I can't believe it's been a week working for the man the whole town keeps at an arm's length.

I haven't told anybody yet. As far as my family, my friends, my co-workers know, I'm just picking up a few extra hours watching a busy welder's kid. Not exactly uncommon in this town, where two thirds of the men still make their money off motor oil, muscle, and machines.

The timing is just as well, too. We'll be into Christmas soon. Officially signaling the end of my lab training and a few days to rest.

I doubt I'll have as many days here with this little cherub. We've shifted from wildlife studies to reading practice, a lesson plan set by Papa Bear, who's surprisingly meticulous about his daughter's learning schedule.

I wouldn't have expected a man like Marshal to know the first thing about homeschooling. He tells me he's planning to send her to school as soon as she's kindergarten age, but he wants her ready to leave everybody else in the dust.

So, I follow his lesson plan. I use Google and a few advice videos from YouTube to help fill in the gaps. I ask the little girl for her thoughts after we watch the kids' shows on his list, and she recites back what she's learned beautifully.

Surprisingly easy. Efficient. Mutual.

She's happy, and I'm making money. That's the point, right?

If it weren't for him, the answer would be obvious. But I'm learning fast there's a lot more than what's surface deep.

Marshal never shows his face more than two or three times during our days together, always briefly. And often just to check in, make sure I'm carrying out his orders, and pay up at the end of the day.

After seven days back to back, it's becoming routine. He spends the last couple hours with us in the living room, seemingly ahead with his work.

Marshal stomps across the room while I'm reading to Mia and rips a few candy canes off the tall Christmas tree reaching to the ceiling. He shoves one into my hand, passing the little girl another. “Part of your bonus. Won't need you around until the twenty-sixth,” he growls, biting through the wrapper of the final cane he keeps for himself.

“Got it. We'll pick up then. Anything else you need before I head out?” I ask, gathering my training material into my backpack. I'm so ready to be done.

It's nice to accomplish something for a change. Just a few more hours to log and a test or two, and I can start contemplating my future with a fancy new license from the state of Iowa.

“We need to talk hours for next year. You're performing, Red.” I blink through his compliment, surprised. “Didn't think you had it in you to juggle responsibilities. Glad I was wrong. Guess you're more grown up than you look – especially in the jeans.”

Mia laughs, watching me stand, hands on my hips. I'm not daunted by the prickly glow in his bright blue eyes. “Again, bossypants? If you want more hours, I wish you'd take an interest in something besides what I'm wearing.”

“Keep dressing right and maybe I will.” Jesus, he's serious. He looks at me slowly, hoisting Mia into his arms, then settling into the huge wood recliner in the corner. The end of the unwrapped candy cane goes into the corner of his mouth and there's a loud crunch. “I'm trying to be nice, Sadie. It's almost Christmas. Relax.”

There's nothing relaxing about the second time he chews into peppermint. Mia giggles at the sound.

I don't know why I'm so on edge.

If only calming down were so easy. Truly, nothing ever puts me at ease in his presence. Well, nothing except the wild contrast between this beast and his daughter, who looks like a porcelain doll in his arms, smiling so sweetly.

She clearly loves the brute. He'd tear a hole through the world just to keep that happy grin on her face. They're a happy family, a unit, however strange and unlikely.

It'd be delightful, if his pearly blues didn't twist knots inside me. “I want you full time for a few days next month, if you can swing it.” He gnaws his candy cane halfway down, helping Mia open hers, never taking his eyes off me. “And if you can't, how does overtime sound? I need the extra hours.”

“We'll see,” I say, backing away slowly, trying to hide how stunned I am. He's already asking for more? I averaged over thirty hours this week, every day but Sunday. I'm not sure how much leeway I'll get from home, knowing dad can't look after mom constantly.

“What's holding you back?” he asks, pulling Mia closer. Her smile is gone. She's less than a minute from dozing in his arms by the looks of it, and his voice drops to a rough whisper. “School? Home? Already planning to jump ship?”

Now, he's just being an asshole. My fingers go taught against my skin. “I told you, I'm flexible, as long as I'm being paid and treated fairly. But as you know, I have a situation at home –“

“Yeah, your mom. Tell you what, how much would it take to get your family a real nurse to look after her part-time? Whatever it is, I'll pay it.”

