by Ann Charles
I sat back on my heels, still holding his arm. Behind his closed eyelids, his eyes rolled around—REM on speed. What was going on in there?
“Doc?” I whispered in his ear.
No response.
I grasped his hand. “Doc, squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
No squeeze.
Fuck! Should I call 911? Harvey? Aunt Zoe? Cooper?
My gut told me I needed to get him out of the room, so I hooked my hands under his armpits and tugged, then tugged some more. Grunting and sweating, I dragged him into the hall and noticed the color had returned to his lips. It wasn’t until I stood upright that I realized I had company.
“What are you doing up here?” Lila said, her mouth crinkled into a snarl.
I mentally gulped. With a man down, I was ill prepared for battle. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, stepping between her and Doc to shield him from her claws. “I’m showing Wanda’s house to a potential buyer.”
Her eyes narrowed at my jab.
Millie came around the corner right then. Her owl eyes widened with alarm when she saw Doc. “What did you do to him? Is he dead?” Grimacing, she leaned over Doc, whose color had almost returned to normal.
Had Millie been the one who found her dad and brother, post mortem? Did she have nightmares, too? I touched her arm in empathy, only to jerk my hand back when she recoiled from me.
“He’s not dead.” I scrambled for an explanation and threw out the first thing that came to mind. “He has allergies.” I should’ve gone with the second.
Lila snorted. “That’s not a normal reaction.”
She didn’t know the half of it. “His meds cause some chemical imbalances.”
The tilt of her head hinted that she wasn’t buying my bullshit. She looked over my shoulder into the bedroom, and her face contorted. I turned to see what had her all feral and bristly and saw the rumpled bed cover where Doc had been sitting. Busted! Crap. By the time I turned back, Lila had schooled her expression, but she still gave me frostbite from my toes north.
“Is he the one who wants to buy our house?” Millie asked, still leaning over Doc.
“No.”
“Then why is he here?” Lila bit out each word.
Damn, I was tired of this bitch. I had more important things to deal with, like the man lying at my feet. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”
Lila’s cheeks flashed bright pink. “Listen, you little—”
Doc gasped and wheezed.
Millie cried out in surprise and stumbled backwards.
Before I could do more than gape down at him, his eyelids opened and he came out of his spell swinging. Literally. I leapt out of the way as he thrashed and punched the air, wrestling some invisible demon.
Lila squealed when I landed on her foot, my heel crushing her toes. She shoved me, hard, and my shoulder slammed into the wall, but my fear for Doc overshadowed the flare of pain.
“Doc!” He writhed on the floor as if in a seizure, the tendons standing out on his neck, his muscles straining. I didn’t dare risk getting close enough to touch him. “Doc, wake up!”
He stopped so suddenly that it took me several shallow breaths to realize he was looking up at me—actually seeing me.
I bent over him. “Are you okay?”
His eyes flittered over my face, then focused behind me and widened. He sat up so fast we nearly clonked heads. “We have to get out of here.”
He lurched to his feet, not waiting for a second opinion, and staggered into the wall.
“Doc?” I gawked up at him.
“Now, Violet!” He grabbed my wrist and yanked me up, the force making my head spin. He crashed down the stairs with me trailing like a kite.
The offer letter still lay on the sideboard. It caught air as we blew past it. I glanced over my shoulder and saw it fluttering to the floor. A glimpse of Wanda cowering in the kitchen entryway, broom in hand, spurred a parting “I’ll call” from me as we flew by.
Doc didn’t slow until we reached his car. He shoved me into the driver’s seat and tossed his keys in my lap.
I sat there catching flies with my open mouth as he crawled into the passenger side and slammed the door.
“Drive!”
I stared, too stunned to do anything else.
He reached over, plucked the keys from my lap, and placed them in my palm. “Violet, drive. Please.”
“Wow.” It took me three blinks to snap out of my stupor. I put the key in the ignition and sparked the Camaro to life. “Where to?”
“I don’t care. Just get me out of here.”
We drove back down to Deadwood in silence, the wind blowing through the open windows and the rumble of passing bikes the only sounds. Doc leaned his head back against the seat’s headrest, his eyes closed. Meanwhile, I aimed worried glances his way, my lips pinched tight. I was afraid that if I unlatched the gate, all my questions would stampede.
As I entered the city limits, my phone rang. I fished it out of my purse, trying to keep my main focus on the road. The phone flashed Douglas Mann’s number. “I should take this,” I told Doc, who nodded in reply.
I whipped into the hardware store’s parking lot and pulled into a stall, letting the engine idle.
“Hello?”
“Violet, it’s Douglas Mann. I need to talk to you.”
“Hi, Douglas. I need to talk to you, too.” With the offer in the Carhart’s hands—well, on their floor—Douglas had thirty-six hours to make his own offer.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
It was more of a command than a question. I had the feeling Douglas was used to people asking “to the moon?” when he ordered them to jump. “Dinner? Can’t we just meet at my office this afternoon?”
I glanced at Doc and found him watching me through one open eye. His skin tone had returned to normal, his forehead smooth. He was going to be okay. The tight grip of anxiety on my chest eased.
