In a flash, John drew his gun and shot the blond man twice in the face.
Hettie didn’t have the breath to scream. Blood poured from the red, pulpy cavity into the dust beneath him. Her father’s hands trembled. Walker stood perfectly still, gripping his holstered sidearm, staring wide-eyed at John with barely veiled contempt.
It was a long time before Hettie could move. She felt outside of herself, staring at the man who was her father, his black-booted feet planted wide, his wide-brimmed hat casting a broad shadow over his shoulders. She’d never seen that seething anguish and hatred carving his face. “Pa…?”
Her voice seemed to bring him back from whatever hell he’d been visiting in his mind. “I’m sorry … so sorry you had to see that, Hettie. I—” He caught Walker’s dark look. “He was a bo
