Rugged and Restless

by Saylor Bliss

  Dad’s pointed stare halted me in mid-denial. There had been plenty of time, lots of opportunities. I’d just always found a way around the subject, reasons not to talk.

  “You know…” Dad picked up a half-empty glass of lemonade and drew lines with one finger in the condensation. Damn, if the man ever said anything straight out without pausing for effect, Old Faithful would probably stop spouting. One, two, three, four, five—

  “Love comes with a lot of things.” Almost in slow motion, Justin raised the glass and took a long drink. “Happiness, responsibility. Fear. Open up to her. If she loves you, she’ll understand anything you have to tell her. But don’t smother her with everything you’re feeling right now, son. She isn’t one who’s going to take easy to that kind of love.”

  Forcing myself to take a deep, calming breath, I waited a beat then asked, “Are you telling me not to see her tonight?”

  Justin shook his head. “I’m strongly suggesting, son, that if you woke up from your nap, missed your girl, and wanted to see her, maybe hold an enlightening conversation, she’ll take it a lot more kindly than the attitude you’re wearing right now.”

  The emotions gripping me suddenly drained out, and I nodded. Then I chuckled. “You’re the second person today to give me that advice.”

  “Really…” Justin said in a droll tone. “Who would be the first?”

  I drew a deep breath, blew it out. Avoiding my father’s sharp stare, I mumbled my answer. “Christine.”

  Justin’s hearty laughter followed me to my car. “You know, a lady usually likes to get a call first before a gentleman drops in on her. Gives her time to spruce up a mite.”

  Smiling, I reached for my cell and pulled up Christine’s number.

  Dusk was settling into night when I bulleted into a parking spot about as far away from the front door of Valentine’s as it was possible to get. The place was hopping. I’d almost forgotten how current events could alter the lives of the locals, pulling them away from their satellite TV and backyard fire pits to gather where they could talk and analyze and keep score. If they were lucky, they would catch sight of some of the players in the drama.

  Which probably explained the endless rows of cars and trucks parked in front of Christine’s place on a weeknight.

  Small town gossip had never bothered me when I lived in Pine Haven as a kid. I’d certainly been the subject of it on plenty of occasions. I had to admit it wouldn’t bother me now.

  Except for my family.

  Except for Christine.

  The shit storm that always seemed to find me was swallowing the people I loved.

  I was halfway to the door when a figure emerged from the shadows, extra-large and moving like a train in my direction.

  “Aw, shit,” I muttered. Just one night, one damn night without a MacKay would have made my whole year.

  “You stay away from my boy!” shouted Bull. The blue-white light in the parking lot turned his angry red face a deep purple.

  “Bull, now settle yourself down.” Reason probably wouldn’t work but I had to try. “Wyatt helped put out a fire at our place is all. I told him thanks and he left.”

  “He’s got no business out near your place.” Bull’s gait was none too steady, but his eyes held enough hatred to overcome any drunk he had going on. “Unless you enticed him out that way.”

  “I never met him, didn’t even know he existed until today.” Keep calm. He doesn’t have to know when today. “He showed up, helped out, introduced himself, and left. You don’t want him out our way, you tell him, not me.”

  Bull faked right then left, swaying side to side in a blocking tactic, his hands balled into tight and very effective-looking fists. “The boy’s got no call fighting a fire on McGee land.”

  Through narrowed eyes, I assessed the situation. My old nemesis was bigger, meaner, and well past rational talk. He was also blocking any avenue of escape into the bar. The door remained closed. Didn’t look like the cavalry was going to arrive any time soon, either.

  With a mental shrug, I decided to go fishing. If I was going to have to fight, at least I could get some information. “Why not? Boy was just being a good neighbor. You’d have done the same thing, wouldn’t you, Bull? Unless you started the fire.” I thought about Robert Senior’s threats from the night before. “Or maybe your old man decided to pitch a match our way?”

  Bull’s bark of laughter rang across the parking lot, but his forward motion faltered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I?” My gaze slid to the bar’s entrance, willing someone to step outside, preferably my brother. “Old Robert was full of threats last night.”

  Bull frowned. He looked in the general direction of his truck. Had he not been aware of the threats his father had made? The information seemed to throw him off balance.

