Author's Note: Reminder (in case you already forgot or have been living underneath a boulder) - I own nothing! No lawsuits, ya hear? That is all!

It had been the night from hell. Not only had it snowed a foot the night before causing her to run her pick-up into a ditch going to work at the shop that morning and had her standing there until a farmer with a four-wheel drive fished her out, but every single pipe in her teensy travel trailer had frozen solid. Every. One.

She did not even want to think about how much those repairs would cost. Or climbing underneath it with a hair dryer in all that snow to try and thaw it out, either. Cheaper option, but a whole lot more miserable, that was for sure.

Ray was on a tear – rare for the man who mainly grunted when asked any question. He couldn't find a box of parts he had special ordered and decided she had to help him organize a storeroom that hadn't been touched for almost 20 years.

She found his parts. But, she was too tired to gloat about it.

She wasn't scheduled to work at The Red Pony that night, but Henry called her at the last minute because another waitress had called in sick.

So instead of trying to thaw out her pipes or bang out the dent in the fender of her truck, she had to deal with some sort of impromptu stag party. The more they drank, the harder it was for her to stay out of their grasps. Or keep her mouth shut.

"Hey, baby! Bring your fine ass over here with a few more beers!" the one with a beard called out.

Annie was surprised he could even talk without slurring his words. She'd already had to go out into storage twice for two more cases of their favorite brand.

Cursing for being unlucky enough to be assigned their table, she had long ago dispensed of niceties. These kinds of partiers weren't usually the tipping kind, anyway.

Scurrying behind the counter, she briefly wondered where Henry had disappeared to.

Dena was in town. So that probably answered her questions. To be so level headed with everything else, she was always surprised how he seemed to follow her like a lovesick puppy whenever she was around.

But, men had a weakness. This much, she knew.

Lord, did she ever.

"Hi."

Annie looked up from refilling pitchers of beer, startled at the hesitant greeting. After the slurs and innuendos she'd heard all night, she couldn't help but smile at the first friendly face she'd seen today. "Hey, Ferg!"

He returned her smile, blissfully unaware of her Shitty Day From Hell as he settled on the worn barstool, duty belt squeaking in protest. "You remembered!"

Annie glanced at him as she set the now-full pitcher on a tray and refilling another one. "Remembered what?"

He was obviously now embarrassed. "Uh . . . my name?"

Annie tried to keep from smiling at the blush rising up the back of his neck, noticeable even in the semi-darkness of the bar. "It's not like there's very many deputies in this county who helped me lug a tire up a flight of stairs on a lark."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I guess not."

"Plus . . . it's on your shirt."

Ferg looked down, almost as if he forgot the little nameplate was there. "Oh. Right."

Annie cleared her throat. Her intentions weren't to embarrass him, although she couldn't help but tease him. "So . . . are you here to arrest Henry? Because he seems to have gone AWOL at the moment, but I can probably flush him out."

Ferg looked startled. "What? Oh . . .no! Nothing like that! I guess I'd . . . well, what I'd like is . . ." He absently picked at a splinter on the bar as he talked.

Waiting patiently, Annie couldn't hide her smile any longer, although he wouldn't look her in the eye long enough to see it.

"I'd ask for a beer, but it looks like you're busy enough as it is." He finally blurted out, motioning over his shoulder towards the rowdy crowd that was now attempting to dance – one of them on the table.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and sat the half-empty pitcher down with a thump. "As long as you promise not to grab my ass, I'll gladly make them wait."

He looked horrified at the very thought.

She couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction.

Picking up a clean glass, she filled it as full as she could and sat it in front of him. She knew she should continue to be at the beck and call of the Drunk Bunch, but she needed a break. But with Henry MIA and the other waitress – Bridgett she thought was her name – on break, she didn't have a choice. She picked up the half-empty pitcher and continued to refill it. "So . . . drinking on duty is now approved in Wyoming?"

Ferg stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth. "What? Oh . . . no!" He looked down at his uniform. "Just got done for the day."

"I'm jealous." She gave her favorite patrons the side eye.

"Hey, waitresssss! Fine ass and beer, 'member?" the one with his cowboy hat on sideways stood up and yelled in her direction. Over the noise the rest of them were making and the music blaring from the juke box, she was surprised she could hear him at all.

Annie ground her teeth in frustration as she plunked another full pitcher on her tray, sloshing some over the side.

"Where's Henry?"

"Probably knocking boots with Dena in the storeroom."

Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole, Ferg risked a glance at the rowdy crowd in the corner. The one on the table has now taken off his shirt and was whipping it around and around over his head like an ugly stripper gone mad.

"He better get his ass back in here, or I'm going to bean someone with a tray," Annie muttered.

"You want me to . . . say something to them?" His tone said he would if he had to, but he'd rather not, thank you very much.

That's bad when the local ruffians even bothered the law.

She picked up the tray and looked at him. "Do you really think it would help?"

"Yeah. You're right. Probably not." He actually looked relieved.

Annie couldn't blame him one bit. Taking a deep breath, she balanced the tray in her hand, steeled herself and walked towards the feisty crowd.

She could do this. It wasn't like this was the first time she fended off drunken passes.

At least she was clothed this time.

Without comment, she plunked the three full pitchers on their one table that didn't have anyone dancing on it. "Can I getcha' anything else?" Not that she really wanted to or anything . . .

"Yeah. How about we go 'round back for a little bj? You know, earn your tip the hard way! Get it? Hard!" The bearded one leered at her while the rest of his friends guffawed like only drunken men can do.

Annie rolled her eyes skyward. Lord, this was harder than she remembered. At least now she didn't have to pretend to like it. "If that's the best pick-up line you can manage, you need to try harder." Hastily, she started collecting empty pitchers. Normally, she would have left them, but they were about out. The quicker she could retreat again, the better . . .

"Oh, I can manage a whole lot more than that . . ." Before she realized it, he had her around the waist, the tray of empties clattering to the floor, pitchers rolling everywhere. He pulled into his lap as his friends laughed uproariously where she could certainly tell what he was talking about.

She struggled away with the help of a well-placed elbow to the stomach – he may be drunk, but his grip was tight. All his friends did was laugh even more as she skittered out of reach.

He must not have been as drunk as she thought – this man could certainly hold his liquor - because he rose from his chair faster than she would have figured and had her pinned against a nearby table, chapped lips blowing the stink of beer breath in her face.

"A fighter. I like that." He tried to kiss her, but she squirmed as far away as she could.

"Let me go, you piece of shit!"

"Oh, I was serious when I said you're gonna earn your tip the hard way-"

"Hey! I'd let her go if I were you!"