Cowboy walked through the doorway of Ellie's diner and looked around. Spying an empty booth in the back, he claimed it for his own and slid into the cracked pleather bench facing the doorway. Even away from duty, he still couldn't bring himself to sit with his back to the door. Training had ingrained it into his very soul to always be on guard.

"Evening, Alcide. How's your Dad doing?"

"Hey, Cindy. I just came from there. He's holding his own, thanks for asking."

"We're praying for him." She placed her hand on his arm and patted gently. "What can I get you?"

"Tuesday night still bison steak night?" When she nodded, he smiled. "The biggest you've got. Coffee and water to drink."

As she walked away, Cowboy let out a held breath. He thought it would be a little weird to see the woman he had dated while in high school all those years ago, but it was surprisingly easy. That was just Cindy's way, though. She made everything easy, and he did not doubt that whatever man snagged her heart would be one lucky SOB.

By the time his steak arrived, Cowboy was deep in thought. The last couple of hours at the hospital had been a constant state of worried. His father was deathly pale under a stack of blankets with several tubes snaking their way into his arms. From what the doctors told him, he knew the high powered antibiotics barely kept the raging infection from taking over. Dad was weak from the sepsis and the round of chemo he had taken before this trip to the hospital coupled with the emergency surgery they performed a couple of days ago to remove more of the infected limb. However, they had a new antibiotic that showed great promise in lab tests treating the type of infection Dad had. He had a lot of hopes.

"I don't care if your name is John F. Kennedy and you have a personal message for me from Marilyn Monroe; I didn't ask you to sit down. Kindly get up from my table and find yourself another place to eat."

Cowboy shook the melancholy from his shoulders and glanced around. He found the source of the disturbance on the other side of the room. Miley Ellison sat rigid in a booth staring down a stranger relaxing in the seat opposite of her. Her body language was stiff and uncomfortable. Cowboy frowned. Taking a drink of the coffee cup, he wiped his mouth and slid out of the booth.

"You're a very pretty girl. I like to look at pretty things while I eat."

The heavily accented words weren't readily accepted. Miley frowned and dropped her fork to her plate. "Thank you for comparing me to a painting, but I still don't want the company. If you don't leave, I will."

Cowboy slammed a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed hard. "Evenin' Miley." He nodded toward her shocked face then looked down at the cowboy wannabe sitting across from her. The man looked like the kind of cowboy he saw in the country bars in San Diego - all decked out in designer duds with no inkling of what it represented. "I believe the lady asked you to remove yourself from her table. Let me help you with that."

"You should mind your business," the man growled and turned back to Miley. His voice was tinged with a noticeable accent; Cyrillic like Russian or Albanian if Cowboy had his guess. Regardless, the man wasn't moving. Cowboy's eyes narrowed.

"Well you see, Doctor Ellison is a friend, and anyone bothering my friends bothers me. I'll ask one more time, buddy. Would you be so kind as to vacate her table or do I need to remove you for her?" Cowboy's tone was low and even.

The man knocked Cowboy's hand off his shoulder and slid out of the bench seat. Standing toe to toe, the man glared and snarled his lip. One finger slammed into Cowboy's chest as he growled, "I will not tell you again. This woman is mine. Mind your..."

The last word never came. Cowboy curled his fingers into the idiot's hair at the nape of his neck and slammed his head forward into the table, knocking over Miley's glass of water. She jumped out of the booth and took a step back. The man howled in pain as his hand was grabbed and twisted upside down until he was forced to lurch forward in an attempt to relieve it. Twirling the offender around, Cowboy applied more pressure to the man's wrist until he had the limb curled behind his back. Picking the expensive Stetson off the table, Cowboy jammed it down on the man's head. "Say goodnight to Dr. Ellison," he snarled into the man's ear.

When the response didn't come, Cowboy pulled the arm up slightly. "Shall we try that again? Good night, Dr. Ellison."

A layer of sweat had broken out on the man's face, but he kept his mouth shut. Blood ran down his lip from an obviously broken nose.

"Loran." Cowboy turned toward the voice and saw a man sitting at a large table on the other side of the room. His icy blue eyes narrowed on the two of them. "You have annoyed these people enough. Apologize."

"Tariq." Loran's voice was gritty.

The man called Tariq shot to his feet, slamming his fist on the table. "Apologize, now!" he roared.

Loran swallowed hard then muttered, "I'm sorry for bothering you, Dr. Ellison."

Cowboy let his arm go and took a step back. "See, that wasn't so hard." He lightly slapped the man in the face.

With a growl, Loran whirled and drew his fist back. Cowboy glared at him, then slowly moved his head to the side until the bones in his neck cracked and popped. His eyes never left the other's face, and his hands hung loosely at his sides.

