She's Gotta Be Mine (14 page)

She might have gotten decked for her trouble, but she’d proven something to herself. And to Nick. “You handled him, that was good.”

She flexed an arm muscle. “John Wayne, the Duke, fearless protector of women and small animals, at your service.”

The twinkle in her eyes captivated him.

Sometimes it was doing the things you were afraid of which made you really brave. Wasn’t that the definition of courage?

He had an absurd urge to kiss her. Shit. That was scary, almost as frightening as the realization that he was starting to like her for more than her magnificent breasts and squeezable
tush
.

Chapter Six

“So, what’s going on between you and the serial killer?”

Though she’d guessed this conversation was coming, Bobbie almost choked on the banana split she was sharing with Mavis.

It was seven-thirty on a hot Friday evening, and Johnson’s Ice Cream Soda Fountain swelled with screaming children, sweating, harried parents, and teenagers on dates. No sign of a failing Cottonmouth economy here. Thank God the little league team had just left or even Mavis’s voice wouldn’t have penetrated the din.

Bobbie managed to swallow the bit of banana, then dabbed at the chocolate sauce on her lips, and ventured, “Serial killer? Have there been murders around Cottonmouth?”

God, she couldn’t believe she’d almost told Nick her boss had been close to making her cry. She’d only been that close because of the whole Warren business at the time, of course. But gosh, she’d been so proud of herself, standing up to that horrible lout harassing Ellie, that she’d almost revealed far too much to Nick.

“Do not give me any crap about not having heard all the stories about Nick Angel,” Mavis muttered around a mouthful of chocolate ice cream, then abruptly reverted to their earlier argument. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming. That Kelly person is probably robbing me blind.”

It had taken Bobbie over half an hour to talk Mavis into the short outing. And she was sure there was nothing wrong with Kelly that a little higher education wouldn’t fix. Except if you listened to Mavis, who was still going on about her. “Or she’ll burn the place to the ground, and if she does, it’s coming out of
your
paycheck.” Mavis punctuated the threat with another stab at her ice cream. “What was I saying? Oh yeah. Nick Angel.”

Did Mavis see the same things in his art that Bobbie did? “Why do you have his calendar, Mavis?”

Mavis shrugged, a stray candy sprinkle falling out of her hair. How it got there, only God knew. “I like him,” she said simply.

Shock of shocks. Bobbie thought everyone in Cottonmouth hated Nick. “Do you know him very well?”

“Used to. But that boy hasn’t been into my place since
Jimbo
tried to knock his block off.”

Which was, presumably, a long time. But now he’d made an exception. Because Bobbie was working there? What a nice thought. She hid the secret pleasure. “Why would that sweet man beat up Nick?”

“I said ‘tried.’ And you’ll have to ask the serial killer. Or
Jimbo
.”

And hadn’t it been the most perfect time for Nick to show up, when she’d flawlessly played Warrior Princess, like a model for his artwork? Maybe she should have said something about the calendar. No, she wanted him to show her first. “I’m certainly not going to ask
Jimbo
something that’s none of my business.”

What would Warren have done if he’d ever seen the warrior princess? It occurred to her that he might have chosen the Cookie Monster anyway. Chocolate sauce curdled in her stomach. Ooh, bad thought, conquer it.

Mavis’s next comment helped Bobbie do just that.

“So, ask the serial killer.”

Ask Nick? That would be a conversation starter. “I think you should stop calling him the serial killer.”

Mavis spread her hands. “And I should do that...because?”

Because Bobbie’s Cottonmouth reputation probably couldn’t withstand the impropriety of sleeping with the local serial killer. If she did manage to him into her bed, no sleep intended. “Because he’s actually a very nice man. And he didn’t mean to make that pornographic film. It was a mistake.”

Mavis leaned forward, an avid light glittering in her eyes. “How do you know?”

“He told me.”

The older woman gaped. “He told you a thing like that?”

“Well, yes. He said they tricked him into it.”

Mavis drummed her fingers on the table. “Honey, a man can’t dip his wick into something hot without him knowing that’s what he’s doing. I should know.”

“It wasn’t
his
...wick.”

It started as a guffaw, then turned into tears. Mavis almost fell off her chair. The shop quieted around them. Bobbie’s truck-stop mentor had the grace to lower her voice. “Yeah, right. That’s why his poor mama went ballistic in the middle of her little ‘my son’s big movie’ party. You’d think she’d know her own son’s
wick
since she used to bathe him when he was a baby.”

Hopefully, his wick had changed considerably since then. “She had a party to show people his movie?”

Mavis wiped her eyes. “They had to call the paramedics for Eugenia Meade. She said she was having a heart attack, but knowing the mayor’s wife, all she needed was some attention. Marjorie Holmes, his high school drama teacher, went into the bathroom and used a pair of his mother’s nail scissors to cut off her hair.”

No wonder Patsy, and everyone else in Cottonmouth, had a bad taste in their mouth. And maybe that’s why Nick’s face had reddened last night in his living room’s gloom. Because of the embarrassment he’d caused his mother. He must have felt awful.

“I’m sure it was terrible for his mother.”

Mavis snorted. “It was hilarious. Of course, I was the only who ever thought so.”

Bobbie herself struggled to keep the smile from her lips.

