Gracie, on the other hand, became less animated as the conversation wore on. He almost signaled for another beer when he remembered he was spending her money. And driving. She rested her chin in her hand and looked over at the bar. Dylan followed suit. Clayton yawned and pointed to his watch.

“Getting late?” Dylan asked.

“It is for Clay. He has early rounds tomorrow.”

Said doctor crossed the room, stumbled slightly, and then put his hand on Gracie’s shoulder. “You ‘bout ready to go, darlin’?”

“Sure. What about you, Tanya?”

“I’m ready.” She picked up her jacket and purse, then slid Dylan a sloe-eyed look. “Unless you’d like me to stay longer. We can go over some more of my—assets.”

He laughed, but shook his head. “Tempting, but I can’t listen to this music another minute.”

Without warning, a meaty hand with a tattooed panther coiling around the wrist and up the forearm landed on Dylan’s shoulder and jerked him backward. A monster-sized biker loomed over him. “You sayin’ you don’t like my choice of music?”

Size alone wouldn’t cause Dylan to back away from a fight. He’d been spoiling for one all night, and he could see from the beer belly lapping over the waistband of this guy’s jeans that most of his muscle had turned to fat years ago. Dylan didn’t think he’d be the one to come out on the short end of the stick. But he’d drawn more than enough attention for one night. He wasn’t so juvenile that he’d let some clown lure him into a bar fight just because their taste in music differed. Before he could answer, Gracie jumped in. Again.

“Gosh, no, Marvin,” she said. “He loves country music. He meant he couldn’t stand to go another minute without hearing some more Garth. Thunder Rolls is his favorite, and you haven’t played that more than five or six times.”

Marvin unclamped his hand from Dylan’s shoulder, rolled his beer bottle between his palms and squinted suspiciously at Dylan. “That right, pal?”

This time Dylan had no doubt about whether it was relief or humiliation he felt toward Gracie. Humiliation definitely prevailed. Laced with strains of annoyance. Maybe even anger. Why did she keep interfering? Not once, not twice, but three times in one night. That was one thing he’d straighten her out about when they got home. He didn’t need anyone to keep him out of trouble, let alone the aggravating little Dr. Fix-It.

And looking at her in the dim light of the pub, all happy-faced and smiling, he realized she didn’t have a clue she’d done anything wrong. She’d been doing what Gracie liked to do best. Step in to fill a need, avoid trouble, and smooth things over for a friend.

And he was the friend. He liked the sound of that. Maybe what she’d done wasn’t so bad after all. But he’d still talk to her about it. Later. For now, he’d go along. Again.

“That’s right,” he agreed, glad he wasn’t under oath. “Love that Garth.”

“Hell, Gracie.” Marvin beamed at her with a gold tooth gleaming in the front of his mouth. “You should have said somethin’. Stick around. Thunder Rolls is comin’ up next.” He tipped his beer bottle back and drained it, belching loudly before swaggering away to rejoin his friends at the pool table.

With the show over, everyone else heaved sighs of relief or disappointment and returned to his or her own business.

“I’m going to stop in the restroom,” Gracie said, “but I’ve got the truck, so you guys don’t have to wait.”

“I’ll go with you.” Tanya headed for the ladies’ room.

“I’ll wait,” Dylan and Clayton said in unison.

Arms crossed, they glowered at one another. They tapped their toes to the song Dylan presumed was his new favorite and glowered some more.

“You can leave any time,” Dylan said. “I’ll follow Gracie to make sure she gets home safely.”

“That’s okay.” Clayton enunciated each word with exaggerated precision. “I b’lieve in seeing my date home.”

“You’re on a date? And a threesome, at that. Is it common here to let your dates entertain another man while you sit at the bar and drink?”

“Tanya’s not with us. I mean I’m not with Tanya.” The idea seemed to alarm him. “Gracie just invited her along becaush—because she felt sorry for her. The same reason she invited you to join them.”

“Okay.” How many beers Clayton had put away?

“I wouldn’t go getting any ideas about Gracie if I were you.” A hiccup punctuated the advice. “You can’t expect her to like someone who spent the night hiding behind her skirt.”

“Haven’t you been doing that your whole life?” Dylan asked with a smirk.

Chapter Thirteen

The punch came out of nowhere and slammed into Dylan’s nose with a sickening crunch. Seeing stars at the same time blood spurted everywhere, he returned the blow with a stirring sense of exhilaration. Finally, someone had obliged him with a fight. One he didn’t have to start, and one that Gracie wasn’t around to stop. Clayton stepped in close, pounding precision blows into Dylan’s ribs. Clayton grunted when Dylan pummeled him in return.

By the time they broke apart, Dylan’s vision had cleared. Clayton groaned, held his right hand gingerly and covered his eye with his left. Dylan slumped against the table searching for something to staunch the blood flowing from his nose.

A weight with the force of an anvil landed in the middle of his back. He crashed into the table, flipping it over. Dishes flew in every direction, and Gracie shrieked in the background. Before he got to his feet, she had launched herself onto the back of his assailant, the biker named Marvin.

“Cut it out, Marvin. Don’t hurt your hands!”

Dylan wrapped his arms around her waist to haul her out of harm’s way. Clayton reached for her at the same time.

“Leave her alone.” Clayton tried to push Dylan away.

“You leave her alone.” Dylan returned the shove.

Clayton responded with a swing. Dylan ducked. The fist landed in Marvin’s side instead, and he folded in half with an ooph! All hell broke loose as the other bikers and some roughnecks from the bar joined in.

Punches landed indiscriminately before Guidry pulled Marvin off Clayton, breaking Clayton’s grip on Brinker, Brinker’s arm lock on Dylan, and Dylan’s chokehold on one of the bikers. Guidry thumped heads together like melons, and the brawlers lost interest fast.

“Get out, all of you.” He steered Dylan and Clayton to the door with a firm hand on Dylan’s elbow and a steadying arm around Clay’s shoulders. The bikers and others who had jumped into the fray stumbled out the door and scattered, hooting and hollering as they went.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Guidry,” a biker said.

“Didn’t know you packed such a wallop, Clay,” one of the fishermen called out.

“Helluva good fight,” Marvin muttered, slapping Dylan on his back as he passed by.

“You sure your hands are all right, Marvin?” Gracie asked.

“They’re fine.” He waved away her concern.

The roar of Harleys and pickup trucks faded into the night. Guidry started in on Clayton, who required a steadying hand to keep him upright. Gracie and Tanya eyed Clayton and Dylan with reproach, but remained silent.

“Doc, you know better than this. I thought you were here with Gracie. You should’ve quit drinking about three beers ago if you intended to drive home.” The bartender fished in Clayton’s jacket pocket and extracted his keys. “You either find yourself a ride, or I’ll call the police chief to come see the damage you and your buddy caused.”

“Not my buddy,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “I’ll walk home.”

“I’ll take him.” Tanya’s offer surprised everyone. Especially Clayton, if his slack-jawed expression was any indication. “Looks like he’ll need some tending when he gets there, and since I have a three-year-old, I’m pretty handy with a Band-Aid.”

“Gracie can patch me up.” Clayton tried to stand without Guidry’s support and failed.