Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Sawyer turned and sprang from the barstool with a determination and reflex he’d honed during his decade as a Navy SEAL.
This wasn’t his fight, sure, but he wasn’t going to watch as Sheriff Quinn Hardin took on these two idiots all by himself. Not that the sheriff couldn’t do it. He was a hardened, tough man who could easily handle himself in a skirmish.
But two against one weren’t fair odds.
Besides, I did sort of add to it with my comment about the dumbass tree, Sawyer thought to himself. It’s only right that I help clean up the mess.
While Tim Rutlidge swiped his knife at Quinn from the front, his loser friend tried to double-up and attack from behind. Quinn didn’t appear to even see him. Understandable, Sawyer thought. That knife demanded his attention!
That’s why it was imperative Sawyer acted.
He moved around Quinn, lowered his shoulder, and tackled the second idiot before the guy even realized what was happening. The whole fracas was over in just a few seconds, and Rutlidge and his friend found themselves laid out cold on that barroom floor.
“Damn. They could make sawdust angles when they wake up,” Quinn said with a laugh. “If they weren’t handcuffed that is.”
He knelt down and checked on both to ensure they didn’t need immediate medical attention. They didn’t, but because there had been a scuffle, he still called it in for first responders to come.
Sawyer figured it would be the town’s three full-time firefighters who responded. Walker, Cane, and Austin were good guys. They’d recently found their sweet girl.
Three more Daddies in Big Cedar had their Happy Ever After.
Would he ever?
He shook such thoughts from his mind and said to Quinn, “They’re okay, huh?”
“Yeah. Just knocked out it seems.” He rolled them on their stomachs, cuffed them, and then rolled them back. “Will you give me a hand?”
Sawyer aided in getting them up so they could breathe good.
“I’m much obliged for the assist,” the sheriff said, extending his hand.
“Don’t mention it,” Sawyer replied, shaking the offered hand.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” Quinn asked as he shifted his focus to Pamela.
“I’m just fine, Sheriff. But I don’t want those two in here ever again.”
Quinn nodded. “Understandable and that’s your right. I suspect they’ll be gone for a while. Pulling a knife and attacking—or attempting to attack—is assault with intent to kill on a police officer. A judge and jury will most likely have something to say about that.”
A siren pierced the air outside, getting louder by the second. Less than a minute later, the door opened and Walker, Cane, and Austin filed in with their medical equipment, ready to give the downed men a looking over.
“What do we have here?” Austin asked.
“They thought it would be a good idea to try and put their hands on Miss Pamela here,” Quinn explained. “And attack me with those.” He aimed his eyes down at the knives on the floor. “I’ll shoot a few pics of ‘em with my phone, then bag ‘em as evidence.”
“You all good or do we need do we need to patch you up?” Walker wondered, scanning the sheriff for visible injury.
“Didn’t get me. Thanks to Sawyer here.”
Sawyer remained silent, not comfortable with the attention. He’d just done what any decent person would do.
The men on the floor began to groan as they regained consciousness. While the firefighters continued to inspect them, and Pamela tended to some things at the bar, Quinn said to Sawyer, “How have you been?”
“I’m good.”
He noticed the sheriff’s eyes squinting a little, as if studying him. “Haven’t seen you in town much.”
“You know me. I stick to myself. Got pretty much everything I need at home,” Sawyer replied.
He went into Big Cedar about once a month to grab supplies at the general store. The owner, Joe Graves, was a Daddy, so Sawyer liked supporting him and the business. Other than that, though, town didn’t hold much for him, save for the occasional trip to Marsha’s diner.
The truth was probably that it was too difficult to see all the Daddies with their precious Littles, but he didn’t want to confront that fact right now.
“I come to the Thirsty Logger here a few times a week,” he continued. “But other than that, you know I’m more at home in the woods.” He grinned, hoping Quinn didn’t press too hard.
They were casual friends, sure, but he wasn’t in the mood for a deep conversation or questions about why he hadn’t found the right Little yet.
“The Logger is still a ways out of town,” Quinn pointed out. “You should venture into Big Cedar more.” He paused and smiled. “We’ve had some Littles come through recently, here and there, who were just visiting. Didn’t have Daddies.”
He didn’t say anything further about that, but Sawyer knew the implication was clear: there were single Littles in Big Cedar. Drop by and maybe meet one.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Sawyer said. He reached back and grabbed his beer off the bar, more out of eagerness to have something to distract him than out of thirst. He enjoyed conversations with Quinn, but he’d rather them be over a poker game with the other guys rather than one on one where serious topics might come up.
Serious topics that Sawyer had no desire to talk about right now.
Either Quinn picked up on that fact or needed to deal with the prisoners, because he said, “Thanks again for the help. I’ve got to get these guys booked into jail. Been a while since we’ve had anyone in there.”
“Well, if there’s anyone around these parts who deserve it, it’s them,” Sawyer said.
He meant it, too.
He’d seen those idiots around and they were usually getting rowdy and disrupting the peace. They weren’t Daddies and seemed to stay out of the town of Big Cedar. But they ran around that county, and even though Sawyer hadn’t known their names, he knew their reputation.
He finished the last swallow of beer, set the mug down, and reached for his wallet.
“Nope,” Pamela declared from behind the bar. “Not today.”
“I insist,” he said, slapping a twenty down. “And keep the change.”
She scoffed but gave him an expression of gratitude.
Sawyer nodded to her and then the sheriff and the firemen before going out the door and to his old Bronco. The entire time, Quinn’s words kept ringing in his head.
Maybe his pal was right. Perhaps he should go into Big Cedar more. How would he meet a Little if he stayed holed up in his cabin, or wandered around the woods alone every day?
But then he remembered what had happened the last time he’d been involved with a woman; the Little he still thought about from time to time.
With that in mind, he fired up the Bronco’s engine and headed in the opposite direction of town and toward that remote cabin he called home.