“I don’t want any trouble!” Kennedy yelled at the towheaded teen and backed up a couple of steps. “But be warned. If you start it, I’ll finish it!” From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl slumped against the side of the car. “Run! Get inside the building!” he told her.
Kennedy hoped the girl could manage to get inside. She probably knew the boys’ names to identify them when the cops arrived. If she could escape into the building, Kennedy wouldn’t have to fight. He could just jump back in his truck and lock the doors. But he saw the girl try to push off on her skates and fall to the ground. As she struggled to get back up, the skates kept rolling out from under her.
Sometimes a guy had no choice but to fight.
Kennedy’s instinct to survive kicked in. He glimpsed the flash of a knife blade and started swinging. He was no scrapper. He had always preferred to talk his way out of a confrontation. But his father had taught him how to throw a punch, and Wyatt had taken over from there. Kennedy had spent many hours wrestling and play-fighting with his older brother. All that training came to his aid now.
Kennedy took a few punches from the boys, but he returned them with more force. By the time a county sheriff’s vehicle sped into the parking lot, the fight was almost over. The kid with the whitish-blond hair knelt on the concrete, holding his middle and puking. The jock was staggering around and holding his face, with blood dripping through his fingers. The other two boys saw the cop and ran.
More county vehicles pulled up. An older man, probably the new owner of the burger joint, emerged from the building. Two deputies took off into the woods after the runaways. The other boys were too banged up to attempt an escape and started saying that Kennedy had taken the first punch.
“That isn’t true!” the young lady cried. With the help of a female deputy, she had gained her feet but leaned heavily against the law officer to keep her balance. “They jumped me! They put their hands on me!” Her voice began to shake, and she made a mewling sound. “They said they were going to take me into the woods and rape me!”
“That’s a lie!” the jock yelled. “She’s just pissed off because I broke up with her last week, and she’s trying to get me in trouble.”
The two deputies who had raced into the woods reemerged, each of them holding the arm of a runaway teen.
“I broke up with you, Rob!” the girl cried. “And you just tried to get even because it embarrassed you!” The girl turned to the deputy. “It’s true. You have to believe me!” She pointed a shaky finger at Kennedy. “Ask him! He saw it all and stopped them from forcing me into the car!”
After saying that, the girl dissolved into tears and would have collapsed if not for the support of the deputy’s arms around her. Kennedy was glad the girl wasn’t badly hurt, but she was definitely shaken up. He was relieved when the female officer guided her to a county vehicle and got her safely tucked inside. The cops would call her parents now, and they’d probably take her to the emergency clinic after filing a police report.
* * *
* * *
Kennedy stayed to give his statement to Deputy Barney Sterling. Kennedy really liked Barney. He was a hometown boy and came from a well-respected family. He wasn’t on his high horse about being a cop, either. Even so, the whole time Kennedy was being questioned, he kept expecting to be cuffed and stuffed for beating up four minors. Instead Deputy Sterling asked if he needed to see a doctor. Kennedy didn’t hurt that much anywhere and refused medical attention, even though Sterling told him he was bleeding from a scalp wound. Kennedy’s student insurance had a pricey deductible, and he really couldn’t afford an emergency room charge right now, when none of his cuts and scrapes felt life-threatening.
When he walked back to his truck, he saw that Domino had eaten the rest of his hamburger and fries. Normally he might have scolded the dog. It wasn’t okay for Domino to take human food unless it was offered to him. But the black-and-white collie hadn’t jumped out the open driver’s window, and Kennedy knew that had taken a lot of restraint. Things had gotten pretty exciting for a couple of minutes, and Domino was still young enough to want in on all the action. Kennedy was glad the dog had stayed put. To him, all of it would have seemed like a game, and he could have gotten hurt. Kennedy doubted that Domino had ever witnessed a serious fistfight, only scuffling when a bunch of ranch hands were playing around.
