The music was too loud. Liana winced as the band went flat in the chorus of a Brooks & Dunn classic. How hard was it to get the chording right on Maria? She peered into the pint glass of beer she'd been nursing and realized she needed to go home.

She was grumpy, stewing on what Tanner had blurted at the auction. He had absolutely no right to butt in, but he was right, dammit. Dermott was not the guy for her, and this evening had proven it in spades.

After the auction, he'd delivered the bull back to his place while ignoring her and talking on the phone non-stop, and only then took her home. Told her to clean up, wear something pretty and meet him at the local watering hole, Catalina's, at seven.

She'd debated on whether she would actually show up, waffling back and forth, and then relented. She might as well. Did she have anything better to do? Her first client wasn't until ten tomorrow, and Jenny wasn't due in for her first manicure until eleven.

She thought about popping over to her salon and doing some work instead as she put on some jeans and a light purple off-the-shoulder sweater. She could get some of the month end paperwork done for the accountant, update the salon Instagram, that kind of thing. But the thought of work when she could enjoy some live music, have a guy pay attention to her, and stave off the creeping loneliness won.

Her business was her life, but it wasn't everything. She still liked to go out and have fun, didn't she? Dermott may not be Mr. Right, but he certainly was Mr. Right-Now.

A few hours later, she was regretting her choice. Dermott had pawed at her all night. Arm around her, lips to her ear talking bullshit, hand on her thigh that she kept pushing away. The attention had gone from somewhat flattering to making her skin crawl. He was rude to the server, heckled the band when they were starting up, and the more he drank, the looser his language got. She swore, it wasn't like she was a saint, but in public, he could at least pretend he wasn't a neanderthal.

He'd been plying her with shots and strong drinks, most of which she sipped at, and then when he was distracted, poured into the large ficus tree behind her. Only later did she discover the plant was fake, and profusely apologized to their server when she got up to use the bathroom. He'd just laughed and said it was fine, and brought her a beer on the sly when Dermott ordered a round of tequila.

The idea of being sloshed around Dermott just didn't seem like a good one. Some friends of his had arrived about an hour after they did, and were now drunk and staggering around on the dance floor.

"Hey sugar, you look upset," Dermott slurred in her ear. He'd driven in and he was well on his way to being hammered, and it was too cold to sleep it off in his truck. What was this guy's malfunction? She'd be pouring him into a very expensive cab at this rate.

"I'm tired. I think I'm going to head home in a few," she replied.

"Aww stay, night's young," he mumbled, and pulled her in close. His breath smelled like bar peanuts and lime, and she couldn't take it any more.

"I need some air," Liana gasped, shot to her feet, and grabbed her coat.

She beelined for the door with her head down, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes. There were a lot of the locals here tonight, and she was mildly embarrassed by Dermott's behaviour, and the fact that she had—obviously now—stooped low enough to be seen by his side. Tongues were going to wag about this for a few days, likely.

Catalina's had a front patio in the summers that was normally very pleasant, filled with tables and hanging planters. Now it was empty except for the hulk of plastic wrapped patio furniture and the box that kept the ice melter. She leaned against the railing after shoving her arms through her coat sleeves, and took a few deep, cleansing breaths. She'd been on worse dates, but that was wholly unpleasant, in there.

"Screw this," she muttered into the air. She wasn't that desperate. She turned towards the steps down, and froze when boot steps thunked on the wood behind her.

"You leavin' on me?"

She turned. Dammit. Dermott had followed her. She put on a fake smile. "I think I am. This has been fun but I—"

"Well then stay, or take me home," he cajoled, and grabbed her arm, pulling her flush to his body. He was strong, and she couldn't pull away. When he had a hold on her, he leaned into her. "I was thinkin' later we could have more fun, just the two of us."

"I don't think so Dermott," she replied, twisting in his grasp.

He backed her up against the railing and trapped her there, pushing flush against her body with his. He leaned in to kiss her, and she turned her head.

