Nerd Gone Wild

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

“Yeah.”

  “Some places can make really good reproductions,” she said.

  “They can?” He valued her encouragement more than she could know. He hated damaging something in his care. Although he hadn’t realized he was dealing with a one-hundred-year-old door, it had been temporarily under his care. And he’d busted it.

  Betsy used a key she pulled out of her pocket to unlock his room. Then she turned on a light and stood there silently staring at the door propped against the splintered frame. Mitch hadn’t realized until now that the door itself had a sizable crack in it. A good kick and it would split in two.

  Turning toward Mitch, Betsy looked him up and down. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”

  He coughed and pushed his glasses more firmly on his nose, typical nerdlike behavior. Maybe then he wouldn’t look quite so much like a black belt who could do serious damage with his feet. “Adrenaline. Makes people stronger for a few seconds.”

  Betsy didn’t look convinced.

  “Kitty-cat, I think we can save it.”

  Walking over to the door, Betsy ran a loving hand over the wood. “We can sure try. But in the meantime, you don’t have much privacy, Mitchell.”

  “Doesn’t matter. And I’ll pay for the damages. Whatever you think is fair, considering the value, and the work you’ll have to put in.”

  She ran a finger down the crack. “How are you at shoveling snow?”

  “Decent.”

  Ally glanced at him. “How can you be good at shoveling snow? You live in Southern California.”

  “But I spent the first twenty-two years of my life in Chicago.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  Betsy turned back to them, her expression resolute. “Okay, Chicago boy, I couldn’t come up with an amount to charge you for the door, or the labor, for that matter. We tend to work a lot on the barter system here in Porcupine, so I’m putting you on snow shoveling detail.”

  He accepted his punishment, knowing this wasn’t the kind of thing that an influx of money could fix. “Okay.”

  “I’ll help you,” Ally said.

  “You don’t have to,” he said immediately.

  “Yes I do. I feel partly responsible for this.”

  “Let her help. She was the one who squealed when she got hit with a little cold water.” Betsy crossed her arms under her breasts. “But I would love to know something. What happened after you broke the door down?”

  Mitch and Ally spoke in unison. “Nothing!”

  Betsy studied the two of them like a parent who wasn’t about to swallow the story. “You break the door down like some hero in a B movie, and she’s in there naked, and nothing happened? What’s wrong with you two?”

  “It’s the younger generation, Kitty-cat,” Clyde said. “They see it all the time on TV—bashing down doors, naked women right out of the shower, you name it. They don’t get excited about things like we do.”

  Mitch wasn’t about to correct that impression. Let all three of them think he’d been totally cool when confronted with Ally and a skimpy towel.

  “And the second thing,” Betsy continued. “I get up this morning to find a package of sliced caribou, a loaf of bread, cheese, and the blackberry pie missing.”

  “Caribou,” Mitch muttered. “So that’s what it was.”

  “That wasn’t just any caribou, either,” Clyde said. “That was a town institution. See, we had this caribou in Porcupine who had the habit of going around peering in people’s—”

  “We ate the Peeping Caribou?” Ally cried out, her expression horrified. “Eeuuww!”

  “You have to admit he’s delicious, though,” Betsy said.

  Ally clutched her stomach. “If I’d known, I never would have had any. The way you described him, I thought of him as a town character, with a personality.”

  “I thought so, too,” Clyde said. “But some folks got sick of him putting his nose in everywhere, and finally Ziggy Berluski shot him. We divided him up.”

  Ally looked a little green, and Mitch’s stomach didn’t feel all that wonderful, either. From now on he was asking a lot of questions before he put anything in his mouth.

  “We’re getting off the subject,” Betsy said. “I want to know how it can be that two people insist they have no intention of doing the wild thing, but one has already seen the other pretty much naked, and besides that, they obviously raided the refrigerator together, too. Now that takes some cooperative effort.”

  “We liked each other better then,” Ally said.

  “I don’t dislike you, Ally.”

  She turned to him, her gaze hard. “No, but I’m just one of your projects, one you want to run smoothly.”

  “No you’re not. I—”

  “Enough!” Betsy raised both hands. “We’re going back downstairs, because I can smell the biscuits and they’re done. And I don’t want to hear any more arguments from you two during breakfast. It disturbs the digestion.” She started out of the room and Clyde followed.

  “She knows what she’s talking about,” Clyde said over his shoulder,

  “Damn straight I do,” Betsy said as she clomped down the stairs. “And after checking out that door, I know something else for sure.”

  “What’s that, Kitty-cat?”

  “I definitely need to lay in a good supply of condoms.”

  * * *

  After a breakfast that included bacon from a pig nobody had named or even knew very well, Ally was ready to tackle the snow-shoveling. So was Mitchell, after Betsy informed him that he would freeze his privates if he went out there dressed like that. Betsy had some outfits stored in the lodge’s attic, items of clothing her various husbands had left behind.

