Witcher Upper - Amy Boyles Page 0,1

And how were there no other men in this bar right now? Usually the place was packed with folks. Then I remembered—it was Wednesday, and everyone was congregating not at the bar but at church services.

Sadie’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and jumped off her stool. “Oh, this is about the antique mantle I’m wanting for the barn. I saw it online and called the seller.”

“This late?” I said, surprised. “Most businesses are done at six.”

“Um. I guess they’re just now checking voice mails.” She shot me an exasperated look. “I swear, this barn renovation is going to kill me.”

I scoffed. “Kill you? We haven’t even poured the foundation and the Dooleys are already all over my back about reinforcing the poles.”

Sadie shot me a sympathetic look. “That’s what Liam’s for.”

Liam was Sadie’s boyfriend and our construction manager. Without his help, our little company never would have made it as far as it has.

“Hello?” Sadie said, answering her phone. “Oh, hey!” She mouthed to me that she’d see me tomorrow and left, leaving me alone with the truckers and the girl. There was still no sign of Shane. Had the keg of beer attacked him? Eaten him? Where the heck was he?

I heard the girl whimper. One of the truckers had his hand wrapped around her arm and was trying to tug her out of the chair.

I’d had enough. I couldn’t sit by one minute longer and watch the scene. For lack of a better cliché to use, somebody needed to teach those boys some manners.

“Get your hands off her.” I rose, doing my best to look like a butt-kicking woman in a dress and heels. In reality my nerves were frazzled. Sweat stuck to my skin in all the wrong places—under my bra line, ringing my panty line. Hopefully my appearance didn’t mirror the grossness that I felt.

“Mind your own business,” one trucker said.

I stepped forward. “The lady doesn’t want to be bothered, and I think y’all need to leave.”

The first trucker was a real gnarly dude who looked like he hadn’t showered in days. Scratch that. The air-conditioning picked up his scent and sent it straight to my nose—he definitely hadn’t showered in days. He smelled of dirty clothes and grime.

That charmer gave me a toothy grin. “Well now, why don’t you join the fun?”

My gaze darted down to Lady, who peered at me with curiosity. There were some things I wished to keep from my dog—like all the badness in the world. This situation had the markings of badness written all over it—the man standing in front of me just didn’t know it yet.

“Y’all need to back down,” I said. “Leave the girl alone and get out. You’re drunk and about to do something stupid.”

The stinky trucker thumbed at me while laughing at his fellow trucker. “Lady here thinks we need to get out. I’m happy to get out.” He placed a meaty paw on the girl’s shoulder. She jumped at his touch. “But not without her. She said she wants to come with us for some fun. You can come, too.”

The look of fright on her face took me back again, reminded me of a place from my past that I didn’t want to visit. I folded my arms and shrugged. “If she wanted to go, wouldn’t she be getting up? She wants to stay where she is.”

He dropped his hand from her and dragged his feet over to me. All the booze he’d drunk made his eyes glassy. “You know what,” he said, his words slurring, “I bet you want to come with me, too. Buddy,” he said to his friend, “let’s take ’em both out for fun.”

What an original name—Buddy. Like, did his mama give him that or had Loser Number One crowned him Buddy because it was easier to remember than, say, Reginald?

I’d say the chances were fifty-fifty in both directions.

But Buddy, being the good sidekick, did exactly as his friend said. He picked up the girl, who squealed.

“It’ll be okay,” I called as Buddy started to walk her toward the door.

Don’t worry, Buddy would not make it outside. Loser Number One jeered. “Now come on, pretty girl. Let’s go have some fun.”

My body coiled with tension as I waited. The moment was about to arrive, and for once I couldn’t wait for it to happen.

I tipped my face toward his, noting the enlarged pores, the red nose, the watery eyes—all repulsive—and whispered, “Aren’t you going to touch me?”

He jeered.