The older gentleman slammed his fist on the table again and said something in another language. Loran swallowed and took a step around Cowboy, bumping him in the shoulder as he did. When he reached the table, Tariq said something to him in a low voice. With a nod, he stalked out the door.

"Please, permit me to apologize again for my brother. He's very young, and he has been spoiled greatly." Tariq approached the table and held his hand out. "I'm Tariq Hoxha. The one with the fiery head is Loran."

Cowboy took the offered hand. "Alcide Montgomery."

Tariq shook, then let go. "I believe I have met your family. You have some beautiful horses I tried to buy. The one, Diablo, is extremely handsome and would be a fine gift for Loran. My brother enjoys... spirited things." He glanced down at Miley. "I have found it best to direct his interests in more beneficial directions."

Cowboy frowned. He didn't like the insinuation that Hoxha's brother viewed Miley as something to be tamed. Swallowing back the retort, he gave a slight nod instead. "Thank you, sir. Diablo is mine. He's a handful, but I wouldn't part with him."

The smile that broke Tariq's face didn't reach his eyes. Cowboy almost shivered from the dead cold that stared out at him from their blue depths. "What a pity. Perhaps I can purchase a studding from him sometime."

"Do you have a ranch nearby?"

"Po. I own the Double H by the river." He produced a card and thrust it into Cowboy's hand. "In case you decide to sell that fabulous animal," Tariq flashed another insincere smile then turned. Two large men wearing designer jeans, expensive exotic skin boots and fancy shirts with pearl buttons stood from the table. The three walked out together. Slowly, the conversation in the diner resumed.

Smiling at Miley, he nodded his head. "Doc."

"I didn't need your help," she hissed.

Cowboy stopped and looked at her with a grin. "Never said you did. I have no doubt you can take care of yourself just fine. I was, however, concerned about the diner. Ellie doesn't like people getting rowdy in here, so I was trying to stop the aggravation before it came to a head."

Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pinched into a line. "I had it under control."

"I know." He smiled warmly and nodded to her. Turning around, he returned to his cooling dinner and dropped into the seat. Picking up his fork, Cowboy dug into his steak and ignored the furious glare aimed at him from the table three booths away.

Ellie walked by and picked up the tab from the table. Cowboy swallowed and stopped her. "I haven't paid yet."

"It's on the house. I see you're still saving the world."

He laughed and winked at her. "Sometimes, I just can't help myself."

She chuckled and refilled his cup. "Sounds about right. You never could ignore a damsel in distress, not even when they don't want to be rescued."

How dare he?

Miley stared daggers at Alcide Montgomery as she fumed quietly to herself. She was an independent woman fully capable of taking care of herself. She had the guy under control. She didn't need to be saved like some stupid bimbo unable to function on her own - not even by her friend's big brother. Who did he think he was? Lancelot out to save a simpering Guinevere? That wasn't her.

Slipping out of the booth, Miley grabbed the ticket and stood at the bar, waiting on Cindy to have a spare moment to ring her out. Once she had paid for her dinner, Miley calmly strolled out of the door and got into her truck. Rolling the window down, she took in the country tinted air as she drove back to the clinic.

Today had not gone as pleasantly as she had hoped. Following Sneezer's neutering surgery, they had gotten slammed with three emergencies. The first one, a pair of Australian cattle dogs, had been rushed to the clinic while she was closing up Sneezer. At first, the symptoms looked like parvovirus, but ELISA testing turned up negative. Figuring it was something the two had eaten, she put them on intravenous fluids and made them comfortable. Their owner, one of the Jocovy Ranch hands, fretted over his prize dogs like a mother over her young. Once they stabilized, she had shooed him off with promises to update him as soon as she knew something.

The second emergency involved three kittens from a neighboring farm. Lethargic, cold and unresponsive, two of them had passed within moments of being brought in and the third an hour later. The owner, one of the children of the farmer, had been heartbroken. The seven-year-old sat beside their little box and stroked their fur. Moments like that made Miley question her ability to make a difference.

The third emergency came in the form of a call while she was at Yancy's farm. She had checked on the cattle in question and given them something to stimulate their appetites. On the way back to the truck, Milton Turner, a local horse rancher, had asked for her to come out and check on a colt with an abscess on his flank that caused him a lot of pain. Once she got him cleaned up and a dose of antibiotics into his system, it was too dark for her to return to Yancy's place to search for the cellar hole.

Miley sighed heavily and turned her truck into the little driveway behind the clinic and shut off the engine. Tomorrow was another day in the field as she had been requested to check out the livestock for the new ranch that was starting up beside the lake. Maybe Jessie would be ready to jump in so they could get the work done quickly and she could finally get a little downtime. God knew she needed a break.