“Good boy, Domino. You stayed in the truck. Awesome job.” Kennedy ruffled the dog’s fur and then removed the tray from the slightly upraised window to set it on the concrete median. He figured someone who worked there could collect it. He sure wasn’t going to carry it to the building. The jock had dealt Kennedy a kidney punch, and his flank ached. His head didn’t feel all that great, either. He climbed back in the truck, started the engine, and backed out of the parking slot. “Mystic Creek, the town with no crime. Ha! Shit goes down almost everywhere,” he told Domino. As he got the truck lined out on the road, he fondled the dog’s ears. “You were a really good boy, Dom. I’m proud of you.”
The drive home wasn’t nearly as pleasurable for Kennedy as the trip into town had been. He was developing a bitch of a headache from a blow to the side of his head, and, damn it, his hands throbbed from ramming his fists against so many blockheads. Stupid kids. But, no, what they’d done went way beyond stupid. They’d meant to do that girl great harm, and Kennedy could only be thankful that he’d gone out late for a burger. Otherwise she might have been alone, and God only knew where she’d be right now. Maybe lying dead in the woods somewhere.
Minutes later when Kennedy entered the bunkhouse, Wyatt glanced up from where he sat at the table playing cards with Tex and then leaped to his feet, almost knocking over his chair. “Dear God, what happened?”
Tex looked over his shoulder. “What’d you do, son, tangle with a mountain lion?”
Kennedy hadn’t bothered to look in a mirror before driving home. “I’m fine,” he tried.
Wyatt grabbed his arm and guided him to a chair at the table. “No, you’re not fine. You’re bleeding like a stuck hog. Who did this to you?”
While Wyatt parted Kennedy’s hair to examine the wound, Tex phoned the boss, and the next thing Kennedy knew, Slade and Vickie burst into the bunkhouse kitchen. Vickie carried a first aid kit, which she immediately set on the table and opened. But then she saw Kennedy’s head.
“Uh-oh. We’ll have to take him in. That’s going to need stitches.”
“How did this happen?” Wyatt demanded.
Kennedy answered, but Vickie had her hand clamped over his head and he couldn’t lift his face so his brother could read his lips. He heard Tex repeat what he’d said so Wyatt would get the whole story.
“A knife? Dear God, Kennedy, what were you thinking?”
Kennedy told them about the girl and how she’d been overpowered by the boys. Whenever he stopped to take a breath, Tex said it all over again for Wyatt like they were playing a repeat-after-me game. When Kennedy refused to go to the emergency clinic, Vickie said, “This cut has to be stitched up, honey. It’ll never heal like it is.”
Kennedy had grown up watching old westerns on television. “Can’t you just do it?”
Able to see Kennedy’s lips now that his head was no longer bent, Wyatt said, “That will hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt. Why go through that when it’ll barely sting if a doctor does it?”
Kennedy just wanted to get it over with and crawl into bed. As the minutes passed, more places on his body throbbed. “I’m a big boy,” he reminded his brother. “And I can’t afford the deductible on my insurance for something this little. It’ll only be a few needle pricks. I can take it.”
“I’ll pay the deductible,” Wyatt countered. Slade chimed in with, “So will I. This is flat crazy.”
Tex interrupted. “I’ve done my fair share of stitchin’ on horses. I reckon I can fix him up.”
So it was decided that Tex would do
the sewing. He disinfected the wound first, and Kennedy hissed through his teeth, which earned him a comment from Slade. “If the sting of alcohol has you sucking for air, son, it’s not a positive indicator of how you’ll hold up when he goes after you with one of those fishhooks.”
Tex thrust one of the curved needles in front of Kennedy’s nose. “There it is. You sure you want me usin’ that on your head?”
By this point, Kennedy’s pride was kicking in. He wasn’t a baby, and he’d drawn a crowd. The newly hired cowhands had rolled out of their cots and stumbled into the kitchen. He’d bet money that any one of the men standing over him could get stitched up without whining. “I’m sure.”
Tex said, “Well, okay, then. I wish I had me some of that Novocain stuff to numb you up, but we used all of it last week, and Wyatt ain’t gone back into town for supplies yet.”
