Someone jostled her from behind, and Gabe automatically reached out to pull her closer to his side so he could protect her. “Not me.”

The suddenly fucked-up situation got more and more convoluted, even though he’d expected this to happen eventually. In an area as small as theirs, it was inevitable that somewhere along the line someone in the family would find out.

He didn’t expect it would be one of the Coleman cousins of the female variety.

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Tamara leaned around him and swore lightly. “Travis Coleman, you’re a bigger fool than I’d ever imagined.”

Travis didn’t even move his head. “Tamara. You slumming it tonight?”

“You lost whatever you had of your minuscule brains?” Tamara wormed past Gabe and got directly in front of Travis until he had to look at her. “You’re an idiot, right? Your mama dropped you on your head when you were a baby.”

Travis smirked. “She did, and I liked it. So if you’ll excuse me…”

He was past them both and pushing through the bodies, climbing into the ring with the evil grin still on his face.

Tamara growled in frustration, arms folding in front of her across her flannel shirt. “When I volunteered to come stitch up the brainless twits who fight here, I didn’t think I’d be working on family.”

Gabe moved in closer, putting himself between her and the biggest of the men intently watching the ring. “Things can get a little iffy in the crowd too, so if you’ve got a safer place to watch from, let me take you there.”

“I’m fine.” She planted her feet wide, somehow echoing the stance Travis took as his fighting partner climbed through the ropes. “If I have to stitch him up? I’m not using any painkiller. Stupid ass.”

In the ring, Travis and the wiry blond who’d joined him were already tossing experimental blows. Or the blond was swinging. Travis moved smoothly side to side, dodging and otherwise staying just out of reach.

“It ain’t a dance party, Travis,” someone catcalled.

“Take off his pretty head, Stan,” another encouraged.

Stan lunged and shot out his fist, connecting with Travis’s torso, high and hard. He followed with his left fist to ribs, the slam of knuckles against flesh loud even as voices rose. Gabe shifted to the side to see around the man in front of him, and in that single moment he missed Travis’s first blow.

Stan was bent in two, his body doubled forward with Travis’s fist still buried in his gut. Travis dragged his hand free, pounding a blow to Stan’s face, then another. It was like watching an automaton, repetitious and consistent in motion. Travis had lost his smile, a concentrated glare replacing it. Drops of sweat beaded his brow, his muscles flexing as he worked around Stan. He backed up as if to allow the other man to straighten.

Stan drew in a deep breath, hands on his thighs to push himself vertical.

Travis stepped forward and swung, knuckles connecting with jaw. Stan’s head snapped back, his entire body flipping in a wavelike motion as he collapsed to the floor.

Travis waited, arms bent in a ready position, as if eager for the man to get up and continue fighting. Gabe sighed, recognizing the energy still blistering out from his cousin.

“At least that’s over,” Tamara muttered. “Because while I have no objection to staring at half-naked men all night, including my cousin in that number kind of makes the thrill fade.”

A snort escaped involuntarily. “Yeah, I can see how that could ruin the show. He’s going to fight again,” Gabe warned.

She turned to stare at him in shock. “But I thought once a night—”

“He gets like this. He’s going to fight until someone takes him to the ground.”

“That’s insane.” Concern and disgust warred on her face.

Gabe nodded. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t get it in the ring, he’d be out at a bar picking a fight, and this is safer than getting cold-cocked by a dozen pissed-off hockey players he’s managed to insult so bad they want to beat him until he’s half-dead.”

All her usual bluster vanished. “And you’d know this because that’s not some random example you pulled out of thin air?”

“Nope. Been there, done that.”

Travis was out of the ring and headed to the side of the room, so Gabe pulled Tamara after him, weaving through the crowd. Travis might be a grownup, but Gabe needed to keep an eye on him. Sometimes Travis got these notions into his head that something out of the norm would be great to try, and while Gabe had no trouble babysitting him here in organized chaos, he wasn’t about to let his cousin go get beat up or killed in something even more free-for-all.

Tamara tugged his sleeve to get him to stop. “Is this habit something I should be worried about? Like more worried than not understanding why my cousin likes to get violent?”

