Jason Fielding broodingly contemplated the cold bottle of beer clutched in his hand as he slouched lower in his seat at the Bar H, the sleaziest bar he could find close to the rodeo. His cowboy hat rode low on his forehead, shielding his gaze from the other occupants of the room which suited him just fine; anonymity was just what the doctor ordered, as far as he was concerned. Several other men in here were also competing in the rodeo and given his stellar performance today, he was somewhat of a celebrity. He really wasn’t up for more crowing and back-slapping. He tossed back his head and held the bottle of beer to his lips, gulping without coming up for air until he had drained the entire bottle.
The bar was teeth-jarringly noisy which was no real surprise since people were raising their voices to be heard above the din. Jason morosely scanned the occupants of the Bar H, his lips curling into a sneer of distaste as he watched one woman giggle and slap a man’s hand in pretend-protest while managing not to dislodge the ‘offending’ hand that was currently fondling her breast—openly. The place was a cesspool of rot, immorality, and decay, he decided, as he shoved to his feet and tossed some money onto the scarred table-top. He had nothing against stealing a kiss or two or enjoying the occasional tumble in the hay with a willing lady; but he did have a problem with unapologetic exhibitionism. Plus, he was willing to bet his sizeable estate that half the people in here were married—to other people.
It was enough to make a man jaded, he decided.
He had drank six bottles of beer in a sitting, but to his annoyance, he had still not managed to attain the state of blissful inebriation he sought. He was one of those few people who could go through three dozen beers and simply have a full bladder.
Jason tugged his hat lower on his forehead, completely covering his salt-and-pepper hair and shielding his bright blue eyes as he strode past the bar on his way to the door, his long legs easily eating up the distance. Looks like a storm’s coming tonight, he thought as lightening flashed.
“Get your filthy appendages off me,” a distressed female voice ordered stridently in a cultured voice that made several other people turn around to stare in the direction of the voice.
Jason shot a half-interested look over his shoulder not slowing his steps as he went. A voluptuous woman sat perched atop a bar stool, her purse clenched prudishly to her chest with both arms as she cast an alarmed look at the hulking giant pressing obviously unwanted attention on her. Jason recognized the giant on sight; no one knew his real name, but everyone called him Slick. And everyone knew he was trouble.
The woman was dressed wrong for such a dive in a tight sheath dress that accentuated the curves of her body and a wide brimmed hat that reminded him of Sunday school as a kid. She even had gloves on her hands; what was this, a tea party? She stood out so completely from the jeans and filth crowd that he just knew she had stepped in there seeking attention. One look at her fair, creamy, spotless satin skin and ample bosom and Jason could hazard a guess as to just what had attracted Slick. Heck, his own dick twitched warningly in his pants as he regarded the tantalizing curves of her ass and hips—but he ignored it.
Well, she must have wanted some sort of male attention if she walked into a dive like this dressed like a traditional femme fatale. Jason shook his head unconcernedly at this further evidence of rot and decay and headed straight for the door.
The sharp sound of a slap resonated through the air, making him draw up short, his disbelieving gaze flying back to the woman who was now no longer perched on the stool but standing toe to toe with the hulk and glaring at him. She had even pulled off one glove to give life to the slap. This woman obviously has a death wish, Jason thought, reluctant admiration surging through him; either that or she was just plain too stupid to live. No one, not even burly cowboys with experience on the hard trail of rodeo, ever picked a quarrel with Slick.
Without planning to, Jason let go of the doorknob and edged closer to the couple, his attention so focused on them that he trod on the toes of one patron.
The man shoved him away roughly with a muttered, “Jerk.”
Jason didn’t bother apologizing anymore since the man had already taken his recompense the old-fashioned way.
Slick growled; a loud ugly sound that said he was angry and then he balled his hands into fists as though he were contemplating retaliating for the slap. Jason looked around; everyone else was watching the show with disturbingly morbid fascination. Obviously, none of these cowboys were going to intervene.
With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Slick shoved his way forward and planted himself in front of the woman; cursing his own innate sense of chivalry even as he did so.
Slick paused, eyed him up and down and sneered, “Lemme guess, you’re her husband?”
“No Slick. I’m just the guy who’s got a problem with you slapping women around,” Jason said in slow measured tones. “You wanna lay a finger on her, you’re gonna have to go through me.”
