Page 3 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)
Natalie stepped out of the way because she wasn’t going to risk injury to prevent two knuckleheads from fighting. Her irritation mounted as she imagined the property destruction. If the new decorations got damaged, there’d be hell to pay.
She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for disaster to unfold.
Billy rushed forward with his fists raised and his neck bobbing like a chicken pecking at feed.
Jason’s brow furrowed with confusion rather than alarm.
In the next instant, Billy’s motorcycle boot skidded in the puddle of spilled beer.
His feet slipped out from underneath him, his arms flailed out to his sides, and he went down hard on his butt.
Natalie gasped at the spectacle Billy had created. It was the pinnacle of poetic justice. Hoisted by his own petard, even.
Billy appeared stunned, as if the impact had knocked the wind out of him.
He rolled onto his side, wheezing. The seat of his jeans was soaked.
Natalie clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a giggle.
The blonde in the denim skirt elbowed her friend, who sputtered with laughter.
The Stoddard brothers guffawed and pointed.
Everyone in the bar had witnessed Billy’s big flop, and it was exactly what he deserved for acting like a jackass. Billy scrambled upright, red-faced. Instead of adopting another aggressive stance, he cut his losses and returned to his seat.
The opportunity for violence had passed. Jason stayed quiet, letting the tension fade. Billy didn’t glance in his direction again.
“You’re lucky nothing got damaged but his pride,” Natalie said.
“He’s lucky,” Jason replied. “I would’ve been fine.”
“I was talking about the decor.” She gestured to the photos on the wall. “I’m partial to these prints.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “Of course. I apologize for the disturbance.”
Natalie smiled back at him. “Thanks for the help.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Your drink is on the house.”
“I’d rather have your phone number.”
The regret she felt was palpable, a breathing, aching thing. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t want to lead you on.”
He studied her face for several taut seconds. Then he gestured to the jukebox. “What’s your favorite song?”
She named a country ballad she’d danced to at her wedding.
Jason went to the jukebox and selected it.
The wistful love song started playing. She closed her eyes, awash with memories.
Then she pushed aside her heartache and continued doing her job.
Jason stood by the jukebox like a sentry, his arms folded over his chest. His posture and expression sent the message that Billy better not make another move.
Billy stayed in his seat. Natalie finished cleaning up his mess before returning to her station.
When the song was over, Jason returned to his barstool. He threw some bills on the surface of the bar, gathered his backpack, and nodded a curt farewell. Then he walked out the door without looking back.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Customers came and went. Billy bragged about how he would have “mopped the floor with that guy,” which was ridiculous. He’d mopped the floor with his own ass. She rolled her eyes in disbelief.
“Sorry about your new boyfriend,” Billy said to Natalie. “I guess he took a hike .”
The Stoddard brothers chuckled at the dumb joke.
“Anytime you need a real man , let me know.” He pointed to his lap.
Natalie rested the tray on one hip and arched a brow. “That’s big talk for a guy with soggy pants. Tell me, did you piss yourself before or after you fell down?”
Billy scowled at the comeback, and his friends laughed harder.
Natalie sashayed away, half wishing she hadn’t sent Jason packing.
She didn’t want a boyfriend, and she’d never get over Mike, but damn.
She wasn’t dead . Men like Jason didn’t come around often.
Why hadn’t she given him a chance? Instead of having a sexy rendezvous with a stranger, she was stuck in a bar with the three stooges.
Billy and his friends left about thirty minutes before quitting time.
Natalie cleaned up in a rush, eager to end the evening.
She said goodbye to Buster and headed out.
Her vintage Volkswagen bug glowed in the light of a street lamp.
She unlocked the door, climbed inside, and tossed her purse on the passenger seat.
“Come on, baby,” she said as she turned the key in the ignition.
The old girl was temperamental. Sometimes, she refused to start or made strange noises.
To Natalie’s relief, the engine fired up after a few sputters.
She drove off in a puff of exhaust, distracted by thoughts of Jason.
His intense gaze and gruff voice. The muscled arm flexing beneath her fingertips.
A slapping sound, like a flat tire hitting asphalt, brought her back to the present. Something had broken loose inside the engine. Cursing, she slowed the vehicle down to a crawl. She lived less than a mile away, so she could walk home, but she didn’t want to leave the safety of her vehicle.
Her car shuddered a few times and gave up the ghost. Dark smoke billowed from beneath the hood. She coasted to a park and scrambled out of the vehicle. She almost expected the bug to burst into flames. Instead, it sat there ticking like a cute little vintage time bomb.
Damn, damn, damn!
She grabbed her purse, locked the car, and started walking.
Drizzle began to fall as she approached Gregory Park, a frequent haunt for Natalie and her son.
Marcus called it Gargoyle Park because of the stone statues guarding the entrance.
In the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by halos of mist, they looked downright sinister.
Leaves skittered across the sidewalk, giving the impression of footsteps behind her.
Natalie glanced over her shoulder. Although she didn’t see anyone, she noticed a sleek muscle car parked on the opposite side of the street.
One of the Stoddard brothers drove a car like that.
Natalie froze in her tracks as the sound of a braying laugh, unmistakably Billy’s, rang out in the still night. She squinted into the darkness ahead. There was a bus stop with a single metal bench about fifty feet away.
A man in a cowboy hat stood near the bench, his fists ready, while three figures surrounded him in a menacing circle.
Jason.