Red flags beat me in the face. I'm not even shocked by what he's said because it doesn't compute on any level.

He wants to pay out oodles of extra money why, exactly?

It's not even the mystery of how he thinks he can afford it on a freelance machinist's salary that's bugging me. He clearly makes good money doing what he does, but nothing justifies what he's offering.

“Talk to me, Red. Before I dole out your pay and put her down for a nap. You look like you just got run over.” He stands, bouncing the lazy little girl gently on his shoulder. She's sleepy, lazily sucking her candy. “Why are you passing up real help?”

“Because it's completely ludicrous, Marshal!” It comes out louder than I intend, making Mia shift in his arms. “You want me to work for you full time? After a single week? Jesus. Look, I like spending time with her but...I do have a life. I'm after a career. Every day is a struggle to get on the right track.”

“Then you weren't listening. Your problem is your sick mother, yeah?” He steps closer, silent, blue eyes blazing through me until I finally nod. But he doesn't understand. Lord, not even close. “I just said I'd help take care of it. I want you to move in.”

“Move. In?” I mouth the words slowly, searching for their meaning and failing to find it.

Okay, so he isn't just insane in the eccentric fringe weirdo sense. He's delusional. Decoupled from reality. Full on hallucinating if this isn't some kind of sick joke.

“Right. You, me, Mia, here.” There's no humor in his eyes. They shift around the room, landing on his daughter, and me again last. It's a look that tells me to just shut up and accept this madness. “You follow? I'm talking the whole nine yards. Lodging. Better pay. Family benefits. Just for a few weeks, so I'm able to take on a special job I've had on the back burner forever.”

“Oh. You didn't say temporary...” Does that even make it better? In theory, sure. “I'll have to think about this. Get back to you after Christmas?”

He isn't happy. He wanted an answer today.

The blank, sour disappointment on his face tells me I might be jeopardizing this whole arrangement. Too bad. I can't agree to move into the Castoff's house without even talking to my family first!

Not without breaking the news as gently as I possibly can. Jackson's disgust alone will be a hurricane.

“I'll give you till New Year's. Won't be needing the full time gig for a few weeks, anyway. I'll be busy traveling for awhile next month, and I really need someone to hold down everything here full time.”

“You want to leave Mia here? With me?” That surprises me more than anything else.

They're inseparable. He hates to even let her out of his sight when she isn't asleep or playing next to me.

He's just silent. I don't have a clue what that means.

Then his eyes break, signaling a whole new level of what the hell is going on here? I've never seen him look away before. “This isn't easy for me to ask. If it weren't so damn important, I wouldn't think about it twice. Truth be told, I loathe the thought of leaving her alone anywhere. She's been by my side since the day she was born. But I don't think she'd handle the trip well, and I need to get this done.”

“Daddy? You're...going? Away?” Mia looks up, concerned by the darkness entering his tone.

He kisses her forehead. “Not for long, honeybee. Nothing to worry over right now. Promise.” His eyes are small, pained, reluctant.

Wow. Apparently, shame can be part of Marshal Howard's makeup.

So many heavy words. Sweet ones, too. He wasn't kidding – this is hard for him.

I don't know, but I doubt they've ever been apart. I have a brief flash of Marshal's hulking arms holding a new born baby, bottle feeding her, alone and uncertain as he learns what it takes to protect this new life.

It's also not the first time I've wondered why there's no Mrs. Howard. “What about Mia's mother?” I instinctively know it's not an easy question. “Can't she help out?”

Marshal doesn't breathe. His gaze sharpens, intensifies, a new energy I can't quite comprehend coming into it. He holds his daughter softly against his chest.

I don't know why I bother saying the next words. They just come out. I need to know, and maybe he isn't following. “I mean, it's none of my business, but doesn't she have –“

It's incredible how intimidating he is even when there's a tired child in his arms. He storms closer, buries me in his shadow, and cuts me off mid-sentence with nothing but the fierce glow in those eyes. They've become oceans, dragging me under.

“Don't, Red. I'll cut you some slack this time, and this time only because you don't know better.” His eyes bore deeper into mine and his voice becomes a harsh whisper. “Listen close because I'm only gonna say this once: never, ever talk about the bitch who walked out on my baby girl in this house. She's dead to us.”

