Bucking the Rules(6)

“Give him to me.” Bea held out her arms and took the bundle onto her lap. “Can’t he just, like, crawl around on his own?”

“He could, but he wants to be held right now. He’s still waking up. It’s early.”

“You’re telling me.”

Trace headed toward the supply closet, smiling as he heard Bea yelp and scold, “Don’t pull those, they’re attached to my ears.”

True, Peyton took to aunthood much easier than Bea. But he didn’t worry. His youngest sister had a heart of gold under all that makeup and perfume. She might play the cold-hearted bitch on that soap opera thing she was in—or was that her evil twin? Who could keep up?—but in reality, she just needed a chance to get her feet under her again. He had a feeling her extended stay at the M-Star had nothing to do with contract negotiations and “career readjustment” like she’d claimed. But he wasn’t going to push it. She’d share, in her own sweet time, what was going on.

Just like he’d take his own sweet time finding a social life in this place. But damn, could they not give a guy five minutes to get settled?

Okay, yeah, it’d been well over six months. But still. He’d get around to it when he was good and comfortable. He finally felt like he had a handle on the whole single dad thing. Slowly but surely, he could add in a chance to meet pretty ladies and have a good time.

Eventually.





Chapter Two


Jo watched two hotheads start revving their engines for a fight. Damn. She checked the corner of the bar and made sure her favorite bat was still handy. Not that she ever used it—hardly ever—but at times, it was the visual reality check men needed to take her seriously when she kicked them out. Something about a pissed-off woman didn’t always register. But a pissed-off woman holding a bat? Always a big score.

“Want me to step in?” Stu popped his head in from the kitchen. “Or I could send one of my guys.”

“No, I’ve got it. They’re about to receive an invitation to the parking lot.” Jo pulled her hair back at the nape of her neck and walked through the passway to the spot where the two idiots were riling each other up.

“Call if you need me!”

Amanda raced up behind her as Jo approached the two men. “Shouldn’t you let Stu—”

“Nope. You know me. I’ve got it.” How often did she repeat that phrase in any given day? I’ve got it. No, I’ve got it. Really, I’ve got it. Was it so hard to believe one woman could handle her own business without a man stepping in every time things got a bit sticky?

Luckily, brawls here didn’t seem to happen nearly as much as they did in a larger, more crowded bar. She’d never imagined being able to run a bar without a bouncer. But in Marshall, it just wasn’t necessary.

“It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.” The first man shrugged a hand off his shoulder. It belonged to a buddy wanting to calm him down.

Good luck with that.

“And I say it’s not.” The second man’s friends cheered him on. Clearly his friends were just as stupid as he was.

Though he was about five inches shorter, and at least twenty pounds lighter, the first man stepped forward, chest pressing against his opponent. “The Vikings don’t have a shot at the Super Bowl in this decade, and you know it. Stop while you’re behind, dipshit.”

Fueled by righteous anger, the Vikings fan took this as a personal attack and pushed the shorter man back a step. “You gonna make me stop?”

“I’m going to make you both stop.” Jo stepped between them, knowing she had to grab the chance to intervene while she could. “If you want to be assholes, I’ve got no problem with it. But be an asshole somewhere else. People are drinking and eating and having fun in here.”

The first man actually looked a little contrite, his head hanging slightly. “Whatever. I’m already cashed out.” He nodded to his buddy, the one whose commonsense had been evident before, and they started heading toward the door.

Jo breathed a sigh of relief. Easier than expected. Almost too—

“Pussy!”

And there it was. The big guy just couldn’t resist a parting shot. But when the other man didn’t respond, he jumped forward to grab him by the collar of his jacket. His friends, it seemed, were not only pleased, but encouraged him by pushing against his back.

Unfortunately for them all, Jo was still in his way. She managed to twist enough so when she fell, she only smacked her elbow on the cocktail table, rather than her face. But it was enough to enrage her. Drunks, she could handle. Assholes, sure. But the minute someone hurt something in her bar—including her own body—she got nasty. With a quick spin on the floor, she shot one foot out to connect with the man’s knee. His leg buckled and he went down hard, face-first. But he didn’t have the same grace and experience as Jo, and his face planted on a chair.