Chameleons

Ryan Havens took a long swallow of beer and made a solemn pledge to himself. He’d never risk his heart again. Never. He was finished with love. Finished with emotions that left him edgy, uptight and aching. A man could live just fine without it, and that’s what he intended to do from this night forward.

The chilled liquid slid down his throat, and he welcomed the stinging tartness. It was his fourth beer, one past his usual limit, but a man had a right to get shit-faced when the only women he’d ever loved gave birth to another man’s baby.

His chest constricted at the thought. Katlyn. He wanted only the best for her, but damn, it still hurt.

Studying the now empty bottle and contemplating having another, he decided the hell with self-discipline and respectability. They were overrated anyhow, and he was bent on drowning his sorrows, just like the cowboys in those country songs who kept cryin’ in their beer. He wanted to drown out the world in general, and women in particular.

The only thing standing in his way at the minute was a tall, shapely barmaid. He wanted her to bring him another beer, but she’d been cornered by a couple of mean drunks.

Chivalry’s dead, he reminded himself, knowing full well that his inclinations toward gallantry usually led to trouble. On the other hand, there was nothing he despised more than a bully. Unless it was two very big bullies preying on one vulnerable woman.

Straightening a little from his slouched position in a corner booth, Ryan tipped back the brim of his Stetson with the long neck of his bottle. Eyes squinting against the thick haze of cigarette smoke, he watched as the no-account Turley brothers continued to harass one of Bubba’s new barmaids.

Hank and Joe Turley were getting drunker by the minute, their language and gestures more foul with each drink. Seemed the brothers were determined to stir up a little action and they’d focused on the newcomer.

Ryan had been watching the same woman for a while, thinking she looked sorely out of place in here. Head high and spine straight, she moved with a dancer’s grace. But her grace didn’t conceal the fact that she was a rotten waitress.

She had that regal, touch-me-not air that piqued a man’s interest, so she was getting more than her fair share of attention despite her sorry bartending skills.

He couldn’t fault anyone for looking, though. She had a great figure and long, gorgeous legs. Her waitress uniform consisted of a snug white top, very short black skirt and spiked heels, which nicely displayed all her feminine assets.

His perusal included a leisurely glide up to her face. Pale, flawless skin stretched tight over a stubborn chin and high cheekbones. Her hair looked like dark cinnamon with a pile of curls at the back of her head. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they were big, wide-set and snapping with barely controlled temper as she dodged the badgering brothers.

So far, she’d been pretty good at evading their groping hands. If either of them reached for her again, they were asking for trouble. The way Ryan saw it, men were born to protect women, not prey on ‘em. And any man who sat back and let it happen was equally spineless.
The thought sent a shot of adrenaline zinging through his veins, tightening his muscles as he anticipated a physical confrontation. Being outnumbered and outsized should have triggered caution, but not tonight.

An odd restlessness had been riding him for weeks now. He had a lot of pent-up frustration simmering inside him, adding fuel to his anger. When the Turleys blocked the swinging door, trapping the barmaid behind the counter, he was ready to fight.

Ryan took off his hat and set it on the chipped Formica of the table. He slowly uncoiled his long, hard length from the bench seat. Standing ramrod straight, he sauntered toward the bar, his jaw taut, eyes glittering with dark purpose.

He reached the trio in time to hear the waitress give the amorous brothers a firm, negative response to their bawdy invitations. Then Hank, the older one, grabbed her arm to hold her attention. The sight of the huge, grimy hand latching onto creamy pale skin sent a jolt of hot anger arcing through Ryan. He tensed even more, his fingers curling into fists.

“Hank. Joe.” His tone was a low, menacing growl. “You both too dense to understand the meaning of the word ‘no’?”

The big, beefy Turley brothers quickly turned their attention to him, interest in the waitress taking a backseat to his challenge. Their expressions were identically belligerent, the glazed gleam in their eyes turning ugly.

“Unless you’re wantin’ a serious whoopin’ pretty boy, you’d best watch yer mouth,” warned Hank, spokesman for the disgusting duo.

“Unless you’re wantin’ a serious whoopin’” Ryan mocked, “You’d better leave the lady alone.” His demeanor was every bit as aggressive as theirs.

The brothers weren’t used to being threatened. Their eyes narrowed as they turned more fully toward him, flexing muscles and puffing up their chests like banty roosters.

“Could be the lady’s just playin’ hard to get,” Hank argued, his words a drunken slur.

Ryan knew better than to take his eyes off the brothers long enough to get assurances from the waitress. There wasn’t an ounce of honor between the two of them, and he didn’t relish the thought of being sucker punched.

The problem of the lady’s mind-set was solved when he heard her mutter “Pigs”.

He managed to keep a straight face, but mentally grinned at the disgust in her voice.

“Seems the lady knows your family,” he taunted, and then watched Hank’s face turn a fire-engine red. Joe was too dim-witted to catch the insult, but that didn’t stop him from reacting to the challenge. Ryan braced himself when the big man came lunging at him, swinging his powerful right arm.