Beyond Ordinary

He had a gift for insomnia. Probably did it better than anyone else he knew.

Glancing toward the end of Main Street, he watched several of Chester’s bikers drift out to their bikes, some of them none too steady on their feet.

The sheriff should be sitting out there every night, arresting them. But really, what could he do when he worked a twelve-hour shift every day and had only one deputy to take over for the night?

That issue needed to be addressed in Timm’s bid for mayor.

A movement from the other end of Main caught his eye. Angel Donovan. What the hell? He’d warned her that the town wasn’t the same one she’d grown up in now that Chester’s drew the worst clientele from the next county.

She always had been stubborn, though.

She was out there, in the dark, alone and he didn’t like it one bit.

She just had to pull old tricks and court trouble. She had a real talent for it.

He pulled on a shirt and jogged downstairs. He let himself out of the office, locking the door behind him.

From the recess of his door, he watched her. No need to tell her he was there. With a little luck, nothing would happen and she would wander home.

As Angel passed on the opposite side of the street, the bar’s door opened and a bunch of bikers stepped out.

Timm watched and waited for her to move on, but she didn’t. She’d always had too much curiosity for her own good.

A couple of the bikers mounted their hogs parked out front. Another one noticed Angel and wandered over. She stood her ground.

For God’s sake, Angel, do you have to stand up for every fight? Walk away. Run.

She didn’t.

He’d watched her fight since she was old enough to understand the names kids called her mother.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” the biker said, his voice tobacco-roughened, his posture aggressive he-man. “Who are you?”

His gaze traveled her body, slowly, as if he already owned it. The hair on Timm’s arms rose. He shifted his stance, ready to defend Angel.

“No one,” she answered, obviously not impressed by the bruiser. He had a layer of fat padding his belly, but enough muscle on his bare arms to bully.

“Let’s party. Come on.” He turned but when she didn’t follow, he looked back at her. “I wasn’t asking.”

Timm straightened away from the wall. Bastard was going to cause trouble, all right.

“No, thanks,” Angel said. “Not if you were the last Neanderthal on earth.”

For God’s sake, Angel, don’t be stupid. Grit and balls are admirable in life, but with a guy like this?

The biker didn’t take her comments well. He grabbed her arm, and Timm shot out of the doorway.

As a teenager, he’d been helpless because of his injuries and had watched her fight her battles alone. He wasn’t helpless now.

“Get your hands off her,” he ordered.

At the same moment, Angel kicked the biker’s shin and he slapped her.

Timm was on the guy in an instant. Not a fair fight. A hundred and eighty pounds of intellectual versus a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound wrestler look-alike.

Timm smashed the heel of his hand against the bruiser’s nose.

“Angel, run!” he shouted.

The biker slammed his fist into Timm’s jaw and he saw stars and staggered, but caught himself before he hit the ground.

Angel jumped her attacker and grabbed a fistful of hair.

“Move on.” A voice called out from across the street. Brawny Chester Ames, with a good set of biceps, a tough attitude and a baseball bat in one hand, ran toward them and shoved the bat into the guy’s ribs.

With a roar, the biker pushed Angel away from him and spun around.

Chester held the bat raised and ready to do serious harm if the guy didn’t leave.

“You want to drink in my bar again, you go on home and stop bothering her.” Chester ground out the words. “Now.”

The biker hesitated. Chester waited. Timm bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to try to take the guy down if he dared to touch Angel again.

When the guy finally walked to his bike without a word, the breath whooshed out of Timm. Then he cursed his lack of control. He’d been too angry—he knew better than to be so emotional—and because of that emotion, he’d lost the fight. Sensei Chong had taught him how to fight smart, how to remain calm and rational.

He looked at Angel. What was it about her that called up so many feelings? That cost him his precious self-control? He only knew that he’d gone into a rage when the biker had hurt her.

Chester approached Angel. “Why are you out here this late at night?”

“Hey, Chester,” she said, her tone soft and affectionate, raising Timm’s hackles. Had she been with him at some point? But he was old enough to be her father.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” Chester scolded, his tone stern like a father’s, easing Timm’s tension. A bit.

“I’m not alone.” She gestured toward Timm.

Chester eyed him dubiously, and not as a friend. He returned his attention to Angel. “D’you want a drive home? I can be ready in ten minutes.”

Before she could answer, a flash of possession roared through Timm, and he interjected, “I’m taking her home.” He wasn’t much better than the Neanderthal Chester had chased away.

Chester gave him a cold look, nodded, then crossed the road to go back inside.

Angel confronted Timm with her fists on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching out for you.” He stepped closer to her. “Making sure you don’t get hurt. I saw you from my window.”

Before she could respond, he said, “The next time I tell you to run, do it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t run away from battles. I’m not a damsel in distress who needs a man to rescue her.”