by Becky McGraw
He took a step forward and fought the urge to grab her ankles and toss her over his shoulder. “That’s damned funny. I was about to ask you the same thing. What the hell are you doing, Sis—Twyla?” He corrected his use of the nickname because he knew if he called her Sissy, as mad as she was, she’d likely kick him in the teeth.
It was Zack’s nickname for his sister, and Ryan had adopted it too, to remind himself where he needed to keep things between them when he felt that attraction to her. It also told her where he was keeping things with her. Usually it pissed her off enough that she walked away mad, which meant he didn’t have to deal with those feelings. A win-win all the way around. Not this time. He had to keep her from getting to the walk away point, so he could talk to her.
“I’m working,” she gritted out between her teeth, as she stood back up to put her hands on her hips. When he didn’t move, she pointed to the door. “Leave!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan noticed when the bouncer finally noticed him. The man’s eyes narrowed as he shoved a couple of men aside to walk over to Ryan. Ryan swallowed hard, and dragged his eyes from Twyla’s to meet the man’s hard brown eyes. Without looking at Twyla, he demanded, “This asshole bothering you, Daisy?”
Why the fuck was everyone calling her Daisy? It was demeaning, and he figured she earned it from the shorts she was wearing. Anger shot through him, and came out with his words. “Her name is Twyla, not Daisy, asshole. And I’m a friend of hers. She’s leaving with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, but you sure are, buddy,” Twyla said smugly, using her nickname for her brother. That told him she hadn’t missed his slipup. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she tilted her head to the side. “Teddy, this man is deluded, he’s definitely no friend of mine.”
Twyla turned her back on him, and shock rocked him as the bouncer grabbed his arm in a painful grip. Ryan swung and then bells went off in his skull when a fist connected with his nose. He heard the sickening crunch, felt the warmth of the blood gushing down his face. “Twyla what the fuck are you doing?” Ryan shouted as he was jerked out of the line.
“Getting a life, just like you told me to,” she shouted back, with a dry laugh. She flicked her hair and her hips started moving in time with the other dancers again. “I suggest you do the same once the bruises heal. Try not to kill him, Teddy.” The burly bouncer shoved him, then dragged him through the crowd toward the front door.
On his knees outside the front door where the bouncer tossed him, a puddle of blood pooling on the ground in front of him from his probably broken nose, Ryan finally realized exactly how mad Twyla was, and how difficult his task here would be. He no longer had confidence that he could talk her into anything, much less coming back to the circuit with him. His former second-best friend evidently meant it when she said she was done with him. The sad part was Ryan couldn’t really blame her.
But even with a broken nose for his trouble of trying to talk sense in her, Ryan knew he couldn’t give up. For her own safety, and his sanity, Twyla needed to get out of here before he headed back to the circuit. He had a week, and even if she didn’t agree to come back with him, he was going to do whatever it took to get her away from this bar and these men, help her get on another track to finding that life he told her to get.
This wasn’t about Zack’s anger anymore. This was about Twyla’s self-respect. Ryan cared about her. A lot. She was his family, and he couldn’t stand by and watch her ruin her life.
Determination filled him as he stood and brushed off his jeans, before pulling his t-shirt over his head to hold it to his steadily bleeding nose. He picked up his hat and slammed it down on his head, before heading toward his truck at the back of the lot.
The bouncer had given him ninety seconds to leave before he called the police. Ryan had used up sixty getting his senses back. He knew the man wasn’t kidding, so he double-timed his steps. He couldn’t help Twyla if he was in jail. And he wasn’t going to be able to drive, unless he got the bleeding stopped from his nose.
Ryan got into the truck and moved the t-shirt from his nose to pinch the bridge and hold his head back for a minute. He turned on the dome light to inspect the damage in the rearview mirror. The bleeding from his right nostril had stopped, but his left poured a steady stream. His left eye was also quickly turning black. It wouldn’t surprise him if it was closed shut in the morning. The big bruiser’s fist had been almost half as big as Ryan’s face.
