Page 100 of The Locksmith's Promise

I winced. Exactly like his father used to move in close to me.

Maggie’s face fell.

I shook my head to absolve her of any misplaced guilt and spun away on my heel with my hands stuffed in my front pockets.

Sergeant Elliott caught my eye.

I looked away and made to stride past, but he caught my elbow.

My body automatically jerked away, my hands flying out of my pockets.

“Easy, son.” Gruffly, he advised, “Mamas are soft, Bax. I would have grounded him for half his life for pulling a stunt like that.”

I nodded and muttered, “Thanks.”

“Want to grab a drink in the beer tent?”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just take a walk.”

“Okay, son.”

Son.

I couldn’t go home and hide; I was done with running. But fuck if I didn’t slink away like a dog with his tail between his legs.

The beer tent didn’t sound all that bad anymore.

And then maybe the dunk tank.

An unwilling smile curved my lips. If I wasn’t careful, Maggie might volunteer me for it.

Spying Miller sitting back with his long-ass legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, I ambled over and eased down into the empty seat beside him.

He tipped his beer bottle up, eyeing me as he swallowed. “You look like a wet cat.”

I snorted, then eyed him. “Are you getting Mickey rabbits?”

He shook his head. “Maxine has this idea in her head about farming wool from Angora rabbits. Says it will be good for the boys to have animals to look after.”

“Huh,” I laughed. “Cor thinks you’re going to eat them.”

He tipped his beer up and cocked his eyebrow. “If I have to take over their care, I just might.”

Handing me a beer, he prodded, “What’s up?”

I sighed and took the proffered beer. “Mickey and Corwin playing William fucking Tell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Miller’s hand dropped, the bottle dangling from two fingers as he lurched forward. “I don’t fucking know how boys survive.”

“My heart near pounded out of my chest,” I admitted. “I didn’t react,” I paused to search for the right word, “well.”

Mouth twisting, he turned his head to the side. “Aw, shit. Did you go off the deep end?”

I paused. “A bit.”

“And?” He lifted the bottle to his mouth. “They’ll survive.”

“They will, I might not,” I grumbled.

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