Gabe dragged a hand through his hair and wondered how to explain this, then he realized he couldn’t. “You have to ask him. As far as I know he gets something out of it, and he’s not dead at the end of the night. That’s it. That’s my understanding. I like a good fight at times, as much as the average guy. Getting physical lets out the demons, and sometimes that means beating the hell out of something, and sometimes…”

He trickled to a stop and shook his head. Nope. Not a discussion he was willing to continue with her.

Tamara smirked. “You were going to add fucking to that list of physical things guys like, weren’t you?”

Oh sheesh. “Not going there with you.”

“You’re such a girl.”

Gabe laughed. “No, you’re a girl, and my cousin, and I’m not talking sex with you.”

He glanced around the wide-open space. Another fight had begun already, people crowded forward, some with beers in their hands. The few women in the crowd were held tightly, their guys keeping a close eye on them.

He took a quick peek at Tamara. She was far more covered than the other women in the room. Her jeans and flannel shirt were modest, her long hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. She wasn’t going for the femme fatale look, but she was still an attractive woman. “You planning on putting in medical care often?”

She cocked out a hip, her head tilted to the side. “You thinking of becoming my keeper, Gabe? If you figure on following me, or otherwise trying to keep track of me, forget it. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. You’re not responsible for making sure I get home in one piece.”

Something twisted at her words, the echo of ones he’d heard so long ago, burning and painful. He stared her down, hoping he could keep what roiled inside from showing on his face.

The volume rose around them to a roar, someone shouted for a doctor. Tamara whipped away before he could react, elbowing her way through the crowd, ducking under arms. Gabe followed at a much slower pace, her smaller body wiggling easier through tight spaces. He was in time to see her snatch up a bag from the side of the platform then scramble through the ropes. She dragged on gloves before dropping to her knees to examine the downed fighter. Her orders rang out, and a couple of men stepped forward to lift the fallen off the mat. She worked efficiently, pressing a bandage to stem the blood pouring from a head cut.

It took so little time—one minute they were in the ring, the next Tamara had the man secluded to a small area off the side, bright light tilted to make it easier for her to see as she made an injection. Gabe moved in closer as she carefully stitched together the three-inch wound, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings.

The Whiskey Creek Colemans always came across as tough girls, somewhat inevitable as they’d had years of attempting to keep up with their multiple wild male cousins, but Gabe had never actually witnessed one of them in a setting like this before.

“I don’t know why you’re still hanging around, Gabe. I’m fine.” Tamara let go of the fighter’s cheek to slap his hand off her thigh. “And you. If you don’t want me to stitch your eyelids shut, keep your bloody hands to yourself.”

The fighter chuckled. “No harm in trying.”

“I have a scalpel in my bag and an intimate knowledge of anatomy. You really want to get fresh with me?” Tamara was the one to laugh as the man sucked in a hiss of pain as she pulled the thread. “Yeah, poor baby. Concentrate on something other than your head.”

“I was trying,” the man complained.

Tamara didn’t look up from her task. “Go away, Gabe.”

“Going.” But he wasn’t leaving for good until he knew she was safely in her vehicle and headed home.

Gabe grabbed another beer as he casually followed Travis. They’d done this for long enough now he didn’t have to put up with at least one cousin telling him to fuck off. Travis knew the story. Gabe wouldn’t step in unless needed. And at the end of the night, after Travis had enough, Gabe would drag him to the truck and drive him home.

It wasn’t typical, but it was what it was. Gabe didn’t judge. Just did what had to be done.

He pulled himself onto the top of a platform area to the side and leaned on the wall. From here he could see the ring, see Travis clambering back through the ropes for round two of pain and punishment. Off to the right Tamara was finishing bandaging her fighter. Gabe took another pull from his drink and wondered if his life could possibly get any weirder.

He laughed at himself. Oh, yeah, it could. Because when his babysitting tonight was over, he would head home to a woman who planned on turning things upside down and sideways.

Kissing Allison—that had been both a good and a bad idea. Bad because it made him think of all the things he’d put aside over the past while. Trying to keep his family together, all the little bits he’d secretly been dealing with around the ranch.