Meagan's Marine (Halos & Horns) by Lori Leger

gaze. “Now, is there
anything else I can help you with?”
    “I don’t want anything else, and
I don’t give a flying fu …”
    “Sir!” She cut off what was sure to be a
tirade of foul language and unclipped her radio. “Come in Micky !
This is Meagan and I need assistance at the bar, please.”
    “Aw shit! There wasn’t no need for that.
Especially since you and me are from the same great state of Texas.” He leaned
across the bar to get close to her. “We could spend some time together after
you leave this place tonight.”
    “Sir, I told you, I’m too busy for this.
Would you please move along? You aren’t the only person who’d like a beer
tonight, you know.”
    A man spoke up from behind him. “Yeah
dude, you’re holding up the line.”
    The cowboy, a good 6’3”, turned on the
guy and leaned over to sneer in his face. “You might oughta get in another line, then buddy.”
    “Hey screw you, man. She said she didn’t
have time for your bullshit. I see you have your drink, now move on so the rest
of us can order.”
    Cowboy reached for the man’s shirt and
Meagan reached for her radio again. “ Micky , I’ve got
trouble. Where are you?”
    The bouncer appeared to her left. “I’m
right here, Meg.” Micky placed a beefy hand on
cowboy’s shoulder. “Okay, man, let’s go. From the sound of it, you’ve had
plenty of chances to back off.”
    Cowboy jerked out of Micky’s grip. “Get your hands off me, you sonovabitch ! I
don’t need to be lead anywhere like a prisoner. Let me at least take a swig of
the beer I just paid for and I’ll walk out on my own.”
    Micky lifted both hands and nodded. “That’s fine, man.” He turned to Meagan. “I think
it’ll be all right. He seems agreeable enou —”
    Meagan had witnessed enough fights in
her earlier bartending years to recognize the distinctive thud of a beer bottle
hitting a skull. However, witnessing the aforementioned skull, cracking open
with an accompanying gush of blood was an entirely new experience. She screamed
as Micky pitched forward onto the floor like a pine
tree in a hurricane.
    She grabbed a clean dishcloth from the
bar, dropped to her knees beside him and pressed it to his gaping wound, hoping
to stem the flow of blood. “Somebody call 911!” she called out, even as a
scuffle above caught her attention. She looked up just in time to see Mitch
take the offending cowboy down in two swift moves. As he held him there, face
down on the floor, arms locked in a tight grip, she wondered if there was
anything Mitch couldn’t handle.
    Mitch met Meagan’s gaze and yelled over
the din. “How bad?”
    “Bad enough. He’s bleedin ’
like a stuck hog, poor thing. Did someone call for an ambulance?” she asked
those nearest to her.
    Kelly Broussard, an acquaintance who
occasionally visited the club, waved her phone.
    “They’re sending an ambulance now, as
well as the cops, Meg,” she said.
    “Thanks, Kelly.” She increased the
pressure on the wound and dropped her head, thinking they couldn’t get there
fast enough. When Mick groaned and tried to sit up, she pushed him gently back
down. “Don’t move, hon. You’re cut open pretty bad. This will definitely need
stitches.”
    “Son of a bitch, that hurts,” he
growled, flinching when she applied more pressure.
    “Don’t move, I said. Every time you do,
I lose pressure on the wound and blood comes gushing out. You wanna bleed out on the floor of this club?”
    “No, but damn that stings. You’re
pressing too hard, Meg!”
    “Yeah? Well the fact that you’re strong
enough to whine like a big ole ta-ta tells me I must be doing something right.
Otherwise, you’d be too weak to say a flippin ’ word
to me.”
    “ Ta-ta? No fair, Meg. You know I
can’t speak east Texas hick.”
    “I was trying to be nice, but since you
won’t let me, it’s a tit , you crazy ass Cajun! I called you a big titty -baby. Now hold the hell still before I lose my supper
all over the