He flipped through the channels and kicked his feet up on his hillbilly coffee table and managed maybe three deep breaths before his phone rang. Thankfully the handset was sitting next to his feet and he didn’t need to pick his sore ass up off the couch to answer it.
“Yeah,” he said without checking the number.
Loud voices and music in the background met his ear, which prompted Wyatt to turn the volume down on his TV.
“Wyatt!”
One word was all it took to know Luke was toasted. “Luke, that you?”
“I-I’m gonna need a ride, buddy.”
“Where are you?”
“Jo would kill m-me if I drove. Probably toss the key in the high school time capsule.”
Wyatt switched off the set. No use pretending there’d be any stationary time in front of it with his friend slurring his words.
“Luke, it’s not even eight.” And it wasn’t like his friend to get cooked, let alone midweek.
“And bring your truck so I can get my bike back home.”
“All I own is a truck,” Wyatt reminded him.
“R-right! Thanks, Wyatt. I owe ya.” And then he hung up.
Good thing there was only one real bar in town. The beer and wine served at Sam’s wouldn’t do the bang-up job Luke had apparently managed.
For an early Thursday night, R&B’s was tight with people. Sure enough, Luke’s motorcycle sat parked in the lot along with several others.
Wyatt shoved his keys in the front pocket of his jeans as he walked inside.
The jukebox was pumping out a seriously heavy metal tune with an ear-piercing volume, and patrons were overly loud and intoxicated for such an early hour.
Apparently the post-reunion party wasn’t over yet.
Luke caught sight of him from across the room and waved him over.
“Is this place crazy or what?” Luke asked.
“I thought it would thin out after everyone left.”
Luke held his glass of amber liquid and waved it around. “Not everyone left. Some people actually like it here.” There was bitterness in Luke’s tone.
Josie slid by their table and nodded toward Wyatt. “You driving this one home?”
“That’s the plan.”
Josie patted her hand on the table. “Then I guess I can get you another drink.”
From the glossy eyes and less than steady hand, Wyatt considered suggesting Luke switch to coffee, but he held in his words. There was only one thing that drove a man to this level of drunkenness.
Women.
He wasn’t sure if he should bring up the elephant in the room or leave the fact that Zoe had flown out the day before unsaid.
Wyatt asked Josie for a beer . . . something to nurse while he listened to what he was sure was going to be a slurred, enlightening conversation about the opposite sex.
“What is up with all the bikers in here tonight?” Wyatt asked after taking a seat.
“Couldn’t tell ya. Maybe some kind of rally up the coast.”
That sounded about right, only those usually happened closer to the end of summer when the weather in California became unbearable and the north looked more appealing for those driving with two wheels and no doors.
Most of the time, the bike rallies consisted of middle-aged businessmen wearing black leather and revisiting their younger days. This crowed looked a little less like lawyers and doctors and a little more like the real thing. Hence the out of place timing for the up the coast drive. Then again, who knew?
Josie brought their drinks and put a big glass of water next to Luke’s whiskey. “In case you think hydration might be a good idea for the morning,” she said with a wink.
“Oh, baby . . . you’re so thoughtful.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “I just don’t wanna hear about your puking in Wyatt’s truck.” She glanced at Wyatt. “It is a nice truck.”
Wyatt laughed. “Thanks, Josie.”
“Hey, lady . . . we need another round,” one of the leather wearing strangers called over the music to capture Josie’s attention.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Before Wyatt could process the energy in the room, Luke started in. “The problem with women . . .” His words trailed off.
“Boobs?” Wyatt joked in an effort to keep the conversation light.
Luke lost his train of thought, Wyatt could tell by the sliding up of the edges of his mouth. “She has the best rack. And that red dress.” He again pointed with his drink. “She knows I loved her in red.”
“So we’re clear . . . tonight’s lack of sobriety is about Zoe.”
There was a sigh and a sip of his drink. “She left again. I thought maybe, with Mel coming home . . . maybe. Damn it.”
Wyatt let Luke linger in his depression for a few minutes. “Seems like there is a lot of drama here for her. Her family . . .”
“I wanna kick Zane’s ass.”
Good thing Luke’s father had ridden with them that day. No telling what shape Zane and Luke would have been in had he not. “We all wanted to kick his ass.”
“He wasn’t like that. Jo says he’s been in and out of trouble. Petty shit mostly, but damn. Sheryl doesn’t need that.”
“She can kick him out.”
Luke shook his head. “Never gonna happen. Zoe always said her mom was afraid to live alone. That’s why she always put up with her daddy’s shit. I don’t think any of that has changed.”
“Well maybe that’s why Zoe needs to live somewhere other than River Bend.”
Luke narrowed his eyes. “I’m not following you.”
“Maybe living alone is Zoe’s rebellion. To avoid falling into her mom’s life.” And since when did Wyatt become a family therapist? He tilted back his beer and glanced around the bar.
“You know somethin’, Wyatt . . . you might be right.”
“Or you might be drunk.”
