The Great Jackalope Stampede (20 page)

When Greta finished, Ronnie thanked her and held up her phone to take pictures of the article since the printers didn’t seem to be working again when she tried to print. She scrolled up and down, taking photos of the article, the website address, and the author of the article. Then she went back to the pocket watch and zoomed in, taking a vertical shot.

Was it the same pocket watch? Had Claire been right all along and this thing was as valuable as Greta had read? If Joe had managed to get his hands on this watch, where were the rest of the missing items? Stashed somewhere else in the house? Or was this the only piece he had skimmed from the thieves when he moved the stolen goods from one place to the other?

She flipped her phone sideways and zoomed in again, this time with a horizontal shot. The camera sound on her phone clicked. She stared down at the picture. It certainly looked a lot like the pocket watch Claire had locked back up in the wall safe after they had finished looking it over this morning.

What if … she sniffed. What was that smell?

Bay rum aftershave.

“Hello, Veronica,” Sheriff Harrison said.

Oh, no!

“I was right, that is your sister’s black Volvo parked over on Ore Street.”

Damn. She should’ve parked further away. Ronnie fumbled to hit the power down button on her phone, but she was too slow.

“That’s quite a fancy pocket watch you’re looking at.” He grabbed the back of her chair and swiveled her around to face him. “What are you up to today, Veronica?”

She opened her mouth and waited for her voice to come out of hiding.

“She’s learning how to knit, Grady,” Aunt Millie said to her nephew.

The Sheriff frowned, his gaze warning Ronnie he was not done with her before traveling over to his aunt. “Why is she not sitting over there with you ladies then, Aunt Millie?”

“Because we’re also teaching her how to speak German,” Ruth joined Millie on Team Alibi. “She’s an apt pupil.”

“Oh, I bet she is,” Grady said, his voice deep and full of mirth.

Ronnie’s arms went all rubbery with the fear of being busted for withholding information about a very expensive stolen antique. They were like garden hoses with hands on the ends. She wanted to spin back around and exit the screen showing the article, but Grady still had a hold of her chair.

“Darn it, Sheriff,” Greta scolded him with a sweet smile, “you looked so big and handsome when you walked in wearing your spiffy uniform that I got all flutter-pated and dropped a stitch.”

Grady’s cheeks darkened slightly. “Well, I guess I need to offer my apologies for interrupting, ladies.” He tipped his hat at them.

When he turned back to Ronnie, his eyes were dark, promising trouble and something else, something that made her skin warm for a whole different reason. He leaned close enough for her to see a small patch of stubble on his jaw that he’d missed this morning with his razor.

“
Ich habe mein Auge auf Sie, Fräulein
,” he whispered, the German flowing off his tongue with ease.

Ronnie didn’t have a clue what he’d said but managed to lift her right garden hose and make the hand at the end wave goodbye at him.

“
Auf Wiedersehen
, Sheriff,” she said, using a line she remembered from watching repeats of “Hogan’s Heroes” on television with her dad back when she’d been in elementary school.

After he left the building, Greta waddled up to where Ronnie still sat trying to convince her heart to slow down before the Sheriff nailed it for speeding, too.

“Way to cover your backside,” Greta said.

“Thanks. I owe all of you some more jewelry for covering for me.”

“Nah,” Aunt Millie said over her shoulder, her needles clicking away again. “That one was on the house.”

“Thanks.” Maybe these old gals weren’t such bullies after all. Ronnie’s gut twinged a little with guilt for ratting them out to Grady last night. “I have a feeling he’ll be back.”

“I know,” Greta said. “He’s
very
interested in you.”

Ronnie gaped at her. “He is? How do you know?” Had Greta seen the look in his eyes that had gotten Ronnie all hot under her collar?

“I know because he just told you in German that he has his eye on you.”

Oh. That kind of interest in her. “Son of a
Fahrvergnügen
!”

