Brett's years as a deputy meant that he'd dealt with aggressive drunks before and he shifted his hold as she squirmed. He saw the telegraphed move toward his shin, but too late to entirely get out of her way.
"Fuck!" His curse cut the night air in counterpoint to her own shouts as her boot hit home. He let her go enough that he could spin her round and pin her up against the side of the trailer, holding her at arms' length. Tattoos peeped out beneath the cotton of the long sleeved top he'd pulled on as he woke. Not even a ruckus such as this could have made him leave his privacy without clothing covering the burn scars that ran down the one side of his body. "What the hell do you think you're doing, you crazy bitch?" he spat.