Luke let his dimples show. “Oh, I’m wasted . . . but Zoe avoiding her mom’s life. That . . . that makes sense.”
“Considering how many of her friends are here, I’d think there has to be something equally powerful keeping her away. Doesn’t seem like her life in Texas sucks, but she didn’t exactly brag about it either.”
“No. She’s doing great. Really great.”
Even in Luke’s drunken self-pity, Wyatt could see the respect he had for the woman that drove him to the bar early on a Thursday night.
A loud noise interrupted their pause in conversation.
Apparently Luke wasn’t the only one in the bar overindulging. From the placating smile on Josie’s face as she passed the loud party next to the jukebox, she was earning her tips the hard way.
“There’s a weird vibe in here tonight.” Wyatt returned his attention to Luke.
Luke ignored his comment. “Ever been to Texas? With a name like Wyatt . . .”
He nodded. “It’s flat and hot.”
“Humid.”
“You’ve been?”
“Once,” Luke said, without elaborating. Lost in his thoughts, Luke finished his drink and looked around.
“How about the water? Save my truck.” Wyatt nudged his friend’s arm with his.
“Yeah.”
Luke drank the water slower. “Any word from Melanie’s ex?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard.”
“Not sure if that’s good.”
“You think he’s going to cause her trouble?”
“I think he’s already caused her trouble and I don’t think people change all that much.” Even drunk, Luke made sense.
The next track on the jukebox screamed off the walls of the bar. Someone had found the volume control and was doing their best to have a rock concert in the small space. When Luke caught his head
in his hands Wyatt suggested they leave.
“You stay here, I’ll settle up with Josie.”
Luke pointed two fingers in the air and offered a drunken grin.
“You guys are leaving?” Josie asked instead of telling Wyatt what they owed.
“Gotta get him home before he passes out.”
Josie stood on her tiptoes and glanced around the bar. “Can you just give me like ten minutes? I think I’m gonna call Jo, have her swing by.”
“Any trouble?”
“No. Well . . . just a little crazy and not enough locals to keep it sane . . . ya know?”
“I hear ya. We’ll hang out until Jo gets here.”
“Thanks, Wyatt. Melanie’s a lucky girl.”
It took Wyatt a full second to move his feet. Where had that come from?
Small town, he reminded himself.
“Ready?” Luke asked when he returned to his side.
“Not yet.” Wyatt went on to explain Josie’s worry, which resulted in a bobblehead nod from Luke.
Luke attempted to hold in a burp and failed, then waved his thumb toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna . . .”
“You do that.”
Luke swiveled off the high stool, steadied himself, and then found his path to the john.
Wyatt turned back to his lone beer and played with the bottle.
Over the music he heard a shout, turned in time to see Luke stumble, then saw the first fist thrown.
Wyatt was out of his seat and across the room in two breaths, but not before Luke’s ass took out one of the tables.
Somewhere a woman screamed and several men started shouting. Wyatt pushed in between Luke and the stranger in an attempt to stop the fight.
Before he could, a hand gripped his shoulder, spun him around, and a fist connected with his jaw.
There weren’t too many things that shot his adrenaline through the roof, but a punch to the face did it every time. He saw red and came up swinging.
He punched and blocked and took a hit from the opposite side. A warm trickle of blood ran down his cheek, the feeling hardly registered.
Luke had managed to gain his feet and everything was a blur of fists, screams, and pain.
He couldn’t even calculate time until he spun toward another hand on his shoulder and damn near dislocated his shoulder to stop his punch from connecting with Jo’s face.
“What the fuck, Wyatt?”
Someone had the good sense to unplug the jukebox, abruptly ending the majority of noise. A couple of men were still tossing punches and stopped only when Deputy Emery broke them up.
Wyatt wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, grimaced at the blood he found. That’s when he saw the destruction.
“What the hell is going on?” Jo twisted in a circle.
Wyatt couldn’t tell if it was the uniform or the woman under it that caused several grown men to study their shoes.
“Well?”
Josie tossed a towel on a broken stool.
Noise from outside told him a few of the bikers who managed to slip out were driving away. There were still three shaking out bruised fists and glaring at Wyatt and Luke.
“I said stick around and help, not bust the place up.” Josie placed both hands on her waist and glared.
“I can explain,” Wyatt said.
“I’m listening.” Jo waited.
Wyatt glanced at Luke. “I tried to break up a fight.”
Jo swiveled toward Luke. “Who started it?”
Luke pointed to the stranger. “He punched me.”
“You knocked me over,” his nemesis yelled. “No one knocks D-Man over.”
Luke started yelling, followed by D-Man pushing closer.
Jo stood between the two of them.
“Enough!” Josie did the yelling that time.
“Damn it.” Jo reached for her handcuffs. “Turn around,” she ordered the stranger.
“What the fuck!”
“Turn around!” Jo’s don’t screw with me voice had the grown man turning around.
D-Man spread his hands on a table as if he’d been in the position before. After a quick frisk and the removal of a pocket knife, Jo cuffed him and turned to another biker and did the same thing.
