Standing His Ground: Greer (Porter Brothers Trilogy 2)

“Or you can stop growing. Does one of us have to be killed before you all stop?”

“Explain to me how we can stop? You think The Last Riders will stop smoking it if we stop selling it?” Greer was just as tired of growing weed as Tate and Dustin were. “You want them smoking the shit that the Colemans and Hayes are selling? The Colemans are keeping the ER busy, because he talks them into oxy and coke, since it’s more money in their pockets. And I don’t want to know what the Hayes’s are laced with.”

“That may be true about the Coleman’s, but I just don’t see Jessie’s brothers doing that. She would turn them in herself if that were true. She wants them to stop as much as I want you to.”

“It’s the truth. A couple of The Last Riders bought some off them when I ran low. Shade brought it to me when one of the them passed out after smoking it. Sons of a bitches laced it with cough syrup.

“Forget The Last Riders; how about people like Cora Mae, who needs it when the chemo becomes too much for her? She doesn’t have relatives to go out and buy or steal it for her like Cal had to for his mother before she died.”

“Times are changing. Medical marijuana may become legal—”

“Not in Kentucky. It’ll never be in Kentucky. Hell, the legislatures adjourned before they could bring it up for vote. We’ll be dead and buried before it happens.” The Bible thumpers in Kentucky with deep pockets would make sure that would never happen.

His sister quit arguing, knowing that pill was hard to swallow, but it was true.

“Look on the bright side, sister. If they ever do, your brothers will be ready. Tate may share his Kentucky Gold with pharmacies in other states, but mine? I’m waiting until it becomes legal. He’s a sucker. I don’t share the plants I breed. That money will stay in our pockets.”

Dustin rubbed his forehead. “Stop arguing. Whoever is after us is filled with pure hate. I feel how much he hates us.”

“You sure it’s a man? Holly hates Greer enough to kill him.”

Greer looked over his shoulder to see if Tate was joking. He wasn’t. And the rest of his family seemed to be considering the same option.

“Holly couldn’t kill a fly. It took her six months before she would go get the eggs because she couldn’t bear the thought of the hens crying after them.”

“Hens cry?”

“How in the fuck do I know? It’s not like I’m on a first name basis with them. She almost passed out when I wrung that old rooster that kept pecking Logan. Holly may hate my guts, but she wouldn’t kill me,” he said confidently before yelling at his nephew. “Boy, if you climb that one more time before your pa or I are with you, I’m going to paddle that ass with my bare hand. You hear me?”

“The whole town can hear you.” Dustin’s face lightened as Logan sheepishly moved away from the large rock.

Greer reeled in the large fish that was struggling to get away.

“You caught another one, Uncle Greer!” His nephew came to his side, his own stick up out of the water.

Greer hunkered down next to him, taking Logan’s and handing him his. “You reel him in.” Coaching the small boy, he patiently guided him until Logan had the fish wiggling on the ground in front of him.

“Can I take out the hook?”

“Be slow.”

At first, Logan drew away from the fish, then he gathered his courage with the adults looking down at him.

“I did it!” He proudly raised the hook up for them to see.

Greer took it away from him. “Go put it in the cooler. You think you’re strong enough to pack it to the cabin and give to Cash?”

“Yes, sir.”

Greer took out his knife, cutting off the hook from the line as Logan manfully tried to lift the cooler.

Dustin’s fear was the same one the rest of them shared—that the recurring dream was a foretelling of his own son’s death.

“Quit worrying, Dustin. It’s not going to change a damn thing. If anything does happen, we’re prepared. Other than Winter’s baby, I haven’t healed anyone. I’ve been saving my strength—”

“What if something happens and we’re too late?”

“Well, brother, I guess God’s going to have a fight on His hands.”

12

Sharpshooter: Do you believe in life after death?

Kentuckygirl: That’s a hell of a conversation starter. What made you think of that? Are you sick?

Sharpshooter: I don’t get sick.

Kentuckygirl: Everyone gets sick.

Sharpshooter: I don’t. What size top do you wear?

Kentuckygirl: You’re changing the subject.

Kentuckygirl: Why do you want to know?

Sharpshooter: Because I want to imagine you in my arms.

Kentuckygirl: I hate to disillusion you, but I don’t want to have sex over the Internet.