Wendy Etherington - Can't Help Falling In Love

As she stood, the room spun. “Damn.” She held her arm out to balance herself. She was not going to faint again.

Jack’s strong arm slid around her waist. “Change of plans. You’re goin’ to the emergency room.”

“No.” Wesley and Steve knew—and had dated—nearly every nurse in the hospital. “I have Tylenol at home.”

Crash!

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the bar.

“What in the hell…” Jack began, obviously noticing the rumble for the first time.

“Terrific,” Gus said in disgust just as one of the men tossed a bowl of beer nuts at Flash. She retaliated by pouring a mug of beer over his head.

In one smooth, quick motion, Jack picked up Skyler and deposited her in the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

Before she could so much as blink—and the blinking hurt like hell—he’d started across the room.

What in the world was he doing? Skyler wondered in horror as she watched him stride purposefully into the fray. He’s a hero, remember? A reckless, foolish—

He ducked a handful of pretzels flying through the air, stepped over a puddle of chicken wing sauce, then grabbed the thrower by the front of his shirt, as Skyler stared in fascination. Flash charged toward him on the other side, but Jack merely held her back by grabbing her shoulder.

“Let’s all calm down,” he said.

A couple of guys in the crowd, not liking the interference, tossed nacho chips—cheese included—at Jack. The chips fluttered uselessly at his feet, but the thick, orangy sauce landed with a plop in his hair.

Skyler winced. That stuff was going to be nasty to get out when it dried.

The room fell silent for a second or two, then all hell broke loose.

Beer nuts flew. Chicken bones sailed. Chips crunched beneath boots. Shouts echoed off the walls. People slid through pools of cheese sauce and beer.

It was a smelly, slippery, icky mess. Skyler debated between throwing herself into the middle as the voice of reason, or remaining safely in the booth and laughing her fanny off.

“Anybody who smashes a glass gets arrested,” Gus shouted into the confusion.

Jack disappeared behind the bar for a few minutes, then returned with a mop and a bucket. He stood silently next to a stool, cheese dripping off his head, as if waiting for the melee to die down so he could deal with the mess.

She’d known the man less than a week. How could he cause such a roller coaster of pride and hilarity to race through her?

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway.

Flinching, Skyler turned to face her brother.

THE VIEW FROM the Baxter City Jail wasn’t bad, Jack reflected.

The simple, tidy room contained just two battered oak desks—one manned by a bored-looking sergeant—a few vending machines and two cells. Other than the recent addition of a hall leading to some new offices, Jack didn’t have much trouble picturing the place occupied by Sheriff Taylor and Barney Fife of Mayberry.

Skyler paced the floor in front of him, her breasts bobbing with the movement, her worn jeans hugging her hips and thighs. Full of guilt, he wondered how much her eye hurt and if they could pick up at the kiss where they left off.

Of course they were on opposite sides of the bars, so that might be a bit difficult to accomplish at the moment.

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll get you out of there,” she said, holding a fresh ice pack to her eye as she turned, then started across the front of the cell again. “Gus is talking to Wes now. He’ll explain how you were trying to help.”

Jack clenched the bars in frustration. Trying to help didn’t seem like much comfort at the moment.

The fighting had ended amicably enough. At the appearance of the police, fighters and patrons alike had blinked innocently, dropped their chicken wings and chips and picked up their drinks as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Lieutenant Wesley Kimball had strolled in with calm authority, received a rundown of the events from a grateful Gus, then proceeded to take down the names of the ones who’d wrecked the bar owner’s property. Gus agreed not to press charges as long as the fighters cleaned up and paid for the food. Wes had even acknowledged Jack’s assistance in controlling the situation.

Until he noticed his precious baby sister’s swollen eye.

Then Jack and everyone else had been taken straight to jail—do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

“This is all your fault, man,” Mike, one of his fellow detainees, said grumpily.

Jack turned to stare at the man who’d brandished a bowl of beer nuts at him less than an hour ago. “My fault?”

“Yeah.” Mike’s jaw jutted forward. “You had to break up a perfectly good brawl.”

“Oh, shut up,” Flash said. “This is your fault. If you hadn’t thrown those nachos—”

“Pipe down in there,” the desk sergeant called from the other side of the room.

Flash and Mike turned their backs to one another.

Skyler laid her hands over Jack’s through the bars. “They can’t hold you if Gus doesn’t press charges, right?”

Her bright blue eyes were so liquid with worry he didn’t want to tell her the truth. At the very least, the police could charge any and all of them with disturbing the peace, destruction of property, attempted assault, actual assault, criminal mischief, etcetera, etcetera. And, frankly, he was more concerned that her brother was, right at this moment, plotting to pin everything from J.F.K.’s assassination to MonicaGate on him.

He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Everything will work out,” he said without much confidence.

“I’d back off, if I were you, Tesson,” Wes called from down the hall. “Going near my sister was what got you into this mess in the first place.”

Jack bit back his reply as Wes Kimball sauntered toward the cells, Gus trailing in his wake.

Skyler ran toward him. “You let Jack out of there right now, Wesley. This is outrageous! He tried to stop the fight.”

Wes smiled down at her, patting her on the head as he walked by.

Jack didn’t think dismissing Skyler was such a wise move—or was going to be quite so easy.

Skyler threw her ice pack on the floor and charged after him. With her red, swollen eye and I’ve-had-it-up-to-here expression, it looked as though the next casualty in this war would be Wes Kimball. “I’m warning you,” she said.

“Not now, Sky,” he said, his blue eyes, so like his sister’s, radiated anger as he stared at Jack. “Toss me those keys, Sergeant.” After unlocking the cell doors, he gestured in the direction he’d just come. “This way, Tesson.”

Rolling his shoulders, Jack walked out of the cell. It was time they had this out. His and Skyler’s relationship, if they even had one, was none of Wes’s business, but he’d dealt with hotheaded cops before and knew arguing would only egg him on. Jack intended to keep a hold on his already strained temper and show this jerk a thing or two about self-control.

His gut clenched as he preceded Wes down the hall, remembering the time his parents had been arrested in an animal rights protest, and he’d driven all night to Dallas to bail them out of jail.

They were halfway down the hall when Skyler joined them. “You’re not talking to Jack without me.”

Jack was suddenly reminded this was the woman who’d sacrificed herself for him. She’d instinctively stepped in front of Flash’s punch, telling him more about her strength and loyalty in one brief moment than he suspected most people learned in a lifetime. No one had ever done anything like that for him.

Wes sighed. “Come on, then. It’s time I found out what’s going on between you two anyway.”