I whirled around. “Just because you kissed me does not grant you the right to touch me whenever you want, Dawson. Get your hand off me or I will break it.”
John-John fumbled a lowball glass.
Dawson increased his grip. “Just because you kissed me doesn’t grant you the right to blow me off when I want to talk to you in an official capacity, Gunderson. Laronda threatened to press charges, and there’s a whole bar full of witnesses to back her up that you attacked her unprovoked. So if you don’t want to end up in jail, listen to me.”
“Unprovoked? Bull.”
Dawson put his hot mouth against my ear. “Play along.”
I snorted. “Like that’ll happen.”
“I’ll haul you outside. We’ll decide what to do from there, but you can’t stay in here.”
“Do I have to apologize to that phony bitch?”
“No.”
“How do you know she won’t follow us to make sure you’re arresting me?”
“It’s pouring outside. She’s not gonna get her hairdo wet or else she’ll look like a drowned cat. And if she presses the issue, I’ll dissuade her.”
It was bizarre, holding an intense conversation without making eye contact with him. “How? With your cowboy charm?”
“If I have to. Or I’ll have you press charges against her for attempted vehicular assault.”
That comment took a second to sink in. “You knew?”
“No, I didn’t know, I figured it out. And I don’t appreciate your acting so damn surprised that I was doing my job.”
“So why the hell didn’t you tell me that bitch tried to kill me-”
“Because you would’ve killed her.” He paused. His rapid breathing stirred my hair; shivers cascaded from my scalp to my toes. “And she’s not worth doing time for.”
My head swam. From too much booze, too much anger, too many unanswered questions, and too many secrets. Dawson’s deep voice whispering in my ear wasn’t helping clear my mind. “You looking to throw me in jail for attempted assault?”
He made a noise, half growl/half laugh. “You? In a bed? Fifty feet from my office? With a door that locks? That’s punishing me, not you.”
Sexual heat flashed through me, igniting a more dangerous edge than anger. My head said, “Not now,” but I angled my face until his lips grazed my temple. “Dawson-”
“Dammit, Mercy. Don’t do this. Don’t say another word until we’re out of here.”
Before I could respond, he yanked me off my bar stool.
“Come on. Outside.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice.
“Let go of me.”
Dawson dragged me through the gathering crowd.
I tried to twist out of his hold. “Keep your hands off. I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s what they all say.”
He herded me past the jukebox. I caught a glimpse of Laronda’s puffy red hair and her Cheshire grin. “Where are you taking me?”
“One guess.”
I stopped. “I am not going to jail.”
Dawson loomed over me and glared. “Move it. Outside.”
I spun on my heel and marched to the door without looking back. My body pulsed with irritation. Burned my ass to back down from Laronda. It went against everything I did. Everything I was. My job was to take down bullies, not to turn tail and run.
Outside, rain slapped my face. No wind, but it was pitch-black except for glints of lightning. The absence of light, the continual deluge, my inebriated state, and my bad eye were a bad combination. I stumbled through potholes that’d become mud puddles. I patted my pockets.
No keys.
A jagged line of lightning illuminated Dawson standing right in front of me. My heart jackhammered when he grabbed my shoulders. “Don’t touch me.”
“Tough shit. What is wrong with you?”
“Why don’t you tell me? I’m sure you’ve compiled a mile-long list like everyone else in this godforsaken county.”
His palms slid over my collarbones in a long caress up my neck to hold my face in his hands. Rain streamed down his cheeks, tiny droplets clung to the tips of his hair. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
He shook me a little. “No matter what I do or don’t do, you still don’t trust me. Why were you drinking yourself into the gutter and picking fights tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Tell me.”
Booze, nerves, fear, and frustration made me rant. “You wanna start with the dead bodies showing up at my place? Or that my nephew was murdered? Or that some bastard tried to burn down my house and barn? Or that someone broke into my home and assaulted my sister? Or shall we skip to the part where I remind you that you’re not doing your job, the job my father did with pride for years. The job my father handpicked you to do because he… couldn’t do it anymore, and goddammit, I can’t believe he’s dead and I didn’t get to say good-bye. I’m dealing with this shit by myself. Again. Why am I always the one left holding the goddamned bag?” My breath hitched.
“Mercy-”
I waved off his show of pity. “But because I’m Wyatt Gunderson’s daughter, people trust me, and expect I can solve their problems. I don’t want that trust. You should want it. This”-I gestured to the scant space separating us-“is just making it worse.”
“Worse? How could it be worse? No one trusts me, least of all you. And I’m sick of you thinking I’m inept and I don’t give a shit about three dead kids. I am not an insult to the office that your father held for so many years.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but me defending myself isn’t what this is about, is it?”
No. “Just leave me alone. Why do you even care what the hell I think?”
Dawson locked his soulful eyes to mine. “I care because I saw the strongest woman I know lose it tonight. You’re on the edge, Mercy, and I’m part of the reason you’re there.”
I looked away. Damn him. The flashes of lighting bounced strobelike around us and made me woozy. I swayed to the ground.
But Dawson followed me. We were on our knees, in the mud, rain pelting us, thunder crashing around us.
“Hey.” He attempted to move my tangled hair from my eyes.
I knocked his hand away. “Take a hint, Dawson. Go.”
“No. Why won’t you trust me?”
“Give me one reason why I should.”
“Because your dad did. And on some gut level you do, too.”
He’d said the one thing that guaranteed my emotional reaction. Grief punched me hard and knocked the fight right out of me.
Dawson softened his hold. Evidently he’d made his point.
Tempting, to curl in a ball and weep for everything I’d lost in the last two months, including my dignity. Naturally, I wouldn’t give into such a female reaction, especially not in public. I clenched my teeth against the gathering tears, but my protective shields were worthless.
He hauled me to my feet. “You’re in no shape to drive.”
“No kidding.”
“Where are your keys?”
“I gave them to Muskrat.”
“Good. Let me take you home.”
I didn’t argue. He clasped my hand in his and directed me to his truck.
Silence filled the humid cab. Windshield wipers slapped ineffectually against the pouring rain. Even with the heater cranked full blast I couldn’t keep the bone-rattling chills at bay. Resting my forehead on my knees, I concentrated on breathing.
The truck stopped. My body seized up. Dawson didn’t ask; he just picked me up and carried me inside my house.
Two times in less than a week I’d let him treat me like a baby. It’d make my humiliation complete if I started bawling like one.
The house was dark. I shook so hard Dawson almost dropped me going up the stairs. In the bathroom, he sat me on the toilet, shut the door, and flipped on the shower. Steam filled the small space.
Dawson fell to his knees in front of me, leaving gloppy mud splotches on the fluffy pink bathroom rug. When my fingers wouldn’t cooperate, he said, “I’ll help you get undressed.” He unhooked the buttons on my blouse. “Then I’ll put you in the shower to warm you up.”