Every family has
one . . . but which one?
BEWARE THE BLACK SHEEP
“I said, come here, you son of a bitch!”
Eastman’s lean face tightened, deep blue eyes looking almost black as he raised winged eyebrows.
“Seein’ as how that reflects on my mother,” he said softly, “you better take it back. Now!”
Hood fingered his three-foot black billy club. A quick glance around at his three junior guards gave him added reassurance.
His fleshy face broke into a smirk. Hood was in charge of the horse corrals, and due to the fact that Prisoner 103 was the best horseman in the pen, they had to work together every day. It was a toss-up who hated it most. Hood certainly hated his wrangler. He had decided that today would be the day to decide who was running things, once and for all. Hood had tipped his fellow guards off in advance. They were ready, and so was he. His twisted grin widened.
“If your mother’s cap fits, Jailbird, maybe she oughtta wear it . . .”