In general, Jacky Avett prided himself on being the coolest head of all his siblings. If it had been Kitty or Willa standing there, things would have turned out differently. To a point. 

Their daddy had taught Willa how to fight when she was just eight years old, right around the same time she learned she wouldn't ever be happy playing dress up with Kitty and Vi. And for all the chaff there was between him and Willa, the one thing they agreed on was Kitty and Vi. Willa had always been a hell of a lot more spontaneous than Jack. She'd have had Luke Norman on his back before he even finished speaking. 

Kitty? Well, Kitty would have done her best. She was a tiny thing with no real taste for violence, but she was smart as a whip, and if she didn't like you, she wouldn't let you forget it. Give her half a day, she'd have everyone in Pickett stealing sidelong glances at Luke, giggling and whispering behind their hands about his newly discovered impotency and his apparent lust for menfolk. 

But Jacky Avett didn't have Kitty's foresight or Willa's temper. What he had was a badge and a gun and an LT and a reputation as the one un-crooked officer in his city. So, it wouldn't do to beat on the guy like Willa, or spread petty rumors like Kitty. And yet neither could he let Luke Norman tear down his little sister and just walk away. It was as much a point of honor as the badge. 

Jack stared at Luke for a long moment before that eerie handsome smile crept across his face. He squared off, hauled back, and leant hard into a right hook that sent Luke stumbling back against the wall, lip split. 

Jack shook out his hand with a wince and turned to Tom, who stood with an expression that was half gape, half grin. 

"I smell liquor on Mr. Norman's breath, Tommy. Oughtta get him downtown before he becomes any more of a danger to himself."