should go check that out,” he said, pulling her from the seat, close to his side. “But don’t leave my sight, whatever you do.”
Beth glanced over to the Salty Dog, the last place on earth she wanted to go. But she steeled herself, took a deep breath and allowed Dillon to lead the way.
* * *
The restaurant was busy, yet nobody was prepared to step in and separate the two fiercely fighting men, seemingly fused together in a ball of flailing arms and legs. One of the men was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. And the other guy was taller, leaner and fitter, wearing navy blue clothes exactly like Dillon’s.
“It’s Larry!” Dillon exclaimed, guiding Beth to stand by the wall out of range of the ruckus.
“The other guy is Kevin,” Beth said, wide-eyed. “He owns the place. He and Larry are brothers.”
Dillon pressed her against the wall. “They sure don’t seem to be feeling any brotherly love right now. Stay here while I pull them apart.”
He approached the men with a barking order. “Break it up, guys. That’s enough.”
Neither man made any attempt to stop brawling, so Dillon was forced to grab Larry by the collar and yank him away sharply. Larry continued to throw wild punches and kick the air, forcing Dillon to place him in an armlock. Larry cried out but immediately stilled under the firm grip of his superior. Dillon pushed the subdued man to an empty chair and made him sit while his brother hauled himself to his feet with a groan.
Dillon quickly checked that Beth was still standing against the wall. She had wrapped her arms around her waist and bowed her head as if trying to hide away. But nobody’s attention was on her anyway—it was on the two breathless men glowering at each other with wild, dark eyes. The explosion of violence was jarring against the family-oriented restaurant, busy with people enjoying a quiet lunch. This was definitely not the kind of place where brawling was commonplace.
“Okay, everyone,” Dillon called out to the crowd of onlookers while righting some upended chairs. “Show’s over, folks. You can all get back to your meals and eat in peace.”
Amid murmurings and mutterings, the diners gradually pulled their gazes away and resumed their lunches, while Larry and Kevin regained their composure and breath.
“Now,” Dillon said, looking between the pair. “I understand that you two are brothers. So what on earth has turned you into enemies?”
Neither man spoke. A tall, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind the serving counter. “Larry came bursting in here about five minutes ago,” she said, “and he was mad as a hornet at Kevin. I’ve never seen them fight like that before.”
“And who might you be, ma’am?” Dillon asked.
“I’m Mia,” the woman replied. “Mia Wride-Ford. I’m a waitress here.” She looked around the restaurant, and Dillon noticed her do a double take on seeing Beth standing just a few feet away. She turned and smiled at Beth, giving her a small wave. Beth raised a weak smile in response, obviously embarrassed to be in public view.
“And what was the argument about?” Dillon addressed the question to nobody in particular, hoping that someone would give a straight answer.
“You know Larry,” Kevin replied, straightening out his rumpled clothes. “He’s always got a beef about something. He’s a loose cannon.”
“I’m a loose cannon?” Larry said, widening his eyes and letting out a snort. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Kevin narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You had no right coming in here, shooting your mouth like that. If we weren’t family, I’d call the police and have you arrested for assault.”
Larry rose to his feet and, in a theatrical gesture, pointed to a pay phone attached to a wall. “Go right ahead, Kevin, call the police and file a report.” He crossed his arms. “I won’t stand in your way.”
Kevin stood for a few seconds, hands on hips, looking between Larry and the pay phone.
“Would you like to report this matter to the local sheriff?” Dillon asked. “If Larry attacked you without provocation, you have a roomful of witnesses to back up your story.”
Kevin bent over and rested his hands on his knees like a deflating balloon. “No. There’s no need to involve the police. We’re family. We’ll deal with it our own way.”
Larry began to walk to the door. “If it’s all right with you, Captain, I’ll get back to the station.”
“Sit down, Larry,” Dillon ordered. “I want some answers from you before you go anywhere.”
Larry stopped and cast a sly eye over to Beth, who had partially hidden herself behind the large wooden menu that stood by the front door. Dillon guessed that the next words out of Larry’s mouth would be mean. He was right.
“Well, I figured that you’d want to get back to your date,” Larry said with a curled lip. Then, under his breath, he muttered, “Looks like somebody managed to thaw the ice queen.”
Dillon rested his hands on the waistband of his pants. “What did you just say?”
Larry shrugged. “Nothing, sir.”
Dillon walked to within a couple of inches of Larry and pulled himself up to full height. “You’re sailing very close to the wind, Chief Petty Officer Chapman,” he said in a low voice. “I expect a better standard of behavior from an officer of the coast guard. Get yourself back to the station and I’ll deal with you later.”
Larry saluted, spun on his heel and strode from the restaurant.
The door leading to the kitchen then swung open and a petite blonde woman came out. “Has Larry left?” she asked, darting her eyes around.
Kevin put his arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, he’s gone and good riddance to him.” He turned to Dillon and held out his hand. “I’m Kevin Chapman, owner of the Salty Dog, and this is my wife, Paula. I’m guessing you’re Dillon Randall, the new coast guard captain.”
Dillon shook Kevin’s hand and smiled warmly at Paula. “That’s right. I’m pleased to meet you both. I only wish it was under better circumstances.”
“I’m so sorry for the trouble, Captain Randall,” Paula said. “It’s normally really quiet and peaceful in here.”
Dillon looked around the restaurant. The nautical theme was a little overwhelming. There were fishing nets, helms and plastic crabs attached to the wooden walls and overhead beams. Even the tablecloths had anchors on them, and the salt and pepper shakers were tiny fisherman.
“Yeah,” he said. “This isn’t the kind of place I’d normally expect to break up a fight.” He turned his attention from Paula to Kevin. “Are you ready to explain to me what that was all about?”
Kevin rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Larry’s a hothead. It was nothing. Just a stupid argument about nothing.” He pointed to the kitchen. “I’ve got to get back to my stove.” He gave himself one final brush down, as if dusting off his brother’s fingerprints, and walked through the
