Taking a deep breath, Brody turned his chair around and faced the stage. He put on his happy face for Liv and drowned his aching heart with the rest of his cold beer. For the next few blessed minutes, he leaned back and enjoyed the acoustic one-woman show of Liv Langston, the only worthwhile entertainment offered at the Wagon Wheel—every hour on the hour.
He scanned the room as she hit and held a high note. About ten people, all of them regulars save for the corner booth of fancy Nancies, had gathered to mingle and be merry. Some came to eat. Some came to drink a few with friends. And some sat in quiet retrospection, smoking their choice of tobacco. But as of right now, every eye was glued to the dark-haired beauty in cutoffs. She rolled into the familiar bridge of an old Patsy Cline number, then segued into a classic George Jones song. He sat proud, watching her strum that beat-up six-string and listening to her rekindle new life into so many great vintage tunes.
As she brought her set to an end, a roar of cheers and applause erupted. Even a few piercing whistles split the joy and excitement of the meager crowd. Brody clapped as he watched Liv smile and bow in humble gratitude. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be singing in front of thousands of fans. He just knew it.
Liv hung her guitar on the wall behind her and stepped off the platform to resume her waitress duties. Brody caught her attention and pointed to his empty bottle. One more, he mouthed.
She gave him the thumbs-up and walked between tables, checking on customers and snagging empties as she went. Just like that, the atmosphere of the Wagon Wheel returned to its usual state. The local drunkard, Bob Walsh, plopped his forehead on his arm and took another snooze on the slick lacquered wood of the bar. Mr. Corinth sat beside him, puffing on his cigar and watching Denver kick Cleveland into the dirt. His wife ignored the game and the few Bronco fans who sat adjacent to her. Instead, she perched on her stool, crocheting the beginnings of a tricolored afghan. On the opposite end near the restrooms, Professor Shoemaucker hid behind his newspaper as he always did on Monday evenings.
Everything was as it should be, save for the three guys in the corner booth. Brody kept refocusing his attention on them, waiting for one of the spoiled pretty boys to act out of line. He knew they would. He’d bet money on it. Especially the guy with the million-dollar smile and the thousand-dollar wristwatch. He had more flash than a vintage mid-century Kodak camera. Guys like that loved to be the center of attention and often went to extremes to acquire it.
“You’re doing it again, Galven,” Liv interrupted, handing Brody a full one.
“Doing what?”
“Sizing them up. Finding justification for kicking their asses.” Liv seized his chin and drew his attention toward her. “Let it go. I mean it.”
Though she stood no taller than five foot four, weighing in at a buck ten, Brody adored her confidence. She embodied self-assurance in the way she turned and sashayed down the aisle of empty tables. He held his beer to his lips as he watched her drop another bucket of beers at the corner booth. Her long, toned legs flexed as she leaned forward. Her shorts barely covered that spot where the curve of her bottom met the back of her thigh. If he wasn’t so suspicious of the guys at that table, he might have bought them another round just so he could watch Liv stretch and lean again.
“Well, thank you, darlin’,” Brody heard one say. “That’s mighty kind of you.”
For a moment, Brody thought perhaps he’d judged them prematurely. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d allowed his jealous tendencies to bring out the worst in him. The last time it happened, he’d ended up spending the night in jail for disorderly conduct. He’d never forget that awful night. He only wished the folks of Meeteetse would.
No sooner had Brody given those boys the benefit of the doubt than one of them reached around and slapped her on the behind. When she scowled at him, the man laughed and pulled her onto his lap.
Liv shrieked in surprise and writhed to escape him. Brody flipped his lid and lunged from his chair without hesitation. He gritted his teeth. Spots blurred his vision. He was going to kill that sonofabitch.
Liv saw Brody stalking forward. She froze. She looked more frightened than the two guys who tried to warn their friend. Upping the effort, she threw an elbow into the man’s chest and slipped from his grasp. “Galven, wait!” she said, throwing herself at Brody. “Listen to me. He isn’t worth it.” She frantically pointed toward the bar behind him. “See, Jethro’s coming. He’ll throw them out, and they won’t be allowed back. Please, Brody, listen to me. Don’t do this.”
Brody could hear Liv pleading, but nothing registered. He moved her aside and barreled forward. All three guys had squeezed out of the booth, securing their spot in a defensive triangle. The biggest of the three stood in the front.