  “You know, you’ve got a good son there. Real considerate and helpful.”

  A startled expression flashed in Bull’s eyes, just before his belligerent mask fell back into place. And that flash made me particularly curious, so I pushed a little harder.

  “If he is your son.”

  Bull’s response was the roar of an enraged animal.

  Bulls eye!

  The charge wasn’t unexpected, and Bull telegraphed his intent to lead with his right. Gravel crunched under my feet as I easily ducked aside. But I was still on the wrong side of the parking lot, with Bull between me and the door, and I couldn’t duck those mean, meaty fists forever.

  “Wyatt’s my boy!” Bull took a step forward. Damn, had he grown a foot in the last decade and a half? “My brother had nothing to do with him. And you’re not touching him, McGee.” He stumbled sideways.

  The anger was wearing Bull out. The beer I could smell from several feet away was probably beginning to work its magic as well.

  Crouching into a fighting stance, I circled back, holding on to my intent to keep my adversary off balance. “I heard you and Wanda don’t have any more kids, Bull. What’s the deal? Can’t get it up or she won’t have you?”

  “Maybe I don’t touch her. I don’t want anyone’s damn leavings.”

  So that was it? Had Bull just confirmed he wasn’t Wyatt’s father? Triumph surged, lending me a bit of energy. I’d decide what to do with the knowledge later.

  Icy awareness entered Bull’s gaze. “He’s not Mac’s boy. He’s never been and never will be.” So the asshole had added two and two and managed to get it right. Sure was pissing him off that I had figured it out in a lot less than twenty questions.

  Time to end the standoff. I edged to the right, found myself blocked by Bull’s quick sidestep. Shit. “How much does a hooker go for these days?” I goaded, hoping to throw him off again.

  “How much does that slut you’re doing charge?” countered Bull.

  Oops, wrong direction. I slid a glance right and stepped left.

  Bull blocked again, a leer contorting his already ugly face. “How about I do her and see whose name she calls out when she has a real man on her?”

  I clenched my teeth. “Not gonna happen.” If the fight wasn’t going to be avoided, I might as well be the one to draw first blood. Feinting with my left, I slammed Bull in the nose with my right. My knuckles stung. Direct hit. Blood spattered, then gushed. I followed with a quick left to the jaw, then another right, connecting solidly in Bull’s left eye.

  Bull spat. Blood and what might have been a tooth sailed in a shallow arc and landed on the ground. Breathing heavy but with a full-on mad, Bull seemed to puff up, and then he rushed, catching me in the middle of my chest.

  I registered my feet leaving the ground, then I was airborne, flipped over Bull’s shoulder. I rolled into the landing, somehow protecting my head as I landed on my back, winded. Before I could roll over, Bull was on me, fists pounding, his drunken aim hitting far more than it missed. The bigger man was sloppy, though and he tired quickly. The opening came and I got an arm between us. Bull’s weight pinned me down, but I was
lean and fit. And not drunk off my ass. With the next punch, I moved my head aside so Bull connected with the gravel. That gave me the opening for a pop to the temple. Dazed, Bull toppled sideways.

  Rolling in the opposite direction, I pushed onto my hands and knees. I didn’t quite make it to my feet before Bull plowed into me again. I lost track of how many kicks I took to the ribs. The stomp to my chest made my vision dim briefly. When Bull pulled back for another kick, I grabbed his leg and toppled the jackass like an old oak tree.

  Once again I rolled forward and thrust to my feet with a grunt, forcing back the tight sensation in my chest that stole my breath. When Bull rushed me again, I ducked left and landed a hard gut-punch with my right. Bull doubled over and I stepped back. With any luck I might just pull out of the fight relatively intact.

  Light flashed off the door to the bar, catching my eye.

  Something slammed into me from the side. Excruciating heat barreled along my arm, tearing a grunt from deep in my throat. I stumbled.

  A knowing gleam entered Bull’s eyes and he struck again in the same place, then again. White-hot torture rolled over me in waves, unchecked by his rush of adrenaline. Bull took advantage of the weakness to grab me at the site of my injury, twisting painfully, a malicious grin distorting his face.

