He merely glances at me before his focus lands over my shoulder. Dallas dodges a punch and reaches for me.
I gasp when I’m lifted off my feet by his big hands on my waist.
For a second, I think he’s hauling us both out of the bar, but instead, he practically slams me into another body before returning to the fight.
I stiffen for a moment before a familiar cedary scent wrapsaround me. My back is pressed against a broad chest. Hot, muscular arms secure me in place as I’m rushed outside. The beat of his heart is so fast, I’m dizzy with it.
Wilder sets me on my feet and spins me to face him.
I don’t know how to help Dallas in a bar fight. I don’t know how to get a mean-looking stranger to leave me alone.
But I thought I knew how to take on a grumpy cowboy about to do some yelling.
Unfortunately, when he looks like Wilder does right now, muscles flexed, jaw tight, sharp, stormy eyes .?.?. I’ve got nothing.
I’m not cold anymore but I feel naked right now, as he roams over the tears in my dress, the scrape on my shoulder.
“Dallas,” I breathe, twisting my scarred arm out of the light.
“He’ll be fine. It’s his third one in the last two weeks.” There’s a fire simmering beneath his words, even as he’s trying to comfort me that his brother will be all right.
My mouth drops open at the new information, but I manage to swallow. “I didn’t call you here for me.” I leave him to head back to the bar. He doesn’t follow. Before I can pull the door open, Dallas steps out. His left cheekbone is red and he has dried blood on the corner of his mouth. But it’s his arm that catches my attention.
“Oh my God, you’re bleeding.”
He holds a hand up. “I’m fine.” Then he pins me with those eyes that are more a sad blue than penetrating—unlike his brother’s. “You all right?”
I nod, but I’m not sure I am.
Dallas looks behind me. “I had it under control, you didn’t have to come.”
“Look better than you did last week,” Wilder comments.
Ricky and Dusty step out. Dusty still looks like she walked out of a comic book for adults. And Ricky .?.?. looks like he should be seen by a doctor.
How the hell did Dallas manage that in his condition?
Ricky looks over at Wilder with one good eye, the other too swollen. “Well, if it isn’t the other Thorne in my side. You boys do yourself a favor and bring your lovely new employee by Callahan Ranch for a real experience. She seemed very interested.” He winks at me, and I have the strangest desire to spit on him.
Yeah,youbetterwalkaway, I think to myself when Dusty tugs her brother in the other direction. She flicks her gaze back to Dallas—more to his bleeding arm. “Might want to make sure there’s no—”
“We got it, Dusty,” Wilder assures her. After they walk away, he glares at his brother. “Give me your keys.”
Dallas sighs and reaches in his pocket.
Wilder takes the keys and turns on his heel. “Let’s go.”
For a moment, I consider folding my arms and stubbornly insisting I’m staying. After all, I barely finished my drink.
But that would be immature, and Wilder is too .?.?. scary to provoke right now.
Plus, I really want to make sure Dallas is all right. I feel so guilty about the fight. Even if it was inevitable—tonight, I was the cause of it.
Dropping my head, I follow quietly, deciding I’ll try that drink another night.
So what if the first man I meet istheman to stay away from. Now I remember why the last name Callahan sounded familiar. And not in a good way. Wesley’s mentioned them once or twice as the Thorne family’s rivals for more than a decade.
A gust of wind blows pieces of my dress around my legs, and I pull my strap up. Suddenly conscious of my exposed forearm, I rub it and keep my hand over it as if I’m cold.
