The Great Jackalope Stampede (39 page)

Grady peeked out the window. “She’s gone back in the room.” He sat up.

Ronnie followed suit, wondering if she had shown him her cards in those few seconds. She hoped not. The last thing she wanted was Grady knowing she had the hots for him. She preferred his animosity to his kindness. It was more pokey, less likely for her to get comfortable around when they were alone together, like now.

She rubbed her hands together. “Now what?”

He watched her, his expression unreadable. “Well, first of all, this.”

His hand wrapped around her arm and tugged her toward him.

“What are y—” she started.

“Shut up, Veronica,” he said, cupped her jaw, and kissed her full on the lips.

He tasted salty and sweet at the same time, intoxicating her with the combination. His tongue teased, brushing along the line of her lips. His fingers spread wide over her cheeks, positioning her mouth for better access.

He lifted his lips, his breathing quickened. His eyes searched hers, for what, she didn’t know, didn’t particularly care.

“I’m sorry, Veronica. I just—”

“Shut up, Grady.”

She grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled his mouth back to hers, wanting to taste him more. He groaned when her tongue tangled with his, then traced his lower lip before she captured it between her teeth. His hand slid down over her shoulder, squeezing.

She grabbed his lapels and tugged him closer, a need for more of him, so much more, flaring white hot from out of nowhere.

“Grady,” she gasped as his mouth trailed over her cheek and found her earlobe. “This is so wrong.” She closed her eyes as his fingers traced her collarbone. “I piss you off.”

“You definitely have a knack for it,” he said, his voice a low growl against her neck.

“I’m the last person you should get involved with,” she repeated his words from last night at the bar.

“Yes, you are.” He pulled the neck of her T-shirt aside and kissed a line along her shoulder blade. “Your skin tastes like honey.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered to the ceiling of the pickup. She caught his hand and moved it to her ribs. “Touch me.”

A sharp knock on the passenger side window made them both gasp and jerk apart.

Aunt Millie’s face was pressed against the glass, her dentures showcased in her wide grin. “What are you two doin’ in there?”

Grady groaned and leaned his head against the back window.

Aunt Millie held up the brooch that Ronnie had traded for computer time last week. “We miss you at the library, Ronnie. Come visit us again soon. We have more German to teach you.” She winked and looked at her nephew’s profile. “Grady, if this is a new interrogation technique of yours, I have a couple of girlfriends who might want to have you over for tea and questioning.”

With a cackling laugh, Aunt Millie and her red walker squeaked off down the sidewalk, probably heading toward the library.

“Shit,” he said under his breath. “This is going to get a lot of laughs at the Thanksgiving table this year.”

Ronnie adjusted her shirt, fanning herself. “I didn’t expect it to go like that.”

“Me either. That’s what I get for going against my better judgment.”

Her, too. Lesson learned. Don’t play with fire. Her fingers and lips were still burning.

The silence in the cab reminded her of prom night when she caught her date masturbating under the bleachers while watching their Spanish teacher do the tango with the basketball coach—sticky and awkward.

She cleared her throat. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pulled a crinkled piece of paper from his pants’ pocket and handed it to her. Then he grabbed his hat from where it had fallen onto the floor at some point and shoved open the pickup door. Leaning inside, he looked her over once more, pointing at the paper. “You need to tell me what’s going on with that.”

With a nod, he closed the door, planted his hat on his head, and strode off.

Ronnie watched his backside in the rearview mirror until he climbed into an unmarked sedan and cruised by her without even a wave.

She looked down at the paper in her hand, smoothing it out on the bench seat next to her.

“Fuck,” she whispered, grasping the steering wheel until her world stopped swirling toward the drain.

The article on the German castle and stolen pocket watch tried to crinkle back into a bowl shape. The Sheriff must have found it last night while he was at The Shaft. She should have picked it up before drinking all of that gin. If only her mom hadn’t … no, she was not going to play the blame game, anymore. This was her fault.

Now what?

With one last glance at Mindy Lou’s love nest, she started up the Ford and took off for home. Maybe Claire would know what to do to get Ronnie out of this mess.

Chapter Twenty

Mac’s Sunday evening with Claire was not going as planned.

Not even close.

It had all started this afternoon when Jess’s dad had called and cancelled movie night with her because of a migraine.

Ruby had taken one look at Jess’s teary eyes and decided to take her to the movie in his place. “A movie with my baby girl is exactly what I need right now,” she had told Mac, who was down in the basement office going through a bunch of records and information he had collected on Ruby’s mines over the last couple of months.

“You do remember the movie is about zombie hunting vampires, right?”

She placed a plate of lemon bars in front of him, one of his favorites since childhood. The smell alone made him swoon a little.

“I know it’s not exactly some fancy mother-daughter tea,” Ruby ran her finger over the part of the desk not covered with copies and maps, frowning at the dust she found. “But any bonding time at this age is good, don’t ya think?”

If Ruby was taking Jess to the movies, that meant Claire was his for the night. Sweet. Mac picked up one of the powdered sugar crusted lemon bars. It was still warm. His mouth watered, thinking about lemon bars and Claire—naked. Maybe he should dust her with powdered sugar, too.

“I need a favor,” Ruby said, interrupting his thoughts of Claire. He bit into the bar and groaned in appreciation, then looked up at his aunt. “Name it.”

“Well,” she hesitated, which made Mac’s shoulders tense. “Since I’m fixin’ to go to the movies, the boys are gonna need a fourth player for their usual Sunday night Euchre game.”

No way. Mac grabbed another bar. “Isn’t there somebody else who could fill in?”

She held up her hand and began ticking off her fingers. “Natalie left.”

