grab for his saddle horn as a chicken spooked his horse. Instead, he missed and tumbled off into the mud with a loud, wet splat as his mount skittered sideways away from the offending fowl.
Katie gasped, but Joe held up a staying hand without turning. “Stay there, Katie. Let me handle this.” He stepped forward. Most likely he and Mason both would be sporting shiners and even more bruises in the morning, but he wouldn’t let Katie get between them. This had to happen, and perhaps sooner rather than later was for the best, especially if Mason was so drunk he might not remember most of it the next morning.
And Mason being drunk would likely give Joe a physical advantage he might not normally have.
“Mase, sit with me and talk.”
Mason rolled over, his front side covered head to toe in orange clay mud and chicken poop. “Fug you!” He tried to stand and slipped, landing on his back in the muck.
Joe stifled a laugh. This would be funny if his cousin’s heart and their relationship weren’t at stake. He took another step forward. “Mase, let’s talk. Please. Be reasonable.”
Mason let out a drunken roar and launched himself up from the mud, catching Joe in the midsection and driving him back and down into the mud himself.
Katie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as Mason charged Joe and sent them both sprawling into the mud. Punches and curses flew from Mason, with Joe blocking them and trying to get his cousin to listen to him and see reason. Finally, Joe started throwing punches of his own. Despite how drunk he was, Mason still managed to hold his own against his cousin.
As the fight raged on, Katie felt the tears on her face, hating herself that the men she loved had been driven to this point. She thought Joe would get the upper hand, but then he tripped over a rock, and Mason landed on top of him, quickly raining punches down on his face.
That’s when she snapped. She screamed as she ran off the porch, barefoot, through the mud. “Mason! Please, stop!” She threw herself at him, grabbing his arm but losing her footing in the slick clay mud and going sprawling herself.
Mason tried to shake her free at first, but she held on to his wrist as tenaciously as a kudzu vine clinging to a pine tree. “Please, stop! Listen to him!”