“Sorry.” Instead of releasing her, he clamped his hand on her butt cheek and angled his head like he wanted to kiss her.

Her reactions were slower than usual, courtesy of the booze, so she turned her head away.

But the guy’s lips didn’t land.

Because Carson had inserted his arm between her and Mr. Grabby Hands.

“What the hell? Move it, buddy,” he slurred.

Carolyn watched as Carson pushed the guy back. Then he punched him hard in the stomach and followed through with an uppercut that rocked the guy on his feet. When the guy didn’t go down, Carson hit him two more times until he did.

Then he loomed over him. “You ever put your filthy f**kin’ hands on my wife again I will break every f**kin’ bone in your body. Every. Goddamned. Bone. And then I will make you bleed. Are we clear, you sorry son of a bitch?”

The people who’d been on the dance floor had gathered around. A woman dropped to her knees beside the man and glared at Carson. “What did my husband do to you?”

“He touched my wife.”

“We were dancing, you moron—of course he touched her,” she snapped.

But Carson hadn’t looked at the guy’s wife even once. He was too busy trying to set him on fire with his gaze of hatred. “Last I knew his hands on her ass and him tryin’ to lock lips with her wasn’t part of dancin’.”

Carolyn touched Carson’s arm. He still didn’t look away.

Charlie moved in and Carson immediately stepped between them, shoving Carolyn behind his back. “Don’t ever come up behind her like that.”

“Because you’ll what? Knock me on my ass? Wouldn’t be the first f**kin’ time. You done with this now? Or you waitin’ till he stands up and then you’ll take it outside so you can keep beatin’ on him?”

She froze. Carson wanted to keep fighting this guy?

“I’m done.” Carson put his hands on her shoulders and steered her away.

The murmurs and mutterings of what’d happened passed through the crowd.

By the time they returned to the table, she knew Beverly had heard about the scuffle because she’d plastered on a fake smile. “Now that you’re back I can tell you happy birthday one more time before we leave.” Beverly hugged her and whispered, “Watch your step with Carson.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s never needed a good reason to start a fight. But now that you’re his wife? You’re reason enough.”

“Beverly, Carson would never hit me.”

“I know. But that doesn’t hold true for the men who are looking at you. And if they touch you? They may as well start picking their teeth up off the floor. The man has a possessive streak as wide as the state of Wyoming when it comes to you, Carolyn.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“A man wants you that much and wants other men to know it? Never a bad thing…as long as he shows you—behind closed doors—and it’s not all just male swagger in public.”

“The swagger is entirely justified.”

“Lucky you.” Beverly hugged her hard. “Take care. See you soon.”

When she turned, she caught Carson staring at her. “What?”

“You drank my whiskey.”

“So? You weren’t here. And why were you gone for so long?”

“Wasn’t that long.”

“Almost an hour.” He frowned. “Yes, I was watching the clock. According to your brothers, you take off like that all the time.”

“I was doin’ business, Caro. That happens.”

Rather than chew him out in public, she put her mouth on his ear. “It used to happen. Now that you have a wife, you don’t get to disappear off to heaven knows where for heaven knows what. It’s rude to take me out on my birthday and ditch me. You know how I feel about getting ditched.”

Carson adjusted his stance so he backed her against the wall, blocking her from everyone at the table and anyone in the vicinity. “How much have you had to drink tonight, sugar?”

“A beer, your whiskey, Charlie’s whiskey and Beverly bought me a shot. Why? I’m not drunk.”

“You are actin’ more belligerent than usual.”

“Says the man who punched a guy four times,” she retorted.

“I wanted to hit him more than that, so he oughta consider himself lucky.” He rubbed his cheek along hers. “I put the off-limits sign on you the second you started wearin’ my ring and when you took my name. He—and all the other ass**les eyein’ you—needed a reminder that no one, and I mean no one, touches what’s mine.”

“Then maybe you should take me home and prove that I’m yours.”

“In a bit. Let’s stick around and celebrate your birthday. We’ve got years to act like an old married couple.”

As it turned out, Carson celebrated her birthday harder than she did; she had to pour him into his truck, but not until after last call.

Then once she dragged him home, he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

That night set the tone for their first year of marriage.

Carson worked hard and played harder. They spent Friday and Saturday nights out. She’d insisted since he dragged her to the bar and the dancehall that he better not complain that she expected him to accompany her to church.

After they’d been married three months, Clara West’s health took a turn for the worse.