“I think that’s when he said I should fuck myself.”
“And?”
“And I said I’d rather fuck myself than a short man with a little penis.”
Dylan’s head suddenly ached like a bitch and his eye began to hurt a lot more. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s when he reached across the table and tried to grab me. I screamed and that skinnier guy grabbed the short guy and pulled him out of the booth. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know what would have happened.”
Dylan knew. Emmett probably would have smacked her around before someone put a stop to it. Dylan was going to hogtie him just for the fun of it.
“So he didn’t touch you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you with anything like a knife or a broken bottle?”
“No.”
Lewis Plummer finally entered the bar and moved through the crowd toward Dylan. “Did someone take a poke at you?”
“Yep. Go ahead and Mirandize Emmett Barnes, then charge him with aggravated assault and aggravated battery on a police officer. I didn’t find anything on him, but just to be sure, why don’t you frisk him again?”
“What about Hayden?”
Dylan returned his gaze to Hope. “Did you see who swung first?”
“The short guy.”
“Hayden can go home.”
“Are you going to come into the station?” Lewis asked.
“No. Adam is at home with a sitter, so I’ll do the paperwork in the morning.”
“See ya in the morning, then.” Lewis held up his hand in an abbreviated wave.
Dylan watched his deputy pull Emmett to his feet, then turned to look into Hope’s face. She was still a bit pale and her eyes still a bit glazed, but she didn’t appear too upset by her experience at the Buckhorn. “Do you want to go to the station and make a statement tonight, or would you prefer to come in tomorrow morning?”
“I just want to go home.”
Someone plugged the juke back in, the lights were once again turned low, and Deputy Plummer escorted Emmett Barnes from the bar. It was ten o’clock, two hours before closing time. Just enough time for those still around to polish off a few more beers.
“Are you okay to drive?” he asked Hope as Conway Twitty once again poured from the juke.
She glanced down at herself, and Dylan glanced, too. At her tight spandex shorts and sports bra. Light from a Coors sign flashed from across the bar and lit up her flat stomach. “I jogged here,” she said.
Dylan forced his gaze from the blue light shining on her belly button. “Let me get my cuffs from Burley and I’ll take you home.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“Dylan,” he reminded her.
“Dylan.” Then it happened. For the first time since she’d driven her little sports car into town, she smiled at him. Her full lips curved upward and she flashed him the straightest teeth he’d seen since leaving L.A. He figured relief from her ordeal must have warmed her up. Most women tended to get real weepy or real grateful after an ordeal.
From behind, someone placed a caressing hand around Dylan’s arm, and he looked over his shoulder and down into the shadows hiding Dixie Howe’s eyes. “Here’s your hat, Dylan.”
“Thanks, Dixie.” He brushed his hair back and replaced his hat.