  I slumped in Bull’s big-handed grip. Whimpers were torn from my throat, as I struggled to get away from the fire in my arm. Still holding the arm I’d destroyed, Bull hit me in the face with a series of quick, hard jabs.

  “I’ll give your little slut the best ride of her life.” Bull gripped my arm tighter, pushing my face so close his stale, beer-laden breath soured my stomach. “Then I’ll beat the shit out of her like I just did to you. Teach her a good lesson. I’ll make her forget you exist. And I’ll do it whenever I want.” He flung me away from him. Gravel sliced into my cheek.

  Christine. Have to keep her safe. Can’t leave her alone. Can’t let him get to her.

  The ugly thoughts spurred me back to life. Core adrenaline kicked in, giving me the energy to drag myself to my feet. Rage born of fear pushed me past the threshold of agony. I rammed my fist into Bull’s gut. When the big man doubled over, I clasped my hands together and aimed the double fist to the bottom of Bull’s jaw, knocking him backward. A feeling of pure disgust coursing through me, I grabbed Bull by the collar, pulling him up and glaring into his eyes.

  “Like.

  Hell.

  You.

  Will.” I accentuated each word with alternating left-right blows to Bull’s face. “You sorry—” With a grunt, I rammed my knee home into Bull’s unprotected groin. “—son of an ugly bitch.” I rammed my knee home one more time for good measure, staggering backward with the force of my own blow, landing on my ass. Bull collapsed to his knees, puking. Shouts came from behind him. Gasping for breath, my head went light. Purple fog began to overtake my vision. I sagged to the side just as a pair of strong arms closed about me and lowered me gently to the ground. I looked up, relieved when I recognized my brother’s eyes. “What… the hell… took you… so long?” I panted before the merciful blackness took me away.

  Chapter Forty

  Christine

  Everything was going to be okay. I tried hard not to dwell on Travis’s phone call and his cryptic request to find us a secluded table where we could have a conversation without too much distraction. Either he was ready to talk about his secrets, or he was coming to break things off. The way things kept swinging back and forth between us, I only wished I could be confident it was option number one.

  In the meantime, I tried to concentrate on the story Justin had shared. How could I have lived in Pine Haven for six years and known none of that history? I closed my eyes as the answer worked into my awareness. Because I’d had my head and my heart wrapped up in a man who had died the year before I’d found the small town. During a lull in serving, I cornered Sissy. “Do you know anything about Bull having a brother?”

  The younger woman edged sideways to peer around me. Was she seeking an escape route or trying to make sure no one overheard them? The trapped look in Sissy’s eyes suggested she’d rather do anything than answer the question.

  “Sissy? What is it? Where is Bull’s brother now?”

  “Um, there’s lots of rumors,” Sissy began slowly. “But, well, ahh… he’s—”

  Frantic shouts from the doorway interrupted the conversation. Sissy’s relief was palpable. As every bar patron rushed outside, one word repeated in the crowd’s collective murmur: fight. No use hoping Travis and Bull weren’t the ones going at it.

  “Damn it!” As I pushed through the mass of humanity clogging the entrance, I shouted for Sissy to call the sheriff’s office.

  The fight was over before I got outside, but the aftermath provided a clear picture of exactly how violent it had been.

  I spared a glance, but absolutely no sympathy for Bull, who was cursing in falsetto as he writhed on the ground in a pool of blood and vomit, both hands clutching at his crotch. Blood streamed from his nose and he spewed more from his mouth with every vile oath he squeaked.

  The crowd parted. Travis sprawled half on the ground and half in Grant’s arms. Only the deep purple already blooming on his swollen face kept him from appearing pale as ash in the bluish light.

  “Oh, no, no, no!” I sank to my knees next to the man I loved more than life. A metallic tang assaulted my nostrils, and I gagged back my dinner. “God, it looks like his face was shoved into a wood chipper.” Blood gushed freely from his nose and bubbled from the corner of his mouth. More crimson liquid oozed from a flap laceration at the top of his cheekbone. It was probably a blessing for him he was unconscious.

  But his breathing was too shallow and from the gurgling in his throat, he was choking.

  “We have to protect his airway. But I don’t know if his neck is injured. Help me. I have to get him off his back without turning his head.” I met Grant’s gaze and held it until I was certain he understood.