"Dermott. Stop," she gasped as he tried to kiss her again.

"Why? You've been asking for it all night."

"Oh hell no," she muttered and glared at him. If she'd been asking for it, then he was seriously as dumb as a bag of rocks. She pushed on his chest, the panic to get out from underneath him rising. He was immoveable, his corded muscles she had admired on their first date definitely not as attractive right at the moment.

"Come on, honey," he slurred in her ear. "You know you want it."

"Get off of me." Is that what he wanted? A notch on his bedpost? If he wanted a quick lay, she wasn't it. She growled, wiggled to get some room that he was not giving, and brought a knee up, slamming it between his legs as hard as she could, hoping that would do the trick to let her escape.

"Fucking bitch," he swore as he rocked back, then yanked her to him before she could get away. "I should slap you for that. Maybe you'd like that, though?"

"Gross. Fuck off, you prick. Fucking try it," she snarled back, clawing at him with her free hand, twisting her body with everything she had. He grabbed her hand and pinned it behind her quickly, sneering down into her face.

"Uh-uh sweet thing. You're going to—"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was yanked backwards by the collar, and thrown to the deck of the veranda. He let out a wheezing "urk!" and rolled to his stomach.

"You okay?"

That voice. Of all the men to find her out here like this, with that asshole, it was him. Liana sagged backwards on the railing, rubbing her arm where Dermott had held onto her and closed her eyes in embarrassment.

"Yeah," she replied, catching her breath and reopening her eyes.

Tanner was standing wide over the still prone Dermott. His eyes were burning with heavy, piercing rage as he cracked his knuckles and flexed his broad shoulders out. He must have seen them through the window. He caught her eyes, studied them a moment, then switched his gaze to Dermott who was levering himself up off the floor.

"Get up so I can beat the shit out of you," Tanner growled through his teeth. When Dermott saw who it was, his shoulders went up and he let out his own growl, pulling his fists up in front of him.

"Fuck you West, can't you see Liana and I were busy? Go find your own fuck for the night."

"You are a pig, you know that?" Liana yelled at Dermott. "I'm not your fuck."

"You're a fucking tease then, bitch," Dermott snarled at her.

"Hey asshole, you treat her with respect," Tanner snapped and immediately swung, landing his fist squarely across Dermott's jaw. Dermott staggered backwards, and Liana sidestepped over to the wall into the shadows to get out of the way. People were starting to pour out of the bar, the fight outside way more interesting than the bad cover band inside.

Dermott pulled his fists up again. He drunkenly swung at Tanner, who easily dodged him.

"Come on West. Fight back. You've thrown the first punch," Dermott taunted, staggering sideways and flailing at Tanner again. Tanner leaned away. Everyone was standing back, some of them egging both men on, phones out taking pictures.

Why was Tanner bothering? Was there history she didn't know about? It was the only thing that would explain Dermott being so interested in beating him at the auction today, and both Brady and Tanner's warnings. It was dumb, and her irritation grew watching Dermott stumble in circles while Tanner sidestepped every wobbly punch.

"Stop it, both of you. This is stupid. Dermott, you're drunk. Go sleep it off in your truck," she yelled at them.

Tanner glanced at her, and Dermott staggered forward and tried again to hit him. Tanner blocked the punch, and pushed him away.

"She's right. You're drunk, stop being an idiot," Tanner said, much more calmly than Liana expected. "Can someone call this shithead a cab?"

"Fuck... You... West," Dermott wheezed, and came at Tanner again. Did he not listen? Liana watched, her hand to her mouth, as Tanner audibly sighed, cracked his knuckles, and laid one more punch straight into Dermott's jaw. Dermott blinked a few times, stumbled, and collapsed to the floor, indeed, like a big dumb bag of rocks.

Tanner shook his fist out, and a few people cheered. He glared at everyone as he took in the crowd. "Go back inside. Show's over."