  Consequently Mitchell appeared for shoveling duty looking more studly than Ally thought was possible. He wore ski pants that hugged his butt, making her aware of that part of his anatomy, which she hadn’t been until now. Nice. Buns to brag about. Who knew?

  The borrowed flannel shirt in muted browns and greens complemented his dark hair and brown eyes. And Ally could really appreciate his eyes, because he’d tucked his glasses in his shirt pocket after saying that he really didn’t have to see that well to shovel snow.

  On top of Mitchell’s new and improved outfit, he wore a tan parka with a hood instead of the orange monstrosity he’d arrived in. Ally wondered if Betsy deliberately had chosen clothes for Mitchell as a way to improve his look and his chances with Ally. Betsy seemed to have the matchmaker gene.

  But she had an uphill climb if she hoped to get Mitchell and Ally together. Betsy could dress him up any way she wanted, but he would still be the overprotective anal guy who wanted Ally to make his life easier by never doing anything risky. She didn’t intend to make his life easier.

  While Clyde took a shower in Betsy’s bathroom, Betsy addressed her two shoveling recruits in the kitchen. “The back porch is never as bad as the front, on account of we have trees to block the wind and snow.” She handed Mitchell a small shovel.

  Mitchell looked doubtful as he took the shovel. “This is it?”

  “This is the shovel I keep in the pantry to shovel my way over to the storage shed on the far side of the porch. In there you’ll find a couple of real shovels.”

  “And a snowblower?” Mitch asked hopefully.

  Betsy laughed. “Oh, you’ll find one, but you won’t be able to use it. The blower’s for the little storms, like what you get in Chicago, I expect. Once you get the shovels, your best bet is to see if you can walk on top of the snow down the alleyway around to the front, where you’ll start tunneling in. But be careful. The snow can cave in on you.”

  “Wow.” Ally found herself looking forward to snow like that.

  “Couldn’t we use snowshoes?” Mitch asked.

  “Sorry. I checked my supply a week ago and a mouse has been chewing on the webbing. I got the mouse, but haven’t replaced the snowshoes. Besides, I think trying to shovel in snowshoes is awkward.”


  Ally glanced at Mitch. “See, it could have been a mouse in the bathroom.”

  “You don’t seem spooked about it.” Mitch sounded slightly impressed by that.

  “I wouldn’t have been spooked. I have an affinity for all kinds of animals. I would have tried to take its picture.”

  “Not me,” Betsy said. “I would have tried to kill its ass.”

  “But you don’t cook them, right?” Mitch asked.

  Betsy regarded him with disdain. “What do you think we are, uncivilized?” Her eyes sparkled. “We eat ‘em raw, like oysters.” Then she laughed so hard she had to lean over and clutch the kitchen counter for support. “You should see your face, Mitchell. You believed me.”

  Ally didn’t want to admit she’d believed Betsy, too. She decided a change of subject was in order. “What about the main street, the one that runs in and out of town? Does some state agency plow that for you?”

  “A snow like this, they’re busy with the main drag, and they don’t get around to us for days. So we have Ernie do it. He’s the only guy in town with a tractor, and he plows when he feels like it.”

  Ally really wanted that road open, to give Mitchell a way out and Uncle Kurt a way in. “Do you suppose he’s feeling like it today?”

  “Don’t think so. Saw him tossing back quite a few at the Top Hat last night. Everybody talks about taking up a collection to buy a plow for the town, one any of us could drive if necessary, but then Ernie goes on the wagon and swears he’ll plow all the time, and we forget about it.”

  “So he’s off the wagon,” Mitchell said.

  “I’m afraid so. See, Ernie inherited that tractor from his daddy, who used to plow all the time for the town. But Ernie’s a throwback, doesn’t really believe in motorized transportation. He thinks we should all travel by dogsled, like he does. Control freak, if you ask me.”

  “Hm.” Ally eyed Mitchell, who was another one.

  He lifted his eyebrows. “What?”

  “I can see that you’re happy there won’t be traffic in or out of town today, that’s all. If I didn’t know you were here last night, I’d think you’d been over at the Top Hat buying rounds for Ernie.”

  “Ernie buys his own rounds,” Betsy said. “Got a big court settlement from the state of Alaska when a bush pilot on state business crash-landed on Ernie’s property, knocking over the outhouse. See, Ernie doesn’t believe in indoor plumbing, either.”

  Mitchell stared at her. “He got big money for an outhouse?”

  “He was in it at the time. Claimed all sorts of injuries, including the fact that he now has fear of elimination, due to the trauma. Anyway, all this gossip isn’t getting the snow shoveled. When you get to the front door, give us a little jingle-jangle on the doorbell so we know Clyde’s got access to the street.”

  “But won’t his front door be piled high with snow, too?” Mitchell asked.