It had been stupid of him to take a swing at the man, but when the bouncer grabbed him, Ryan’s fist flew without thought to the consequences. He only knew he needed to be in that bar to protect Twyla, until he could talk to her. To make damned sure nobody touched her. That man’s quick reaction, and brick-like fist convinced Ryan though, that Twyla didn’t need his protection. That was the only reason he wasn’t charging back inside right now, damn the consequences. Blood dripped onto his chest and he swiped it with his forearm.
Leaning across the truck, he flipped open the glove box, hoping he had some Kleenex in there to pack his nose. He found a half-eaten Twinkie, which had to be Twyla’s, and shoved it aside with disgust. He knew she was addicted to Twinkies. He and Zack teased her about it, calling her the Twinkie Queen. Both of them had been forced into late night snack runs when she was upset or feeling bad. That’s when she craved them. He pushed a stack of unopened bills to the side and saw a pack of gum, and a cylindrical paper-covered object at the very back. He left the gum, but pulled out the other object and held it up to the dome light.
A tampon, probably left in there by Twyla too. Tampons stopped bleeding, right? The paper was off the end of it, and the cotton was a little brown, but he figured it was better than nothing. He slid the cotton-stuffed cardboard tube out of the wrapper. Leaning close to the mirror, he held his breath and inserted the tip with the cotton end into his nose. He shoved it further up inside and pain shot through his eyeball to the base of his skull.
After a second it subsided, and he looked back in the mirror and saw the bleeding had lessened, but not stopped. He flinched and shoved it a little farther up inside his nose. Picking up his shirt, he wiped away what he could of the blood on his face and chest. In the process, he accidentally hit the end of the cardboard tube, which sent another shot of pain through his skull, along with a wave of nausea. Across the parking lot, he saw the bar door open, and the big black bouncer step outside.
“Fuck,” Ryan groaned, fumbling for his keys in his pocket.
The last thing he needed was round two, he thought, as he shoved the keys into the ignition, cranked the truck and threw it in gear. Twyla would have to come home eventually. And when she did, he’d be at her apartment waiting for her. They were going to talk tonight, whether she wanted to or not.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dog-tired, Twyla picked up the bag of Twinkies she’d made Heather stop for on the way home off of the floorboard. Heather pulled the truck to a stop in their usual spot right by the stairway under the security light, and she opened her door. This secure spot was theirs, because the maintenance man was half in love with Heather. He had even put up a no-parking sign for the spot to make sure it stayed open for them. As many weirdos as they met at the bar, it was necessary for them to take precautions that they weren’t followed home at night.
Heather might be wild, but she wasn’t crazy or careless with their safety. She looked out for herself pretty damned well. A lot better than Twyla had ever looked out for herself. Sometimes Twyla thought her friend had eyes in the back of her head. She seemed to sense when trouble was about to happen. Maybe as a result of working at the bar, her reflexes were razor-sharp from dodging grabby hands. Twyla hoped she would eventually develop those skills too, or she might not last long at the Crazy Cowgirl.
Tonight, when they left the bar, Heather had taken extra care, even having Teddy walk them to her truck, for a different reason. Ryan had showed up at the bar and she definitely didn’t want to see him again tonight. Twyla could only im
agine what his face looked like, and how mad he was. She hadn’t seen Teddy hit him, but she’d heard the sickening crunch, and his grunt.
It served him right for coming there, but damn if she wasn’t worried sick he was hurt. Tomorrow, she would call him to make sure he was okay and tell him to stay away from her. It was a relief not to see his black truck in the lot when they pulled in. Evidently he didn’t know where they lived, or she knew he would be there. All she needed tonight was another confrontation with him.
Twyla wondered what the hell he wanted with her. As far as she was concerned, he could get back in his truck and head back to wherever the hell he came from. But dammit if seeing him hadn’t stunned her system, and broke her concentration. Her damned traitorous heart, the one owned by the girl inside of her who had been in love with him for ten years, had melted to her toes because he’d come to find her. There was no other reason he could’ve been at the bar.
