Fisher finished off his beer and glanced back toward Kylee. She was looking at him, frowning. He smiled at her, saluting her with his beer bottle. Not that she seemed to care. She turned away, her scowl still in place.
“Ouch,” Mario whispered.
Fisher shrugged. “Can’t win ’em all, I guess.”
“You didn’t even make it out of the starting gate with that one.” Jarvis sounded way too pleased about that. “Must chap your hide, being rejected by something so curvy and soft. That long black hair. Those big blue eyes.” Jarvis shook his head. “Maybe the lady’s not into sasquatches. Maybe she likes normal-size guys.” He elbowed Mario, who laughed—albeit reluctantly.
“You’re just pissed I’ve been kicking your butt all night,” Fisher said, laughing off their teasing. The three of them had been working together for years, but they’d been friends even longer. The kidding was part of it. So was his beating them at pool. But it wasn’t about the winning, it was about the chance to relax after a long day.
Relaxation didn’t exist once he got home—not since Archer had moved in. His brother needed a place to stay while the water pipes in his place were repaired. Since the family’s Lodge was booked solid and his other two brothers had a families of their own, Fisher felt obliged to take him in. Problem was that Archer had only one setting: intense. If Fisher was spending more time at Shots, it was because he needed a break from his brother.
The new bartender didn’t hurt, either. He was sure Kylee was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Even if she didn’t like the looks of him.
They played a few hours, then moved on to darts. Fisher was one of the last to leave the bar. He lingered, slowly enjoying his beer. There were times he wished he had his younger brother Ryder’s finesse with the ladies. Most of them thought Fisher was cute and flirted with him easily enough, but he’d never been all that interested in pursuing something more.
Jarvis’s teasing had chapped his hide because few women caught his attention the way Kylee had. And she had. So much so that he found it hard not to openly stare at her as she swept the floor, mesmerized by her long black hair swaying as she worked. If she’d just look at him with the slightest flicker of interest he’d figure out some way to start up a conversation. Instead, she seemed oblivious to him. Once his beer was gone and the bar was empty, he had no reason to stay.
He put his empty bottle on the counter. “Night,” he called out, making a last effort.
Kylee nodded but didn’t look up, her black hair blocking her face from view. He walked out of the bar, glancing back at Kylee through the glass front of the door. She was still sweeping.
He stared up at the perfect circle of a moon hanging low in the deep black sky. A million stars broke up the canvas of dark. July in Texas was a scorcher, not that August and September were much better. And, from the feel of it, it was going to be a long, hot summer. But after the damn near arctic winter they’d had, he didn’t mind so much. If anything, the chirp of the cicadas and crickets, and the thick, humid air was a pleasant change.
“Fisher Boone.”
Fisher didn’t recognize the slurred and angry voice until he turned around. “Carson.” He nodded at George Carson, one of Archer’s employees. He didn’t know Carson but Archer didn’t think too highly of him. “Everything all right?”
“Been better,” Carson bit out, a hard smile on his face. “I need you to give your brother a message for me.”
He nodded, realizing just how worked up George Carson was when the man’s fist slammed into his right eye. Fisher was still recovering when the next hit came, catching him in the gut and knocking the air out of him. He shook his head, instinct taking over. He tried to rein himself in, to keep control. But with one punch, Carson was on the ground. Fisher groaned, “Dammit.”
Suddenly Kylee stood there, staring down at Carson, a beer bottle in her hand.
Fisher wiped away the blood running into his eye, made sure Carson was breathing, then turned to Kylee. She held the neck of the bottle with a white-knuckle grip, her body shaking. “Got my back?” Fisher asked, still processing.
Kylee blinked, tossing the bottle into a garbage bin in the alley between the buildings. “Doesn’t look like you needed it,” she murmured. She looked at him and crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “So, you’re not a fighter, huh?”
His eye was throbbing. His fist...it hurt to flex his thumb, and from the way the muscles in his palm pulsed and burned, he suspected he’d dislocated it—again. “I didn’t say I couldn’t fight. I said I don’t fight. My size gives me an unfair advantage.” He’d learned that the hard way.
She nodded, her eyes searching his face. He wished he knew what was going on inside that head of hers. Even standing here bleeding, all he could do was grin at her. She stared at him, then shook her head. She stepped over the unconscious Carson and reached up to tilt his head back. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” Her fingers settled on his temple, her eyes narrowing. “The light’s better inside.”
His hand encircled her wrist, brushing over her soft skin. She drew away immediately, stepping back and almost tripping over the man on the ground. Fisher caught her but released her instantly. Even with that slight contact, his hands tingled.
He cleared his throat. “He probably needs looking after more than I do.” He nodded at George Carson, but he was too startled by how blue her gaze was to look away. Clear blue. Like a perfect summer sky. Or the surface of the lake.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to patch him up?”
Better than standing around bleeding, thinking about how damn pretty she was. He nodded. “Have my bag in my truck.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why do I have my bag in my truck?” He wiped his eye, smiling at her. “I like to be prepared.”
She put her hands on her hips, clearly not amused.
He glanced at Carson. “Can’t just leave him here.”