Jason’s stomach rumbled as he stared up at the other man and he tried not to let his nausea overtake him. The man was huge! Jason, at six-two, was nowhere near diminutive but considering the bad-tempered cowboy glowering at him was all of six-five and huge as three men put together, Jason could be forgiven for getting a little weak in the knees.
Slick’s laughter rumbled out of his stomach and the woman behind Jason squeaked in alarm, one soft hand shooting out to clutch Jason’s arm from behind him.
“No, I know exactly who you are; you’re the guy who’s got a death wish,” Slick said, laughing again. “Besides, I wasn’t going to hit the little lady. Thought about it for a minute, but me Mama didn’t raise no idiots.”
Jason calmly took off his hat and laid it onto a bar stool, his meaning obvious; he was prepared for a brawl if that was what Slick wanted. Slick’s rheumy eyes sized him up dismissively. Obviously, next to his towering height of six-five, he thought Jason was puny and would be easily beaten. Jason was banking on that exactly.
He turned and threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the woman; high cheekbones, pouty red lips and big forest-green eyes filled his vision. “Go!” he ordered quietly.
He saw the other man’s hand clench into a fist and he tensed, waiting. Slick swung, his hand flying in a wide arch as he aimed at Jason’s face. Jason dodged the fist, causing Slick to spin around carried by the force of his aim. Jason carelessly kicked the big man in the ass, making certain that the toe of his boots extended to the front of the other man’s crotch enough to crush some balls. The man’s howls as he staggered and crashed into a table were most gratifying. He went down and didn’t come up again.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said urgently as he grabbed the hand of the damsel in distress and began to head for the door.
“And who’s gonna pay for my broken table and glasses?” the bartender wanted to know as he stepped into their path with two men flanking him on either side.
“Here you go, buddy,” Jason said immediately, correctly interpreting their stance to mean trouble. He shoved some money into their hands and made to pass by them with the woman.
“Not yet. Who’s gonna see to Slick?” one of the guys wanted to know. “He’s gonna wake up mean as a bear with a sore paw and when he finds you gone, he’s going to want blood.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you; I’ve never dealt with a vampire before,” Jason said coolly. He was fast losing patience with these eggheads. He knew they were just spoiling for a fight because they were friends of Slick. Plus, the fact that they were going to stand by while the oaf disturbed the woman didn’t endear them to him.
“Please take some more money and let us go,” the woman beside Jason chirped, fear straining her voice. “I could even perform for you for free tomorrow night.”
Perform? I don’t like the sound of that, Jason thought.
Jason saw her stretch out a hundred-dollar bill; saw the goons start to grin as they reached to take it, and with a silent shake of the head at his own stupidity, he swung his fist, grinning as it connected solidly with someone’s chin. Then all hell broke loose. Punches flew about so fast it was hard to know who hit whom. Jason took a solid one to the eye and growled as he responded with an almost deadly upper-cut that completely stunned the puncher.
In less than five minutes, it was over; all four men were sprawled in various positions on the floor, nursing varying degrees of injury.
The woman sighed exasperatedly as she leaned down to check on Jason. He popped open one swollen eye and grinned; or at least he tried to grin; it came off as a grimace.
“Are you alright?” she asked worriedly biting her lips as she stared down at him in concern.
Unbidden, Jason’s gaze fastened on her plump, ruby lips as she worried at them with her teeth and he felt his dick twitch again in his pants with interest. The last thing he needed right now was to be attracted to a woman—any woman. Angrily, he pulled his arm from her grasp and sat up to glare at her.
“I’ll live,” he said with unintended abruptness. “Just need a minute to move my ass,” he added crudely just because her Southern-lady appearance riled him. No tumble in the hay for this missus; plus, her touch seemed to affect him more than he liked to admit.
The woman glared down at him, “That’s good to hear. Well if you can ‘move your ass’ before the cops get here, that will be great.”
Jason bit the inside of his cheek to hold in his shout of laughter. He rose to his feet and staggered out of the dive, not waiting to see if she followed and not bothering to tell her that no cop touched this place with a ten-foot pole.
Once outside, he turned around; the woman was right behind him, her green eyes glittering with an angry light as she miraculously produced his cowboy hat, then without so much as a goodbye, she swanned off, her nose in the air.