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“It’s just a lot to take in with the killings and … and …”
    “Me?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I understand that part, honey. It’s a lot for me, too. I’ve … I’ve never gotten hit with this kind of feeling. Honestly, I didn’t think I was capable and it’s a little uncomfortable, truth be told.”
    “Why?” His statement allowed her thoughts to turn to something less frightening and something more important, at least to her.
    “Why is it uncomfortable?”
    “No, why didn’t you think you were capable?”
     
    For a moment Zeb wanted to bolt, just head out of the door, jump in his cruiser and take off. He had never talked to anyone about certain things in his life and he was not sure he could now.
    “Zeb?  Talk to me. Please.”
    The need to run was overcome by the look on her face. Damn, was this love? The inability to refuse?
    “You know how my father died?”
    Willa had heard the stories but wanted to hear it from him. “Just gossip I overheard.”
    Zeb blew out a breath and leaned down, propping his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped. He stared at his hands as he spoke. “Ever since I can remember he would beat her. My mother. One of my first memories was of him sitting down at the dinner table, taking a bite of his biscuit and then spitting it in her face and screaming at her that it was cold. He grabbed hold of her hair and crammed that whole biscuit in her mouth then shoved her on the floor and kicked her in the gut.
    “I can still see that to this day. Him with his face all red and her just lying there with her cheeks all ballooned out and biscuit spewing from her mouth as he kicked her.
    “And that was mild. Sometimes he’d beat her so bad she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for a week and we’d have to fend off whatever we could eat raw or whatever piece of meat he could burn in a frying pan.”
    He paused and turned his head to look at her. “He was a mean bastard, Willa. Mean to the bone. When I was thirteen I came home from here and found him kicking the shit out of her in the parlor. She was on the floor with blood coming out of her nose and mouth and a gash on the side of her head. Her dress was bloody and torn and he just kept kicking her, over and over.
    “I thought he was going to kill her. I tried to stop him, to push him away and he let me have it. Knocked me clear across the room. I saw stars. Just like in the cartoons. And I saw something else. That if I didn’t stop him he was going to kill her and then probably me.
    “So I got up and ran to the kitchen where he kept a shotgun propped up in the corner. It was loaded. It was always loaded. I ran back to the parlor and told him I’d kill him if he touched her again.
    “He turned and looked at me and said he was going to take that gun and beat me bloody.
    “So I pulled the trigger. Twice.”
    Zeb looked back down at his clasped hands.
    “My mother, hurt as she was, screamed bloody murder and crawled over to him, trying to wake him and screaming at me to call for an ambulance.”
    “I did but it was too late. He was dead.
    “My mother told the Sheriff I’d killed him so they put me in the police car and took me to the Sheriff’s Department. They questioned me for six hours and every time I told them the same thing. Finally, they told me they were going to release me to your father. My mother was in the hospital and would be there a while. She had a concussion, a broken arm, three broken ribs and internal bleeding.
    “We couldn’t have a funeral until my mother was out of the hospital. I stayed with your family until the funeral and your dad took me. We walked up and the minute my mother saw me she screamed at me. Called me a murderer and told me she never wanted to lay eyes on me again. She said I killed the only man she’d ever loved and she’d never forgive me. She cursed me, Willa. Cursed me. Said I’d never find true love in this life as payment for what I’d done to her. That my love would destroy