“We have a special date tomorrow night,” Heather announced as she reached over to pull her gym bag off of the floor board.
“Date?” Twyla repeated dumbly, as she got out of the truck and shut the door. She walked around the truck and met Heather at the front. Tomorrow was Sunday and in the morning she had a date with Tango and her mounted shooting instructor. Who was pretty good looking, as it turned out.
“What kind of date?”
“One of my regulars, a good guy, wants us to do a—“ Heather gasped then her eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?” She discreetly unzipped her bag, and Twyla turned around, but didn’t have to. She knew who was standing behind her.
“Ryan why are you here?” she asked with frustration.
“I’m coming to save your crazy ass, but I have no idea why,” he growled in a nasally voice, as he grabbed her arm in a tight grip.
On instinct, Twyla threw up her knee, and connected with his crotch. He grunted and staggered back, then bent at the waist with his hands propped on his knees. Heather lunged forward, her arm extended and something squirted out of a black container in her hand. Ryan squealed loudly, staggered back, and his arms flailed as he swiped at his eyes.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he screamed, all but ripping off his t-shit to scrub at his face.
Twyla dropped her Twinkie bag and ran over to him. “What did you spray on him, Heather?” she asked as she helped him sit on the curb.
“Just a little asshole repellant,” Heather replied with a snort. “He won’t die. Come on let’s go inside and call the police.” She walked up two steps then turned back toward Twyla. Huffing out a breath, she asked, “If you don’t want him here, what the hell are you doing, Twy?”
Twyla looked back at Heather. “I didn’t want you to hurt him!” Ryan moaned and rested his head on his knees. “Hold your head up, Ryan, so I can see,” Twyla said with worry constricting her chest.
“I can’t see,” he groaned in a voice barely above a whisper. It seemed to Twyla, from her hand on his back, that he was barely breathing. “It burns so bad.” Even though he probably deserved this too, the misery in his voice made her insides ache for him.
“Well you can sit out here and play nurse all you want. I’m tired,” Heather said with a huffed breath. “I’ll be inside. Holler if you need me, and I’ll call the police.”
“Don’t call them,” Twyla shouted to her as she walked up the stairs.
“Figures,” Heather grumbled shaking her head as she topped the stairs.
“Pepper spray. Need water,” Ryan groaned, as he stood up. He stepped into the light and Twyla gasped. His eye was black, and almost swollen shut. His nose was bruised and swollen too. Teddy must’ve really hit him hard. “You look like you’ve been mule-kicked! We’re going to the emergen—” Twyla stopped to lean in closer to inspect the white string hanging from his nostril. “What the hell is that hanging from your nose?”
“Tampon,” he said in a stopped up, nasally voice. “Hurts like hell too. Don’t know how y’all stand it.”
“I guess so,” she said with laughter bubbling in her chest. “You left the applicator in there, nimnut!”
His head swung to hers, and he pried open the slits that covered his fire-red eyes. “Applicator?”
“Yeah, the cardboard comes out then the cotton stops the bleeding,” she explained, and a chuckle followed. “I learned that the hard way the first time I used them too.” More chuckles bubbled up to her throat, and escaped. His stunned expression melded the chuckles into full-fledged laughter. Twyla held her stomach and staggered back to sit on the first step and let it loose. It felt damned good. She laughed so hard she thought she might crack a rib if she wasn’t careful. Tears streamed down her face, as she gulped for breath.
Ryan stomped over to glare down at her, as much as he could glare from his slitted red-rimmed eyes. “Glad to be the comic relief, but my fucking eyes are on fire, and my nuts are up in my throat. Think you could help a poor, dumb bastard out when you’re done?”
Twyla sucked in a breath and wiped her eyes with the hem of her tank top. She pushed up to her feet and took his arm to help him as he stepped on the first stair tread. “Sorry, it’s not every day a guy sticks a tampon up his nose. Why didn’t you just use Kleenex?”
“Didn’t have any,” he replied angrily.
Laughter tried to consume her again. “But you had a tampon?”