Someone handed him his hat and coat as everyone filed back in, a clear indicator he was done for the night as well. Dermott's friends hovered over him, picking him up and half-dragging him back into the bar. Liana thunked her head against the wall and let out a huge sigh when he was gone. Had Tanner really just cold-cocked Dermott and knocked him out? This night had gone from bad to worse. One, she didn't need rescuing, and two, of all people to pull that dirtbag off of her, it was him.

She was still rooted in place, catching her breath, eyes closed, when a hand touched her shoulder.

"Hey," Tanner said quietly. "You okay?"

She bristled. He was touching her again. He hadn't touched her in more than twelve years, and today at the auction and now? It was overwhelmingly too close for comfort. Her defenses snapped into place, and she brushed his hand aside as emotion bubbled up out of nowhere.

"I'm fine."

"Let me drive you home," he said. "You don't look fine."

"I have had enough of men telling me what I am and am not tonight. Fuck off, Tanner," she snapped, and strode off the veranda towards the sidewalk. She let her steam carry her around the corner, and then she leaned against the brick of the building. The tears fell as she realized she had wanted to fold herself into his arms when he touched her, to find somewhere safe to erase the all-too-familiar disgust of a man forcing himself on her. She was a stupid, desperate idiot for thinking attention from a jerk like Dermott could fill the void of loneliness that she hid from everyone. She huffed out a sob and folded her arms around herself, shaking in the cold.

From further down the street, the sound of something breaking, followed by a muffled "Fuck" caught her attention. She looked up, wiping tears off her face with her coat sleeve and peered down the darkened street.

Tanner was leaning against his truck, head bowed, holding his fist.

"Shit," she swore to herself. She should at least see if he was okay. He had gotten her out of a really bad situation, and defended her. Maybe she should have been a bit kinder instead of swearing at him and storming off. She straightened herself out and made her way up the street to where he was parked, ready to eat crow, swallowing her nerves. This time, she'd keep her temper in check while she talked to the one person in all of Brightside that she had the most trouble talking to.

He looked up as she arrived and then looked away, huffing out an exasperated breath. "I know, I'm fucking off like you asked," he muttered.

"Let me see," she replied, and held out her hand. "You got Dermott good, did you bust your hand up when you did?"

He held out his hand wordlessly, putting it into hers, and she turned on her phone's flashlight. Blood dripped from a jagged gash along the back between his index finger and thumb. That would need cleaning right away. The Brightside clinic was closed now, and she was certainly not driving all the way to Lamonte with him to the emergency. It was late, and calling Caitlin was out of the question too.

She looked up into his face to gauge if he was okay. She caught the pain flattening back out to stone cold Tanner when their eyes met. "I'll be fine," he clipped.

"Come on, you big damned idiot. I have stuff to clean that at the salon. It's just up here," she said. Her nerves were jumping, but she knew if he didn't get that bandaged, by the time he got home he'd be in crazy pain, and bleeding all over his damned truck.

She noticed, as she walked past the truck, that the yellow plastic Calgary Herald newspaper box was toppled, a fist-shaped, splintered hole in its side. Tanner kicked it for good measure as he joined her.

"Did it piss you off too?" she asked mildly and he thinned his lips, but didn't respond. She started walking, and he kept pace by her side. As she was unlocking the front door, she decided to break the awkward silence.

"You've learned how to throw a punch since high school," she remarked.

He grunted and looked away from her, down the street. "Been awhile since I needed to," he muttered.

"Well okay Mr. Prizefighter. Go sit in a chair and I'll get my first aid kit," she ordered, ushering him through the door. She followed him in, and rushed to the back, disarming the security system and turning on the lights while he eased himself into one of her styling station chairs.

She took a minute in the back office to steady her breathing, and stop shaking. No matter how much time had passed since they were together, and no matter the memories flinging themselves at her right now, she needed to be in control.

Because the man that was sitting out there in her salon could completely undo her if she wasn't careful.