by Scott Wylder
Accidental Protector
Accidentally Yours Romance Series
By:
Scott Wylder
Table of Contents:
Also By Scott Wylder
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Copyright © 2018 by Scott Wylder
All rights reserved.
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Chapter 1
(Seth Kline)
I’m a stay-to-myself kind of guy. I like to ride my Harley with friends on the weekends and run my bar through the week. Of course, the bar isn’t a necessary job—my bank account had been padded years ago, partially by my inheritance and partially by my stock investments. I just enjoy the business and most of the people who frequent the bar. You meet all types working as a bartender and that’s okay, but after hours, I prefer to keep to myself and be left alone in my little world with my own thoughts.
As for getting involved in other people’s business, especially their private business, I avoid at all cost. If some woman’s boyfriend, fiancé, or husband comes into my bar and picks up another chick, well, that’s their business and I’m not going to take sides. Same thing if a wife or girlfriend does it. I’m not a relationship counselor by any means.
I don’t have steady relationships for a reason. It’s a simple reason, too. You can’t really trust anyone because you can never really know anyone. So, I keep my relationships light, fun, and short. Very, very short.
One thing I won’t stand for is domestic violence. If some bully comes in and starts yanking his girlfriend or wife around, well, he’s going to have me to deal with. And then the cops because I don’t hesitate to call them in such situations. Unfortunately, alcohol usually exacerbates the violence in people already prone to that character flaw. I’ve seen quite a few cases of it and put a stop to it.
Within mere weeks I end up seeing the same couple back together, laughing, drinking, and setting themselves up for the same situation again. I never understood why a woman would keep taking that kind of treatment, but it happens a lot around here.
Don’t misjudge me, either. I don’t have a hero or protector complex. Nope. I’m no one’s hero for sure. There are just some things that I won’t tolerate and that happens to be one of them. So, when Katrina Hendren came into the bar, followed shortly by her boyfriend, I had made no plans to become close to the woman. When Curtis Rake started slapping her around, I only meant to stop him.
And stop him I did. Put him on the floor with one solid punch that landed square in the center of his weasel-like face.
Leaning down to check him for a pulse, I yelled to Barty, “Man, call the Sheriff. Tell him we got another pick-up for him down here.”
“Already done, boss.” Barty waggled his phone at me before sliding it into his pocket and returning to serving customers.
Barty Cray was a good man. Young, smart, idealistic, and had close to the same set of life values as me. We’d been friends for many years.
When I turned to check on Katrina, she was gone. One of the women in the crowd pointed toward the side door. “She took off to the alley as soon as you stepped in, Seth.”
I went to the side door and looked out. She was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she didn’t realize I’d knocked out the little shit who’d been beating on her. Maybe she didn’t care. She’d come through the front door with that wild-eyed look of a deer in headlights and I had known what was going on even before Curtis had strutted in like some little egotistical fighting cock who’d never lost a match.
Katrina had lived around here almost as long as I had. She was six years younger than me and we didn’t really hang in the same circles when we were younger, but now that we’d both been adults for a while, we’d pass each other in town and she came in the bar every now and then. Occasionally we spoke in passing; just the usual how’s your mother? How’s your bar? How about the weather this week, crazy right? That sort of small talk, but she’d always lit my pulse a little bit. She was gorgeous, and I was a man who noticed that sort of thing. Not only did I notice, I reacted to it.
The sheriff came and hauled good old Curtis down to county lockup. Just another Thursday night at the Big Hat. I was still crestfallen that Katrina had run out without a word—I knew a full-blown conversation would have been out of the question, but she could have stayed long enough to thank me.
As I locked the Big Hat up for the night, I checked the alley again for any sign that maybe she was there after all or had perhaps returned. Nothing. No sign of Katrina.
Driving home, I took the route I thought Katrina would have taken if she had headed back to her own home after the episode at the bar. There was still no sign of her and I tried to put her out of my mind as I readied for bed.
By closing time, the next night, I had put the incident and the thankless Katrina behind me. That’s where they belonged. In the past. Never get attached. That’s my motto. If you get attached, it’s a recipe for pain, grief, and frequently disaster.
Within a week, I’m sure that I’d forgotten about the entire thing. It lingered ghostlike around the edges of my consciousness for longer, much longer than most of those sorts of things did. After all, I run a bar where people come to get drunk—they are either drinking to forget their problems or drinking enough liquor to cause more problems. In other words, these kinds of incidents happen often. More often than I like to think about considering how small the damn town is. Unless something happens to dredge up old incidents, new ones are always taking their places. It’s a rotating door of offences around here, especially in the summer.
