Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
RORY
Itook a step back and inspected my handiwork. The metal bracket and padlock that would keep the dumpster closed wasn’t anything to be impressed by, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning up the garbage strewn all over the alley by wild critters anymore.
When I talked to Sally and Ralph, the owners of Evergreen Diner a couple days back, they told me they’d had the same problem, so I’d grabbed an extra bracket and lock for them from Makin Hardware earlier that morning, and dropped it by the diner on my way to the bar.
I didn’t want to have to call animal control—after all, whatever was getting into the dumpsters was just trying to survive—but I was getting sick and tired of picking up trash I’d already thrown out when I opened the bar every morning.
Brushing my palms on my jeans, I headed back into the bar. “Hey, Dusty, you still good?” I asked as I rounded the bar and moved to the sink to wash my hands.
“Yeah, darlin’,” he mumbled, lifting his pint and finishing it off.
I moved closer to him and braced my forearms on the counter. “You hungry? Want me to put in an order with the kitchen?”
His eyes weren’t nearly as glassy or red rimmed as they usually were when he looked at me just then. He was going slower tonight, still drowning his sorrows but not nearly as deep. “Wouldn’t turn my nose up at a patty melt if it’s on the menu.”
I smiled brightly and stood tall. “A patty melt’s what you’re in the mood for, then I’ll make sure it’s on the menu.”
Taking a step back, I prepared to head back to the kitchen when the sound of breaking glass followed by a deafening hoot of laughter called my attention away from Dusty and toward the area where the pool tables were set up.
“Knew they were trouble the minute they walked through the door,” Dusty muttered, an unhappy look on his face as he stared in the direction I’d just been looking.
The crowd at The Tap Room was usually full of familiar faces, but it wasn’t uncommon for us to get the occasional tourist or folks just passing through.
Usually, those people had themselves a drink or bite to eat, enjoyed the scenery, and went on their way.
But just like Dusty, I’d seen who’d come waltzing in half an hour ago and knew they weren’t going to be that easy.
“Par for the course when you work in a bar. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” I gave him a reassuring look and patted his hand. “I’ll be right back.”
Stopping at the passthrough window that looked into the kitchen from the bar, I called out Dusty’s order before grabbing the broom and dustpan and heading for the pool tables.
I hit the platform and offered the group of men—if they could even be considered that—a banal grin before moving to where the three pint glasses lay shattered on the floor.
“Sorry about that, babe,” one of the guys offered in a tone that indicated he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “Bumped into the table.”
I gave him a quick cursory glance, dragged my gaze across his three buddies, and then looked back to the mess they’d made.
“Accidents happen,” I said as I started sweeping up the glass.
I knew exactly who this guy and his friends were without ever having laid eyes on them before. They were a dime a dozen.
I tagged them at the high end of their early twenties.
Their loud, raucous behavior indicated they were recent college grads who probably spent most of those four years drunk out of their minds after a night of keg stands and frat parties.
They were all dressed similarly in polo shirts or button-downs, all with their collars popped, and ridiculously colored shorts with anchors or whales printed on them.
Their clothes, overstyled hair, and the BMW they’d pulled up in said they were from money.
But if I had to guess, it was money their parents gave them, not money they’d earned on their own.
They were such an easy-to-read cliché it was almost laughable.
These were spoiled, entitled trust fund brats who thought the world revolved around them and that they could do whatever the hell they wanted.
The guy who’d just addressed me was clearly the ringleader of the crew, the alpha—in his opinion—and I had the sense that he was going to be the biggest of the four problems when he moved closer, invading my personal space without an invitation.
“How about you stick around?” he said in a voice I had no doubt he thought was sexy and suggestive.
To me, he just sounded like a boy playing at being a man.
“Have a drink with us, shoot some pool.”
Lowering into a squat, I swept the broken glass into the dustpan as I issued my reply. “Got a bar to run.”
“Oh, come on, babe,” he cajoled, moving even closer as I stood tall. “You can take a little break. What’s a sexy thing like you doing working in a shitty, backwater hick-town bar anyway?”
I didn’t bother taking offense. Men like him didn’t matter to me.
The Tap Room wasn’t shitty, not even close.
And if he thought Hope Valley was a backwater hick town, he was clearly even stupider than I’d originally thought.
“I own the bar,” I answered, looking him head-on with an expression as flat as my voice.
“You break another glass, it’s gonna be added to your tab.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other customers to see to. ”
I went to step around him, but the prick, obviously deciding he didn’t like my brush-off, cut in front of me.
“If this is your bar, then it’s no big deal for you to hang with us for a bit.
” A smarmy smile stretched across his face, flashing perfect white teeth.
“Show us some of that small-town hospitality.”
I’d tried to be as tactful as possible, but it was becoming obvious that this guy didn’t have a damn thing between his ears, and I was done dealing with him. “Move, please.”
“Ah, come on, baby.” He reached up and tried to touch my arm, but I took a quick step back.
“First, I’m not your baby. Second, I don’t recall telling you it was all right that you touch me. Now, I already asked you to move out of my way. I’m not gonna do it again.”
