played a few hours, then moved on to darts. Fisher was one of the last to leave the bar. He lingered, slowly enjoying his beer. There were times he wished he had his younger brother Ryder’s finesse with the ladies. Most of them thought Fisher was cute and flirted with him easily enough, but he’d never been all that interested in pursuing something more.
Jarvis’s teasing had chapped his hide because few women caught his attention the way Kylee had. And she had. So much so that he found it hard not to openly stare at her as she swept the floor, mesmerized by her long black hair swaying as she worked. If she’d just look at him with the slightest flicker of interest he’d figure out some way to start up a conversation. Instead, she seemed oblivious to him. Once his beer was gone and the bar was empty, he had no reason to stay.
He put his empty bottle on the counter. “Night,” he called out, making a last effort.
Kylee nodded but didn’t look up, her black hair blocking her face from view. He walked out of the bar, glancing back at Kylee through the glass front of the door. She was still sweeping.
He stared up at the perfect circle of a moon hanging low in the deep black sky. A million stars broke up the canvas of dark. July in Texas was a scorcher, not that August and September were much better. And, from the feel of it, it was going to be a long, hot summer. But after the damn near arctic winter they’d had, he didn’t mind so much. If anything, the chirp of the cicadas and crickets, and the thick, humid air was a pleasant change.
“Fisher Boone.”
Fisher didn’t recognize the slurred and angry voice until he turned around. “Carson.” He nodded at George Carson, one of Archer’s employees. He didn’t know Carson but Archer didn’t think too highly of him. “Everything all right?”
“Been better,” Carson bit out, a hard smile on his face. “I need you to give your brother a message for me.”
He nodded, realizing just how worked up George Carson was when the man’s fist slammed into his right eye. Fisher was still recovering when the next hit came, catching him in the gut and knocking the air out of him. He shook his head, instinct taking over. He tried to rein himself in, to keep control. But with one punch, Carson was on the ground. Fisher groaned, “Dammit.”
Suddenly Kylee stood there, staring down at Carson, a beer bottle in her hand.
Fisher wiped away the blood running into his eye, made sure Carson was breathing, then turned to Kylee. She held the neck of the bottle with a white-knuckle grip, her body shaking. “Got my back?” Fisher asked, still processing.
Kylee blinked, tossing the bottle into a garbage bin in the alley between the buildings. “Doesn’t look like you needed it,” she murmured. She looked at him and crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “So, you’re not a fighter, huh?”
His eye was throbbing. His fist...it hurt to flex his thumb, and from the way the muscles in his palm pulsed and burned, he suspected he’d dislocated it—again. “I didn’t say I couldn’t fight. I said I don’t fight. My size gives me an unfair advantage.” He’d learned that the hard way.
She nodded, her eyes searching his face. He wished he knew what was going on inside that head of hers. Even standing here bleeding, all he could do was grin at her. She stared at him, then shook her head. She stepped over the unconscious Carson and reached up to tilt his head back. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” Her fingers settled on his temple, her eyes narrowing. “The light’s better inside.”
His hand encircled her wrist, brushing over her soft skin. She drew away immediately, stepping back and almost tripping over the man on the ground. Fisher caught her but released her instantly. Even with that slight contact, his hands tingled.
He cleared his throat. “He probably needs looking after more than I do.” He nodded at George Carson, but he was too startled by how blue her gaze was to look away. Clear blue. Like a perfect summer sky. Or the surface of the lake.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to patch him up?”
Better than standing around bleeding, thinking about how damn pretty she was. He nodded. “Have my bag in my truck.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why do I have my bag in my truck?” He wiped his eye, smiling at her. “I like to be prepared.”
She put her hands on her hips, clearly not amused.
He glanced at Carson. “Can’t just leave him here.”
She stood there, confusion lining her face, while he collected his medical bag from his truck. He handed it to her and pulled George Carson inside the bar.
“Dumb ass,” Cutter murmured as Fisher propped Carson in a chair. “You called it, Kylee. I’ll call his brother to come get him. Got his number in the back.” He wandered off, leaving Fisher to inspect Carson.
As far as Fisher could tell, Carson would wake up with a massive jaw ache and an impressive knot on the back of his thick skull. But that was about it. “He’s going to feel that in the morning.” Fisher glanced at Kylee. Her blue eyes were fixed on him, puzzling things out. She masked her expression when his gaze met hers, but he could sense the tension thrumming in her veins. “You okay?”
Her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her gaze bored into his, raw and intense.
He straightened, crossing to her. “Kylee?”
She stared up at him, her hands rubbing up and down her arms again. He reached for her, but she stepped back. He stopped, his hands falling to his sides. He’d no intention of scaring her, even though it was plain to see he did.
“Serves him right,” Cutter barked, reappearing. Fisher watched Kylee march behind the bar, her movements jerky and tense. “His brother will be here in a shake or two,” Cutter continued.
Fisher shook his head, placing his left hand on the counter. He stared at the bulging thumb, willing it to move. It didn’t. It was an old injury. It didn’t take much to pop it out—like it was now. There was no hope for it, he grabbed the metacarpal and, with one quick jerk, popped his thumb back into place. He winced.
“Damn boy,” Cutter cursed loudly, slapping Fisher on his shoulder. “Could use some stitching, too, from the looks of it.”
Kylee placed a bag of ice and a towel on the counter, a hint of sympathy in her eyes as she glanced his way.
Fisher nodded at her, wrapping the ice in the towel. “I have some glue that should take care of it. Be back.” He took his bag and headed to the restroom, washing his hands and cleaning the cut. No avoiding a black eye tomorrow. He leaned forward, applied a small amount of glue along the split in the skin and pressed the cut edges together. He counted to ten before blinking. When he did, the glue held.
He packed up his bag and threw away his trash, replaying the evening. He had no idea why Carson had punched him—other than being drunk. And Kylee’s reaction? What had set her off? Carson’s attack? Or Fisher’s one-hit knockout?
He paused, shaking his head. Maybe Jarvis was right. He had to be more than a little interested in Kylee if he was worrying about her while he was supergluing his eyelid back together. He shook his head, double-checked the cut was sealed and washed up before heading back into the bar.
Kylee was opening the Staff Only door at the end of the hallway. She glanced at him, but didn’t stop to say good-night.
“Thanks for the help,” he said.
The door closed without her making a peep.
He shook his head, too tired and sore to worry about anything other than getting home and into bed.
“I know your brother Ryder’s given up his wild ways, but that doesn’t mean you need to take his