The Monkey Jungle (The Bennt, Montana Series)

by Taylor Ryan

  “I appreciate the ruthless, conniving manipulation behind the idea. Frankly, I wish I’d thought of it myself. It’s a good thing I’m not an idiot, your line of bullshit would be hard to resist.” She disappeared with a haughty sniff.

  He hid his smile as he got out of the car, leaning over the roof to watch her. “You may as well finish whatever it is you want to say, Mary Kathryn, because you will chaff at the bit until you do.”

  “You tried to manipulate me with backward logic into the shower. Tried to play me.” Mary Kathryn tossed her hair over her shoulder, meet his bland gaze across the roof. “What irritated me was, you were right. In a sick way, unfortunately for me, as it pertained to me, you were right. What intrigued me when I thought about it, was what kind of man would think of such a thing—and try to manipulate me. You teased me, intrigued me—using soap and water as bait. You left me wanting everything you described, legitimizing it with real observations. Just how jaded are you?”

  “Extremely.” Garth shoved himself off the car. “I survived the Monkey Jungle intact, Mary Kathryn. Monkeys everywhere chasing tail—theirs and mine. I used any means at my disposal to get to safe territory. Intact. Your friend Mary Louise is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. She’s just a little girl looking for validation from an absent Daddy.”

  Mary Kathryn couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you equating women with monkeys in a jungle?!”

  He eyed her cautiously, admitted even more reluctantly. “Yes. They look cute going in, swinging from the trees, playing games, but they are wily opportunists and their teeth are deadly and their nails sharp.”

  “Well!” she huffed, her arms going akimbo. “You’re a ridiculously inventive chauvinist, Garth Morley. I’m offended for women everywhere!”

  “You tossed me to that nanny goat of yours.” He accused without heat. “That Weed Eater you have tethered in your little margarita garden. Mary Louise,” he explained calmly in response to her blank expression, which promptly became outraged. “Think about it from my perspective,” he said with an exasperated, hunted look. “Women like her—crudely put, Mary Kathryn, humping my leg, clinging like fleas on a sorry dog. It’s a scary place, your jungle. I became a survival expert. I survived the self induced crash of my marriage into Yang World! Men might be from Mars, but Venus button-fly traps stink for a reason, Mary Kathryn. They emit the most lovely smells to men like me and then consume us alive. I don’t—didn’t want to be consumed. It wasn’t easy getting out intact: Patty Piranha, Betty Bitter, Needy Nancy. Psycho Susie.”

  “You survived sweaty, cheap cotton sheets and a goat?” She gnashed her teeth as she snapped back, “Woe is you!—don’t try coy with me, Morley, it don’t fly. You had a great run in the Zipper Kingdom!”

  Unbidden laughter burst from him.

  She gesticulated wildly, aggravated he found her amusing. “You act like you’re just an old fashioned country boy harassed by women. Reminder. Women like you, and you responded accordingly to Heidi Ho and Brenda Bendova. Don’t you try and swing a ball of shit at me, Morley. You were a man whore. Now that you’ve finally grown up, you find women a problem? Woe is you again!” She was still offended. “Frankly, you astound me!”

  “Good!” He was still chuckling. “You’ll never take me for granted.”

  “That goes both ways,” she sniffed haughtily, then warned him, her eyes sparkling, “And don’t you ever call my friend a goat again.” She arched a finely plucked brow. “Mary Louise is a man eating shark!”

  Garth laughed harder, shaking his head. “Then sharks have been chasing me since I was fourteen years old. It was just as bad when I was married, maybe even worse—since they took it as a challenge. Women threw themselves at me. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t complain at the time. I’ve an ego—that nearly destroyed me emotionally.” He opened the trunk as she drew up beside him. “You’re different.”

  “There’s nothing special about me at all.” She went from irritated to instantly bemused, taking the tackle boxes he handed to her.

  “Zipper Kingdom, Mary Kathryn?” He guffawed loudly, then shook his head as he looked down at her.

  “Monkey Jungle, Garth?” she countered, amused at the image of women swinging from trees, tempting men.

  “Mary Kathryn, you yelled at Satan for lying to you.” He reached for the ice chest containing their catch.

