“I don’t have to tell you a damn thing. You think you’re in charge of the Westons and me most of all, but you’re not.”

“I wouldn’t say I was in charge. I’m just trying to keep the family together. That seems to be dead last on your list of priorities.”

Bobby Joe, stoked with anger, crossed the short distance between them and pushed his brother in the chest. Parr stood strong, not retaliating, unmoving as a statue.

“Goddamn it, Parr, you’re the one who broke this family and you know it!”

“You’re wrong.” A muscle ticked in Parr’s resolute jaw. “That was long ago and you never remembered it right in the first place.”

“Doesn’t matter how many years ago it was, brother.” Bobby Joe’s voice scaled up with frustrated rage into a near scream. “You know what you did!”

Bobby Joe never had fought fair. But Parr felt no obligation to defend himself. His younger brother was wrong—completely wrong. But there was no undoing the horror and shock of the day his father had died, shot by a jealous stranger. The memory never went away, and the rift between the Weston brothers had never truly healed.

Yet their mother had forgiven him. Bobby Joe never had.

Parr straightened his spine and began to walk out of the room.

Bobby Joe clutched at his arm. “Where are you going?”

“Out. I’m done with you,” Parr said. “But here’s some more unwanted advice. The stronger man knows when not to fight.”

“Oh yeah?” Bobby Joe jeered. “You used to knock me around plenty when we were kids. I swore I’d do the same to you someday.”

“Don’t even try to hit me. I’ll finish what you start and you know it,” Parr said ominously. “And by the way, you’d better be good to Mary Beth.”

“You going to talk to her?”

“I’m not talking to anyone. About anything. The war’s over.”

Bobby Joe rushed out after him as Parr went swiftly down the stairs. “Is it?” he called. “So who won?”

Parr had reached the first floor. “Not the truth.”

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

“Can’t we just kiss and make up?”

“That didn’t work too well the last time we tried it.” Mary Beth’s voice was controlled and calm, but inside—hell. If she gave vent to what she was truly feeling, she’d break the car windows.

He turned the ignition key in the parked car and found some forgettable music, humming along to it while she seethed.