Black Heart (Cursed Hearts #1)(49)

Hank was a great father and a hell of a man, but he sucked at cooking so he left that particular chore on Marty's shoulders when she was barely big enough to reach the cabinets without that aid of a chair. Of course, his mother sent over casseroles and invited them over for practically every meal, but Hank was a stubborn man and hated charity. He'd accept a few meals a week to give Marty a break and because honestly, her cooking skills had been severely limited when she’d first started out. Still, the man was determined to make a real home for Marty and that meant the two of them eating alone like a family most of the time.

"What are you doing?" Marty asked as she tried to pull her hand away, but he refused to release it. It felt good to hold her hand and now that he'd decided that he wasn't going to let her go, he realized that there was no longer any reason to deny himself what he wanted.

"Holding your hand. What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked as they passed the old-fashioned ice cream shop that he decided they'd hit after they ate to see if Marty still had a weak spot for peanut butter cup sundaes to sweeten her up for the talk that they needed to have later.

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I hold your hand?" he asked, looking down at her as he reached out and opened the door to the small barbeque restaurant for her.

"Because I hate you?" she asked, trying to pull her hand away.

"Uh huh," he said, letting her hand go and gesturing for her to precede him into the small restaurant.

"Why did you say that like I was kidding?" she asked, pausing to let an elderly couple carrying trays full of food pass them as they made their way to the small dining area.

"Because you were," he said, taking her hand back into his as they moved to step into the mercifully short line.

"No, I assure you that I really do hate you. In fact, I'm kind of hoping that the therapist takes one look at you and recommends shock therapy or perhaps a straitjacket." She pursed her lips up in thought and shrugged. "Then again, I wouldn't be opposed to a lobotomy if he really felt that was necessary."

"That's very generous of you," he drawled absently as he looked past the middle-aged couple in front of them. He watched as an elderly woman with her hair pulled back into a severe bun and was wearing a pair of no-nonsense thick black squared frame eyeglasses, a scowl that looked both permanent and painful, and a off-white nightgown that covered her from mid-neck to the very tops of her feet, berated a man in his mid-thirties with thinning brown hair that watched the cashier with a little too much interest.

"Is this how I raised you?" the woman demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the man as he shifted, obviously anxious for the family in front of him to finish up with their order and get out of his way.

"I don't understand why you do these things, Francis," the elderly woman snapped as a little boy unknowingly ran through her on his way to the bathroom. "I cannot believe this is how you want to live your life. You're lucky that I'm dead, young man, or I would take you over my knee and give you the spanking that you deserve!"

As Tristan placed his hands on Marty's shoulders and shifted her to the side, he idly wondered just how long the woman had been haunting this man. Obviously she felt that he needed looking after and Tristan couldn't agree more.

"What are you doing?" Marty demanded as she shoved his hands aside and tried to move back in line.

He pressed a quick kiss to her stunned lips before he gave her another gentle push aside, risking bodily harm for getting between her and barbecue food. "Either get the hell out of here, Marty, or duck," he said softly as he unsnapped his holster and placed his hand on the butt of his weapon.

"Francis McDonald, you listen to me right now!" the woman snapped, getting good and mad as she stepped in front of him and tried to stop him. "You haul your butt down to the police station and turn yourself in this instant! I swear to God that if you don't, I will haunt you for the rest of your life! If you so much as take one cent from these people, I will slap you silly the moment you die for all this nonsense!"

The man stepped through her as the family ahead of him finally got their order and headed for their table. Tristan watched as the man reached into his jacket as he approached the cashier. She opened her mouth to greet the next customer when her eyes widened in terror.

"Tristan?" Marty said behind him, sounding nervous and making him wish that he could pull her into his arms and protect her from this, but he was already moving.

He pushed the couple in front of him aside, pulled his weapon free and aimed it between the shoulders of the man standing in front of him. "Francis McDonald, put your weapon on the floor slowly and step away," he said in a hard tone of authority that usually worked for him.

Francis, noticeably startled, slowly looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened in shock when he spotted Tristan. For a moment, he stood there, frozen in fear.

"See? Didn't I tell you that you would get caught one day?" the woman demanded. "But would you listen to me? No, you just had to do things your own way."

"Put your weapon down, now!" Tristan shouted.

The man nodded once as he did just that, keeping his eyes locked on Tristan the entire time. As he slowly stood up, he glanced at the exit.

"Don't even think about it, ass**le. Turn around and place your hands on the counter," Tristan said, stepping forward as he kept his gun aimed on him.