Claire’s cousin had loaded up her pickup after lunch, passed around hugs goodbye with promises to return again soon, and headed back home to South Dakota. Claire had watched Natalie’s dust trail until it dissipated in the breeze, then she had turned to her grandfather and told him he’d better buck up because she couldn’t finish the restroom on her own.

“Claire can’t because Kate needs her help at the bar—Gary is out sick still with the flu.”

“What about Ronnie?”

“She’s already at The Shaft, coverin’ for Arlene. It’s her night off.”

Butch needed to get his ass home soon before the Morgan sisters took over the bar and ran him out of town.

“Deborah can play,” Mac said. “It’s about time she came out of her bedroom and faced the music.” Claire’s mom had been hiding away since “the incident.”

Ruby grimaced. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Those boys will fight more if she’s there, and I sure don’t need Harley reinjuring that leg.”

Mac shoved the whole lemon bar in his mouth. Fine. Maybe he could play a few hands and then head up to The Shaft and spend the night keeping Claire company while she worked.

One of these days he was going to learn how to say “No” to his aunt, damn it.

A few hours later he found himself sitting at the Euchre table as agreed, holding a lousy hand containing only two trump cards in a rec room full of Chester’s cigar smoke and Manny’s liniment fumes.

Harley was off cigars still and now beer, too, thanks to some new pain medication he had started yesterday, so he had no vices available to soften his current cantankerousness. Mac was playing it smart and keeping his mouth shut and fingers back. After the last week or two of being on the receiving end of some of Harley’s teeth gnashes, Mac was happy to let Manny hold the chair and whip for a while.

“Hearts is trump,” Chester declared, leading with the Ace of hearts.

Mac had no hearts, so he tossed out the ten of spades. He waited for a smart-assed remark from one of the three musketeers, but none came. Conversation had been at a minimum so far. Manny’s romantic romp with Harley’s daughter had left the atmosphere in the room unstable at best. Mac was beginning to believe his aunt had more reasons for choosing zombies and vampires over Euchre tonight than bonding time with her kid.

Manny sat on Mac’s left, following his turn of play. He frowned down at his card while twirling the end of his moustache.

“Any time, lover boy,” Chester said around his cigar and puffed smoke at his partner. “Don’t mind me; I’m just dying a slow death over here.”

Manny touched one card, then another.

Gramps drummed his fingers on the table. “I sure wish you’d thought that hard before weaseling your way into my daughter’s bed.”

“I did not ‘weasel’ as you say.” Manny threw down the Jack of diamonds, the second highest trump card. “I was invited, not that it’s any of your business.”

Harley slapped the Jack of hearts down on top of Manny’s card, winning the round with the big daddy of trump cards. “Of course it’s my business. She’s my daughter and young enough to be yours.”

“Be careful,
viejo
.” Manny had an old West one-eyed squint going on. “Your new bride is not much older than your daughter. There’s not a lot of room at this table for you to talk.”

“Personally,” Chester rolled his cigar in the ash tray as he spoke, “I think Carrera here is my new hero. I didn’t think a man could tame that shrew without losing a testicle or two.” He raised one bushy eyebrow at Manny. “You do still have both
huevos
after mating with her, don’t you?”

“
Sí
. How do you say it—her bark is worse than her bite.”

“So she does bite in bed then.” Chester grinned. “I win that bet. You owe me a six pack.”

“Keep in mind that it’s my daughter you two are running your mouths about.” Harley’s cheeks had darkened since Mac had last looked at him.

Much more of this teasing and Mac might be calling 911. Ruby needed to install a defibrillator on the wall next to the phone if these guys were going to keep having sex in the house.

“What are you shaking your head at, sweet buns?” Chester asked.

Mac had not missed hearing that nickname. “Nothing.” He looked at Harley. “It’s your turn.”

Grumbling under his breath, Harley tossed out the Ace of clubs.

Chester and then Mac followed his suit.

Manny trumped it with a low heart.

“Now you’re just being an asshole,” Harley said.

“I’m just following your lead,
hombre
.”

Chester grunted. “Would you two quit pillow fighting and get back to playing the game like grown men?”

“He started it,” Manny said, leading the next round with the King of diamonds.

“You started it when you climbed into my daughter’s bed.” Harley threw down the Ace of diamonds. “In your old age, you seemed to have forgotten the golden rule—family is off limits.”

“She invited me into her room,” Manny said.

“You should have said, ‘No.’”

“And reject her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you blind to your daughter’s pain?”

Chester trumped Harley’s Ace with the ten of hearts. Mac slid the Queen of diamonds across the table, really wishing they would change the subject to something other than sex with Claire’s mother.

“She needed a man to make her feel better.”

Chester grunted again while pulling in the pile he won. “Carrera has a point. You should have heard her last night, Ford. Jessica’s dad’s rejection cut ‘er deep. The way I see it, Carrera took one for the team. We should be thanking him for smoothing the edge off her.” He tossed out the Queen of clubs to start the next round.

“Nobody asked for your opinion.” Harley glared at his cards.

Mac followed Chester’s lead with the King of clubs. It had been nice not to have Deborah flouncing around all day, speaking her mind when nobody had asked her opinion, bossing Ruby around in between chastising her. Mac took a drink of his iced tea. Maybe Manny should continue with his tequila and whipped cream therapy sessions, at least until Mac headed back to Tucson Tuesday night.

“Besides,” Manny said, twirling his moustache again. “Maybe I’ll make an honest woman of her someday.”

Mac swallowed a laugh along with his tea, coughing into his hand as his eyes watered.

Chester laughed and swatted Mac on the back a few times. “You got sweet buns all choked up on that one.”

Harley shot Mac a glare. “He shouldn’t be laughing, not with Claire in her situation and no ring on her finger.”

Mac took another drink to clear his throat. “What situation?”