Brody scoffed, unimpressed with any of them. “I don’t know where you’re from, but around here, we treat women with respect.”
The entire bar fell silent. No one dared to move a muscle with Brody cocked and loaded.
“You don’t want to mess with me,” the stranger stated, crossing his arms. “I’ll have you know my father is the—”
“I don’t care who your sperm donor is,” Brody interrupted. “Apologize to her.”
Brody felt Liv’s hand on his shoulder. “It—it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” Brody stared the man down. “Apologize. Now.”
One of the three muttered to the guy in front, “Apologize already so we can get the hell out of here, Carlton.”
“Your friend’s a smart man,” Brody added. “You should listen to him.”
Carlton shook his head. “I don’t have to listen to you or anybody in this Podunk town. And I sure as hell don’t need to apologize to a waitress. It’s her job to serve me. Besides, I think she liked having a real man’s arms around her for a change.” He leaned forward and looked Brody in the eyes. “What do you think about that? Hillbilly.”
Brody reared back and threw the first punch, knocking Carlton and his high-dollar hat into next Sunday. His two friends caught and steadied him, aghast at the blood spewing from Carlton’s nose. Carlton shook the dizziness from his brain and sprang forward only to find himself in Brody’s clutches again. From there, Brody tossed him headfirst across the table, knocking beer bottles and aluminum buckets on the floor. Glass shattered at his feet as he took hold of Carlton’s shirt collar and lifted him upright for another go-round.
A horrendous commotion filled the bar as every able man jumped in to pull them apart.
“Hey, hey, hey, bro! That’s enough!”
Brody heard Rod’s voice amid all the chaos and felt a multitude of hands clutching his shoulders and arms. He looked in the eyes of his older brother, huffing like a freight train.
Clouded by rage, he had a difficult time understanding how Rod had come to be there in the first place. He glared at his brother, then at the many hands upon him.
“Calm down, bro,” Rod said, righting Brody’s hat, which had shifted off-center. He gave his left cheek a brotherly pat. “You’re good. You got this.”
Brody shook everyone off and shoved Rod backward. “Get the fuck off me!”
Rod stepped forward and didn’t back down. “Enough. You’re scaring the good people of Meeteetse here. Come on, now. Settle down. Take a breath. Get your bearings. It’s over.”
Brody drew in a long, steady breath and blew it out, glowering at Rod for getting involved. This wasn’t his fight, nor did he have a clue what had gone on.
“Stay out of this, Rod.”
“I can’t do that, and you know it. You’re my brother, and I’m not going to let you do something you’ll regret later.”
“Regret?” Brody almost laughed. “The only thing I regret is that I didn’t throw this lowlife out the minute he sat down.”
“Actually, it’s not your decision who stays or goes, Brody. That would be my say.”
Slowly and very meticulously, Brody turned his head until he found Jethro, the person who’d tossed out the little technica
lity for everyone to hear. He knew even before he laid eyes on him that the bar owner had made the comment. He was the one who’d pressed charges against Brody years ago for a fight he didn’t start. “Are you taking up for this asshole too? Did you not see what he did to Ms. Langston?”
Jethro splayed his hands in front of him and swallowed hard. “All I know is, I got one hell of a mess to clean up because you decided to take matters into your own hands. Again.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you doing anything to help her. Is that how you treat your female employees? Turn a blind eye to gross sexual assault?”
To everyone’s surprise, Carlton finally spoke up in his defense. “Hey, hey, look, I didn’t sexually assault anyone. All I did was have a little fun with her. Right, doll?”
Brody swiveled around and pointed over Rod’s shoulder. “You shut your damn mouth!”
“Brody, cool it,” Rod cautioned.
“Not until he apologizes to Liv.”
“Like I said,” Carlton piped up again, making sure to wipe the blood from his nose onto his sleeve for evidence. “I’m not apologizing to anyone. Unless you want to defend your own assault charge, Hillbilly, you might want to apologize to me.”
“Why, you no good, motherfu—”
This time, Rod had to use all his strength to hold Brody back. Carlton staggered backward, clearly fearing for his life. Jethro stepped in, probably fearing a lawsuit. “Rod, get your brother out of here before he gets me sued.”
Chapter Three
Longing For Langston (Mavericks of Meeteetse, Novella Book 1: Brody & Liv) Page 2