When she was done, there were three strangers with their hands tied behind their backs. Luke, Wyatt, and a local by the name of Matt stood in a broken bar that had been vacated by everyone other than those involved in the fight and the employees.
“I don’t even have room for all you shits in my squad car.”
One of the bikers laughed.
She turned on him, pointed. “Emery, get them back to the station.”
D-Man lifted his chin toward Wyatt. “What the fuck about them? Playing favorites, Sheriff?”
One of the other bikers muttered, “Probably fucking them.”
Luke started toward the cuffed man.
Wyatt stopped Luke from moving.
Jo took one look at them and narrowed her gaze. “You drive him to the station and wait for me,” she ordered Wyatt. “Matt, you’ve been drinking?”
“Uhm . . . yeah.”
She nodded toward Wyatt. “You ride with them.” She took Luke by the shoulders with a shake. “When you get there, you pour yourself a big cup of black coffee, sit the hell down, and don’t plan on getting up until I say . . . got it?”
“Jesus, Jo—”
“It’s Sheriff Ward right now, Mr. Miller.”
“C’mon, Luke. Do as Jo says,” Wyatt said, taking Luke by the elbow.
“Sheriff Ward, Mr. Gibson. And I expect the same of you. No one goes anywhere until I figure this mess out.”
“Got it.”
Before Wyatt could take a step, Jo asked, “You been drinking, Wyatt?”
“Half a beer,” he told her.
Jo glanced at Josie, who nodded.
“Get out of here,” she said before turning back toward the others.
Wyatt didn’t make her say it twice.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“A bar fight.” Melanie stood with her hands perched on her hips, her gaze shifting from one bruised face to another. Luke looked like he’d had a one-on-one with a prizefighter. The red, angry welts would prove to be every color of the rainbow by morning. He nursed a split lip with a bag of ice that he alternated between his face and the top of his head. The man was still drunk a good hour after Jo had forced them back to the station. Wyatt had a cut above his right eye and bruising on the left side of his jaw. At least he looked sober.
Jo called Melanie to help with the triage of the deviant testosterone-charged men.
Matt sat in the corner, his head in his hands, an angry wife at his side.
“A bar fight,” she said a second time for good measure.
Melanie had ignored the drunken comments as she walked into the back room, but took note of the unfamiliar faces as she passed them by.
She opened the first aid kit Jo had handed her before pointing her toward the men.
She removed a jar of Betadine and poured a generous portion onto a gauze pad and pushed Luke’s hand away from his face before mopping up some of the mess.
“Ouch!”
“You can’t feel too much with the amount of alcohol swimming in your veins.”
Luke pulled away and winced as his back hit the wall.
Melanie moved to his side and pushed up the edge of his shirt. Sure enough, there was a scratch taking up the left side of his back, complete with what looked like a couple of decent size splinters from a broken table.
“Good Lord. Poor Josie. I bet her place is jacked.”
“Poor Josie, what about me?” Luke asked.
Melanie rolled her eyes and helped Luke out of his shirt.
She fumbled through the fir
st aid kit and found a pair of tweezers. With more than a little bit of pleasure, she poured hydrogen peroxide over Luke’s back and watched a grown man whimper. “And Jo . . . you know how hard it is for her to police this town. The last thing she needs to do is pull your sorry ass in here.”
“They started it,” Wyatt said from his quiet corner in the room.
Melanie stopped picking at the wood in Luke’s back and glared. “You sound like a teenager.”
“It’s true,” Luke said.
“I don’t think it matters to Jo. Everyone throwing punches gets hauled in. That’s what she said on the phone.”
“Jeez, Mel . . . be careful back there,” Luke whined.
“Suck it up.” She was less than gentle but managed to get the splinters out before placing a generous amount of medicated cream on his back, along with a bandage.
She moved to Wyatt.
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re bleeding.”
“It’s stopped.” He pulled the gauze away from the cut above his eye to prove it.
It looked like he could use a stitch or two.
“Needs to be cleaned,” she told him.
He hissed but didn’t pull away when she saturated the cut with hydrogen peroxide. Wyatt kept watch with his one good eye as she removed the clotted blood and cleaned him. “I think this needs a stitch.”
“I’m sure there’s a butterfly in there,” Wyatt said.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s fine, Mel.”
She dug again, found a fancy bandage to hold the edges of his eyebrow together. When she finished, she placed a large Band-Aid over the whole thing. “Anything else?” she asked, poking his shoulders and glancing at his back.
“If you want to take my shirt off, go ahead. But I think I’m good.” He was smiling at her.
“Brat.”
He managed a wink with his bad eye.
Jo strode into their room a few minutes later, words tumbling out of her mouth. “Next time take the fight outside. Did you see the damage to R&B’s?”
“They started it, Jo!” Luke took one look at Jo and added, “Sheriff.”
“Yeah, well, several people saw you fall into that jackass. Ty’s friends said you rushed him.”
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