  “Well,” she argued, “nobody else is telling him how it is—I think they are afraid. What’s he going to do to them that’s worse than what he’s already doing?” She chortled at her own wit.

  “That’s not it.” Garth was still smiling as he handed her the fishing poles. When she took them in her free hand, he slid his fingers behind her ear, sinking them into her hair and tipped her face up. “You pulled out that damned gun and called me a naughty man and shot. You connived your way out of a visit to a judge, considered a taser then sailed away to bed as if nothing odd had occurred—believe me, something had. Then you cooked me that orgasmic apology, which haunts me.”

  “I’ve decided to take that shower with you.”

  “But on my terms.” Garth kissed her nose “No sex.”

  “Garth,” she protested, pushing him away. “Just looking at you is foreplay—I can’t imagine you lasting through a shower.”

  “No sex, Mary Kathryn. I might have been trying to manipulate you into the shower, but I was sincere. I’d’ve tried not to have sex with you and you would have tried to seduce me. But, Mary Kathryn, I don’t break promises anymore. I wouldn’t have had sex with you.”

  “Then we agree you’re an idiot. Some promises to ourselves are made to be broken.” She harrumphed, stomping off empty handed.

  Garth watched her stalk around the side of her house. Had that been an argument? He laughed. She was—there were no words. He had her right where he wanted her. He followed her.

  There were different kinds of seduction: he was leading her nicely, but she was no cheeky monkey.

  He grinned. Mary Kathryn had talked herself into having an affair with him. Hoo-rah! The Marines would have cheered him at that. He felt like a traitor to his beloved Air Force. He wondered what she would say if she found out he hadn’t had sex in almost two years.

  Garth walked the brick path alongside the house leading to the backyard. He closed the tall gate she’d left open for him, looking around. He first noted the outdoor kitchen with its space for a BBQ. Nice!—he gave it a cursory once over, seeing the sink and a space where a cutting board and grill were inserted. He didn’t get a chance to think about it much longer as Mary Kathryn was waiting just inside the boot room in her socks. Zany multicolored frog socks.

  He paused, wondering what tactic she would take as he caught the covertly speculative glance she cast him. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “Garth,” she said slowly, her voice lowering. “I’m thinking of a shower—by myself—and you’re going to think about what I could be doing to you in the shower if you were with me... With your wrists handcuffed to the curtain rod. Me, wet. Beads of water sliding down my body—my nipples hard. You—helpless—watching my every move. I wash myself slowly—imagining my hands are yours. They slide over me as I think yours would...I arch my back as I face you, tip my head back...water cascading over me. Then I begin washing you...I drop the soap and sink to my knees to pick it up... Take you in my hand...my mouth moves closer...my lips part, water is sliding over my face as I take you in my mouth...I want to taste you. I look up as I take you in my mouth. The tip of my tongue...”

  Garth inhaled sharply.

  “Then Henry bangs on the door, screeching the downstairs toilet is broken and he needs the bathroom!”

  His entire body jerked abruptly as he was yanked from the erotic vision she’d created.

  “Welcome to Sweaty Palms, Montana, Garth.” Her gaze lingered significantly at the bulge in his crotch. “And I wasn’t even warmed up.” She grinned cheerfully. “Clean the fish.”

  Garth stared at her stupidly.r />
  “The garage is still through there.” She pointed to the closed door on her left, noting with satisfaction he was stock still, his green eyes glittering, his face dark. Good! He hadn’t expected to get his little game turned around on him. Mary Kathryn waved a hand toward the garage door again, acutely aware he was trying to regroup. She eyed the bulge in his jeans overly-long and said cheekily, “You’ll find a cleaning station and fillet knives. And a pair of pliers. I like my fish de-boned.”

  He peered at her closely then exhaled sharply as he took the fish from the ice chest. “With lemon.”

  “Love my lemon!” She bent down and picked up her boots, placing them on the boot dryer, muttering as she did.

  Garth was amused, even for his aching groin. “Something wrong?” he asked innocently.

  “Nothing a nice long run in bed with a pitcher of lemonade wouldn’t cure.” She muttered again, her head tipped sideways to look at him as she knelt to plug in the boot dryer. “When you change your shoes put them on the spikes. Room temperature air blows up and dries the insides.”