Mavis tapped her spoon against her teeth. “You know, I think he’d rather everybody believe he intentionally made that movie. For his sake, don’t spread it around that he was tricked.”

The somewhat melted ice cream froze in Bobbie’s mouth. “I would have thought he’d want to clear his name.”

“Not if it means showing how stupid he was. Take it from me, he’ll thank you for letting him remain a fallen man.”

“Oh.” She could understand that. She’d rather everyone believe she and Warren had the most amicable of divorces than tell them he left her for a hairy blue Sesame Street character. See, Warren needn’t have worried that she’d spill the beans about Cookie, even if the woman hadn’t asked for her divorce yet.

“But he must want in your pants real bad if he’s revealing his big bad mistakes to get there.”

And it just might work.

“Women are such suckers for a tale of woe,” Mavis muttered.

A tale. Which reminded her. “What’s the scoop on Mary Alice Turner?”

“Mary Alice? Where the hell did you hear that name?” Mavis quickly held up a hand. “Don’t tell me, it was Eugenia or Patsy. I, for one, never believed he did it.”

“Believed he did what?”

“Got her pregnant when they were in high school, refused to marry her, and instead handed her money for an abortion.”

Oh my. That was bad. But at least Mary Alice hadn’t been anyone’s murder victim. Cottonmouth did seem to have such a long memory, if the mistiness in Patsy’s eye had meant anything.

“He forced her to get an abortion?” Bobbie didn’t want to believe it of him.

Mavis spread her hands. “That’s what they say. But in my opinion, he seemed more protective of her than anything else. He wouldn’t let a bad word be said about her, even after her parents moved her away. His attitude just didn’t have the feel of a boy shirking his responsibilities.”

Bobbie let her shoulders relax. Mavis was right. No man sentimental enough to appreciate the romanticism of
Laura
would force his girlfriend to get an abortion.

“In fact, I recall him having a little out with the sheriff at the time,” Mavis went on. “Of course, he wasn’t sheriff then. Captain of the football team.”

Oh my God. Mary Alice wasn’t to Nick what Cookie was to Warren, was she? Near panic made her tamp the idea down.
Please, not again
. She focused on another thought. “The sheriff grew up here, too?”

“Yeah, his daddy owned the dry cleaners. When
Brax’s
old man died, his mama wanted to move to Palm Springs, and his sister went off and married the fruitcake. So
Brax
sold out.”

Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Sheriff Braxton working in a dry cleaners. He looked like he was born to be a cop.

Mavis didn’t even give her a chance to ask about the sister and the fruitcake. “And speaking of the sheriff, that boy is hot for you, Bobbie dear.”

Bobbie felt herself blush, but thanked God the subject of Mary Alice Turner was over for now. “He just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to kill Warren in his county.” She tapped her chin. “I wonder if it’s okay to do it in the next county?”

“Don’t waste your time on the nimrod.”

“Warren’s not a nimrod,” she automatically defended, then wondered why, except that it was such a reflex.

“Answer me this. When was the last time you had sex?”

Oh my God, was the truth written all over her flaming face?

“I thought so. Now, the question is, the sheriff or the serial killer. The choice is yours. ‘Cause they both have the
hots
for you.”

It was such a wonderfully delicious thought. Two men interested.

“I’m partial to the sheriff myself,” Mavis stated, “only because you wouldn’t have to fight the whole damn town to do it. You choose the serial killer, and you won’t be able to walk down the street in broad daylight without being stoned.”

“Oh, come on. They just need to see him as a human being.” And maybe if she helped bring him out in the light.

“He
isn’t
a human being. He’s an icon. Now the sheriff, they’ll trip all over themselves trying to set you up with him.”

But Bobbie didn’t need anyone’s help. She could do it on her own. She scooped melted ice cream, nuts, and whipped cream from the bottom of the dish. On the one hand, she liked the idea of Cottonmouth rooting for her. But on the other, she just plain old
liked
Nick. Maybe it was because she’d known him three more days than she’d known the sheriff, but still...she figured it was time for another subject change. Which, after all, was the real reason she’d invited Mavis out for ice cream in the first place.

“Why does Beau over at the garage hate you?”

Mavis threw down her spoon with enough force to knock a chink out of the glass dish. “What’s that weasel been saying about me?”

“He called you a viper.” Bobbie justified tattling on two counts. First, Mavis should know what the man was saying about her, and second, Beau
told
her to ask Mavis.

“
Asswipe
.” Mavis squinted her eyes together and pressed her lips into a white line.

“So, why does he think you’re a viper?”

“Probably because I threw him out of the house ten years ago for sleeping with that tramp married to his brother.”

Her ears burning, Bobbie wasn’t sure what to ask first. “
You’re
the woman who pays for his teeth?”

“You don’t think I’d have sex with him if his teeth were falling out from that disgusting tobacco problem he has?”

Eyes wide with wonder, Bobbie pressed the obvious. “You threw him out of the house, but you still have sex with him?”

Mavis tossed her head, threatening to topple her bouffant hair. “A woman has needs, you know.”

Yes, Bobbie knew, all right, but she couldn’t see herself sneaking over to Warren’s office in the middle of the night. “But, your ex-husband?”

“He’s not my ex-husband. We never got divorced. Medical and dental rates would have been higher if we had. I just make him live down at his damn garage.”