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I find myself watching her movements while I eat my dinner. Being a Friday night, there is quite a crowd, and Dana is hustling food from the kitchen and drinks from the bar by herself. Her hair is still a wild but appealing mess, and I can’t help wonder if that’s what she looks like fresh out of bed in the morning. Dangerous thoughts I immediately suppress.
Instead, I focus my attention on a group of guys from the road crew working on a section of the highway just south of town I’ve been keeping a sharp eye on. They came in about half an hour ago and have been getting progressively louder and more obnoxious. From the glares being directed at the rowdy group, it’s clear they’re starting to annoy some of the other patrons as well, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re heading for some type of confrontation. Both Len, the bartender, and Dana have been casting concerned glances in that direction as well.
“Yo, Babe!” A sharp whistle follows. “Still waiting for that pitcher!” one of the guys yells out when Dana rushes into the bar carrying another load of dinner orders.
I turn my body in the direction of the loud group and notice Len doing the same thing. Dana quickly delivers the order to the appropriate table before directing her attention to the caller.
“I’ll be right there,” she indicates before turning to the bar.
“That’s what you said earlier,” the asshole yells from behind her as he gets to his feet.
The guy looks to be in his fifties, short and stocky, looking ridiculous with his ball cap on backward in what seems to be a desperate attempt to fit in with the younger crowd he came in with. I don’t like the cocky grin he shoots the others when Dana swings around, her eyes flaring and her jaw set.
I find myself sliding off the barstool as she stalks toward the group. Tension builds as the noise dims and almost every pair of eyes in the pub turns to the impending confrontation.
Behind me I hear Len mutter, “Fuck,” under his breath.
“Get me a pitcher of whatever beer they were having,” I tell him over my shoulder.
Dana has made it to the booth and plants her hands on her hips. I have no trouble hearing her sharp rebuke.
“First of all, my name is Dana, as I mentioned when I greeted you earlier, and not Babe. Also, whistling is not going to get you the attention you want, I’m not a dog. Finally, as you can see, it’s busy in here tonight and I’m doing the best I can…”
A tap on my shoulder has me turn to find Len handing me a pitcher.
“Thanks.”
I start toward the booth just as Dana finishes her angry outburst.
“…But if you can’t wait a few minutes for service, there is nothing to stop you from getting your ass over to the bar and fetching your damn drinks yourselves.”
I’m halfway to her when she turns around, and I just catch the older guy getting to his feet and grabbing her arm.
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I bark at him, bridging the distance as he quickly releases her arm as if it burned his hand. I sidestep Dana, who seems a little confused, and my eyes bore into the asshole’s, emphasizing my warning. Then I add in a quieter tone, “Here’s your goddamn beer.” I set the pitcher down on the table in front of him. “Now, I suggest you tone it down and quit being disruptive.”
“Or what?” the idiot challenges me.
I plant my clenched fists on the table and lean in. “Or I’ll toss your ass out on the sidewalk faster than you can blink.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation before he forces a laugh, his eyes darting around the table to see if his buddies are paying attention. “Yeah? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Come on, Doug. Sit down,” one of them—one who appears to have more common sense than the moron does—pipes up.
“Oh, sit your ass down,” comes from the next booth where Jim Turcotte and Oren Swanson, two of the towns EMTs, are having a beer and bite to eat. Turcotte nudges his chin in my direction as he adds, “You’re talking to the law in this town, that’s who.”
That seems to get the guy’s attention as he sinks down in his seat and, not wanting to make any more of a scene, I turn back to the bar, putting a hand on Dana’s elbow to steer her away from the group.
At that moment the doors to the back swing open and Jacob Kerrigan, pub owner and Dana’s father, barges through and locks eyes with his daughter, who stiffens beside me.
“It’s your mother…I went up to check on her and there’s something wrong.”
Dana jerks from my hold, darts around her father, and disappears from sight.
Chapter 2
Rick
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