“I have meetings all day. It has to be dinner. How about Chuckwagon Charlie’s? They serve an excellent apricot-stuffed chicken that comes coated in a blueberry sauce.”
Oh, my God. They called that chuckwagon food? Just the thought made my stomach lay siege to my liver. My lack of lunch was beginning to make me a little woozy. Low blood sugar had a way of changing me from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. From now on, I was going to eat before Doc played patty-cake with one of his ghosts.
“I didn’t realize Chuckwagon Charlie’s served anything other than beer, burgers, and stale peanuts.” I’d only been there once, with Natalie. She’d been dating the bartender at the time.
“They have an upstairs lounge now.”
“A lounge? Sounds fancy.”
Doc cleared his throat.
I looked his way and ran into his razor-sharp glare. Whoa! No mixed message there. “I don’t know, Douglas. I had some plans tonight.”
“I’d like to place an offer on the Carhart house.”
“Oh.” Well, when he said it like that. I turned my back on Doc. “Okay, what time?”
“Seven or eight. You pick.”
“Seven it is. Does the lounge have a dress code?”
“No, but I do. Wear a black skirt.”
Why? Maybe Doc was right about Douglas being interested in more than my Realtor services. “You have something against women in pants?”
“In my position, appearances in public are always important.”
Politics. I should’ve known. Who was he expecting, the paparazzi? “I’ll see what I can find in my closet.”
“Great. Bring a list of any disclosures.”
“Will do. See you tonight.” I hung up and turned back to Doc.
“You’re going to dinner with Douglas Mann?” How he got that out through clenched teeth boggled me.
“Hey, the color is back in your cheeks.” A change of subject and a compliment. It was worth a shot.
“Violet.” Somehow, he even made anger look sexy.
“Douglas wants to p
ut an offer on the table.”
“I’m sure he does, especially if you wear something that shows off your knees.”
“You like my knees?”
“I like you. Period. What I don’t like is you having dinner with the local playboy.”
“It’s just business.”
“For you, maybe. Not for him.”
“Doc, I’m telling you, he’s not interested in me.”
“And I’m telling you, Violet, that a man would have to be blind, dumb, and castrated not to be interested. You’re just too naïve and insecure to see the game he’s playing with you.”
“Gee, your compliments warm the cockles of my heart.”
He closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest again. “Violet, don’t go to dinner with him.”
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s a plea.”
I fidgeted with one of my skirt buttons, considering his request. But money was money, and I needed more. “I’m sorry, Doc, but like I said, it’s just business. I have to go.”
His mouth tightened, but he kept quiet.
“I could stop by your office afterward.”
He shook his head. “No need.”
Ouch. Rejected. That stung. “Okay, then.” I shifted into reverse and backed out of the stall. The quicker I could get this damned Carhart house off of my plate, the happier I’d be. It was becoming a whale-sized albatross.
I sneaked a glance at Doc as I prepared to pull out onto the road. “So, what happened to you back there?” Somehow, I managed to sound all light and bubbly in spite of the lead cannonball in my gut.
“I blacked out.”
“No shit. I was there, remember? I’m more interested in what made you faint.”
“The visions.”
I slid into traffic. “What did you see?”
“I can’t tell you.”
I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “If this is because of my goddamned dinner with Douglas tonight—”
“It’s not. Will you drop me off at the library?”
“Drop you—Doc, this is your car.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I’m not going to cruise around town without you in it.”
“Why not?”
“What if someone sees me?”
“You could wave at them for starters.”
“Cute. That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean, then?”
“Driving a guy’s car around means something.” Especially a car as sexy as Doc’s. “It’s like wearing his letter jacket or class ring.”
“We’re not in high school, anymore.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
He opened his eyes. “Spell it out for me.”
A red light allowed me a chance to fully look at him. “If someone sees me driving your car, word could get out that we’re a couple.”
His brow wrinkled. “And that’s a problem for you?”
“Yes.” Between Addy’s starvation for a father figure, Layne’s rejection of all men in my life but Harvey, Natalie’s obsession with Doc being her one, and me still working as his Realtor, now was not the time to share our possible couple-dom with the world at large.
We stared at each other in silence as cars rolled past.
Someone honked behind me, jarring me back to the road. I made a left toward the library.
I glanced at Doc. He was still frowning, only now out the windshield rather than at me.
The library parking lot had a big, hand-painted Library Patrons Only sign posted at the entrance. I parked with an empty stall cushioning each side of Doc’s Camaro.
Leaning my forehead on the steering wheel, I sighed. “I’m sorry, Doc.”
“Don’t be.” There was a definite arctic front moving in from his side of the car.
“I really like you.”
“Violet, stop.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Now is not the time for this.”
“Fine. Why can’t you tell me about the visions?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Give it a shot.”
“Not right now. I need to piece some things together first.”
“God!” I grabbed his palm and slapped his keys into it. “I love how you always get to be the one who decides what we talk about and when.” I reached for the door handle.