As Tex went to work, Kennedy steeled himself for the first poke. But even so, he wasn’t ready for the pain when it came. “Hold it! Hold it!” he yelled. Then he looked at Wyatt. “Can you give me something to bite down on? And some whiskey. I want some whiskey.”
Vickie sighed. “You’ve watched too many cowboy movies.”
Tex stood aside while Kennedy guzzled down some booze and said, “I don’t reckon that’s a smart idea, son. Alcohol thins the blood, and you’re already bleedin’ like a pig on slaughter day.”
“I’ll be fine.” Kennedy looked around for Wyatt and saw him walking from the sleeping area with a sock in his hand. “What’s that for?”
“For you to bite down on.”
Kennedy swallowed more whiskey, and asked, “Is it clean?”
* * *
* * *
The following day Wyatt worked straight through until the sun reached its zenith, doing both his work and his little brother’s. He’d spent the morning transferring round bales to various places on the ranch for easy feeding. The month of May definitely had a foothold in the Cascades, but even though the pastures were now brilliant green, the grass itself still needed more sunlight before it became nutritious enough to sustain the cattle. After making sure the critters were fed, Wyatt decided to get some grub himself and went to the bunkhouse. After slapping together three sandwiches, he sat at the table to wolf them down. While Wyatt ate, Kennedy rolled out of bed with a groan. Wyatt stopped chewing to watch him stand up. The kid walked hunched over slightly.
“You switch bodies with Tex during the night?”
Kennedy slanted him a dirty look. “Make fun. I may be walking like an old man, but I was up against four guys last night, and trust me, they looked worse than I do.”
Wyatt nodded. “I’m sure they did, and with all the surgery taking place in here last night, I forgot to say how proud I am of you. I don’t approve of fisticuffs, and neither do Mom and Dad, but sometimes a man has no choice.”
“I was afraid I’d get arrested for beating up minors.”
“Could have happened. But the possible consequences to you became a moot point. You saved that girl from a terrible fate, Kennedy, and at no small risk to yourself. You’ve become a man I’m proud to say is my brother. A little stupid, maybe. Getting your head stitched up by a retired jockey wasn’t the smartest choice you could have made.”
“I lived through it.”
“My sock will never be the same.”
Kennedy showed Wyatt his back as he bellied up to the counter to make sandwiches for himself. When he sat at the table with all three creations stacked on a paper towel, Wyatt asked, “Why the hell don’t you ever use a plate?”
Kennedy swallowed before replying. “Because I don’t want to wash it.”
“It takes two seconds to rinse a plate and stick it in the dishwasher.”
“That’s two seconds wasted that I could spend doing something else, like studying.”
Wyatt polished off his food, stuck his plate in the dishwasher, and headed for the door, where he stopped to don his Stetson. “Lie down for a while longer and sleep. Your body needs time to heal.”
“I may study lying down.” Kennedy lifted his brows. “And just so you know, Erin’s here. I looked out the window as I got up and saw her deputy truck parked by the main house.”
Wyatt froze with his hat not yet positioned on his head. “Great. We’re working on being friends, but it was never my aim to be bosom buddies.”
“Maybe she’s not here to see you.”
Wyatt stepped out the door, thinking, Fat chance of that. But as he crossed the dooryard, which sported more dirt than sprigs of grass because of constant foot traffic, he saw no sign of Erin. He guessed that her Honda still wasn’t fixed, and he was reminded that he needed to call the Timing Light to pay for the repairs with his credit card.
Hours sped by, and it was three o’clock before Wyatt had time to notice that he still hadn’t seen Erin. The county truck was still parked out front. He doubted she was still at the main house visiting with Vickie. So where the hell was she? If they were friends now, shouldn’t she at least find him and say hello? Curiosity got the better of him and he finally went looking for her, feeling more than a little miffed. Some friend she was. Was she avoiding him now? Had he said or done something the other night to piss her off?