  “I know what a boot dryer is.” He was indulgent, his lips quirking, knowing she thought he hadn’t heard her comment. “I looked at one of those a few years ago.”

  “The practical, frugal miser you claim you are come out and beat you over the head with cheap logic?”

  He studied her angelic expression. “No,” he finally answered. “I have one of my own. Except mine only holds one pair. You have the deluxe model.”

  She smiled enigmatically. “I like nice things. I also take care of them.”

  “So do I,” he said slowly. “On both counts.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then took the short steps to the garage.

  Mary Kathryn stared at the door as it closed. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. He’d just told her something important, had wanted her to know. He thought she was nice. He would take care not to hurt her. And she believed him. She wandered into the kitchen, staring around the room blindly. Her predicament was untenable.

  She stalked back into the boot room, grabbed their fishing poles and went into the garage.

  He was cleaning the fish, whistling happy birthday as he worked. She wanted to laugh but couldn’t.

  “Garth?” He glanced over his shoulder as she said, “There is something I need to tell you—before this—before this thing goes any further.”

  “By thing, I presume you mean us? Not some sludge in the kitchen that has grown two heads and is sliding out the door?” He lay the knife down on the cutting board and rinsed his hands, grabbing a few paper towels to dry them before leaning nonchalantly against the sink.

  “It’s—difficult. It might be a real problem for you. I haven’t told anyone—well, anyone whom it could effect.” Mary Kathryn worried her lower lip. “It would disrupt my life if people knew.”

  “Did you kill someone with that pistol of yours?” he inquired somewhat indulgently. “Did you shoot and stuff Santa somewhere inappropriate because you caught him in your living room taking off his costume?—something like that serious would really upset me—but it can be fixed. I’ve got connections with the USAF. We can probably get a plane, but finding reindeer willing to pull it might be a problem.”

  She choked, unwilling laughter rising. She controlled herself, a feral, aggravated gleam entering her eyes as she pinned him. “I’m not letting you get out of cooking dinner. My stick was bigger!”

  Mary Kathryn pivoted then froze, her shoulders slumping. She turned to approach him, avoiding his gaze, pushing the fishing poles in his hand. “It wasn’t that important, I was being silly. Please put these up.”

  Garth’s unresisting fingers held the poles. He watched her with rising dismay. “Is your husband still alive? Did he bail and you can’t get a divorce?”

  She blinked at the ludicrous idea. “I’m fairly confident that I kiss adequately—but I didn’t know I was good enough to cause brain damage.” She patted his arm. “Skillets can be tricky. Try poking holes in the top of your jar before you cook dinner.”

  She sailed out of the garage a moment later. Garth leaned against the sink knowing he’d made a terrible mistake. She was on the proverbial run. He frowned at the fishing poles in his hand. A secretive, contradictory, flippantly outspoken woman he was very interested in had just tried to open up to him.

  He’d challenged her to be serious, and the moment she’d tried, he opened his mouth and stuck his foot in hers, effectively silencing whatever she’d felt compelled to share. And it had been something important to her. She’d clearly been nervous, anticipating his reaction.

  He peered around the garage and saw poles hanging on the wall, absent minded as he added the two in his hand to the dozen others. He started when he realized exactly what he was seeing. They were graphite. And the best.

  “Good Lord!” He took a closer look at a four foot tall storage box alongside the pole rack. It had been specifically made for reels and tackle boxes. The outdoors man in him was pleased. The frugal man was miserable, covetous. He pondered the quality and expense of the well-used collection, pulling open drawers in the cabinet and whistling in admiration. Everything was organized and neat, oiled and well cared for.

  Mary Kathryn valued her dollar. She’d claimed she did and here was proof. And from the looks of what he was seeing, he was in love; Mary Kathryn was a fishwife waiting to happen.

  “Dad?” Alison’s voice from the boot room door had him turning.

  “What?”

  “Mary Kathryn asked me to tell you that she was kidding about de-boning her trout. The pliers are for working wire for wreaths.”

  “Tell her I said she’s a twit.”

  “This isn’t high school, Dad,” Alison was clearly exasperated at being used as a messenger. “Tell her yourself.” The door to the boot room slammed a moment later.