  He gave a sharp nod but said nothing.

  I showed him how to keep his brother’s head in line with his body while I rolled Travis toward my, onto his right side. Like the miracle he needed, I managed it in one smooth motion. Grant pushed his knee beneath Travis’s head like a pillow. A gasp tore through the air, and then he sucked in a burbling breath. The trickle of red at the corner of his mouth became a gush, but he stopped choking and his ragged breaths seemed to come a little easier.

  “This is a lot of blood.” Grant’s voice shook.

  “It’s probably all from his mouth and nose.” I hope. I laid my hand against his neck, releasing a sigh of relief at the pulse beneath my fingertips —staggering but fairly strong. A cramp speared my calf. As I shifted to a less awkward position, my hand brushed his arm and came away wet.

  “Oh, dear God.” The dark cotton fabric had hidden the bleeding, but his shirt sleeve was saturated. “He must have pulled the stitches out. I have to make sure he’s not hemorrhaging.”

  “Cut it,” said a deep voice over my shoulder as a hunting knife was pushed into my hand.

  “I had this in my car.” Beth Wright dangled a dark damask throw pillow in front of Grant, who took it and slipped it a centimeter at a time beneath Travis’s head as he eased his knee away.

  Confident Travis was as secured in place as possible, I sank my teeth into my lower lip and began to work on his arm. I cursed violently in my head as I lifted the shirtsleeve and punched a hole with the knife tip just below his shoulder then slid the blade around until the sleeve was mostly off. Then I sliced downward until the cloth laid open butterfly style. Dark blood flowed from the wound I’d repaired earlier, a steady burgundy stream, but it wasn’t pulsing. I tore the rest of his shirtsleeve free, folded it, and pressed it to the heaviest bleeding.

  “It’s not arterial but he’s losing a lot.” I leaned over and murmured in his ear. “Don’t you go anywhere on me, you hear? You stay with me, Travis.”

  Someone laid a hand on my
shoulder. I looked up to see Deputy Camryn Gordon standing behind me. “Life Flight’s en route. ETA about ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes. Did he have ten minutes? I pressed harder on his bleeding arm. Not again, not again, not again.

  Across the parking lot, Bull was on his feet but hunched over. Bruises decorated his face and his nose looked broken. His hands were cuffed behind him and a couple of men flanked him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  In civilian clothing, I almost didn’t recognize DC as he crossed the parking lot toward them. “Christine,” he growled. “What the hell happened here?”

  “I don’t know.” I flicked a glance between Travis and Bull. “I got here too late to see anything. But isn’t it obvious Bull—?”

  “Bull is over there saying Trav started this. He’s claiming self-defense.”

  A terrible icy rage washed over me as I leveled my gaze on the sheriff. “He was mad enough to start something, but I don’t think he did.” I shrugged. “I know he’s been gone awhile and you don’t know him anymore, but if he was going to do something, he wouldn’t have gone after Bull here. Not in my parking lot.”

  “No witnesses. And two men with bad blood between them kicking the shit out of each other.”

  “And a sheriff who’s giving the wrong one of those men the benefit of the doubt. Go ahead, ask Bull about the mess he made of my truck. Or about the fire out at the ranch.” I scanned the crowd, knowing pretty much the whole town was there. “Allan Cross!” I shouted, grabbing Grant’s hand and pressing it to the makeshift bandage on Travis’s arm.

  “Christine,” murmured Grant. But then he looked around and his lips thinned. Instead of the warning I’d expected, he only gave me a curt nod.

  The mechanic cast a nervous glance at the gathering crowd, as if in disbelief that I’d called his name.

  “Yeah, Allan. Why don’t you explain what happened to all your damn tires, how you were so willing to think Travis was involved, how you accused him of starting the fire in the lumberyard, even though I told you he was having lunch with me!” I swept my hand in a gesture indicating Travis. “Well, look at him. Do you think he got what he deserved? A man comes home after a long time gone and instead of a welcome, he gets blamed for everything. Like all that shit wasn’t going down before he even got here? Please, we all know it was. And we all know who’s been doing it. Do you think he caused it from wherever he was before he came back?”