“You promised him his freedom in exchange for bringing you here to me,” Monica said, refusing to believe him. “You’ve been a liar all your life,” she added.
“What are you going to do?” Boone asked her.
“What’s my game plan, as you used to love to say? My game plan is to do to you what I tried to do to you three years ago. When you took Courtney away from me. When she died when it should have been you!”
Monica calmed back down. “Then you had the nerve to fall for that teacher, or whatever she is. How dare you fall for that bitch!”
“Why did you try to kill her?”
“I didn’t try to kill her. I didn’t have to. Her enemies had tracked her down. They were trying to kill her. Until you killed them. I told Uncle Amos she had to go too. And like always, he saw to it. He loved me, you see.” She glanced at his dead body. “Foolish man.”
“But to think that my precious baby was dead, and that you were going to find happiness? Over my dead body!”
“Why now?” Boone asked her, staring at the woman he never loved. “I’ve been around this town for three years. Why now? Because Charly came to town?”
She stared at him. “You don’t know, do you?”
Boone stared at her. “Know what?”
“He died.”
“Who died?”
“Herman.”
Boone was lost. “Who’s Herman?”
“Herman Witherspoon. Courtney’s father. Her real father.”
Morley and Dontay looked at their chief. But Boone was still lost, still looking at Monica. “What are you talking about?” he nervously asked her.
“Rita Mae was blackmailing Amos. He was sleeping with Rita, you see, and he told her everything about it. He told her how I tried to kill you. He told her how you weren’t Courtney’s father. He told her everything! And she was going to go to you, and tell you. She was going to have me arrested for murdering my own daughter if we didn’t pay up. So I told Dalbert she had to go. She was his pimp, or whatever they call’em now. He could handle her.”
But Boone was still at that point when she declared Courtney was not his child. “It’s not true,” he said. “Courtney was my daughter.”
Monica smiled. “You wish! You’ve never fathered anything, and if I have anything to say about it, you never will! And I knew it all along. We had broken up when I got pregnant. When we got back together, and the baby came early, I paid my doctor to claim she was premature. But she wasn’t. She was right on time. But I was so in love with your sorry ass. I wanted you to be her father, when Herman would have been so much better at it. But I was so selfish then.”
Boone was too stunned to speak. But it didn’t matter to Monica. She was ready. She was ready to end this now.
“Herman died. The only man who ever loved me died. He’s why I never went after you. He’s why I kept my sanity when my baby was killed. But then he died. And you were still alive and trying to fall for some new bitch. It was time for you to go.”
And before Boone or Dontay or Morley could react, she aimed her shotgun dead center at Boone and was just about to squeeze the trigger.
But another trigger was squeezed. By Charly. Who stood in the doorway. And this time, she had both hands on the gun. This time she wasn’t going to be grazing anybody. This time, she fired and hit.
Monica, stunned that she’d been shot, looked at Charly. Boone knew it would take more than one bullet to take that bitch out. He knew it like he knew the back of his hand. Which meant Charly was in mortal danger. And he didn’t hesitate.
Boone dived, grabbed his gun from the floor, and turned and fired repeatedly on Monica just as she was firing on Charly.
His bullet caused Monica to fall back, and for her bullet to go astray, as his firepower overwhelmed her and she finally dropped dead.
Charly’s legs went wobbly and she fell against the doorjamb. Dontay and Morley ran to Monica, to ensure the witch was dead, and Boone hurried to Charly, to ensure she was okay.
She wasn’t. She was shaking like a leaf. But as he pulled her into his big arms, he knew she would be. Eventually, he knew, his girl was going to be just fine.
EPILOGUE
They had eaten until they were stuffed: Babs and Duke, and Boone and Charly. The four of them at the Ryan ranch, on the back patio, enjoying good music over the stereo system, good company, and a wonderful Saturday night cookout.
But Babs had been dozing for some time, and Duke, it seemed to Boone, was itching to go check on his cattle. Or, as Babs and Boone both believed it to be, to go check on one of his women.
Boone used to be angry at the way his mother accepted their father’s bad behavior. But now it was as much a part of their marriage as the air they breathed. Infidelity had been a part of their marriage since he was a kid over forty years ago, and it continued to be to this day. His father was an unfaithful man. Outrage, Boone learned a long time ago, was a waste of energy.
Besides, he was just like his father.
“Come on, Babs,” Duke said, rising from his chair and helping his sleepy wife to her feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I can get myself to bed, thank you,” Babs said, her stubborn streak refusing even now to go along with the charade. She knew what her husband wanted: get her in bed so he could go and get in somebody else’s bed. Boone knew it too. And Babs wasn’t going to pretend she as if she didn’t.
She pushed him aside. “Goodnight Charly,” she said to Charly. “Good night, Boone.” And then she gave her husband a side eye, and headed inside of their home.
“That woman,” Duke said as he shook his head and watched her leave the patio. But then he exhaled as he continued to watch her. “That woman,” he said again, “is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Boone and Charly both looked at him. But he just stood there, staring after his wife still, even though she was clean out of sight.
Then Duke exhaled again. “Guess I’ll be going to bed too,” he said.
“To bed,” Boone asked, “or to check on your cattle?”
Duke looked at his son. His son stared at him. They both knew the game. “To bed,” Duke said, then said his goodnights, and headed inside of his home.
Boone was stunned. That was a first, he thought. But he had other things on his mind. He had Charly on his mind.
But she stood up and started dancing, swaying to the music, with a glass of wine in her hand.
Boone, smiling, got up too. “You’re right,” he said, as he removed the glass from her hand. “You’re the worse dancer ever!”
Charly laughed as he sat her glass on one of the tables and pulled her into his arms. The song playing wasn’t even a slow song, but they slow-dragged to it anyway. And then a slower song came on: Jeffrey Osborne singing On the Wings of Love. When that song came on, Charly laid her head on Boone’s shoulder.
And they slow-dragged even slower.
Until Boone had to say it. He leaned back, causing her to look at him as he looked into her eyes.
“Charlene Johnson,” he said, “will you do an old dog like me a favor and be my lady?”
Charly smiled. “Oh, Boone,” she said, “I already am.”