Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

Joe glares at Bobby, and my heart races even faster, though it’s pounding away like a hamster’s from the adrenalin of the fight right in front of me. He’s going to get in so much trouble. For me. Over nothing. What Joe did was wrong, obviously, but it’s not the first time a customer has gotten a little handsy, and I’ve always handled it just fine and without bloodletting.

Unc grins at that. “Cops? Okay, man, your funeral. Hey, Patrick, this guy wants a police report filled out on this little incident.”

A rotund guy in a plaid snap-front shirt gets up and saunters over, pausing to take in the scene with his hands on his hips. Unc and Bobby seem to know something Joe, his buddies, and I don’t know, because they don’t seem concerned in the least.

“Patrick Gibson, Chief of Police for Great Falls. I hear you want a police report. All right, let’s start with you, Willow.”

It hits me all at once, and I can’t help but feel a little vindicated. There really is a police officer in the right place at the right time for the good guy.

I tell Patrick what happened precisely, and then Bobby does the same. Joe tries to interrupt, but then Patrick asks Unc, who also confirms it. Finally, Patrick asks Joe, whose bluster is fading. His version is more that Bobby is a hothead who came out of nowhere for no reason and beat the shit out of him.

Unc offers, “If you have any doubts, I can pull the video.” I turn to him in surprise because there are no cameras that I know of. Unc winks at me, his straight face giving nothing away.

Patrick summarizes, “Well, it does sound like an open and shut case of sexual assault against Ms. Parker and battery against Mr. Tannen. Bobby, I mean, Mr. Tannen, had every right to defend himself. Willow, you wanna press charges too? I can take our friend down to the station, but it’ll probably be Monday afternoon before he gets arraigned because the judge teaches up at the university in the morning.”

Joe, though, wants to argue. “No, I’m pressing charges.”

Patrick stares him down. “For what, exactly?”

Joe’s buddies seem to have caught on to just how much trouble their friend is in and are trying to herd him out with promises of ‘no problem, Officer’ and ‘so sorry, ma’am’. I shake my head, telling Patrick, “No, I think we’re good.”

Patrick nods, putting his cowboy hat back on. He sticks a hand out, which Bobby shakes. “Good show, son. Like that new one you’re doing.” To Unc, he says, “Damn tourists, think they can do whatever they want.” Unc flashes a lopsided grin and walks back behind the bar, swinging his bat with every step.

I look to Bobby in shock. “What just happened?”

He steps in close to me, the knuckles of his left hand brushing over my cheekbone. I’m surprised at the gentle touch, lighter than a butterfly’s wings. “Are you okay?” His eyes flash . . . worry, fury, fear, and tenderness.

He’s an exciting blend of intensities.

“I think so. That was just . . . crazy.”

Olivia walks by, serving beers as though nothing happened. “I told you live music nights are the best.”

I blink at her no-big-deal tone and then laugh, though it’s probably a little manic. Bobby’s lips quirk up too, as though my laughter reassures him that I’m okay.

Unc calls out, “Hey, Willow, take an ice pack to my office and get the first aid kit. Bobby’s gonna need some ointment for those knuckles. No telling what that prick had up his nose.” He taps his nostril like Joe was some coke-head druggie rather than a handsy drunk.

Both Bobby and I look at his right hand, where the joints are a little puffy and red. “Oh, my God, let’s get you taken care of.”

He smiles and jokes, “It’s fine. Been there, done that, even got the scars from the other guys’ teeth a time or two.”

Wait, that didn’t sound like a joke.

Bobby heads back to Unc’s office like he knows where he’s going, so I grab a Ziploc bag and fill it with ice. Unc watches me but stops me as I pass him. “You really okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just not used to being up close and personal with UFC fights, you know?”

Unc smiles, though the joke isn’t the least bit funny and my nerves are still shot. “Looks like you might oughta get used to it if Bobby Tannen is taking a liking to you. You sweet on him too?” His eyes narrow, like he wants to read my answer from my face, not just hear the words. I think Unc would go meet Bobby with that bat if I said no.

“I just met him.”

“That don’t mean a thing, girl. Take the rest of the night off. I can handle closing.” I start to argue, but he cuts me off. “Been doing it myself for damn near thirty years. Once more won’t kill me.” And with that, he turns back to Richard and continues chatting about the ballgame as though nothing else of interest happened tonight.