Molly jumped in and grabbed Kevin’s other arm. Not because she particularly wanted him to stop. She thought a few more solid fists to the face were just what Mr. Hawkins needed.

“Let’s go, Kevin.” Win sounded shaky, near tears. Her face had a red splotch on it the size and shape of an open hand.

“I’m going with you.” Molly had had enough. She wasn’t staying in this house another minute.

“No, don’t leave me, Molly.” Mr. Hawkins dragged himself to his feet. Holding one hand to his jaw, he kept the chair between him and Kevin.

“You’re just going to have to hire a new housekeeper. I didn’t like the way you treated me, Mr. Hawkins.” Molly made sure to load that formal name he’d always insisted she use with scorn. “But I would never stay working for a man who’d hit my sister!”

At that moment, Wyatt came in. “He hit Win?”

Win gave Molly a desperate look across the breadth of Kevin’s chest. Molly let go and plowed into Wyatt as he strode toward Mr. Hawkins.

They collided hard enough she almost went over backward. She clung to him, face-to-face, her arms tight around his waist.

“I just quit. I’m leaving with Kevin and Win. Maybe you’d like to join us?” Her eyes met his and though they flashed with anger, a tiny flicker of humor shone. He shook his head a few times. His fist relaxed.

“Molly, who will feed me?” Mr. Hawkins acted like the slap had never happened. “And I thought, that is, I had hopes that we might . . . might be more—”

He quit talking when Wyatt slipped around Molly and clamped a hand on his throat. Wyatt had gotten away, and Molly had to admit she’d wanted someone to stop Mr. Hawkins’s horrible words.

Mr. Hawkins clawed at Wyatt’s hand. His face turned an alarming shade of red. A gurgling noise was the only sound he could make.

“Did you really just slap your daughter’s face?” Wyatt released his grip.

Wheezing, Mr. Hawkins said, “I’m her father. A father’s got a right to discipline his child.”

Wyatt’s hand clamped again.

Molly tugged on Wyatt’s arm, not the one he was choking Mr. Hawkins with. And she reckoned if she were really serious about stopping him, she’d’ve grabbed that one.

Wyatt escaped her grip and caught her by her upper arm.

She gasped and flinched.

Wyatt, still strangling Mr. Hawkins, noticed and looked away from his current victim. “Did I hurt you?”

His brow furrowed. His eyes shone with regret.

“No, it’s nothing.” She couldn’t quite control her eyes, which slipped to Mr. Hawkins, then away.

Wyatt ran a hand up her arm, gently. He felt the swelling.

“Did he hurt you?” Wyatt jerked his head at Mr. Hawkins.

“I’m not going to discuss it,” she said.