”“Wow,” Skye muttered, glancing over at me.“Two guesses who this one is about,” Jill offered.“No takers,” Brian answered.“Deb Sutton,�...� I said.They turned to look at me.“She wrote most of this when she was 14 years old,” I confided.“No shit,” Dom mumbled as he shook his head. We stopped the conversation and just listened. Liz was correct: The music was rough. At least they were smart enough to know they were just the sidelight to the vocalist. The drummer set a soft beat and didn’t launching. Candy was sittin’ in the dust with my head in her lap. There was blood on her dress and her hands. She was wiping my head with a wet towel. ‘Slade, he creased your head but it’s not too bad. You’ve been bleedin’ a lot but it’s ’bout stopped now. I don’t think you have a concussion.’ ‘What about …’ ‘He’s dead. Only one of your shots hit him but it was right in the middle of his chest.’ Ken had a wagon he kept in a shed behind the bar. He took me out to the Circle R in it. Candy and her mom,. More

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