Nobody's Baby but Mine(85)

Kevin took the decision out of her control by springing to his feet. “You son of a bitch!”

A fist flew, and the next thing she knew, Kevin was lying on the floor. With a hiss of alarm, she jumped up and rushed to him. “Kevin, are you all right?” She glared up at her husband. “You cretin!”

“He’s a pansy. I barely touched him.”

Kevin spouted a mouth-soaper of an obscenity, and as he scrambled to his feet, she reminded herself that she was dealing with two overgrown male children, both of whom were hot-tempered and intensely physical. “Stop it right now!” she exclaimed as she rose. “This isn’t going any farther.”

“You want to settle it outside?” Cal sneered at Kevin.

“No! I’m gonna kick your ass right here.”

Kevin shoved Cal in the chest. Cal stumbled backward, but didn’t fall.

Jane’s hands flew to her cheeks. They were starting a barroom brawl, and unless she was mistaken, one of the things they were fighting over was her! She pushed the enticing thought away by reminding herself that she abhorred violence, and she had to put a stop to it.

“There will be no ass kicking!” She used her sternest voice, the one that she occasionally employed with rowdy third-grade boys. But these boys paid no attention. Instead, Cal threw Kevin into a barstool, then Kevin dragged Cal against the wall. A framed Sports Illustrated cover showing her husband taking off his helmet came crashing down.

Jane knew she couldn’t overpower them physically, so she tried another tactic. Reaching behind the bar, she snatched up one of the dispenser hoses, aimed it at the two brawlers, and pushed the trigger. It was either water or club soda, she couldn’t tell which, but it lost too much of its power by the time it reached them to have any effect.

She spun toward the onlookers, who’d gotten up from their chairs to watch, and implored several of the men. “Do something, will you? Stop them!”

They ignored her.

For a moment she considered letting them beat each other’s brains out, but they were too strong, and she didn’t have the stomach for it. She swept up a full beer pitcher from the top of the bar, rushed over, and flung it at them.

They gasped, sputtered, and went right back to pulverizing each other as if nothing had happened. It was an unpleasant reminder of exactly how tough they were.

Kevin slammed his fist into Cal’s stomach, then Cal delivered a solid punch to Kevin’s chest. None of the businessmen or retirees watching showed any inclination to help, so she knew she was on her own, but the only other action she could think of went against her grain. Still, she couldn’t come up with a better idea so she sat down on a barstool, dragged in a huge gulp of air, and began to scream at the top of her lungs.

The sound was annoying, even to her, but she kept at it. The onlookers immediately shifted their attention from the fight to the crazed blonde sitting on a barstool wailing like a banshee. Cal got so distracted that he allowed Kevin to catch him in the side of his head. Then Kevin lost his focus and ended up on the floor.

She sucked in more air and kept screaming.

“Will you stop it!” Cal bellowed, staggering away from the wall.

She was starting to get dizzy, but she forced herself to let loose a fresh stream of shrieks.

Kevin scrambled up from the floor, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s hysterical.” Cal wiped the beer from his eyes with the back of his hand, dragged in some air, and lurched toward her with a purposeful gleam in his eye. “I’m going to have to slap her.”

“Don’t you dare!” she yelped.

“Got to.” The gleam in his eye now had a faintly diabolical cast to it.

“Touch me and I’ll scream!”

“Don’t touch her!” three people in the crowd called out at once.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the onlookers. “You could have helped, you know, and then this wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“It’s only a bar fight,” Kevin grumbled. “No reason to make such a big deal out of it.”

Cal took her arm and pulled her down off the barstool. “She’s a little high-strung.”

“I’ll say.” Kevin pulled up his shirttail to wipe the beer from his face. A cut on his cheekbone was bleeding, and one eye had puffed up.

A middle-aged man wearing a starched white shirt and black bow tie regarded her curiously. “Who is she, anyway?”

Cal pretended not to hear.

“Darlington,” she said, holding out her hand to shake. “Jane Darlington.”

“She’s my wife,” Cal muttered.

“Your wife?” The man looked faintly bewildered as he took her hand.