Holy crap. I'm trembling, backing away, wishing I could disappear through the nearest wall. “Uh, sorry. I'm sorry, Marshal. I didn't know. Really.”

I still don't know anything, technically. What does 'dead to us' mean? Is this woman gone literally? Figuratively?

Whatever the case, it's not the time to find out. I'm long past due to get the hell out of dodge.

“I'll drop by the day after Christmas, just like we planned. Sorry for any bad memories, again.”

“Sadie, stop.” His voice freezes me mid-turn, before I find my way out through the kitchen. Wincing, I close my eyes, scared to look back. I finally do, wondering if the next word I'll hear is fired. “Grab the envelope off the table with your pay before you leave. It's all there, and then some. Merry Christmas.”

I almost died. I can't even manage a smile as I beat it out of his house.

I barely remember to snatch up the envelope before I'm gone, skipping the goodbye. His heavy footsteps tread in the other direction, taking his little girl upstairs for her nap.

It only hits me later what a thoughtless, skittish asshole I am. It's later, after I'm up in my room binging Netflix, and mom is down for the night. There's three hundred dollars when I tear open the envelope. Over twice what he owed for the day. There's also a note tucked inside with the same blocky, crabbed writing I saw the first day I decided to go after the nanny gig.

Here's your bonus, Red. Now think about the rest. I want you under my roof helping out. I'll even be a perfect gentleman.

I don't know whether to laugh, sigh, or breakdown in tears. Whatever else Marshal, Papa Bear, the Castoff is, he's an emotional labyrinth.

* * *

Later at the drugstore I stop for extra wrapping paper and a few last loose ends before Christmas. I pick up an extra box of candy for Mia, a late gift I'll give the little girl as soon as my break is over. I also get her a couple coloring books and find a bag of treats for Whiskey, the overgrown ginger who spends most of his time sleeping in the corner cat bed while I'm babysitting.

I hesitate in the coffee aisle, but yes, I even breakdown and buy a nice bag of imported beans for Mr. Grinch himself.

Marshal's offer won't stop gnawing at my belly. It shouldn't be possible to carry this creeping frustration down Port Eagle's main street, fully decked out for the festive season, but I do.

I've never been a fan of the holiday rush. It just seems claustrophobic, another measure of my time ticking away in every blinking light and winking plastic Santa.

I can't go on like this. Decisions are waiting. I want to talk to my family sooner, rather than later, and make the best of the fallout. If I even decide to become Marshal's temporary live-in nanny.

My luck doesn't improve much when I pull into the driveway. My brother's fancy SUV is parked in front. It's been there long enough to have the evening's dusting of snow sitting on its black sun roof.

Pushing my key into the front door lock, I grit my teeth. My jaw clenches tighter when it opens for me.

“There you are, weirdo.” Jackson steps aside, giving me space. Nothing dampens his ugly grin as I yank open the closet door, peeling off my winter coat.

“Hello to you, too, dick. What are you doing here?”

“Actually, I dropped by to see you. Thought I'd find out how that babysitting gig is treating you. It's gotten an awful lot of your attention. Dad says you're dragging yourself through the door so late some evenings he's already put mom to bed.”

“Jackson, I just got home. Can't you wait five minutes before laying into me?”

He shrugs, an annoyed look on his face. Like I'm the one who's being ridiculous.

I realize a second later it's all for show. I also notice Ginger isn't here, which means he has a bigger license than usual to be a huge prick without her reigning him in.

“What? Can't your big brother have a heart-to-heart?” he says quietly, moving in front of me. His hands dart out, catch my chest, and squeeze. I try not to flinch. “I'm not here to screw you over, sis. Honest. But you're gonna have to tell me what the fuck you think you're doing hanging around with him.”

I'm not sure whether I blink before my heart rate goes to eleven. Blood rushes to my cheeks, throbbing like a bad wound. I hate how easy it is for him to make me feel like a fourteen year old kid who just got caught sneaking in after curfew.

There's no point in asking who. We both know. What I can't figure out is how he found out I'm working for Marshal.

“The Castoff, sis? After what he fucking did to me?” His tone isn't what I expect.