In the summer, the heat shortens tempers and women’s clothing. Just add alcohol for exciting and sometimes violent evenings.
Chapter 2
(Katrina Hendren)
Curtis had been a pain in my ass for the last year and a half. I had agreed to go out on a single date with him back then and he just kept hanging around, hounding me for another date. After a while, it became cute—the way a puppy tagging along behind you is cute. Sometime after that, I’m not sure when, there is no Aha! moment that I can look back on and say that’s when it ha
ppened, we became a couple.
I don’t remember ever agreeing to be his steady girlfriend or anything of that nature, but that’s exactly what happened. I became his marked property. I do know that about six months ago, he eased his way into telling me how to dress; it happened gently and slowly, you know. Creeping up on you like the changing of the seasons, so slowly that you don’t realize it’s cold until one morning you walk outside to get in your car and think, Wow, I should have worn my coat. That’s how he finagled his way into telling me how to dress, where to go and when, how much makeup was too much, how I should fix my hair, and even who I should and shouldn’t be talking to on the phone and in public.
Had I not been so distracted by the overly-nice, overly-clingy, overly-needy gestures that he doled out on a daily, I might have picked up on it sooner and not gotten myself into this situation. But, I didn’t pick up on it, and here I am now.
We had gone out to pick up a late dinner and a movie. We were going to have a nice evening in. I was actually looking forward to it. Then it happened. Braden Gaines had noticed me when I walked out of the restaurant with our food and had greeted me with a big smile—the guy was like a brother to me for years, but we’d grown distant over the last two years. He was asking how the family had been and I asked about his wife and daughter.
Curtis had been sitting in the car watching the entire exchange and obviously getting angrier by the second. Naturally, he didn’t have the nerve to step out and say anything at the time. I got into the car with our food and he pulled onto the main road without a word or a cross look at me.
“Who the fuck was that?” He’d nearly yelled once we were on our way, gathering speed; too much speed for town.
“That was Braden Gaines.” I’d known exactly what he was talking about.
“The hell he talking to you all smiling and shit for? You two got something going on?”
I’d been so shocked that I could only snort laughter. How preposterous! I’m no angel, but I’ve never been a liar, thief, or a cheat and he should know that.
Laughing was the wrong thing to do. Apparently, Curtis seriously thought Braden and I were fooling around because as I turned from the window to deny his stupid accusation, I caught his open backhand upside my left cheek.
For a split-second, I didn’t know what had happened. My world lit up white and silver on the left side and then the pain hit me, and I grabbed my offended cheek. That son-of-a-bitch had hit me. How dare he?
Curtis was yelling, but I couldn’t hear anything other than a high-pitched whine that had ramped up in my head, obliterating all other external sounds. He had hit me! Staring at him in disbelief, still holding my cheek, I tried to understand all that was happening. My muddled brain refused to make sense of the situation.
His hand arced up and toward my face again, this time it seemed to be happening in slow motion and I blocked the blow before it landed. The force of his forearm against mine as I blocked the hit, shoved me back into my seat hard, rocking my entire body. Then, he braked hard and I was thrown forward against my seatbelt hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
As soon as we were stopped, I didn’t think, stopped trying to comprehend the situation, and undid my seatbelt. I was outside the car and rushing down the sidewalk before I even knew I intended to get out.
Where I was headed was of no importance. Away from Curtis was all that mattered. The first open door was the one leading into the Big Hat—Seth Kline’s bar. I ducked in there and hurried past the bar, trying to wade into the crowd, disappear before Curtis could grab me, but the crowd kept parting, moving away from me as if the people there knew somehow that I was trailing trouble behind me.
Disoriented, I tried to see the other exit door, but couldn’t seem to find it. And, then Curtis was there, slapping me, yanking me to the side by my hair, and then he wasn’t. Seth had come from the bar and pounded Curtis a good hard hit, putting him on the floor.
By then, I’d seen the side exit and ran to it, disappearing down the alley before Curtis could regain his feet.
Now, two weeks later, I couldn’t get Seth off my mind. Coming to my defense like that had imbedded him in my brain deeply and I felt I had a huge debt of gratitude to pay him. Seth is easy to like, hard to know, and sexy as hell. The crush I’d had on him when we were younger was strong and lasted almost a whole year—by the end of which, I realized that he wasn’t into me because I was too young for him. At least, that’s the only reason I could come up with, so I moved on.
So did Seth. He had a bad boy reputation around town, and not for nothing, I know. He’s had a string of women a mile long, but never a single serious relationship. Lots of women here talk bad about him because of that, but always with a smile on their faces as if they’d like to the next one in his bed. Some of them are only jealous because he hasn’t slept with them yet.
