do. I’m strong, and I’ve hauled my share of hay in my younger days.” He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and pulled Olivia around to face him. “And I have a special skill.” His lips twitched.
Her breath hitched and her gaze dropped to his lips. “Oh yeah?” she said, her voice a whisper.
Hawkeye leaned toward her, as if he might kiss her, his lips passing her mouth and going toward her ear. “I know the difference between a steer and a cow.” He leaned back and smiled. Yes, he was flirting with her, but he could tell she needed a little levity in a bad situation. Having lost her father and now with her foreman off the ranch, she had a lot weighing on her shoulders. Hawkeye winked.
Olivia’s lips pressed into a tight line.
Not exactly the reaction he was aiming for. For a moment, Hawkeye thought he might have gone too far flirting with the pretty rancher, and she might slap his face again. Just in case, he leaned back a little farther.
A moment passed and Olivia’s firm lips loosened and spread into a wry smile. “You don’t know how important a skill that is.” She stuck out her hand. “For however long you’re here, you’re hired.”
With an accord reached, Hawkeye shook her hand, an electric shock running up his arm and shooting low into his groin. The woman had an effect on him he hadn’t counted on. Rather than kissing her, like he wanted to, he turned her toward the tavern entrance and ushered her inside with a hand at the small of her back. With everything going wrong in Grizzly Pass, helping Olivia was the first thing that felt right.
As Hawkeye opened the door, a young man was thrown through. He stumbled, fell and landed on his knees on the sidewalk.
A man with a scruffy beard and unkempt brown hair lurched through the door, his face red and splotchy, his breath reeking of booze. “No damned stepson of mine is going to be a dishwasher in a saloon, carrying out other people’s trash.” He pointed a finger at the boy. “Get home, where you belong. You have your own chores to do.”
Olivia crouched to help the teen to his feet.
Once upright, the young man shrugged off her hands and faced the angry man. “I finished the chores before I came to town.”
“Don’t talk back to me, boy,” the man growled.
Hawkeye recognized the drunk man as one of the men Garner had on his watch list. Ernie Martin. A man who had a gripe with the government over the discontinuance of the subsidies on his livestock.
“Get back to the ranch,” Ernie said.
The teen lifted his chin and set his feet slightly apart as if ready to do battle. “I have a job. I need to be here when I said I would.”
“Did your mother tell you that you should get a job?” Ernie snorted. “Is she too lazy to get out and get one for herself and bring a little income home for once?”
The teen’s fists clenched. “My mother isn’t lazy. She has three small children to raise. She’d never make enough money to pay for child care.”
“And whose fault is that? She shouldn’t have had all those brats.”
The teen’s eyes narrowed. “You should have stayed off of her. They’re your kids, too. And what are you doing to put food on the table? My mother should never have married you.”
“She’s lucky to be off the reservation. And you should be thankful I took you in out of the goodness of my own heart.”
With a snort, the teen brushed the dust off his jeans. “You didn’t do either of us any favors.”
Ernie’s face flushed even redder. “Why, you ungrateful little brat. That’s all the bull crap I’m taking from you.” He launched himself at the teen.
Before he’d gone two steps, Hawkeye grabbed Ernie’s arm and jerked him around. “Leave the kid alone.”
Ernie glared at Hawkeye through glazed eyes, cocked his fist and swung.
Hawkeye caught the fist in his own palm and forced the man’s hand down to his side. “Take another swing and I won’t go as easy on you.” He fished the man’s keys out of his pocket and then shoved the man backward, out of range of landing another punch. “You’ll have to find a ride home.”
Sheriff Scott pulled up in his county sheriff’s SUV, parked and got out. “What’s going on here?”
Ernie stalked up to the sheriff. “This man stole my keys and threatened me with bodily harm.” He pointed at Hawkeye. “Arrest him.” The stern tone was offset when the man belched, sending out a vile fog of booze-heavy breath.
“Now, Ernie, I’m sure there’s another side to this story,” the sheriff said.
“It’s cut-and-dried.” Ernie pointed at the keys in Hawkeye’s hands. “He has my keys.”
Sheriff Scott leaned away from Ernie’s face. “The man’s doing you a favor and keeping you from getting a DUI.” He stared at Ernie. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Just one beer,” Ernie said. “A man’s got a right to drink a beer. Or is our government going to take that right away, too?”
The sheriff crossed his arms over his chest. “Care to take a Breathalyzer test?”
Ernie opened his mouth and had just enough sense left to close it again before his alcohol-soaked brain let his mouth loose.
Hawkeye almost laughed, but knew it would only rile the man more.
“Hop in, Ernie. I’ll give you a ride home.”
The man folded his arms over his chest and dug his heels into the concrete sidewalk. “Ain’t leaving my truck here.”
“I’ll drive it home,” the teen offered.
Ernie shot a narrow-eyed glare at the young man. “You ain’t touching my damned truck.”
The teen raised his hands. “Okay. I won’t drive your truck.”
“Don’t worry about it, CJ,” the sheriff assured him. He turned to Ernie. “I’ll have my deputies bring your truck out to your house in the morning, after you’ve had a chance to sober up. You shouldn’t be driving anymore tonight.” Sheriff Scott hooked Ernie’s elbow and eased him toward the backseat.
Ernie jerked loose of the sheriff’s hold and pointed a finger at the teen. “You’re done with this job. I didn’t approve of it anyway.”
The teen stood with his feet braced apart, his jaw set. “I’m going to work.”
“Not as a dishwasher, you aren’t. I won’t have members of this community pointing at you, feeling sorry for poor Ernie Martin’s stepson who has to work to support his family.”
“I don’t care what you call it—I want my sisters and brother to have something to eat. It’s either here or somewhere else.”
“I provide,” Ernie insisted. “And it ain’t your place to be telling tales about what goes