I thought there'd be disgust, anger, shame. But this voice, this outrage in my brother's eyes, is deeply personal.

“I've only heard the rumors second-hand. I was in college when it happened, remember? Jackson, I don't know what you're –“

“He started a fight on main street, sis. Attacked me like the crazy animal he is. He spit in my goddamn face and on every man in uniform at that parade.”

“That's...” Not what I've always heard. According to the story I know, Marshal was guilty of insulting him, but he never threw the first punch. I looked up the old articles since I started working for him. “That's crazy. Obviously, I'm really sorry it happened, Jackson, but it was also four years ago.”

I decide to play it safe. There's no use in challenging his account, where he's the victim. I'd also love a chance to find out what he thinks he is, if he'd just get out of my way, come into the living room, and sit. “Why don't we talk about this over coffee like rational human beings?”

Jackson swallows, rooted to the ground, his arms slack at his sides. “Because just looking at you makes me sick. What the fuck is there to discuss if you're not backing off, Sadie? You're just going to keep nannying for that asshole, apparently. After you kept your boss a secret and didn't even spill the truth as a common courtesy.”

I look him in the eye, nodding. Yes, yes, and obviously, yes.

“There's nothing for us to talk about.” He moves past, heading for the door, pushing me lightly against the wall.

“Jackson, wait!” He doesn't. He triggers me on a whole new level, leaving me screaming after him. “It doesn't have to be like this! He's not a total monster. If you'd just come back and talk to me, instead of running away like a pissed off man-child, maybe you'd see!”

I jump, feeling another heavy hand on my shoulder. I spin around and see dad, a deflated frustration in his eyes that says he already knows. “Let him go, Sadie. He has his reasons.”

“Yeah, and what reasons are those?” I hate how angry I sound, how I push my father away and stomp into the kitchen, hurling my purse on the counter. “Nobody talks to me about anything. I know what happened at that stupid Fourth of July parade years ago, dad. I read the old Port Eagle Standard piece. I know I wasn't here for it, I know there's plenty of blame to go around, but is Jackson really the total victim?”

My father sighs, slowly trailing after me. “That man signing your paychecks insulted him deeply. He scandalized the entire town.”

“Oh? Even though the police report says Jackson confessed to starting the fight?” I watch my father cough into his hand, rubbing his throat. It's the same nervous tick I've seen whenever mom confronted him over running up the monthly credit card statement. “That's right, dad. I've done my homework. Sure, it's a little reckless, taking this job after everything that happened. I know I kept it close to my chest. Part of me just knew this would happen. But I went back and checked. It's not nearly as one-sided as everybody makes it seem.”

I can't believe I'm defending the Castoff. I signed up for Mia, not his reputation management, yet here I am.

“It's not about the fistfight, babe. It never was. He was the only man in uniform there who wasn't part of the parade. And he turned his back when your brother led his convoy past. Can you imagine how that feels?” Dad's eyes are darker, more sympathetic than they should be behind his glasses. “There were men in their sixties, seventies, eighties there. Five vets from Afghanistan, two from Iraq, plus a few old timers from Vietnam. Sheriff Wheeler almost had a conniption fit.”

His words hit like a poison dart. I hate being thrown back to doubt after I was sure I could at least have a safe conversation with my family about this.

Wishful thinking.

“Never saw anything like it in my life, Sadie. Neither did anybody else. This kind of drama only happens in the big cities. Not our town. We're a simple place. Mr. Howard should've known the whole town would turn on him the second he decided to disrespect a hometown hero, and go down swinging, screaming how your brother did all kinds of terrible things.” Dad pauses, shaking his head. “The man's clearly unstable. It's a miracle they don't take his little girl away.”

It physically hurts to hear him say that. My eyes shut so tight they throb at the mere suggestion.

Goddamn it, he doesn't understand. Just like everybody else, who seems to think he's the devil incarnate.

A moment of passion, a big public mistake, shouldn't ruin a man's life. There's a lot I don't know about Marshal and his inner workings, but he's proven that much.

There isn't a cruel bone in his body toward Mia. I've looked. What's there is a busy, stressed, and caring father. Nothing evil. Not so different from the man in front of me.

