Page 44 of The Way Back Home

“You’re not their father,” I shout, and take a deep breath to get a hold of myself. “What am I going to tell Sheriff Webb? They might be little punks, but they’re punks in my care.”

“You ain’t responsible for them.”

“Then who is? This town already hates me enough as it is. Can you just please try not to strangle any more minors?”

He chews his lip, as if he’s really contemplating his answer, and I’m awarded a rare smile. “Can I slap ’em upside the head again if they disrespect you?”

I fold my arms over my chest and fight the smile playing on my lips. I lose. “Why don’t we take it on a case-by-case basis?”

“Deal,” he says, and pushes off the truck.

“Come on, Marine. Back to work.”

“Whatever you say, princess.” He gives me a salute, and I roll my eyes and head back toward the building. I stop and turn when I realize he isn’t following me, and I catch his gaze on my derriere. His eyes slide up to mine and he wets his lips and looks away, moving past me and into the building. I breathe a heavy sigh and follow after him like a love-struck girl. I have two choices: cut my losses or confront him again. I don’t know how I’ll handle the rejection a second time, but I’m not the woman he accused me of being either. If I was, I would have run away from Magnolia Springs as fast as my feet could carry me. I’ve weathered too many storms in my lifetime to turn tail and run from a broken Marine. I’ll face his violence and demons head on because I’m the hurricane now, and August Cotton better batten down the hatches or run for cover.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Olivia

“HEY, CHECK IT OUT.Scarface is outside,” Beau says a few days later, and the three of us look at him as if he’s grown two heads.

“No way?”

“He is. Go look for yourself.”

“Who’s Scarface?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

“You know, what’s-his-name? That guy who went off to war and came back all fucked up,” Beau explains, and then nervously glances at August who is so obviously clenching his teeth. “Ah shit, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Please don’t put me in another headlock.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Both of you, go get painting the kennel floors,” I say, before August can tear them both a new asshole. They trudge off toward the kennels, and I sigh impatiently, preparing to head outside. August grabs my arm and pulls me back.

“Let me go,” he says, setting his paint roller down. “I’ll see what he wants.”

“I’m perfectly capable of talking to strangers, August, especially if they’re Marines. It goes hand in hand with the job.”

“Just, please, will you let me do this one thing?”