Page 19 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

“We would like to remind everyone that this is a family-FRIENDLY event. Swearing of any kind will not be tolerated. I’m looking at you, Henry Dubois.” The mayor’s speakerphone is deafening, but despite the ringing in my ear, I don’t stop until I’m close enough to jump on James’s back. I ignore the sharp pain in my injured wrist and reach for James’s face and grab his nose. I twist it as hard as I can, feeling the cartilage pop with a squelch.

He twists, throwing himself back until I slam against the base of the town statue. I let go immediately, the air blown from my lungs as I fall to the floor and try to catch my breath.

“Dammit, Indy. Look what you made me do.” James reaches out to me, his eyes flashing with concern. “Why did you do that?”

“Get the hell away from her,” Mav growls as James grips my sore wrist. I wince as he pulls me to my feet, the cold seeping into my bones. My leggings are damp, and despite being fleece-lined, have done little to keep out the chill.

“Let him go, James.” I step between him and Mav.

Griffin laughs. “You truly are the town bicycle, aren’t you, Indy Winters? Everyone’s had a ride at this point.”

I stare down at James. Despite a tinge of pink on his cheeks, he says nothing to defend me. After ten months, I’d at least think he’d have the respect to tell his friend to shut up when he’s insulting me.

My mouth parts, but I shake my head. Too little, too late. Instead, I turn my attention to Griffin.

“Is it the fact that I like sex that is the problem, Griffin? Or is it that I like having so much sex, and yet I would never sleep with you?”

His nostrils flare, his grip loosening on Mav enough that he wiggles his arm away.

“You’re a slut. Everyone knows it. Just like your mother.”

A collective gasp bounces across the snowflake-filled air until Holly and her father push their way through the crowd of onlookers.

Holly screams as she runs into James’s arms, assessing his nose, which is now bleeding again. The other guy, Matt, drops Mav’s arm and steps to the side.

“What is going on here?” Hugh Honeyford roars.

Mav stands to his full height. Rears his arm back just as he did before, before he had the chance to launch the snowball. This time, his fist is tight; I imagine his knuckles are as white as the snow at my feet. The snarl on his lip makes him look as if he’s ready to bark at someone. But this man doesn’t bark. He’s all bite.

In less than a second, his fist crunches against Griffin’s nose, the pretty white snow stained crimson as Griffin screeches in horror.

Holly screams, James lunges, and Matt, the coward, takes another step back, seemingly not wanting to become the third person Mav punches in less than half a week.

“Enough! You cannot go around punching people. It’s disgusting behavior, and frankly, I’m concerned my daughter was with you for as long as she was. It’s—”

“I’m pretty sure I just saw Griffin slip on some ice, Mr. Honeyford,” I say, stepping between him and Mav.

“Indy, for goodness’ sake, you cannot have this animal in your home.”

I grit my chattering teeth and focus my attention on Griffin. “You slipped on some ice and hit your head on the statue. Didn’t you?”

His jaw twitches, and he says nothing.

“Yep, that’s what I saw too,” the mayor says, nodding.

“And me,” a little boy adds.

“And me.”

“And me.”

“Me too!”

A chorus of agreements sing through the air until Henry and Scott burst through the crowd.

“You’ve always been a clumsy asshole, haven’t you, Griffin?”

“Language, Henry,” the mayor scolds as Scott’s lips quirk at the edges.