{"product_id":"2940153008202","title":"Black Iron Brandy","description":"\u003cp\u003eThat first summer, darling Fred treated me like a queen and my two kids, like a prince and princess. I fell for my king. We moved into the myth of happily ever-after, a love story written in money, each chapter filled with ostentation— millionaire Fred showing off his financial success in excess.\u003cbr\u003eWe married. Things changed.\u003cbr\u003eFuckface spun a three-sixty, reining-horse spin, so fast and furious, I followed Alice through the looking glass and fell shattered— the black hole a never-ending spiral until rock-bottom slammed me into a zillion shards. I fell into a place impossible to put the cutting back or glue the hurt together.\u003cbr\u003eKill Fuckface. I woke to the homicidal thought.\u003cbr\u003eSnug under the bedcovers, I let the idea set, get comfortable.\u003cbr\u003eThe pervert had violated My Girl. Nobody hurts my kids and gets away without retribution.\u003cbr\u003eCould I actually kill him?... maybe I could just help Fuckface along to an accidental death.\u003cbr\u003eRemembered back—\u003cbr\u003eWe met and Fred could do no wrong. That fall he bought me a brand new rifle, took me deer hunting and he played the dog. He walked through the thick brush to move any hidden game toward me, and a nice five-point buck jumped out. I startled and shot too fast. Missed and realized what hunters mean when they talk about buck-fever.\u003cbr\u003eFred walked out shortly after and said, ‘You saw me before you shot, didn’t you, Cat?’\u003cbr\u003e...dare I tell him? naw... not then and never now...\u003cbr\u003eIn the West, hunting season is good camouflage for anyone with murderous intentions. Too bad I got buck-fever before I wanted to put Fred out of my misery.\u003cbr\u003eNow could I kill him? ...yes... yes... maybe.\u003cbr\u003eWhat kind of sentence did a pedophile deserve?...a death sentence might be a bit harsh... no… no, I didn’t think so, just western justice.\u003cbr\u003eAs the newly married wife of the rich asshole, I would be suspect. Did I need a 101 class in evading culpability?...nah…I read, go to the movies, watch TV.\u003cbr\u003eI had better think hard about killing the bastard.\u003cbr\u003eAnt-inspect all aspects.\u003cbr\u003e***\u003cbr\u003eTwo years ago.\u003cbr\u003eBefore Fred became Fuckface.\u003cbr\u003eI walked into the Lazy Y Roadhouse one Saturday night, all cowgirled up, and sat myself down on the one empty barstool. The bartender Clay walked over and I ordered a Tanqueray and tonic. He set my drink down and the guy standing behind me leaned in.\u003cbr\u003eSaid, ‘Here. Let me get that.’ Handed Clay a ten. ‘Keep the change.’\u003cbr\u003e‘Thanks,’ I said.\u003cbr\u003eHe smiled. ‘Name’s Fred.’\u003cbr\u003eDid I give a care? Heck no. If he wanted to talk to me, let him work for it.\u003cbr\u003eHe did, said, ‘And yours?’\u003cbr\u003e‘Caitryn.’\u003cbr\u003eFrom the get go, I had noticed this fly-fisher dude staring at me. Hadn’t noticed if he drooled and what did he call himself? oh yeah, forgettable Fred.\u003cbr\u003eHe stood with three other fly-fisher dudes dressed all alike in khaki shorts, sandals, golf-Ts and floppy hats. I don’t play nice with city men. Or men shorter.\u003cbr\u003eI blew him off my periphery, and scanned the room looking for cowboys. Saw possibles.\u003cbr\u003eFred tapped my shoulder. ‘Want to dance?’\u003cbr\u003e‘No, thanks.’\u003cbr\u003e‘Why not?’ he said.\u003cbr\u003e...he’s got to be kidding...\u003cbr\u003eI guessed Fred to be around fifty. With his Italian-dark skin, heavy brows over black dissecting eyes and styled hair, he had no appeal, but he did have a self-assured presence, if the squatty Mafia-look attracted. One with hairy stubby fingers that probably wafted of scaly fish smell.\u003cbr\u003e‘I don’t dance with outsiders,’ I said.\u003cbr\u003e...and definitely off limits to the whiff of fly-fish...\u003cbr\u003e‘Outsiders?’\u003cbr\u003e‘Men who come to Montana and look and dress like you.’\u003cbr\u003eFred said, ‘I can’t change your mind?’\u003cbr\u003e‘Nope.’\u003cbr\u003e‘Can you tell me why not?’\u003cbr\u003e‘I only dance with guys wearing western boots, jeans. Cowboys.’\u003cbr\u003eI got up, asked a cowboy to dance. Three dances later, the band took a break and I returned to my barstool.\u003cbr\u003eAnd so the story goes as wealthy Fred rises to the challenge to pursue Cat, his need to have her for his own.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Kyle Morrow","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47163596472560,"sku":"2940153008202","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940153008202_p0.jpg?v=1764027767","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940153008202","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}