Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Right.”
“So if your marshal had interfered, he ran the risk of escalating a situation where no one was hurt and the bad guys were gone in minutes.”
Sam shook his head. “That’s really not the point.”
“Oh, I think it is the point.”
“I’m not saying he announces himself in the moment, but he gets up, follows the guys outside where no one can get hurt, and then he––”
“But he could’ve gotten hurt confronting the robbers alone, yes?”
“Yeah, but––”
“I mean, maybe he could have snuck out there and gotten the plate of the getaway car, but other than that, why would you want him to put himself in danger?”
“Because that’s the job,” he told me. “You put yourself in danger and don’t sit there and watch a crime happen in front of your face.” He was irritated, and I heard it in his voice and saw it in the furrow of his brows. “What if it had been a supermarket and the perps grabbed a little kid or––”
“Well, then I suspect that Aberdeen would have interfered in that situation.”
“But we don’t know, do we?”
“I don’t think that’s fair.”
“Imagine Ian in that situation.”
“For starters, I can’t imagine Ian in a club,” I teased him.
“Stop,” he replied flatly. “This isn’t funny. I have to make a decision here.”
“Fine, if Ian was in the club, I’m certain he would have waited until the men were outside so no one would be put in danger, and then would have yelled at them to stop, and if they didn’t, would have wounded them both and had them handcuffed so they’d be ready to go when the police arrived.”
“There, see? Exactly.”
“Yes, but not everyone has Ian’s skill set.”
“Fine. Eli, then?”
“Well, it might be the same with Eli, but since I don’t know him as well, he might have chased the men outside, wounded one, the other might have gotten away, but he would have gotten the license plate and perhaps shot some part of the car.”
“I agree with that too, so this is what I mean. Either way, going outside to get a plate or try to stop them is what’s expected of a marshal.”
“But he’s new, you said. Can’t this be a teachable moment?”
“It would, but how can I teach that? You either have the drive to step up or you don’t.”
“And when you talked to him, what did he say?”
He grunted. “I’m still deciding what I’m going to do. I haven’t talked to him.” I got the face he made whenever he thought I was being insane.
“Heaven forbid you speak to him,” I said sarcastically.
“What am I supposed to say? It’s too bad you’re not marshal material?”
“Maybe not that.”
“I mean, what if his partner was with him and she acted and Aberdeen didn’t back up her play? This is my biggest concern.”
“Then perhaps you talk to her and see what she says.”
He nodded.
“Ohmygod, did you agree with me?”
He shot me a look that should have frozen me where I sat, but I leaned over and kissed him anyway. His grunt was soft.
“You need to call whatshisname, the guy who puts up the decorations, because Santa is really crooked up there.”
“Are you kidding? With all the wind and the rain, it’s a wonder he’s still up there at all.”
“Which is all well and good, but we’re going to have problems if they don’t come back out.” I got up and returned to the kitchen. “Or I can get up there and fix it,” I called over to him.
“Over my dead body!” he yelled.
And I knew that, of course.
So the kid who came home at Christmas was not the same one who came home at Thanksgiving. Kola was uncharacteristically quiet, slept in, and was downright prickly. He complained about dinner, about how many different people Hannah had me feeding—a lot of Hannah’s friends came by on their way out of town—and didn’t think he’d be able to come down during our Christmas party.
I tried to talk to him, Sam tried as well, but he only apologized and said that everything was fine.
Jake, who seemed to be eating for two, was sitting on the couch with Hannah and Harper and Sam, playing Diablo, when I asked if he had any idea what was wrong with my son.
“What?” Jake asked, barely looking up at me, giving both Dobby and Chilly a piece of chicken off his plate. It was a little gross, as neither of them could have the breading off the boneless wings, so he had to take it apart, and then, because it was spicy, put it in his mouth, suck off the bad stuff, and then feed it to them like he was a mama bird.
“Stop doing that. It’s gross,” Harper insisted, taking the plate away from him and passing it up to me. “And, Mr. Harcourt, you and I both know Jake has no idea what you’re talking about.”