Her focus was going to be her business and making a life for herself in this little house by the river. Maybe once she was feeling more comfortable, she’d socialize outside the O’Hara circle. But for now, she was content with her own company.
She stood at the kitchen window, drinking her coffee and letting her mind wander, when she heard the crunch of tires coming up the drive. A white Jeep she didn’t recognize skidded to a halt, and she recognized the woman who hopped out and slammed the door.
Hazel Trout.
Marnie set down her coffee cup and stepped out onto the front porch before Hazel could come inside. She seemed like the kind of person who would enter without an invitation.
“You have some nerve!” Hazel said as she marched up the sidewalk and onto the porch steps. “How dare you think you can horn in on my man. He’s mine! Do you hear me?”
Marnie stared at her for several seconds, long enough to have Hazel shifting from foot to foot as she waited for the argument to escalate.
“I hear you,” Marnie said calmly, “But interestingly enough, I don’t know you. Maybe you’d like to introduce yourself before you start yelling at me on my own property.”
“Don’t act all high and mighty with me. My brother told me you were nothing but common trash. As for my name, it’s soon to be Hazel Hamilton.”
“Ah, yes. I recognize the voice from your little episode in town the other day.” Marnie leaned against the porch railing, deliberately casual. “And I suppose your brother is right. I grew up about as poor as anyone could. But at least I had manners. Is that all you came to say? I’ve got to get ready for work.”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed at the dismissal and her face turned red, like a child throwing a tantrum. Marnie realized that’s exactly what she was—a spoiled brat who’d never been told no.
“You were all anyone could talk about last night down at Duffey’s. How your daddy beat up Beckett back when you were kids because you two got caught together.”
“Is that what they say?” Marnie asked, her brow raised in mild curiosity.
“Well, I’m here to tell you to think twice about rekindling old flames. They were also saying he was sniffing around you yesterday afternoon and you were ready to throw yourself at him right there on Main Street.”
“Must be an interesting crowd you run with. So full of information.” Marnie straightened and moved toward the door. “Like I said, I’ve got to get ready for work, and I’m not in the mood for tantrums. Actually, if you’ll hold on a second, I’d love to get my camera. I make my living snapping interesting pictures of faces. I’d call yours ‘Petulance.’”
Hazel let out a shriek and her fists bunched at her sides. “You think you’re so clever!”
“You’re starting to repeat yourself and I’m bored. Go home to your mother and grow up.”
Hazel took several steps forward and Marnie straightened to her full height. “Don’t take another step. You’re on my property and I won’t hesitate to have you thrown behind bars.”
“I bet the sheriff would love to hear your side of things,” Hazel spat.
“I’m sure he would. His mother practically raised me, so I imagine he’d be very interested in pressing charges for trespassing and harassment.” Marnie tilted her head, studying Hazel the way she might study a particularly interesting insect.
Hazel stamped her foot and fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m going to make you wish you never stepped foot back in Laurel Valley.”
“Little girl, I grew up under the fist of Harley Whitlock. If you think your tantrums scare me, you’ve got another thing coming.” Marnie’s voice was quiet but steady, carrying the weight of everything she’d survived. “Go lick your wounds in private and stop making a fool of yourself. Maybe find someone who’s actually interested in what you’re offering.”
Hazel turned sharply on her heel and stomped back to her Jeep, slamming the door and revving the engine before she sped away in a spray of gravel.
Marnie watched the dust settle, then let the screen door close softly behind her as she went back inside. She picked up her coffee cup, but it had gone cold.
“Yet another reason to stay away from Beckett Hamilton,” she muttered, pouring the coffee down the drain and starting a fresh pot. He was nothing but trouble.
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Beckett wasn’t trouble. He was the opposite of trouble—steady and reliable and good in a way that made her chest ache.
The trouble was her. The trouble was always her.
She’d brought chaos and violence into his life once before, and she wasn’t about to do it again. No matter how much the visions insisted their paths were meant to cross.
Some things weren’t worth the risk. Some people weren’t worth the pain.
She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
The coffee maker beeped and she poured herself a fresh cup, then stood at the window watching the river flow past. Somewhere out there, Hazel Trout was probably already spreading new rumors. And somewhere else, Beckett was probably already planning his next attempt to get her to say yes to dinner.
