I spent 15 years training Marines in hand-to-hand combat, and my rule was simple

toward them. A few fighters noticed, stopping their work. The music seemed to dim.

Dustin saw him coming and grinned. “Well, well. Daddy came to visit.” He nudged Perry. “This is Marcy’s old man.”

Perry Cox looked Shane up and down—the extra weight, the gray beard, the carpenter’s clothes—and laughed. “What are you going to do, Grandpa? Give us a stern continue reading …