Free The French Retreat (Falling for France Book 1) by Sue Fortin

and pointed towards Yves. ‘Look! Stop him, Will. He’s hitting the boy. Stop him!’ She started to push her way past Will again.
    As Will looked back over his shoulder, he could see Yves bundling the boy to the ground. ‘Stay there,’ he said to Marcie. He covered the ground in three strides. ‘Pack it in!’
    Will caught hold of Yves’s arm. From the corner of his eye, he saw Yves’s other hand, balled in a fist, coming his way. With lightening and automatic reactions, Will raised his left arm, blocking the blow whilst simultaneously letting go of Yves’s hand and throwing a right hook, catching the farmer on the left of the face. The Frenchman reeled backwards and onto the ground, clutching his jaw.
    Will was standing over him, his fist still clenched ready for another attack if needed. The farmer held up his hands in surrender.
    ‘Piss off out of here,’ said Will pointing in the direction of the field. He took a step back to give the man room to flee.
    Yves got to his feet, spouting angry French words at Will and gesticulating in the general direction of Marcie and the boy. As he reached the gap in the hedge, he turned and, looking at Will, spat on the ground before marching off across the field.
    Will blew out a long breath and inspected his knuckles. Shame he hadn’t been wearing his gloves. Still, no real damage, just a bit red where they made contact with the farmer’s jaw bone. It had been a long time since he had been involved in any kind of a fight. Certainly, not since leaving the Army.
    He turned his attention to Marcie who was kneeling down beside the boy. She had a tissue in her hand and was wiping the boy’s face, offering words of comfort to quell the small sobs. The boy looked over at Will, his eyes wide with fear . The dark skin and black hair immediately triggered a memory; transporting Will right back to Afghanistan and his last tour. He could taste the dust of the arid land in the back of his throat, the heat of the midday Asian sun on his neck, the dampness of the sweat under his Army fatigues and the weight of his Osprey body armour. In an automatic gesture his body jerked into a hyper state of alert but today there was no assault rifle in his hand.
    Marcie stopped what she was doing and slowly stood up. ‘Will? Will, you okay?’ Her words penetrated his thoughts, interrupting the flow of memories. Her hand reached out and touched his arm. She repeated his name again.
    Will looked down at her hand and then up at her face. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. She was still there in front of him. He was in the present; the here and now.
    ‘It’s okay,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘I’m good.’
    She gave a hesitant smile in return, her eyes still searching his face, not quite as convinced as he hoped.
    The scrambling of feet on the ground brought their attention back to the boy. Marcie spun round as Will looked beyond her. The boy hesitated, looking from one to the other.
    ‘It’s okay,’ said Marcie. ‘ C’est bon. ’ She took a step towards him. The boy took a step back, briefly glanced at her outstretched hand before turning and sprinting down the road, disappearing out of sight. ‘Wait!’ called Marcie.
    ‘Leave it, Marcie,’ said Will, coming to stand next to her. ‘He’s gone.’
    ‘But where? Who is he? Where’s his mother?’
    ‘Sorry, can’t answer any of those questions.’
    ‘I’ve seen him before. He was the one at the window of the wood store. He must live round here. Haven’t you seen him?’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ said Will. ‘There’s only The Retreat and Yves’s place here. There aren’t any other houses nearby. Anyway, never mind the boy. What about you? Are you okay?’
    ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Marcie. She rubbed at the palm of her hand.
    Will lifted her hand and turned it over. It was red and the skin was broken at the heel. A little bit of grit and dirt had embedded itself under the torn skin.