  * * * * *

  “Next time we go fishing, Mary Kathryn,” Garth said as they were eating the dinner he’d cooked, “I get to pick my own pole. You’ve got a great collection.”

  She nodded, relishing the fresh trout in her mouth.

  “You’ve got a fishing pole collection, Mom?” Henry exhaled as if he found the news upsetting.

  Mary Kathryn waved vaguely, her attention on her meal. She squeezed a lemon wedge on her trout, avoiding Henry’s sharp gaze when she felt it boring into her.

  “A pretty nice one, Henry.” Garth’s approval was genuine. Mary Kathryn smiled at him. Garth returned it, his eyes gleaming with appreciation. “Almost as good as mine.”

  She arched a dubious brow over her wine glass but didn’t take the bait.

  Henry pinned his mother with a glare. “Quality fishing reels and poles cost a small fortune, Mom.”

  Garth glanced questioningly from Henry to Mary Kathryn. She shrugged helplessly in response, smiling at Garth when she tasted the three cheese sourdough bread he’d broiled.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Henry continuing to glower at his mother as he pushed food around on his plate. He reached for the wine bottle. Mary Kathryn quickly intercepted it, emptying it between herself and Garth. She casually set it down. “What’s bothering you, Henry? I’d have more fun eating dinner with a rattlesnake.”

  Henry picked at his dinner as Alison ate a bowl of soup next to him. “You had a delivery today,” he finally said quietly. “Two, as a matter-of-fact. One of them was perishable. I put everything in that new freezer in the garage. The other delivery was a case of wine.”

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  Silence reigned for a moment then Henry asked sourly, “Mom, why is Alaska United Fisheries sending you perishables?” His fisted hand came down on the table with a thump. “And don’t say because Fish and Game fish whisperers have strongly urged Halibut and King Crab to stay out of Montana waterways... Or anything else ridiculous!”

  Mary Kathryn laughed. “Fish Whisperers? That was clever, Henry. I couldn’t have done any better.” She toasted him with her cheesy ga
rlic bread. “Obviously, I ordered Halibut and Alaskan King Crab over the Internet.”

  “Isn’t that kind of expensive?” Henry slumped, staring dejectedly at his plate.

  “It was, Henry. Please sit up.” Mary Kathryn barely glanced at him. “There were a couple packages of Jumbo Shrimp in there, I hope. I want to use it for a BBQ, so don’t eat them.” She turned to Garth, her gaze lingering on his mouth. “You’re invited, of course. Your last weekend here, I believe. I’m going to marinate shrimp in bourbon garlic sauce, skewer them and toss them on the barbecue. They’re delicious.”

  “As good as your pumpkin waffle?” Garth inquired innocently. Mary Kathryn cast him a scathing glare.

  “You made him my waffle, Mom!” Henry’s outrage caused them all to cringe. His fork clattered down on his plate. “You made him my pumpkin cream waffle?” Henry’s hurt incredulity was amusing. Alison gaped at her fiancé.

  “As my future son-in-law, Henry,” Garth said easily, aware Mary Kathryn’s startled gaze snapped from her son back to him, “I’m going to overlook whatever that meant, but only because I’ve been craving her waffle ever since, so I do understand.” He glanced at Mary Kathryn, his eyes twinkling at his innuendo. She looked at the tip of her nose, her eyes crossing.

  “She never makes anybody my waffle!” Henry’s voice rose. “It’s special!”

  “I’d like to think I’m special, Henry,” Garth said drolly. “But you’re not helping.”

  “Oh, my God, Henry?!” Alison exclaimed. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “It’s her waffle!” Henry went on the defensive. “My mother’s own recipe. Made only for special people!” Henry shoved his chair back and stormed from the room.

  “That kinda hurt, I don’t think he likes me. He definitely doesn’t think I’m special.” Garth didn’t look hurt at all. He bit into a chunk of bread, grinning behind it.

  Mary Kathryn sat wide-eyed with disbelief at Henry’s tantrum. She glanced at Alison to find the girl’s accusing gaze on her. “Alison, I didn’t spoil him!—I weaned him from his waffle addiction when he was four...” Mary Kathryn’s voice rose helplessly. “I swear!”