It didn’t take much to guess that he spent a good portion of his time on the end of a bottle.
His hand twisted in the scruff of Tommy’s jacket, and he gave it a shake. Instant tears sprang to the poor kid’s eyes.
“There’s no need to be rough,” she snapped and reached down to lift her bag from the ground. “I asked him to help me out for a couple of minutes.” She studiously ignored his start of surprise. “Is that a problem, Mr.?” She damn sure wanted this joker’s name. Jack would be interested to hear how he was treating a little boy.
The guy snorted. “You think I’m an idiot, lady?”
He shoved Tommy toward his bike, almost knocking him off his feet. “Git goin’, I’ll be right behind ya.”
Tommy gave her a helpless glance then yanked his bike out of the rack, threw a leg over the cracked seat, and peddled away as though his life depended on it.
The man moved into her personal space. Rebecca held her ground but her heart was thrashing its way up her throat.
He lifted cigarette stained fingertips and ran them up and down the strap of her purse. “You don’t want to mess with me, lady. Just forget today ever happened, you got it?”
Becky swayed, more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She opened her mouth to answer she didn’t know what, when a familiar, and at the moment welcoming, voice spoke from over her shoulder.
“Hey, Becky, there you are.” Mitch’s big body cast a looming shadow over the man in front of her. He took a hasty step back.
Mitch wrapped a muscular arm in a short-sleeved shirt around her waist and tugged her close. Rebecca glanced up to tell him to lay off and cringed at the stony expression at odds with his jovial tone.
“You have a problem with my wife , mister, you take it up with me.” He stared the other man down, totally ignoring her gasp of outrage. “Got it?” His choice of words made it clear he’d heard at least the end of the conversation.
The man swore and spat on the ground between them— ew —then turned and stomped off to a faded red pickup sitting near the school fence.
The engine roared, sending up a blast of blue smoke. He left behind the smell of burnt gas and an uncomfortable silence.
She twisted out of Mitch’s hold and fisted her hands on her hips.
“Husband? You’re about five years too late to be making that claim, Mitchell Taylor.”
His hand twisted in the scruff of Tommy’s jacket, and he gave it a shake. Instant tears sprang to the poor kid’s eyes.
“There’s no need to be rough,” she snapped and reached down to lift her bag from the ground. “I asked him to help me out for a couple of minutes.” She studiously ignored his start of surprise. “Is that a problem, Mr.?” She damn sure wanted this joker’s name. Jack would be interested to hear how he was treating a little boy.
The guy snorted. “You think I’m an idiot, lady?”
He shoved Tommy toward his bike, almost knocking him off his feet. “Git goin’, I’ll be right behind ya.”
Tommy gave her a helpless glance then yanked his bike out of the rack, threw a leg over the cracked seat, and peddled away as though his life depended on it.
The man moved into her personal space. Rebecca held her ground but her heart was thrashing its way up her throat.
He lifted cigarette stained fingertips and ran them up and down the strap of her purse. “You don’t want to mess with me, lady. Just forget today ever happened, you got it?”
Becky swayed, more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She opened her mouth to answer she didn’t know what, when a familiar, and at the moment welcoming, voice spoke from over her shoulder.
“Hey, Becky, there you are.” Mitch’s big body cast a looming shadow over the man in front of her. He took a hasty step back.
Mitch wrapped a muscular arm in a short-sleeved shirt around her waist and tugged her close. Rebecca glanced up to tell him to lay off and cringed at the stony expression at odds with his jovial tone.
“You have a problem with my wife , mister, you take it up with me.” He stared the other man down, totally ignoring her gasp of outrage. “Got it?” His choice of words made it clear he’d heard at least the end of the conversation.
The man swore and spat on the ground between them— ew —then turned and stomped off to a faded red pickup sitting near the school fence.
The engine roared, sending up a blast of blue smoke. He left behind the smell of burnt gas and an uncomfortable silence.
She twisted out of Mitch’s hold and fisted her hands on her hips.
“Husband? You’re about five years too late to be making that claim, Mitchell Taylor.”
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