Without willing his feet to move, Wyatt found himself walking first one direction and then another. Why, he didn’t know. Okay, he did know, but admitting to himself that he was searching for Erin De Laney stuck in his craw. She meant trouble for him with a capital T. But he kept walking anyway, and then he saw her out in one of the cow pastures with Slade. It looked as if they were mending a section of fence. He tipped his Stetson brim lower over his eyes so the slanting sun couldn’t blind him while he enjoyed the view.
Watching Erin work was a pleasure. She had stripped off her shirt to reveal a tank top she had apparently worn underneath it, offering him a great view of her torso, which was sculpted with muscle from working out. She wasn’t pumped up like a female bodybuilder, but she was definitely strong for a woman. He knew she hadn’t developed that musculature behind the steering wheel of a county vehicle. Results like that took dedication and a lot of sweat.
An image circled through his mind of all that moist skin and sleek muscle pressed against his nude body. He shoved it from his mind. Friends. No flirting with each other. No hooking up. That was their agreement, and he wouldn’t be the one to mess it up.
Chapter Seven
It was Erin’s turn to man the posthole digger, a two-handled implement with shovel blades that worked like a pair of scissors. She opened the blades, plunged them into the earth, and closed them to pick up dirt to dump on the pile beside the new hole. It was a demanding job, but she was enjoying her afternoon with Uncle Slade. She’d traded shifts with Serena Paul today to give the other woman Sunday off to attend a family wedding, and even though Erin had a dozen other things she should be doing at home, she was glad that she’d chosen to come out to the ranch instead. She and Slade talked while they worked, and she was having a great time with him. He seemed so happy now that Vickie was back in his life, and that made her nearly as happy as he was.
“Howdy!” someone called out.
Erin glanced over her shoulder to see Wyatt walking across the pasture toward them. Embarrassed to be seen in only a skimpy tank top and jeans, she dropped the posthole digger to grab her shirt and put it on before she turned to wave at him. Except for being caught with her arms and shoulders showing, she was glad to see him. It proved that he would no longer avoid her when she came out to the ranch, and that was a good change. Even though the shirt stuck to her sweaty skin, she was relieved that she’d put it back on, because Wyatt’s laser-blue gaze traveled slowly over her body as he closed the remaining distance.
“I didn’t know this section was in need of repair,” Wyatt said as he drew to a stop. “I could have taken care of it.”
“Yeah, well, you stay pretty busy,”
Slade replied. “And I need to keep my stirring spoon in the pot. Otherwise I’ll get out of shape and have a beer belly.”
Erin decided to take a breather while the men discussed other sections of fence that needed repair. Working hard with a shirt on would be unpleasant. She would wait until Wyatt left and then strip it off again. She listened with only half an ear to what each man said about the west pasture. It was more fun just to watch them talk. They stood with their booted feet braced wide apart and gestured with their hands. When she’d lived in Seattle, she couldn’t have imagined a scene like this, two cowboys wearing Stetsons, Wrangler jeans, and riding boots, cast against a spectacular backdrop of rolling green pastureland edged by dense forests with snowcapped peaks reaching toward the sky. She felt as if she’d stepped onto a film set for a western movie.
Wyatt was of particular interest to her. He was such a good-looking man, his body lean and hard from daily labor. Just studying him made her insides tingle, a feeling she must learn to ignore if she meant to keep her word and not flirt with him again.
Instead of admiring him, she tried to focus on how clean the air smelled and how nice the breeze felt when it touched her hot cheeks. She’d had fun today and wished she could do this more often. Out here under an open sky, she felt liberated. She could be herself, not worry overmuch about her appearance—unless Wyatt came along, of course—and could let her mind drift. That felt amazing to her. While on duty, she constantly had to be on her toes, watch what she said, and make sure her uniform looked perfect.
Brody rode up on a red quad and braked to a stop. Not for the first time, Erin marveled at the similarities between him and his father. Like Wyatt, they were both tall, lean, and well-muscled, but their hair was a dark sable brown, their eyes were gray, and their skin was a shade darker than the blond foreman’s. Nobody would ever mistake Wyatt for a Wilder, but anyone could instantly tell Brody was. He and Slade looked alike, talked alike, and even seemed to think alike.
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