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asking for a woman’s phone number. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a ruckus erupted on the opposite side of the room. Ever on guard, Zach zeroed in on the commotion. A thin brunette was arguing heatedly with some rhinestone cowboy, waving her hands and yelling. Behind her stood a lanky redheaded man who wore dark glasses and carried a white cane. Blind? Zach had never seen a sight-impaired guy in a place like Bart’s, but he guessed there was a first time for everything. And, hello, even the disabled had a right to patronize a bar and listen to a local-yokel band.
    The woman turned to take the redheaded man’s arm. As she tried to guide him forward, the cowboy dude grinned broadly, stuck out his boot, and deliberately tripped the blind fellow, sending him into a staggering sprawl that ended with what had to be a painful face-plant on the planks. Zach rocked forward on his chair, bringing the front legs down so fast they emitted a loud popping sound.
    Zach didn’t feel himself move, but he could hear Terry calling out from behind him as he pushed his way through the couples who stood frozen on the dance floor. “Don’t interfere, Zach! Someone will call the cops. Let them handle it!”
    Yeah, right. Even through the maze of bodies, Zach could see the blind guy regain his feet, right his dark glasses on his bloody nose, and try to step forward again, only to be tripped a second time by that stupid excuse for a cowboy.
    “Pardon me,” Zach said as he squeezed past a woman. “Sorry,” he said to her partner.
    When he reached the edge of the dance floor, he grabbed hold of the blind man’s arm to help him stand up. “Hey, man. Are you okay?”
    The frames of the guy’s dark glasses were now broken, and his bottom lip was streaming blood. Zach’s own blood went from hot to boiling. His father had taught him never to start a fistfight. The only exception was when a bully was harming another person or an animal. Zach figured deliberately tripping a blind man was an offense that fell into that gray area his father so often talked about. Sometimes, son, you got no choice but to man up and kick ass.
    Even so, Zach had no desire to get cuffed and stuffed by Crystal Falls’ finest, or to spend a sleepless night in the local hoosegow. He turned to the grinning idiot who’d just tripped a blind man for the hell of it. Nudging back the brim of his hat, Zach squarely met the dumb fuck’s gaze and said, “Partner, you’re either a little too drunk to be in a public place, or your daddy failed to teach you any manners. Which is it?”
    Zach never saw the blow coming. The other man’s fist landed like a wrecking ball right between his eyes. Everything went star bright and then pitch-black. Zach felt his body going airborne and his muscles turning limp. Someone screamed. And then he landed on his back, his spine striking something flat and hard. The next instant the surface broke under his weight, and he tumbled to the floor in a splintering pile of wood. A table, he determined as his vision spun blurrily back into focus.
    Dumb Fuck stood over Zach, smirking as he sucked his bruised knuckles. Somehow Zach doubted the man’s hand was hurting as badly as Zach’s face was, but the mean-hearted asshole was about to find out he’d made a hell of a mistake by laying into a Harrigan. When Frank Harrigan read about this fracas in the Crystal Falls Courier , Zach wanted him to laugh and say, “That’s my boy. He kicks ass first and takes names later.”
    Zach tried to break free of the debris to sit up. As he did, he saw Dumb Fuck lean forward with one fist knotted to deliver another blow. Zach fell back onto the pile of wood, knifed up with one knee, and planted his foot dead center on the other man’s chest. With one hard shove, he sent the bastard into fast reverse, the other man staggering to keep his balance, flailing with his arms, and then sprawling across a table. Zach scrambled to his feet, swiped at his eyes