A Difficult Woman. Jeannie Watt

Scotch. Tara hadn’t the slightest idea why she noticed these things on such a busy evening.

      “You saved my life tonight, babe.” Jack’s voice rumbled from behind her.

      “No problem.” Tara gave the bar a wipe as she spoke. It was close to one o’clock and the crowd was finally thinning…but Matt was still there. Maybe this was what he did at night. Maybe he worked for her during the day and spent his evenings at the bar. Watching. She wondered vaguely why he was in Night Sky in the first place. Maybe waiting to get on at a mine. That’s why most single men came to the small town and hung around. Yeah. That was probably it.

      Ginny, the graveyard waitress, had breezed in a few minutes before and came out of the back room tying on her apron. She glanced at the swollen tip jar, raising an eyebrow.

      “Maggie and Becky are going to be sorry they got that flu.”

      “I hear it’s a rough one.”

      “Trust me, you don’t want it. Knocked me off my feet for two whole days, then I staggered for two more.”

      “Then I won’t get it,” Tara said. “I’ve too many things to do.”

      “How’s that house coming?” Ginny asked. “I’m dying to see it.”

      “It’ll be done for the reunion,” Tara replied. Ginny was fairly new in town and she had always been friendly. Tara appreciated that, knowing that the woman must have heard all the talk about the Sullivan family, but had still chosen to make her own judgments.

      “Invite me for a tour.”

      “All right.” Tara gave Ginny a speculative look. “You know, I was wondering if you might have some time when I hire temporary day help.”

      Ginny grinned. “Just call.”

      “Right now it would only be during the reunion. I can’t pay all that much, but after I’m more established…”

      Ginny’s smile didn’t waver. “Call,” she repeated.

      Tara nodded. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

      MATT WATCHED as Tara Sullivan neatly folded her apron and headed into the back room, reappearing seconds later with a small purse dangling from one shoulder.

      “Wait a minute,” Jack said in gruff voice. He grabbed the purse, unzipped it and stuffed as much of the contents of the tip jar into it as would fit.

      “I would have come back tomorrow,” Tara protested.

      “No. You’ll get busy on that barn you call a house and forget. This way I know you have at least some of the money.”

      Tara gave Jack a tolerant smile. “Thanks. But don’t call me again unless it’s an emergency.”

      “I have subs lined up for the next few days.”

      Tara nodded gratefully. “Good.” She surprised Matt then by glancing over at him, as if checking to see if he were still there, before turning and walking out the door.

      Mr. Sweet Cheeks’ friends were bellied up to a table near the door and they had watched her exit with enough interest to catch Matt’s attention. He decided to make certain that she got to her vehicle safely.

      Old habits, he thought as he pushed the door open and the warm night air hit his face.

      He eased sideways into the shadows after the door swung shut behind him, leaning against the building and keeping his eyes on Tara as she crossed the big gravel lot. Someone needed to tell her to park closer to the door. She had her keys out and was nearly to Nicky’s Dodge when she stopped in her tracks.

      Mr. Sweet Cheeks.

      Matt wasn’t exactly surprised, and as he moved swiftly across the lot, he could see Tara wasn’t surprised, either. After her first startled movement, she took a defiant stance.

      “Don’t even think about it, Eddie,” Tara said to the guy who’d sauntered out of the shadow of a pickup. “Just leave me alone.”

      “Or…?” he asked in a wicked voice.

      “That cojones promise still holds,” Tara said tightly.

      The guy laughed and took a step toward her.

      “I’m warning you—” She heard the crunch of Matt’s feet on the gravel and sent a quick startled glance his way. Matt ignored her and headed straight for Mr. Sweet Cheeks. The guy also looked startled, then smug. He hadn’t, after all, done anything. Hadn’t even touched her. Matt didn’t let that slow him down for an instant. He hated guys who preyed on women. The next thing Mr. Sweet Cheeks knew he was backed up against the same pickup truck he’d been hiding behind.

      “Do…do you got some…some kind of problem, man?” Mr. Sweet Cheeks stuttered.

      “No,” Matt answered quietly. “You do.”

      Even in the dim light Matt could see the man blanch. Then he got stupid and took a wild roundhouse swing followed by an attempted knee to the groin. Matt automatically blocked both movements, then sent his fist deep into the man’s midsection. The guy doubled over and fell sideways onto the gravel.

      Matt watched the man gasp for breath, then glanced over at Tara. The gratitude he expected to see wasn’t there. Instead she looked stunned and irritated.

      “What?” he asked.

      Tara just shook her head and watched Mr. Sweet Cheeks struggle up to his hands and knees. She grimaced as the guy retched.

      “Is he going to be okay?” she asked.

      “His private parts are not in his abdominal cavity, so I would say, yes, he’s going to be fine.”

      “I guess I should say thanks.”

      “I guess you should,” Matt agreed.

      Tara’s blue eyes looked silver in the glow of the streetlight. Silver and ungrateful. “Thanks.” The word was clipped, sarcastic.

      “I’m overwhelmed,” Matt muttered. Mr. Sweet Cheeks staggered to his feet and away to his waiting friends. He stumbled a few times before he made it to the door.

      “I said thanks,” Tara repeated, reading the obvious annoyance in his face.

      “And you truly meant it,” he said sarcastically.

      Tara didn’t reply, but Matt could see she thought he’d overreacted. Maybe he had, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d helped her out of a dicey situation.

      He shook his head and reached to take the keys from her hand. She hadn’t expected it, so he was able to do it. He unlocked the truck door, opened it and stepped back, holding out the keys. Tara took them, her chin up.

      “I can understand why you felt the need to…intercede.”

      “But…?”

      “But that was Eddie Johnson. It’s not the first time I’ve faced him down.”

      “And…?” Matt prompted, sensing there was more.

      “And I fight my own battles, my own way. I don’t need help,” she stated with an air of finality.

      Matt looked down at her from his superior height, wondering why this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He didn’t need this. Not on top of everything else.

      “Well, you know what, Miss Sullivan? You can fight your own battles and you can fix your own porch. Good night.”

      Matt had the satisfaction of seeing her beautiful mouth pop open before he turned and started back across the lot to the alley that led to his house. But even as he stalked away he listened to hear the reassuring sound of her door finally slamming shut and the engine of her brother’s truck roaring to life.

      Old habits…