I've watched him light her world up and make her smile with my own two eyes. No rumors, or scorn, or past mistakes will ever strip that truth away.

“How long have you known?” I ask, trying not to let on how bothered I am.

Dad shrugs. “A few days, maybe. You know Emmie at the corner store. She said you'd been on a lot of little snack runs lately, and I guess those winter Oreo packs are his girl's favorite. Wasn't hard for her to make a good guess.”

Damn! I tried so hard to keep it on the down-low, too. If only this town wasn't so small, so gossipy, so incestuous. Keeping secrets for more than three days tops is near impossible.

Dad clears his throat again, stepping closer, loaded words at the tip of his tongue. “Sadie, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't concerned. This nanny thing, it isn't healthy. It isn't good for you. There have to be other jobs in town. Between us, I don't think it's appropriate to continue. You just saw how hard Jackson's taking it.”

I'm quiet for a moment. “You're asking me to up and quit?”

Dad looks at me and nods, slowly.

I don't know why it cuts as deep as it does. Maybe it's knowing now I have a fight on my hands. I'm not backing down easy, but it also seems like the worst time in the world to discuss Marshal's live-in offer.

Too bad. I want to get this over with.

“I can't. I'm sorry. I understand he doesn't like it, and neither do you, but I need the money. Marshal's a fair man. He pays me well, every single day. I'd like to think his little girl is kinda attached, too. I won't give up on her.” Imagining Mia alone and disappointed stings worse than anything else. “I'm a grown woman. Jackson will have to get over it, dad. And I hate to say it, but so will you.”

“Jesus, Sadie,” he growls, rubbing his face. His glasses are foggy – steaming from the tension in the room – and he rips them off and starts cleaning them with his shirt. “This isn't an ego thing, in case you're wondering. I'm trying to look out for you, for the whole family. Working for the Castoff isn't just unhealthy. It's –“

“I'm taking more hours in January. Overnights. Probably for a few weeks. Marshal has a big job out of town, apparently. He's offered higher pay and some really generous benefits if I take him up on it. I didn't want to lay it on you like this, but there's no point in hiding it. Sorry I didn't come clean sooner about my boss.” I ignore his wide-eyed glance, strolling past, ready to go to my room.

I can't get past the figure in the hall. Mom's been standing outside the kitchen eavesdropping for God only knows how long. She looks like she's numb to everything in her baggy sweatshirt and scuffed clogs. The usual paint splotches are on her arms, at least three different colors, her sleeves rolled up in a rumpled mess.

That used to mean she'd had a good day creatively. Today, it's just more potential chaos.

“Where do you think you're going?” she asks, centering herself in my path so I know I'm not just getting by without words.

“Upstairs. It's been a long day. Need anything?”

“I didn't raise my daughter to be a wimp. How about you turn around, march back in there, and give your father a nice fat piece of your mind? The nerve, making your decisions for you!”

Oh, Christ. I take a deep breath. “Mom, no, it's not like that. He was just –“

“Steph, I'm not making her do anything. I simply asked her to have a little respect for her brother, who's been through so much. I don't want this family turning into a laughing stock.”

Mom rolls her eyes, steps forward, and puts her hand over his face. I actually feel a little bad for my father, having to take this, knowing she isn't well.

Quite a change from the defeated misery he pulled on me only minutes ago.

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” she says, slurring his name the third time. “Always so concerned about appearances. So what if she's decided to take a harmless sitter job? It's easy money. Lord knows I did my fair share of part-time gigs through art school.”

Dad gives me a dirty look, gently lifting her hand off his mouth. “It's not like that. She's looking after the Howard girl, Marshal's kid. Do you remember what he did a few years back?”

Mom wrinkles her nose. “It's my muse that's shot, not my memory, Peter. Of course I remember.”

“Then you know how Jackson feels. I tried to break the news as gently as I could, before he stormed out.”

“You handled him with kid gloves. Easy mistake.” Mom doesn't skip a beat, a wry smile on her face. She turns toward me. “Listen, both of you, what's really messing with this family are the secrets. Sadie, you never should've kept this from us. And you, Peter, I should've been the first to know. I'm disappointed.”

“I'm sorry, dear. I would've told you tonight, but our kids couldn't wait to lock horns.”

