Hank paced back and forth in the parking lot, reluctant to let his daughter go. Just seeing the school made him agitated, though, and he decided to walk back to Becca’s salon. He’d let Becca soothe both of them, let her fuss over Libby’s misery and his, too, and when they both felt better, he’d come back and retrieve his truck. With that plan in mind, Hank hugged his daughter against him and stormed down the sidewalks of the small town, glaring at anyone that passed by.

He didn’t want to be Friendly Hank today, or Town Hank. He wanted to be Alaska Hank, because no one fucked with that guy. No one made his daughter cry.

No one.

Becca came rushing out of the salon the moment he turned down the street, her eyes wide. “Hank? What’s going on? Amy told me that you swooped into the class and that you weren’t going to bring Libby back? What happened?” Her face was the picture of worry, her gaze going from Libby, who sniffled against his neck, to Hank. “Libby, are you okay, princess?”

Libby reached her arms out to Becca, and Hank reluctantly let her go. Becca held her close, giving him a concerned look as she rubbed Libby’s head. “Did you have a bad day, sweetheart? What happened?”

“She’s not going back,” Hank said grimly. “She’s not going to school. Ever. In fact, she’s not going to any school, period. She doesn’t need it. My father homeschooled me and my brothers and it was fine for us. I’m gonna do the same for Libby.”

She gave him a strange look. “After just one day? Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

Overreacting? It hit him like a blow to the gut. Libby was his daughter. Didn’t Becca realize he’d do anything to protect her from harm? Didn’t she know that nothing made him feel weaker than hearing his daughter cry and being unable to do anything about it? “She doesn’t need that shit,” he told her again, trying to be patient. “School is useless back in the wild. There’s no school there.”

Becca froze. She stopped stroking Libby’s back and stared at him for a long, long moment. “So . . . you’re going back?”

He knew what she was asking. Of course he did. Foxtail and Alaska had been on his mind all day. He kept thinking about how much simpler things were there. How much easier. Life here in Wyoming was far more complicated, and the responsibilities were different, and he wasn’t sure he liked that. He wasn’t sure it was right for him and his daughter. So he put his hands on his hips and straightened his shoulders defiantly, almost daring her to argue with him. “Going back just as soon as I can.”