“Violet, it’s not—”
I slammed the door on his words, started to walk away, then stormed back and leaned in the window. “You scared the hell out of me back there in that damned house when you passed out. I deserve a fucking explanation. When you feel like talking, pick up a phone. Until then, don’t.”
If he called after me, I didn’t hear it, and I sure as hell wasn’t looking back. I may be gaga over the guy, but I still had a few pounds of pride in my body. To prove it, I shut off my cell phone so I wouldn’t be on pins and needles until he called. If he called.
It took me three blocks to stop huffing, but I was still puffing ... and hungry. I grabbed a bag of beef jerky from the Lucky Horseshoe Casino’s gift shop and tore into it, ripping into the salty meat with zeal, jerky grease coating my fingers. Halfway through the bag, I had a flashback of that horrible tea party at Wolfgang’s and the jerky-like look of salt-dried human flesh, and I almost threw up on the sidewalk.
By the time I stomped into Calamity Jane’s, I’d dumped the jerky in the trash and wiped as much grease from my fingers as I could. Sweat ran in rivulets down my back.
The sight of Jeff Wymonds sitting across from my desk made me falter. Mona and Ray’s chairs were empty.
Jeff stood as I approached. “Hey, Violet, I stopped by to ...” He sniffed. “You smell good. Real good. Like beef jerky.”
Excellent. Now I knew what to dab behind my ears if I ever went out on a date with Jeff.
He frowned at me as I walked around my desk and fell into my chair. “Are you okay?”
“No.” I grabbed a tissue and patted my cheeks, neck, and upper chest. He stared as if he’d paid a couple of quarters to watch me from the other side of a window. I was in no mood to be ogled. “What can I do for you, Jeff?”
He blew out a breath. “Wow, that’s hot.”
“Criminy, it’s just sweat.”
“Yeah, but you make sweat look good.”
Jesus! Scotty—somebody—beam me up, now! “Again, what can I do for you?”
“I’m ready for you to do a final inspection.”
“You repainted the living room?” The big grease spot on the wall, in particular.
“Yep.”
I heard a toilet flush in the back of the office. Ah, Ray was here, occupying his other throne.
“The backyard is cleaned up?” Meaning there were no flat tires, snowmobile parts, or severed baby-doll heads lying around anywhere?
“Yep. You want to come see it?”
Not really. Not right now. Not after the macabre show at the Carharts. “Sure, but you’ll need to drive.”
“You mean you want to go right now?”
“Why not?” My day couldn’t get any worse.
The sight of Jeff’s walls proved me wrong. Pepto-Bismol pink covered the living room grease spot and baby-poop green coated the kitchen walls. Jeff’s reply to my “For God’s sake, why?” had to do with money he saved buying pre-mixed goofs from the hardware store.
On a high note, the backyard was ready for showing, with freshly mowed grass and flower boxes on the back and front porches. From the outside, the place no longer resembled the parking lot of a redneck AA meeting.
Three hours later, we’d returned from the hardware store down in Rapid City with a couple gallons of off-white paint, fashionable drapes for the kitchen and living room, and a few new throw rugs to cover the worn spots in the linoleum.
Exhausted from a day that started with sliced tires and went downhill from there, and with its finale yet to be determined, I asked Jeff to take me home. I wanted to crawl into my bed and hide und
er the covers for a couple of hours until it was time to summon bluebirds and fairies to prep me for the ball.
My Bronco sat in the drive, no longer listing. I could have kissed Harvey—which would be easier than baking a pie.
Jeff left his engine running. “Thanks for your help, Violet.”
With his blond hair and big grin, he reminded me of a floppy-eared yellow lab. I resisted the urge to pat him on the head and instead took the hand he held out for me to shake. “You’re welcome. Finish that painting tonight and I’ll bring my sign tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t know how to repay you for everything.”
He was still holding my hand. I tugged a little; no give. “I’m just doing my job, Jeff.”
His grip tightened. “I’m not talking about the house.”
Uh, oh. My Miss Spidey senses started to prickle. “Are you referring to Kelly?”
“No, I’m talking about me.” He yanked me forward and cupped my cheeks. “You’ve healed me.”
Before I could do more than stare in stupor, he kissed me.
His lips smashed mine, our teeth clattering. His tongue poked in my mouth like a jousting lance, thrusting into my back molars, aiming for my tonsils. I had to stop this before he rammed my uvula.
His tongue retracted from my mouth enough for him to groan and utter, “God, you smell like beef jerky.”
Still? I must have gotten some in my hair.
He tried to pull me closer for another taste, but I resisted him, shoving against his chest. “Jeff, we have to stop.”
“I know. We have an audience.”
We did? I looked out the windshield and saw Addy’s nose pressed against Aunt Zoe’s front window. Her huge grin matched her wide eyes.
“Oh, no. Addy.”
“Addy?” Jeff sounded surprised. He pointed toward the Bronco. “I was talking about Old Man Harvey.”
Harvey stood next to the back bumper, a tire iron in his hand, his two gold teeth gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. He waved.
“Great. Just perfect.”
“You’re a good kisser, Violet Parker.”