Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Miss Gallard . . .” The cop’s exasperation came through the speaker. “I’m not going to ask you again to put down the drum.”
“This is the great outdoors, Officer! Man has no jurisdiction here.”
“Except you’re on my land once again, Trina!” shouted one of the Santa Clauses, stabbing the air with his finger. “I’ve got the right to hold a peaceful gathering at my home without you hippies worshipping the sky or whatever weird shit you’re up to this week.”
“You heard him, Miss Gallard,” the officer said. “You’re trespassing. Again.”
The former rock star blew a raspberry. “We’re not bothering anyone.”
“You’re bothering me! You’ve gone too far this time, making a bonfire on my side of the property line. Officer, I want them arrested.”
“Oh no,” Melody said, groaning. “There has to be a way to mediate this.”
“Melody, stay in the car, please,” Beat said. “I’ll handle it—”
She was already sliding out of the backseat and taking off after Danielle into the field. “So much for please making a difference.” Joseph sighed, following the women. Beat exited into the icy air right behind him, striding after Melody.
Stress level: high.
The scene was already dissolving into chaos, but at the appearance of Melody, Danielle, Beat, and the man carrying a camera, everything only got worse. “Who the hell is this now?” a second Santa wanted to know, visibly incited by their arrival. “Not only did you neglect to ask permission to be on our land and start a fire, now you’re filming?”
“They’re not with us!” snarled a man with a purple bandanna tied around his head.
Trina’s hands dropped away from her bongos, surprise transforming her features. She took a step away from the bonfire and stopped, shielding her eyes. “Actually, that’s . . . my daughter. That’s my kid.”
Purple Bandanna wheeled around. “You have a kid?”
Melody came to a jarring stop, as if she’d run into an invisible barrier. Beat couldn’t see her face, but he knew exactly how it would look. Blank everywhere but her eyes. They’d be turbulent. Knowing that, anger flooded Beat at such a wild pace, it was a wonder he was able to keep walking, but somehow he did until he reached Melody, letting her feel his heat against her back. He slipped their fingers together and held tight.
Trina’s eyes narrowed, ticking from her daughter to Beat, some of the color leaving her face. “That better not be who I think it is,” she said, audibly short of breath.
Now the Santas were getting impatient. “Officer, when can we expect these hippies off our property? We’re having our annual Christmas party and I know they timed this damn drum circle so it would interfere. I know they did.”
Santa #2 stepped forward. “Is this because we didn’t invite you?”
“We hate you! That’s why!” This, from Santa #3.
Trina ignored them. “Answer me, Melody. Is that her son?”
“Yes, Mother. This is Beat Dawkins.”
A sound of outrage slowly rose in volume until it was a full-on screech. “You would bring him here? To my home?”
“Technically, you’re in our home,” barked Santa #1.
Trina hauled back and threw her bongo at Santa #1—and it was a direct hit. The drum caught him in the dead center of his forehead and he staggered back, clutching the impact point, his bearded chin quivering in shock.
That’s when all three Santas charged the bonfire.
The police officers, who were clearly not expecting a physical altercation, were slow to act, fumbling their radios and bumping into the open doors of their patrol cars, before running toward the bonfire in an effort to intercept the fight. Beat watched in disbelief as Trina’s posse threw their drums in solidarity with their apparent leader and clashed head-on with the trio of Santa Clauses. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting—but it wasn’t this.
And he especially didn’t expect Melody to run straight into the fray.
“Mom!”
His legs went so numb, it took Beat a second to take off after her. “Mel!” Pulse jackhammering in his temples, he watched Santa #3 snatch up a stick from the ground on his way to Trina. A long, gnarled one that maybe they’d been using to poke the bonfire. He thrust that thing up over his head like a spear, his mouth open on a high-pitched yell. Beat was still a good ten yards from reaching Melody when, to his utter horror, she stepped between Trina and Santa #3, balling her fists and preparing to defend her mother.
He’d never been so awed by anyone or so fucking panicked in his life.
Trina had just been outed as someone who never even spoke about Melody. To people she apparently lived with. She had this incredible daughter and didn’t bother to claim her? She didn’t deserve this type of loyalty, but Melody was giving it to her anyway. There wasn’t a chance in hell, however, any of it was going to happen while Beat had breath in his lungs.