women chatted and laughed together, looking carefree and perhaps slightly tipsy.
Then one broke off from the others, her smile fading, her stride becoming purposeful. And her eyes were on Ruth.
Evan’s internal alarm rang shrilly. Which was ridiculous. The sight of a skinny woman in a pair of high-heels shouldn’t rattle him, even if her biceps were impressively defined.
But then, Ruth didn’t have defined biceps, and she was staring at the woman as if ready for battle. The woman’s face betrayed a similar expression, determination edged with the promise of violence.
And, since he couldn’t let Ruth lose a fight, he might have to do something she’d hate, like pick her up and carry her home.
For now, he grabbed her arm and tugged gently. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll make you something at mine.”
“No,” she gritted out, her voice mutinous. “You wanted to go to the pub. We’re going to the pub.” With that, she began walking again, heading inexorably toward the group of women.
What else could he do but follow?
Evan wasn’t at all surprised when the women fell silent, one by one, as they noticed Ruth. As if by mutual agreement, when they came within a metre of each other, everybody stopped. About ten women on one side, he and Ruth on the other. The standoff held all the tension of a Wild West shootout.
But, he hoped, with fewer guns.
The woman leading the pack flicked grey eyes up and down Ruth’s body as if a gnat had crossed her path. She tossed her long, chestnut hair and drawled, “Ruth, honey. They let you out the whorehouse?”
Evan ground his teeth.
Ruth smiled a wicked little smile and said, “I’m doing a town tour, since you left your men unattended.”
This elicited a chorus of scoffs and disgusted sighs from the women. All except one, whose blonde hair fell well past her waist in an improbable riot of curls. “Ruth,” she said softly, her voice chastising.
Ruth turned to the girl and folded her arms. “Yes, Maria?”
After a pause, Maria looked away.
“Alright,” Evan said loudly. His patience for this—for the sharp, judgemental looks spearing a woman he respected—had worn thin surprisingly quickly. He hadn’t meant to force himself into whatever was going on here. But his temper was rising, and he could see that Ruth’s was too.
Now was not the time to find out if she did reckless shit when she was angry.
Slinging an arm around Ruth’s shoulders he said, “We’ll just be on our way. If you ladies wouldn’t mind.”
For the first time, the women’s attention turned to him.
The leader, the brunette, arched a brow. And then she smiled. It was a pretty smile; she was a pretty woman. “You’re Evan Miller, aren’t you?” she said.
Evan set his jaw. “Yep.” He wouldn’t ask how she knew. It seemed like everyone did.
But she told him anyway. “I’m Hayley Albright. Daniel Burne is married to my sister. You know, he’s told us all so much about you.” She stepped forward and held out a hand for him to shake.
Since that would require him to remove his arm from Ruth’s shoulders, Evan simply gave the hand a blank look. After a moment, the woman’s cheeks coloured, and she stepped back.
“Well,” she went on. “I know you’re new in town, but you should know that—”
The blonde, Maria, cut in sharply. “Hayley,” she said, her voice low and warning. “Leave it. Let’s go.”
Hayley rolled her eyes. It was an eloquent gesture that reminded him, strangely, of Ruth. “Fine,” she eventually clipped out. “We can’t let a little trash ruin our night, after all.”
The group of women, now silent as a funeral procession, made their way past Ruth and Evan. They moved threateningly close, employing expert intimidation tactics.
When they were finally gone, Evan looked down at Ruth. “If we circle past the Unicorn, we can head home and they won’t see us.”
To his surprise, Ruth nodded without protest. “Please,” she said.
Now he was really worried.
Chapter Eighteen
Evan had insisted that Ruth come back to his flat. She still hadn’t eaten, and he wasn’t happy about it.
Usually, Ruth wouldn’t be either—but that evening’s standoff had stolen her appetite. Still, they sat at his narrow kitchen table, and she ate a sandwich, and he watched as if he’d never seen mastication before.
Finally, forcing down a leaden bite of bread and ham, she asked, “What?”
He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table-top. “You going to tell me what that was about?”
Ruth shrugged. “Figure it out.”
“You know, I’d love to. I’d love to figure you out.