Chapter Eleven

The Shaft smelled like the inside of a well-used cowboy boot, sweaty with a hint of secondhand cowhide.

Ronnie sat at the bar nursing a drink, her back to tables crowded with ranchers, miners, and truckers. They were all whooping it up about the rodeo being broadcast on the two flat screen televisions Butch had mounted high on the walls.

Tonight she didn’t want to watch the door or monitor every man or woman who walked through it. Partly because she was tired of worrying about strangers but mostly because she did not want to see a certain Sheriff or his stupid shiny star. She wanted only to drink her gin and tonic and forget about the ugly truth that she had dug up this afternoon at the library and its possible consequences.

She stirred her almost empty glass, ignoring the cowpoke who slid onto the bar stool next to her and brushed her elbow on purpose. He reeked like he’d been brined in whiskey for a couple of days before being hung out to dry.

“What will you have?” Arlene asked Ronnie’s new neighbor. The older woman was playing bartender tonight, filling in for Gary, who Katie said had Wednesday and Thursday nights off.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Ronnie’s barstool buddy said with a definite slur. “And I’ll buy her another one since she’s almost empty.”

Ronnie took out her stirrer and gulped the last of her drink down, sliding the empty glass in Arlene’s direction.

Arlene raised her eyebrows, looking toward Ronnie’s new friend and then back. “You sure you’re interested, sweetie?”

Ronnie shrugged. “Why not? It’s free and Claire isn’t here to cover my tab.”

Arlene complied, placing a full glass in front of Ronnie.

“Who is Claire?” the cowboy asked, trying to rub his leg against her outer thigh and kneeing her instead. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized at her flinch.

“
De nada
.” She leaned further away from him.

Scooting closer, he asked, “So is Claire your girlfriend?”

He waggled his eyebrows at Ronnie. They looked like two blonde caterpillars inching along his forehead when he did that. She contemplated slapping at them.

“If you’re going to sit here next to me and drink,” she said, “I advise you not to continue upon the path you are traveling.”

He let out a roar of laughter that was as obnoxious as it was loud. The pair of truckers at the other end of the bar glared at him from under the bills of their hats. “Oh, you’re a smart one. I like that in a filly.”

His hand slid under the bar and landed smack dab in the middle of her upper thigh.

Ronnie shot him a sidelong glance. If he did not remove his palm soon, the doctors down at the ER were going to need to take an X-ray to figure out how to remove her gin glass from his mouth.

“This thing here you’re hoping to achieve,” she reached down and picked up his hand like it was something dead she had found under the porch, dropping it onto his own thigh. “It isn’t going to happen tonight.”

He drew up close, a strong waft of whiskey blowing her hair back. “Come on, baby,” he said above a wave of groans from the tables after a rider on the televisions didn’t make it to the eight second mark. “You’ve got more legs than a bucket full of chicken, and I’ll bet my lucky cowboy hat that every inch of them is finger-lickin’ good.”

Ronnie looked across her shoulder at him. The idiot must have been kicked in the head by a bull more than once. Why couldn’t he shrivel up and blow away in the breeze like the tumbleweed she had almost hit on her race here from the library?

Years of etiquette classes had taught her to be polite when she rejected a man’s advances. Years of practicing what she had learned in that class had left her broke, alone, and at risk of getting killed … or something worse, according to her piece of shit not-husband. This cowboy had picked the wrong woman to get all grab-happy with tonight.

Those blonde bushy eyebrows wiggled at her again, followed by a wink. “Bring this Claire babe along for the ride, if’n you’d like. There’s plenty here to share.” He pointed both index fingers south of his huge, brass belt buckle that sported bull horns.

Ronnie picked up her gin and tonic, holding it out as if to toast him.

“Is that a yes, baby?” His hand was back and inching up her thigh.

She leaned in close as if going in for a kiss. “Cowboy, you’re not gonna make it for the full eight seconds.”

His eyelids lowered, his gaze on her lips. “What was that now?”

