Page 69 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

I’m transported back in time, the metallic taste of blood lingering in my mouth. So much blood. Everywhere.

“Liv?”

I meet his narrowed eyes and swallow. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Bloody truck drivers. Think they can breeze on in and...” He sighs.

“What? Try to chat up the town’s women?”

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to realise his intentions were far from honourable.”

I huff out a breath. “Jerry...”

“He’s not the first dickhead I’ve had tomanage.”

“As in fight?”

“Call it what you will, but I’ll never stand by while a man treats a woman like that. Ever.”

It’s noble of course, but did something happen in his past that made him this way?

I scout around, sweep up a napkin from the bar, and wipe at the blood trailing down the side of Jerry’s face. “Was that really necessary?” I shake my head. “I had it under control.”

He holds the paper towel to his head and sighs. “The creep had his hands on you.”

“Yes, and if he continued down the path he was headed, my knee would’ve connected to a very intimate part of his body.”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I would’ve loved to see that, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Not the way I was raised. Not seein’ the way he grabbed you.”

I wave at the young bartender with curly brown hair. “Do you have a first aid kit?” I need to clean Jerry up, see what damage has been done. Surely, he’s going to need stiches.

The man nods and motions towards the end of the bar where a door hasOfficeon a brass plaque. “Sure. Come on through.”

We step into the small room. An old timber desk is piled high with paperwork, shelves behind stacked with folders positioned every which way. The bartender walks around the desk and pulls a square, green bag from a drawer.

He hands it to me and offers a soft smile. “Should have everything you need in here.”

“Thanks.” I nod.

As the bartender turns to leave, he pats Jerry on the shoulder. “I’ve been wantin’ to land one on that guy’s chin for a while now.”

The two share a cheeky gaze. The curly-headed guy turns to me. “Are you okay?”

I smile, grateful for his concern. “Fine, thanks. We’ll be out of your hair shortly.”

He leaves us and, somehow, the tiny office seems much smaller with just the two of us in it.

I order Jerry to sit.

He flops into the chair with a thud, his knees swinging out wide. I step between his open knees and peel back the napkin. Thank goodness the bleeding has stopped. Unfortunately, the split skin above his eyebrow will need attention. “You might need some stitches. I’ll clean you up, but you need to get checked out.”

He sits in silence for a moment while I sift through the kit, retrieving the items I need to clean the wound. I dampen some gauze with saline and dab at some minor cuts to his forearm. Must be from rolling around on the ground amongst the broken glass.Idiot.

“It’s good to see you,” he says in a quiet voice.

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