Page 50 of Wistful in Wyoming
Dale pulledhis truck to a stop outside Ducky’s, put it in park, and quickly reviewed his list before getting out and striding toward the doors. Muttering under his breath not to forget to swing by the post office and pick up a package for Willow, he forced his mind to focus on what he was doing. He was anxious to get the errands done quickly, so he could finish his workday early and spend the late afternoon and evening with Jay. Despite the incident with the cattle and hate-filled note, last night had been amazing.
After they’d left Jeremiah’s workshop, they’d gone back to the house and watched a movie before retiring to the bedroom. Making love to Jeremiah—and making love is exactly what it’d been—had made Dale feel complete. A piece of himself that he hadn’t even realized was missing had clicked into place. Now, he didn’t want to be apart from Jeremiah, even for one night. It was way too soon to live together, but he was desperately hoping for some more sleepovers—hopefully almost every night.
“Look, it’s that fucking faggot.” The snarled slur drew his attention, freezing his blood and sending a shot of adrenaline surging through him. Grady’s warning came back to him, that someone might want to hurt him and Jeremiah, and his advice that they arm themselves.
In Wyoming, any legal resident of the United States, twenty-one years old or older, who could lawfully possess a firearm, was allowed to carry a concealed handgun without a permit. The state also had a “stand your ground” law, which meant if a person feared they were in danger of imminent death or serious bodily injury, they could employ deadly force against the person threatening them. Unfortunately, Dale had left his pistol at home, convinced he didn’t need it while working at the ranch and forgetting to grab it before he’d headed into town.
The source of the derogatory comment was that bastard, Schneider, who was leaning against the wall next to the entrance to Ducky’s, smoking on a cigarette. He was flanked by Benson and Skinner. Seemed like a few of the homophobic assholes in the Rock had found each other.Great, it’s a party!
Dale kept his mouth shut, resolving to get inside the store and not engage. Just like bullies on a schoolyard, the best thing was to ignore them as much as possible. Their weapons were just words. Hateful, disgusting words, but all the same, he could be the bigger man and walk away. No matter how much he wanted to beat all three of them to a pulp and show them exactly how hard this queer could hit.
Schneider stepped forward, directly into Dale’s path. “Boy, I was talking to you.”
“Get out of my way.” Dale kept his eyes trained on Schneider, even though his military training made him hyper-aware of what else was going on around him. The other two assholes pushed off the wall and circled around Dale, boxing him in. The hair on the back of his neck rose—this was quickly becoming dangerous. He was surrounded and outnumbered.Shit.
He shoved his list into his pocket, settling his weight evenly on the balls of his feet and readying himself for the fight that was sure to come. His gut was in knots at the expectation of violence. He could feel the tension crackling in the air around him. His mind calmed, and he relaxed into a defensive stance. His time in the Marines had conditioned him for situations like this. Three on one wasn’t a fair fight, and he was sure he was about to get his ass kicked, but he’d be taking at least one of them down with him. Maybe two if he was quick enough.
“I don’t think so. You need to get it through your thick skull you’re not wanted. This town doesn’t need perverts like you in it.” Schneider poked him in the chest as he spoke.
“Don’t fucking touch me. This is your one chance. Walk away. Now.” He fought to put as much authority into his voice as possible.
“Oh, look at that, boys! This fairy has some bite to him,” Benson taunted. “We don’t got to do shit, faggot.”
Schneider flicked his lit cigarette at Dale’s face. While Dale was able to dodge the butt, it was just enough distraction for him to get caught off guard. Someone, probably Skinner, shoved him in the back, and Dale’s foot shot out in response, connecting a kick to the guy’s gut. Anoomphfollowed it, even as Dale stumbled, off balance. He recovered quickly, knowing that every second counted.
He raised his fists, protecting his face, and shouted, “Come on then, you fuckers!”
A red haze of rage fell across his line of sight as his fists shot out, connecting both jabs and punches. He blocked as many of the strikes aimed at him as he could but took just as much damage as he dished out. The assholes fought dirty. Dale knew he had to stay on his feet as long as possible, hoping someone saw the fight and called 9-1-1. If they got him to the ground, it would be all over. They’d kick him to death.
After taking a sucker punch to the jaw, he spit a mouthful of blood into Skinner’s face, following it with a perfect jab to his nose, which gave way with a rewardingcrunch. The redneck staggered back, squealing, and holding both hands to his nose as he bled all over himself and the sidewalk.
With no time to reap any satisfaction, Dale turned his attention back to Schneider. Pivoting his weight to his back leg, he kicked the man in the ribs, his shin making solid contact. With a pain-filled yelp, Schneider twisted away, grabbing his side protectively while glaring daggers at Dale who was holding his own better than expected. If they’d rushed him all at once, it would’ve been over by now.
While Schneider paused a moment to catch his breath, Benson took his friend’s place, swinging with strength but little finesse, although still managing to tuck his meaty fist into Dale’s side. Grunting in pain, he whirled around, striking out as he moved. His powerful haymaker punch connected with Benson’s jaw with a sickeningcrack,and the man crumbled to the sidewalk, out cold. Sirens wailed in the distance, but they couldn’t get there fast enough for Dale. Spitting blood, he turned back to Schneider who shouted something unintelligible and threw an orange-sized rock at Dale’s head. He tried to duck, but it still glanced off his skull, just above his ear, making him see stars. He stumbled, and Schneider rushed forward.
Something metallic reflected the midday sun, sparkling as Schneider swung his fist, and Dale, stunned by the rock, couldn't move fast enough to avoid the blow. His stomach burned white-hot before he realized the bastard had pulled a knife, and he’d just been sliced open. The pain and dizziness in his head overwhelmed everything else, but his abs felt scorched and wet. He ignored it for the moment.
Rage surged through him, and he advanced on Schneider, determined to end this once and for all. A wave of weakness crashed over him, making his legs shake and bringing him up short.Fuck.
His injuries had to be worse than he thought. He struggled to stay on his feet, buying some more time for the deputies to get there.
Off to Dale’s right side, Skinner had managed to get back up and was holding onto a post on the feed’s store’s front porch for support. His eyes widened at Schneider still brandishing the knife. “What the fuck? Are you crazy? Don’t kill him!”
Yeah, what he fucking said.
“Watch me!” Schneider responded before pressing forward again, clear, murderous intent in his eyes. The knife was tight in his fist, gleaming and ready to gut Dale.
Dale’s surroundings began to spin and blur. Despite his best efforts to remain standing, his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees. Glancing down, he gasped in horror at the sight of his own blood. His formally white shirt was stained a deep ruby, and his jeans were quickly becoming saturated as well, the wash of blood soaking the fabric down to his knees.
“Fuck ...” Everything grew hazier as white and black spots danced at the edges of his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear it, but it was no use.
“Sheriffs! Drop the knife! Hands in the air!” The voice shouting sounded familiar, but Dale couldn’t place where he’d heard it before—it seemed so far away and almost garbled. Other sounds were muffled, like he was underwater.
Trying to stem the flow of blood, he clutched his stomach as he swayed on his knees, suddenly so dizzy he couldn’t hold his head up. His last sight before he pitched forward was his hat tumbling from his head and falling onto the bloody sidewalk.
“Jay ...” he whispered before his world went black.
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