She lifted off his hat and emptied her glass over his head.

He came up sputtering and cursing, reaching for his hat.

She tossed it on the floor. “One gin and tonic does not give you the right to trespass, idiot.”

“You stupid cow!” He lifted his hand, aiming the back of it at her cheek.

Ronnie reacted without thinking. Her hand snaked out, catching him by the wrist and twisting as she stood and threw her weight into the take-down move she had learned long ago during a series of private self-defense classes Lyle had insisted she take. Her momentum caught the cowboy off balance. The whiskey in his blood made him slow to counter, and she dropped him face-first onto the floor with a quick kick to his ankle. Before he could figure out what had happened, she straddled him and jerked his arm up behind his back, making him cry out in pain.

“Is this what you meant by riding you, jackass?” She yanked on his arm, making him squeal like a rutting pig. Months of feeling helpless and frustrated as strangers took potshots at her fueled her meltdown, causing an internal combustion that exploded in red hot anger. “The next time you buy a drink for a girl,” she yelled, “keep your damned hands to yourself!”

“Uh, Ronnie?” Katie’s voice cut through the rage roaring in her head.

Ronnie looked up from where she rode on the cowboy’s back. All eyes were no longer focused on the rodeo, at least not the one on the television.

Ah, hell. What had she done? The flames crackling inside of her blew out in a single blast of cold realization. The last thing she needed was someone calling the cops on her. How was she going to ease her way out of this without making a bigger show of it than she already had?

She glanced back down at the cowboy. Thinking back to her teen years when she had lusted over several local rodeo stars, she remembered the vernacular she had picked up while hanging out behind the chutes with the other much less dignified buckle bunnies.

“Does anybody have a piggin' string?” she called out to the crowd of onlookers. “I'm gonna hogtie this bastard.”

The room drew a breath.

Then the hooting and cheering filled the void.

“It’s your lucky night.” Patting the drunk cowboy’s back, Ronnie stood, bowed, and returned to her barstool.

The Shaft in turn went back to its previous dull roar.

Arlene poured her a fresh drink. “This one’s on the house, wildcat.”

Ronnie buried her burning face in her hands.

“What in the hell was that?” Katie hissed in her ear.

Looking up from her palms, Ronnie grimaced. “He pissed me off and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You weren’t thinking … ” Katie rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “You’ve been hanging around Claire too much. Next thing I know you’ll be trying to create a mystery out of thin air and clobbering your suspects.”

“I am not like Claire. She hits first and asks questions later. I just hit, plain and simple.” At least the new Ronnie did.

“Since when do you even risk breaking a nail?”

Since Mrs. Veronica Jefferson found out her highfalutin fancy life was all a highfalutin fancy lie.

Ronnie picked up her gin and tonic, sending a sideways glance at her youngest sister. “People change.” Then to redirect their conversation, she added, “Look at Claire. She’s never stayed with a guy more than a couple of months, nor even made mention of ‘love’ in regards to anything other than MoonPies and cigarettes. Yet she’s still nuts about Mac after all of this time.”

“True.”

“And look at you.”

Katie frowned, pulling back. “What about me?”

“You fell for a guy who has no jail record. That’s a first for you, isn’t it?”

Katie punched her shoulder. “Shut up before I knock you down and sit on
your
back.” She tucked some loose strands back up in her crooked ponytail. “I still can’t believe you took down that big ol’ cowboy.”

“He was whiskey drunk.” Katie did not need to know about Ronnie’s self-defense classes. It might raise questions as to why they were needed. The same questions Ronnie had asked Lyle when he’d insisted on them. She’d have to come up with some lies to tell Katie for answers, just as Lyle had done with her.

“I know, but you moved so fast.”

Ronnie needed to change the subject pronto. “I found some sweet Jimmy Choo heels today while I was on the internet at the library,” she said. It turned out she was going to lie about something tonight, but at least it was not about her past.