“What?” His eyes looked lost. His fingers trembled on the brim of his hat. However, Mark couldn’t bring himself to feel compassion for the young man.
“I trusted you, Jack. I thought you were invested in what happened around here, and so I shared my plans and ideas with you, but all along, you’ve been—” Mark couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even think it. How could Jack have gone behind his back in such a manner? Mark rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, trying to massage away some of the tension, but it didn’t work. “I can’t stand the sight of you. Get on out of here,” Mark said coldly, stepping away from him. He didn’t even want to breathe the same air as Jack.
“But Mr. Flint, I promise—” Jack began, but Mark refused to hear any more lies.
“I told you to get off my property. You’re fired, and don’t let me see you around here again.” With a threatening step back in Jack’s direction, the young man flinched, and Mark realized that his temper flared so intensely he was spoiling for a fight. Clenching his hands into fists, he side-stepped around Jack and went to find Felix, who was in his stall.
“Come on, boy,” Mark told the horse. Dark thoughts had entered his mind, and he itched to act on them. “We’ve got business to handle.”
***
“George Winn!” Mark yelled as he halted Felix outside of Mr. Winn’s massive, white-washed barn. Mark had not bothered with going up to the house to search for George. With dinnertime had already come and gone, the surest place to find the man would be working with the animals.
Mark called his name again as he tied Felix to a tall fence post. The sun was out and shining brilliantly, but Mark didn’t stop to appreciate the beauty of the day. Though angry when he’d left his ranch, in the few short minutes it took to ride Felix over, his temper had fully ignited. He now craved retribution, and he intended to get it.
As Mark shouted his name repeatedly, the veins bulged on his neck. Entering the open door into the barn, a brown cow with large white spots on its side mooed at Mark irritably.
“Who’s shoutin’ like that?” George asked as he entered the barn from the other direction. Even from the short distance, Mark could see George smirk when he realized who was standing in the opposite entryway, calling his name. George looked rather smug at thirty years of age, only slightly older than Mark. A dark hat was perched atop his head, and his faded black trousers and shirt were covered in dirt, as it seemed Mark had caught him hard at work. George ran a hand over his brown mustache, and he grunted at Mark, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t rile up my animals, Mr. Flint. What with makin’ all that racket, you’re like to scare the milk right out of ‘em.”
Mark frowned as he sized up George Winn. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to attack my business.”
“Attack your business,” George scoffed. He kicked his black boots through the dirt at his feet and stepped toward Mark. “What cause would I have to do that?”
Mark gritted his teeth. “You tell me.”
George’s brown eyebrows visibly quirked underneath the brim of his hat. “I can’t do that, Mr. Flint.Mybusiness is prospering. I have no reason to come after yours.”
Growling, Mark was infuriated by George’s lies. “No,mybusiness was flourishing. I know that you and your father have a successful operation here. It might have even been the best business in town once, but that was before I got here—”
“You don’t talk about my father,” George snapped, and it stoked the angry fire building in Mark’s stomach to see the man’s feathers ruffled. “You don’t know my father. You don’t even come from this town.”
“What does that matter?” Mark spat with two more steps toward George, steadily decreasing the distance between them.
“It matters,” George replied angrily. He scratched at his mustache. “Willow Lake belongs to the Winn family. We’ve been here since the town first got its name, and I intend to take it back. I don’t care who I have to step on to do it.”
“No man threatens me,” Mark said furiously, balling his hands into fists.
“No?” George smirked, and with that flippant remark, Mark lost his cool entirely. He charged at George Winn, closing the distance between them in seconds. Without thinking, he drew back his fist and hammered it upside the left side of George’s face, aiming straight for George’s nose.
George grunted to the side. When he twisted back at Mark, a trickle of blood was on his thick mustache as his nose was bleeding. “You lousy—” George started, but Mark swung at him again. George moved a step back, and Mark missed his target. Not waiting for Mark to regain his balance, he used his backward momentum to rock forward, pushing his shoulder into the middle of Mark’s chest.
Mark stumbled back, reeling, as he tried to suck in air. The blow to his chest caught him off-guard. He bent over and did his best to gather his wits. When he could breathe again, Mark looked up at George and whispered menacingly, “Things are about to get a whole lot worse for you, George Winn.”
Chapter Thirty
Layla studied most of Mark’s initial reactions to the news about Jack, saw him run toward the barn, and heard him shout for Jack. She stood motionless when he took off on a horse, riding in the direction of George Winn’s property. Eliza hadn’t stayed long, as Jack had emerged from the horse stalls some minutes later, and she determined it was best to go home with him. Layla paced nervously ever since Eliza and Jack left. She knew how Mark could be calm one minute and exploding with anger the next. In this case, he had just cause to be livid, and she worried that he might do something rather rash in his fit of temper.
“Come on in the house,” Emmett said to Layla calmly. He lifted Heath onto his hip, and he motioned for Layla to follow them inside.
Layla shook her head. “The sun’s going down. I want to wait out here so I can see Mark as soon as he gets home.”
Emmett nodded. “I can see some sense in that, but I think it’d be better if you come inside. The air is getting crisp with the sun setting, and I don’t want you to catch a chill. Plus, the little one needs you.”
Layla stopped pacing and looked at Heath. While he wasn’t fussing, he wasn’t his usual happy self, either. Layla reached for him, and Emmett handed him over. “You know when something’s wrong, don’t you?” She dipped her head and kissed Heath softly on top of his head, snuggling him close. Her father was right about going indoors; it was getting colder, and there was nothing she could do for Mark standing out here on the porch.
Her father led the way inside, opening the door for Layla and Heath. Layla put Heath on the ground next to his favorite toys and his rattle in the sitting room, and she sunk into her blue wing-backed chair.
“Do you think Mark will be home soon?” Layla asked her father tentatively.