“You left one in the glove box of the truck.” He grabbed the stair rail to steady himself, and Twyla carefully led him up to the landing.
At the apartment door, she knocked, because it was shut and locked. After a second of lock flipping, the door swung open, and Heather stood there in only her pushup bra and skimpy panties. Ryan groaned and shut his eyes. Heather shook her head, threw up her hands and walked away. She went inside her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.
Twyla helped Ryan inside and shut the door behind her, then flipped the deadbolt and door locks. If she didn’t, she knew Heather would ream her out in the morning. Ryan staggered toward the couch, but Twyla slid her arm through his and walked him to the tiny bathroom down the hall. Sitting him on the toilet, she got a washrag and wet it in the sink.
When she turned toward him, his head was leaned back on his shoulders and his eyes were closed. She took a long look at his bruised nose and swollen eye. He really should go to the emergency room and get checked out. He had to be in excruciating pain. Her heart tried to bleed for him, but she patched it up mentally. He deserved what he got, she reminded herself.
“You look like ten miles of bad road, cowboy,” she said laying the rag on his forehead.
He grunted. “Feel like twenty.”
She moved to stand in front of him and one eye, the one not black, popped open. The bright blue iris stood in sharp contrast to the red roadmap that was the white. His hands gripped the toilet, as she bathed his forehead and beard-roughened cheeks, then his chin. “I’m sorry you got hurt, but you should’ve known better than to come here.”
“I’m a dumbass, what can I say?” he said and his one opened eye rolled.
“Why’d you come? I told you I was done.”
And Twyla had meant it. Even if she’d had her doubts about her decision since she left, she knew it had been the right one. Moving on, getting over her useless crush on Ryan Easter was what was best for her. Seeing Ryan again though made all those feelings come back, and that made her angry. Dammit, she wanted to be over him as easily as she said those words. Why couldn’t it be that easy?
“I came to tell you I’m sorry for saying those things to you,” he said, his voice sincere.
That was why. Ryan was a good man, as much as he was as dumb as a box of rocks, and his head as hard as one. “Close your eye,” she grumbled, gathering up her determination as she swiped the cloth over his uninjured eye, then gently patted the other. “I appreciate that, Ryan, but you didn’t have to come here to tell me that. I didn’t want to see you.”
Ryan grabbed her wrist, and his eye popped open again. “I wanted t
o see you, Twy. I thought it was right to tell you I’m sorry in person…and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I care about you, Twyla.”
Like a sister. She knew it was on the tip of his tongue to add those words. He’d said that to her often enough. Firmly established a line between them she hadn’t ever been allowed to cross, one he’d only come close to crossing once with her. That night at the bonfire when she was sixteen. The night of the almost kiss that had captured her heart as surely as if he’d done it.
Ten years of her life she could never get back wanting him to finish that kiss.
Twyla wasn’t wasting another minute on him now. When she left the rodeo, left him, she accepted things were never going to change between them. Now she was moving on. He just needed to accept that and leave her the hell alone.
“Don’t apologize. You telling me to get a life was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And that’s what I’m doing, Ryan.” Twyla turned to the sink and rinsed the rag under the tap. “I don’t need you to worry about me. You just mind your business, and stay away from me. I’m sure we’ll see each other around at family gatherings sometimes.” There, put that in your pipe and smoke it, bucko. She squeezed the water out of the rag, like she wanted to squeeze his neck. You want to be my brother, buddy? That’s exactly what you’ll be from here on out.
She turned back toward him for round two of cleaning up his face, and his fingers closed on her forearm. “Twyla, please listen—”
She put her finger over his lips. “Stop. We’ve said all we need to say, Ryan. Just let it go. Let me go. I’ll be fine.”
He mumbled around her finger, “It’s obvious you’re not fine. You’re working at a fricking strip—”
Twyla slapped her palm over his mouth. “It’s not a strip club. I dance and serve drinks, and I’m making damned good money doing it. Who the hell are you to judge me anyway? I’ve been to those places with you and Zack, remember?”