The charming playboy mask he’d been wearing dissolved, replaced by a hateful sneer I was willing to bet was a better portrayal of who this guy really was. “Is that right?” To prove to his friends just how big a badass he was, he slowly lifted his arm and started to reach for me.
“That would be a mistake,” I warned, not the least bit frightened by these jackasses. I’d grown up Bill Hightower’s daughter, for goodness’ sake. I could handle myself against spoiled sons of bitches like this.
“Oh yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”
His hand came down on my arm, and I went about showing him exactly what I planned to do. Dropping the dustpan on the ground, I grabbed the broom handle with both hands near the bottom and swung it like a baseball bat as hard as I could, connecting with Alpha Wannabe’s arm.
He let out a howl of pain and doubled over, gripping his arm close to his chest.
“I told you not to touch me.”
He craned his neck, gnashing his teeth as he breathed rapidly against the pain. “You stupid bitch!” He lunged, but before he could reach me, I swung the broom handle up, hitting him in his chin with such force, his head flew back at an unnatural angle.
“Fuckin’ cunt,” Guy Number Two shouted, making his move, but before they could get close, Cord appeared on the platform.
“Get outta here, Rory,” he barked as he grabbed Guy Number Two by his stupid popped-up collar and used the asshole’s momentum to swing him around and shove him away, sending him flying.
Guys Three and Four didn’t hesitate to wade into the mix, and I stood in shock as Cord took them both on while Guy Number Two regained his footing.
The men were nowhere near as big or strong as Cord, but still, it was three on one, and I wasn’t a fan of those odds. So, while Guy Number Two looked to be planning his maneuver, I gave the broom another swing, catching him right in the back as he charged at Cord.
He hit the ground unceremoniously, and I didn’t hesitate. I hit him again, then again for good measure just to make sure he didn’t get back up.
I looked over just as Cord dispatched Guy Number Three, but he was still held up with the fourth. I was about to jump in when my head was suddenly wrenched backward. I’d been so busy worrying about Cord that I hadn’t realized Alpha Wannabe had gotten to his feet.
“Don’t know who you’re messin’ with, bitch,” he hissed as he yanked my hair.
I let out a cry and stumbled back into him. The moment my back connected with his chest, I cocked my elbow and slammed it into his stomach.
He lost his grip on my hair while letting out an unnatural wheeze.
Once I was free, I spun around, grabbed his overly styled hair, and slammed his face down on my knee.
He reared back, giving me the perfect shot, so I took it, landing a hard kick to his groin with the toe of my boot.
That last blow sent him to the ground, and I knew there was no way in hell he’d be able to get back up, at least not without assistance.
“You okay?” At the sound of Cord’s voice, I whipped my head around and saw him standing near the pool table with his hands on his hips, looking as sexy as ever, even with a small trickle of blood trailing down the side of his face from a cut near his eyebrow.
The bodies of the two guys he’d been fighting were on the ground at his feet, one writhing in pain, the other eerily still. “You didn’t kill that one, did you?” I asked, pointing to the still body.
Cord heaved out a sigh and looked at Guy Number Four. “Just unconscious. Now answer my question. You okay, dollface?”
I reached around to touch the back of my head, prodding gently at where Alpha Wannabe had pulled my hair to find it didn’t really hurt anymore. “I’m fine.”
Cord’s expression was like thunder as he stomped to me and grabbed my face, turning it side to side like he didn’t believe me and had to assess the damage himself. “Goddamn it, Rory. I told you to get the hell outta here,” he grumbled.
“I wasn’t going to leave you by yourself,” I snapped in return, pulling my chin from his grasp. “It was three on one! Those aren’t fair odds.”
He yanked me back and prodded at the back of my scalp.
“Saw that fucker grab your hair,” he continued, looking like he wanted to beat the hell out of those guys all over again.
“He could’ve seriously hurt you. Next time I tell you to get outta here, you get outta here.
I don’t give a shit if it’s twenty on one. ”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I replied indignantly.
“I’m well aware of that,” he growled, not looking any happier. “But that doesn’t mean I want you putting yourself at risk, Rory.”
My lips parted to shoot something snarky back his way when footsteps sounded like thunder coming up the steps to the platform.
I spun around just as my dad pulled to a stop with Tempie’s husband, Hayes Walker, his partner, Patrick “Trick” Wanderly, and a couple other uniformed officers at his back. “Ah, hell,” Dad groused. “I miss the fight?”
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, brushing my hair out of my face and resting my hands on my hips.
“Call came in that there was a bar fight in progress,” Hayes answered. “We came with the uniforms when we heard it was here.”
“And I was just comin’ in for a visit,” Dad said as he looked at the dickheads on the floor. When he turned his eyes to me, they were full of humor. “How many you take out, dumplin’?”
“Two. With a broom.”
Pride suffused my father’s face as he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s my girl.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Cord muttered, looking up to the ceiling. “Deliver me from pain-in-the-ass women.”
“No fun in that, son,” my dad cut in. “The ones who aren’t a pain in the ass are all boring as hell. Trust me on that one.”
Oh for the love of god.