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GRACE
“You’re on the wrong side of the law, Sheriff.” Father’s voice carried to where I was positioned, hidden thirty feet above on the bluff. His voice was rough and deep, full of evil intent as it echoed off the rock. His clothes were old and tattered in spots. He was filthy, the hot sun making rivulets of sweat slide through the dust on his neck.
“Wrong side of a gun,” Travis replied, standing beside him and laughing, then spitting a huge wad of chewing tobacco onto the dirt at his feet. I didn’t have to be close to him to know he smelled to high heaven. Even if the creek behind the house had been flowing instead of all but dried up this time of the year, it wouldn’t matter. This man simply refused to bathe.
Father laughed, confident that while they’d been chased by a two-man poss
