Unanswered Prayers. Penny Richards

help you,” Rio said. “Maggie and I will help you. If you’ll let us.”

      For long moments Rick just stood there, looking into Rio’s steady gaze as if he were trying to figure out whether or not he was telling the truth. Finally he swiped at his face with his shirtsleeve and gave a sharp nod.

      Rio felt his body relax. “And you won’t show me your back?”

      Rick shook his head.

      “Probably just as well,” Rio said. “If I saw what he’d done, I’d just have to knock some sense into him. He’d press charges, I’d wind up in jail, and Maggie’d have my hide.”

      Rick gave him a quick, sideways glance. “I thought you didn’t hold with violence.”

      Rio rubbed at his eyebrow with his thumb. His smile bordered on sheepish. “I don’t believe in abusing animals, but then, I like them a lot better than most men I’ve met. Usually when an animal hurts you, it doesn’t mean any harm. Can’t say the same for most of mankind, though. They seem to like to brood on other people’s misdeeds and plot their own little revenges.”

      A frown creased Rick’s forehead as he thought about that. “I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “It doesn’t say much for us, does it?”

      “No, son, it doesn’t,” Rio said, his heart heavy. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

      Bull Farmer’s battered truck sat in the front yard, angled as close to the porch as he could get. Probably so he wouldn’t have to crawl very far to the front door when he came home so drunk he couldn’t walk, Rio thought with rare uncharitableness.

      When he recalled Rick’s tortured features and the tears of shame in his eyes, Rio’s jaw knotted in a fresh surge of anger. Come what might, he had to say something to the sorry outfit who’d sired Rick, just a little something to take him down a peg or two.

      Rio could picture Maggie telling him it wasn’t his place to interfere, to let the law do its job, but without Ada’s cooperation, the law’s hands were tied. Besides, it was his place in a way. Rick was his employee, and Bull’s actions indirectly affected the boy’s work performance.

      Rio stifled a sarcastic grin and shut off the truck’s engine. The reasoning sounded good, anyway, he thought, getting out of the truck.

      “What are you doing?” Rick asked.

      “I need to have a few words with your dad.”

      Rick’s face turned chalky. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Langley.”

      “If you’re worried about him taking it out on you, you can bunk at my place until he gets over it.”

      Rick looked Rio straight in the eye. “Only thing left he can do to me is kill me, and that might be a blessing. It’s you I’m worried about.”

      Rio reached out and clasped the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. And don’t you ever let me hear you say anything like that again, Rick Farmer. Life is a gift. Granted, yours might be rougher than most, but you can’t ever give up hoping and working toward something better.”

      “That’s easy for you to say.”

      “You could be right. I don’t know exactly where you’re coming from. Nobody ever beat me, but my life hasn’t been a bed of roses, believe me. I had a pretty sorry life myself until I met Maggie. Now I realize that everything I experienced was preparing me for her and our life together now.”

      Rick just looked at him uncomprehendingly.

      Rio shook his head. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is that if you don’t ever have any bad in your life, you can’t really appreciate the good when it comes along.” He offered Rick an embarrassed smile. “Let’s go in. Or would you rather wait out here?”

      “No. I’m coming in, too,” Rick said, falling into step beside Rio. They crossed the yard to the small frame house. Rick wiped his feet on the mat outside the door and went inside. Rio followed suit, taking off his Stetson when he stepped through the entrance.

      The first thing he noticed was that the Farmer house was scrupulously clean. Furnishings were minimal, and the decor was Early Flea Market with a little Chip and Scratch thrown in, but what possessions the Farmers owned were spotless.

      An uninspired gray Formica-topped bar separated the living room from the kitchen, where Ada stood tending a skillet of frying pork chops.

      Bull, who spent most of his time on the road driving an eighteen-wheeler, was the perfect stereotype of every redneck joke ever conceived. He wallowed in an oversize brown plaid recliner, his Western shirt stretched taut over a belly big enough to nearly hide a gigantic silver-and-turquoise belt buckle. The pointed toes of his cheap boots were tipped in some faux silver metal, and the fancystitched tops disappeared beneath the flared legs of his tan stretch jeans.

      His neck was thick, and so were his lips, which were partly hidden by a waxed handlebar mustache. His bulbous, red-veined nose looked as if it had been broken a time or two. The fat of his cheeks almost hid his eyes when he smiled, which he was doing at the moment…maliciously.

      “Well, well, well. Look who’s here,” he said, reaching for a glass of whiskey sitting on the Spanish-style end table at his side.

      Ada whirled, the turning fork in her hand. When she caught sight of Rio, the haggard look on her face became one of apprehension. “Mr. Langley!”

      “Ada,” Rio acknowledged with a nod.

      “What can we do for you?” she asked.

      “I’d like to speak to Mr. Farmer, if I might.” Rio paused and added, “Alone.”

      Ada’s anxious gaze darted to Bull, who scratched lazily at his stomach.

      “Whatever you got to say, you can say in front of my wife.”

      Rio’s smile was as taut as the emotions in the room. “I like that even better. That way there won’t be any misunderstandings later.”

      Bull’s pelletlike eyes narrowed.

      Rio shifted his weight to one leg and slapped his hat against his thigh in a slow, mesmerizing movement. “I’m not going to say this but once, so I’ll try to make myself clear.”

      “By all means,” Bull said, waving his beefy arm in a magnanimous display of false cordiality.

      “I know what’s going on here with Ada and Rick and probably the girls. It’s gonna stop, Bull,” Rio said in a gentle, almost weary voice. “And it’s gonna stop right now.”

      Bull thrust his chin out to a pugnacious angle. “I don’t know what you think it is that I do to my family,” he said. “And I don’t really care. Now get the hell out of my house, before I call the law.”

      Rio swept his hat toward the phone that hung on the far wall. “Don’t let my bein’ here stop you. I’d love the sheriff to get a gander of the boy’s back.”

      Bull shot a murderous look at Rick, who stumbled backward as if he’d received a physical blow. Rio’s heart throbbed like the ache of a sore tooth.

      “What you been doin’, boy? Spillin’ your guts?” Bull yelled, the veins in his neck standing out.

      “No, sir,” Rick answered. “I didn’t say a thing.”

      “He didn’t have to tell me,” Rio said, going to stand directly in front of the man. “It’s common knowledge that you beat your family, Bull. My wife has seen the evidence plenty of times.”

      Bull’s face turned livid. He gripped the arms of the chair to heave himself up.

      Rio placed his hand squarely in Bull’s chest. “Sit down, shut up and listen,” he commanded, giving a mighty shove.

      Ada gave a