Perfect Night (Mason Creek #4) - Terri E. Laine Page 0,36

Aiden’s. I’d left early without getting spotted. Even my neighbor hadn’t caught me slinking into my house around dawn. I hated to leave him, but I didn’t want him to get more grief.

Lucky for me, so far no one had been bold enough to ask me about my dad’s coffin being dug up. It could have been because a man whose family had all left town passed the day before. People could have assumed they were digging his grave if they saw the dirt and didn’t go into the cemetery for a closer inspection.

Josie came over with a drink order. “Emma, I’m sorry to have to put this on you, but that table of guys over there—” she nodded at table eleven.

I knew who she was talking about. I didn’t recognize any of them. They weren’t locals. They likely worked on a nearby ranch or with a logging company just out of town. They were drinking heavily and talking way too loudly. I’d been keeping an eye on them worried about trouble.

“What’s up?”

She glanced down like she didn’t want to tell me. “The one guy with the shoulder length, shaggy hair keeps putting his hands on my ass. I told him politely to stop. Usually—”

“Jack or my dad would have put a stop to it,” I finished for her.

She nodded.

“Mind the bar for a minute,” I said. I was the only bartender for the night.

Dad kept two things under the bar. A baseball bat and a shotgun. The latter was in a hidden gun case that opened by fingerprint. Mine and his were the only ones that could unlock it as far as I knew. That was the one thing he’d invested money in. He’d told me he didn’t want to have to use it but wanted it easily accessible if needed. I wasn’t even sure Jack knew it was there. It was tucked under a lower shelf. If you bent down and saw it, it looked as if it was part of the structure of the bar, there for support.

I didn’t get either and sidled over to the table with a wide smile. I made sure to stop at the corner of the table where said asshole she spoke of sat. “How are you boys doing tonight?” I asked.

All eyes were on my tits, covered as they were, but it didn’t matter to them. My tank top was form fitting, and it didn’t hide my curves.

“We’d be doing a lot better if you joined us,” the asshole said before his hand went right to my ass.

I smiled and leaned down because I wanted to make sure he heard me loud and clear. He took my movement as invitation, grinning like a cat who’d caught a mouse. “If you don’t take your hands off me or any of my staff, you’ll come to regret it,” I said while still smiling before I knocked his hand away not so gently.

The other guys around the table jeered and pointed at him with their peanut gallery comments. It was too bad the asshole’s ego was too fragile and he put his hand back. In quick succession, I raised my arm and used my elbow like a battering ram against his nose. Blood squirted and the table got quiet.

“You broke my nose,” the asshole whined.

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your hand, which would put you out of a job. If you want to keep those fingers, keep your goddamn hands to yourself.” I didn’t curse often, but it felt appropriate here. Then, I sweetly announced to the table, “Don’t forget to pay your tab on the way out.”

Before I got two feet away, he said, “I should call the cops.”

I turned and grinned because his head was tilted back as he held his nose. “Please do because putting your hands on me and my waitresses is called assault and battery.” I pointed to his ruined nose. “That’s called self-defense. So yes, please call the sheriff so we can put it on the record.” When he just sneered at me, I added, “Or maybe you have a record.”

By the hate in his eyes, I guessed he did. The kind that had probably had him still on parole and bringing the police would only put his ass back to jail.

“Bitch,” he muttered. It was the best he could do.

“Just pay the tab and get the hell out of my bar.”

Some of guys who’d played football back when I was in high school came over. Big strapping