9
When Shea was sure Hunter and his boys were gone, she hurried over to her sister. Wendy sobbed so hard her body shook. Blood dripped from the top of her head where Mackey had coldcocked her with the revolver. The yellow-green of fading bruises colored Wendy’s face and arms, reminding Shea of the countless times their mother had been black and blue from Ralph’s beatings. The bitterness Shea felt toward her sister softened. History was repeating itself.
“It’s okay; they’re gone.” Shea put an awkward hand on Wendy’s arm.
“They’ll be back,” Wendy said between sobs.
“We can worry about that later.” Shea helped her stand, guided her to a chair in the customer waiting area, and handed her a paper towel. “Put this on your head until the bleeding stops.”
“Thanks.” Wendy pressed the paper tow
