Page 2 of The Heat is On

The guy must have muttered something, because Tucker held up his hands as ifI don’t want any trouble.

And probably, he didn’t. Because Tucker wasn’t a brawler. But she’d also seen him swing a Pulaski. For hours and days on end. The man had shoulders, grit and aget ’er doneabout him that meant Alaskan Tough Guy didn’t have a chance.

More, given the mood in the bar, Tucker wouldn’t be the only one diving into the simmering brawl. Everyone on the team seemed restless, the burning sky pouring a faux energy into their exhausted bones like a shot of Red Bull that ignited a humming under their skin, ready to flash over.

Until this moment, they’d found it playing darts and talking trash about some football team playing in a rerun on the flat screen below the moose head.

Now, the table of teammates stilled, poised.

Skye cast her gaze over the others in the room. The lucky guys with the chili fries at the table nearby also watched the conversation, a couple of them moose sized. But at the bar, a big guy wearing a denim shirt ignored the entire thing, his cowboy boot hooked onto the rail.

But Riley had turned, setting his beer on the bar.

Then, a chair scooted out and Romeo and Seth rose.

One of the moose men at the table of flannel slipped out of his chair.

“I just want to make sure—” Tucker said.

Tough Guy sent Tucker into the rail with a right hook.

The entire bar erupted. Flannels against firefighters. Tucker tackled Tough Guy so fast that Skye lost him in the crowd. Riley leaped on one of the moose men.

Grunting, the skid of chairs and overturned furniture, shouts, and the beefy woman bartender went over the bar wielding a baseball bat and yelling.

Skye pushed out of the booth, not sure where—or how—to start. Because she’d never been in a fight, but her heart told her she had to dosomething.

Except, watching men grapple, hearing shouts and curses and grunts—she froze.

A gun shot punched through the chaos. Sharp and stinging, it jerked everyone to a halt.

The brunette, fire in her eyes, held a gun over her head. “Stop it!”

Skye’s heart thundered.

Then the bartender unleashed enough bar room language to make even the flannels blush. “Every one of you, get out! Unless you’re willing to behave yourselves.”

Apparently, no one wanted to surrender their dinner. Or their night off. Her team began to pick up the chairs, a couple of the flannels helped, slinking back to their table, a couple more to a nearby booth.

Tucker got up and ran his gaze across his guys, then her, as if checking in. “Let it go, guys.” Then he turned to the bar.

Tough Guy slammed his way outside.

Skye slid back into her booth and took a full breath, her pulse in her ears. Maybe that was it—the flame out, the drama for the night spent.

Across the room, Riley was getting a little medical treatment from Larke, who picked up a napkin and dotted some blood at the corner of his mouth.

Oh brother. That Riley McCord was a heartbreaker—she’d seen the damage he’d done in Ember over the past few summers. He’d even made a few moves on her back in the early days. He might not wear any big arm tattoos, but behind those charming brown eyes, the rakish smile, the unruly golden brown hair was trouble.

And the last thing Skye wanted in her life was a bad boy, thank you.

Not that she had any room in her life foranysort of relationship, but if she did, she’d pick, say, the clean-cut blond tourist, maybe a little older than herself, in the blueLife is GoodT-shirt and hiking boots, watching the action from the bar. He sat on a stool, leaning against the rail, holding what looked like a lemonade. A nice guy, probably in town to do some hiking.

Riley walked over and put a quarter in the jukebox.

Come and get your love…

When he held out his hand, Larke drifted into his arms.

---