‘Oh, I just bet you know how to handle a piece of wood.’ A shearer wearing a lanolin-stinking wife-beater sniggered. ‘How ’bout you wrap your hands around mine?’
Hamish yanked aside the nearest shearer, shoved the next guy into the wall. Grabbed Tara’s elbow. ‘Come on, Tars, let’s get out of here.’
Still bent over the table, Tara twisted to squint up at him. ‘But I just got here.’ She looked confused, seeming not to recognise him. ‘Didn’t I?’
‘Nope, you’ve been here long enough.’ He looped his other arm around her waist, setting her upright. Steadied her as she wobbled.
‘Hey, hands off, mate. Leave the lady alone,’ one of the shearers said. ‘If she wants to play with us, she can play.’
‘Hell, yeah.’
‘Too right.’
‘She’s with me,’ Hamish said firmly. ‘Come on, Tara, let’s go.’
Tara slammed her hands on her hips, pouting provocatively. ‘I don’t wanna. You can’t make me.’
For a split second he thought about taking her at her almost incomprehensible word, knowing the trouble he was about to buy into. But she was clearly off her face and had no idea what she was doing. ‘Cut the bullshit, Tara. Or do you want me to call Wheaty to come get you?’ Although he wasn’t her eldest brother, Hayden had enough years on Tara to be intimidating.
‘Oh my god, don’t be so booooring,’ Tara whined, leaning her cheek against him and stroking his chest. This was definitely not the Tara he knew, who would gaze longingly at him, then blush furiously if he caught her eye.
‘I said, leave her alone,’ the beefy guy snarled.
Hamish sighed inwardly. He’d done this dance before; in fact, his left arm was still bloody sore from a similar altercation the previous year. ‘You plan to make me?’
The shearer sized him up, then ran a hand up each of his own forearms, as though pushing up his non-existent sleeves in preparation to fight. His mates cheered, shoving back stools and chairs to make room for a brawl.
‘Tara, get out,’ Hamish said quietly.
Tara used both palms to lever herself back from his chest. She stared, a little slack-jawed, her eyes once again vacant, as though she’d forgotten who he was. ‘I don’t have to do what you say,’ she finally slurred.
He pushed her behind him. ‘All right, then.’ He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, a slight bend in his knees, as he sized up his assailant. It was rare he found someone bigger than him to fight with, but the other guy’s size advantage was in flab, not muscle. More of a problem was the fact that the number of jugs and glasses on the tables showed the shearing crew had obviously been drinking the afternoonaway, probably because the sheep they’d been contracted to shear would have been too wet to handle now the rain had finally come.
A boot slammed into his thigh from the side, giving him an instant dead leg, but the blow that followed only glanced off his cheekbone.
Unable to risk turning toward the sneak attacker, he dodged a sloppy blow from the ape in front of him. Dancing back on one leg as he willed the blood flow back into his thigh, he leaned in to land a satisfying uppercut on the guy’s third chin. The man went down.
There was momentary silence in their section of the pub, then the rest of the shearer’s mates closed in.
Damn, this wouldn’t end well.
Tara screamed and for a second he thought she’d finally recognised him. But as his gaze darted her way, he realised one of the men had seized her around the waist.
‘Get your fucking hands off her!’ he roared.
As he bellowed, Jack reappeared. Grabbing the shoulder of the guy holding Tara, Jack spun him around. The shearer threw up his hands, signalling his instant surrender, but the others jeered and started to muscle in toward Hamish and Jack.
‘Let’s even this up a little, shall we?’ said a familiar voice at Hamish’s shoulder.
He risked a sideways glance. Gave a nod. Maybe even a small grunt of relief.
‘Pierce.’
Jemma’s father had close to twenty years on him, but the guy kept himself fit.
‘Right, that’ll do, lads.’ Ant, the publican, appeared from behind the bar. He had an investment in stopping the brawl, yet he aligned himself on Hamish’s other side, glancing at his arm. ‘This the bad one?’
‘Yep.’