I think mom and I share the same disapproving look. Just for once, I wish my dad would grow a pair if he's decided to double-down on being an asshat. I hurt him, I get it, but he knew the truth. Possibly for days, without confronting me. He went to Jackson first instead.

“So, does a crazy person get any real input in this house, or will you two just humor me?” Mom looks from him to me.

“What?” I shake my head, not understanding.

Dad gives me a warning look, before he stands straight and whispers through clenched teeth. “Of course we'll consider anything you have to say, Steph. You're the love of my life.”

Her eyes soften. Sometimes, when the love flows honestly, we're able to get through to her. She walks over to him, grasping his hand. Then we lock eyes.

“She's a young woman and she's finding her way, Peter. Let her do the nanny gig. And no, Sadie, I don't want any help from your boss. I'd love to have one less busy-body in this house standing over my shoulder, making sure I don't throw a chair through the window again.”

I inwardly wince. It happened last summer, just weeks after I came home. I was the only one home at the time, and I went flying up the stairs, bracing for the worst after hearing the crash.

My heart never beat harder or louder thinking my mother had thrown herself off the balcony attached to the master bedroom.

“Also, I'd love a promise from you, Sadie – don't take this opportunity lightly. Promise us you'll do exactly what you said. Just a few weeks with him, overnight or whatever. You'll check in once a day. Come straight home if there's even the slightest hint of trouble.” Mom's eyes crawl dad's face. She's trying to make him feel better, coaxing this out of me.

Ugh. Despite the edge in her voice, I can't deny the common sense. I nod, looking at my parents, searching for the words. “Fine. I won't let anything get weird. It's just a job. It's not like I'm trying to be the Castoff's best friend, or anything.”

No? Then I wonder why calling him the word Castoff tastes so wrong on my tongue.

“Dear, it's not the nature of the work or the bad blood with Jackson worrying me,” dad says, beginning in his softest voice. “It's Sadie's safety. That man, after what he did...he's clearly a few screws short of a set. I don't trust him.”

“Who isn't these days? It's incredible, really. This town still treats him as an outcast even after he published his apology in the local press. I remember reading it later that year. Seems no one else did. Do we just punish the wild ones forever? Marshal Howard is feral, strange, a little crazy, perhaps, but he's no murderer. He didn't mean to hurt anyone. He simply chose a very colorful way to protest.”

“Protest what?” Dad barks. That's the prize question no one's ever answered.

From the old reports I read, Marshal went into a fury as soon as he was on the ground, tackled by my brother, fighting for his life. He screamed incoherently about something that happened overseas, something terrible he thought Jackson did.

“I'm sorry. It doesn't matter anymore, I suppose. Let me talk to Jacky,” dad says quietly. But he can't hide the soft, slow breath leaving his lungs once mom takes his hand, pushes her fingers through his, and squeezes. Please, her grip says. A cry from a sensitive side we thought was lost in her mind. “I don't like this, but I'll tolerate it.”

My heart flutters hopefully. My parents are quiet the entire time I step forward, throw my arms around them, and hug until my arms hurt.

For once, I'm grateful. Without my brother in the mix, it's actually possible for us to solve our disagreements without screaming across the room like howler monkeys.

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. One more day to cobble together gifts and figure out how I'll deal with Jackson at dinner after he's done licking his wounds.

I take a long shower, trying to sift through today's shell shock in my head. The steam helps, but by the time I'm drying my hair, the only thing I really know is uncertainty.

This is a ginormous risk. Nothing less.

I don't know if the knee-jerk decision to take his extended nanny offer is a huge plus, or the worst decision of my life.

I don't know how I'll find the strength to look my brother in the eye, and prove that I still care about him, despite working with the man who freaked out on him years ago.

I don't even know why I miss them so much already.

Not just the little girl.

I miss him, too. Miss his brooding, his mystery, the sideways glances he gives that always make me wonder if he wants to give me a tongue lashing, or just take me against the nearest horizontal surface.

Marshal is a conundrum and it makes him irresistible. That, in turn, is what makes him so dangerous.

I'm laughing in the mirror, combing my hair, finally face to face with the awful truth.

This can only go one way: I'll come out of this job better off, or completely wrecked.