Myself? I have mixed feelings about it. I figure he has his reasons for never having a serious relationship—Curtis had just reminded me why I’d avoided serious relationships for so many years.
Though I couldn’t get him out of my head, I thought it best to just send him a thank-you card in the mail and not go to him personally. I didn’t need something like that getting back to Curtis. He would be out of lockup before long and he’d likely come looking for me then anyway. When he did, I was unsure how I’d react to him. Most likely just call the cops on him.
Chapter 3
(Seth)
The incident at the bar with Katrina was the farthest thing from my mind when I went to the mailbox yesterday, but an envelope with distinctly female handwriting lettering the front and her name on the return address sent it all rushing back. The memory had an impact on me that I’d never anticipated.
Without realizing it, I had been worried about Katrina. The feeling surged through me as I looked at the front of the envelope. Momentarily forgetting about the rest of the mail, and there was a goodly stack that day, I flipped the mailbox shut and ripped the envelope open, careful not to tear away any of the handwriting.
Inside was a simple thank-you card, the kind you can buy at the supermarket or the local super centers around here. A cartoonish woman held her hands clasped in front of her, her head tilted to the side, her eyes wide and innocent, stood on the front. On the inside, there was a butterfly flying across the right side with a blue ribbon trailing its path from the left side. Underneath that was the boldly printed Thank You for your kindness.
Katrina had handwritten, in her very feminine and neat hand: Dear Seth, Thank you for what you did at the bar the other night. Even though I left before saying anything, I do appreciate your actions. If you ever need anything that I can help with, don’t hesitate to let me know.
Gratefully yours,
Katrina
I read the note three times. The words touched me, although I’m still a bit confused as to why. Maybe it was the simplistic and straightforward words. Maybe it was that she was thankful and taking the time to let me know.
Maybe it was just that she actually thanked me.
I replaced the card in the envelope and walked back up the driveway to my front door. Katrina had been thinking about me all this time since the incident. I liked that I had been on her mind. I liked Katrina.
Opening the front door, I eyed the envelope again, a warmth spreading through my chest, and then I walked inside and shut the door.
Placing the stack of mail on the kitchen table, I thought about reading her card again, but common sense returned, and I scoffed at myself. What was I? A teenage girl with a crush? No. I was a grown man with no interest in a relationship of any kind. And, I needed to keep it that way for my own peace of mind.
There was nothing wrong with my life as it was—no steady girlfriend, certainly no fiancé or wife. I didn’t have to worry about being lied to, cheated on, or have my emotions toyed with in any way.
I tossed the card in the trash and turned to the other mail, physically trying to shake off thoughts of the doe-eyed
beauty who had sent me the card.
Later, I called up Sonia and made plans for her to spend the night at my place after our shifts at the bar. She could help me erase Katrina from my mind, surely. Buxom, bold, blonde. All red pouty lips and crimson nails. Tattoos in all the right places. Built like a dream. That was Sonia.
However beautiful and sexy she was, Sonia failed to eradicate thoughts of Katrina. Sonia, angry at my lack of focus, ended up going home shortly after we arrived at my house. She said she could hear sad luck stories about women all evening at the bar, if she was interested in that sort of thing.
The door slammed loudly as she left, punctuating the air with a finality—it was the end of the night for me.
As I lay dozing, Katrina, as she’d looked on the night I’d clocked Curtis for slapping her around, danced through my memory and behind my eyelids. My heart ached for her and the scared look in her eyes, even if it was only a memory, tore me up.
I woke up not long after the sun crested over the mountain. I hadn’t slept long, or soundly, but I had dreamed of Katrina the entire time I had been asleep.
Chapter 4
(Katrina)
Seth had surely received my card. I was headed into town in the hopes of bumping into him. I’d not been able to rid my mind of him and his heroic act. The act was growing in my mind. I was afraid if I didn’t go see him in person, soon my memory would have him dressed in a cape and flying around saving damsels in distress.
With Curtis out of the picture for a while, I’d let my mind, and my heart, run rampant for a while and it had lighted upon the super-sexy bad boy in town—Seth Kline. Why I hadn’t pursued him before was beyond me. Maybe because he was known to love ‘em and leave ‘em.
Yeah, that’s probably why. But, I had formed the opinion that all he needed was the right woman and he would settle his wild ways. Not give up the bar life, or the motorcycle life, but he’d settle down and have a steady girlfriend—and I was up for the position. I thought I could make him want to settle down. He made me want to do wild, aberrant things to him. Any man would want to settle down with a woman who was wild for him in the bedroom. Right?