  “Dave will probably be out there clearing a path to the Top Hat. Feel free to help him out if you get finished and he’s still working. Here in Porcupine we generally do for one another like that. Well, except Ernie, who marches to a different drummer. But even Ernie’s been known to help out in a pinch. There’s nobody in Porcupine who’s all bad.”

  “Who’s Dave?” Ally didn’t remember anyone by that name working at the bar. Then again, in her condition she might have missed somebody, or half the town, for that matter.

  “Oh, that’s right. You didn’t meet Dave. We were in a hurry to get you back here for your private meal.” Betsy’s eyes took on a gleam of anticipation. “If you don’t run into him while you’re shoveling, I’ll make sure you meet him tonight. You’ll want to get to know Dave.”

  Now Ally was curious. “Why?”

  “Oh, honey, once you’ve laid eyes on the man, you won’t ask why. He’s the hottest thing to hit Porcupine in years. Does chain-saw sculpture by day, tends bar for Clyde by night. A chain-saw sculptor.” Betsy sighed dramatically. “How’s that for the perfect combination?

  The soul of an artist and the tools of a manly man. Rrrrrowww.”

  “So does he sell any of that chain-saw art?” Mitchell asked.

  Ally rounded on him. “How typical of you to ask. In your book, nothing’s worth doing if it doesn’t make money. Maybe he does it for the joy of creating something beautiful.”

  “It’s a reasonable question.” But Mitchell’s jaw was set at a belligerent angle. He was spoiling for another fight, and she was just the woman to give him one.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Okay, Viv, time to get into your photog duds.” Kurt snapped his cell phone closed. “The snowplows are clearing the roads.”

  Vivian continued to flip through the elaborate coffee-table book she’d been studying as she sprawled on Kurt’s white leather sofa. Books on wildlife photography lay scattered on the floor and two very expensive cameras sat on the table beside her.

  Impersonating Alaska’s reclusive wildlife photographer Tanya Mandell had been Vivian’s idea after Kurt had told her Ally admired Tanya’s work. Kurt had to admit the impersonation idea was brilliant. Tanya’s photographs were famous throughout the world, but the artist herself stayed out of the limelight, a person no one would recognize on the street. Vivian had bought a bunch of Tanya’s books, plus two very nice cameras, plus a wardrobe that fit the occasion.

  As Tanya Mandell, Vivian would be able to talk Ally out of huge chunks of money. At least that was Plan A. Kurt didn’t want to think about Plan B, although Vivian had forced him to map it out, just in case. She’d insisted that he consider the fact that removing Ally from the picture would allow him to inherit everything.

  Vivian had done her research and had reported to him that if Ally should happen to die, the trustees would have to give him all the money, because he’d be the only surviving relative. But Kurt didn’t want anybody getting killed. He had every confidence in Plan A. Equipment, lessons, even a joint publishing project could have Ally writing checks like crazy, all to a special account Kurt had set up for this purpose.

  “Did you hear me, Viv?” he asked a second time. “Let’s pack up and go. We can leave for Porcupine.”

  She didn’t look up. “I heard you.” She untied the sash of her black silk robe and let the lapels hang open. As she continued to glance at the pictures, she carelessly fondled herself. “I’m not finished.”

  “You can read those on the way up there.” He tried to ignore the way she flaunted her body. She knew it distracted him, which was why she did it, to keep him constantly off balance. “We need to get on the road.”

  “I didn’t mean I wasn’t finished reading.” Her gaze locked with his as she settled into a more focused program, her burgundy-tipped finger moving steadily over her clit.

  He started to get hard. “We don’t have time for that.”

  “I do.” She sighed and adjusted her position so that he could see her better.

  “I don’t.” But he couldn’t look away. “I’m going to get the suitcases.”

  Her voice sharpened. “Stay right where you are. I want you to watch.”

  “Viv, you know what that does to me.”

  “Yes, I do.” She smiled. “And it’s painful, isn’t it?”

  “It is when you won’t let me finish.”

  “Good, because that’s how it will be this time. You were ordering me around just now, and you know how I hate that.”

  Kurt groaned. “I didn’t mean to order you around. I just want to get going.”

  “When I’m ready, we’ll leave for this backwater place called Porcupine. I’m not ready yet. Now unzip your pants and show me what’s happening with your little swizzle stick. I want to make sure you maintain your self-control, like a good boy.”

  His heart drummed faster as he fought not to get aroused. But humiliation always aroused him. “Viv, no. Please.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her breath hissed out. “Do it!”

  He unzipped his pants, reached in and pulled out his dick, which was sti
ff as a walrus tusk. He knew better than to disobey her when she got like this. She was right—he’d been too demanding, and now he had to pay for it. If he didn’t pay now, it would cost him more later.

  “Now don’t you dare look away,” she said. Her eyes were like lasers, making sure that he stood perfectly still while she made herself come. She deliberately took her time about it, drawing out the moment and putting him through exquisite torture.

  Watching her busy fingers as he’d been told, listening to her moan and gasp, he clenched his whole body against the urge to erupt. He’d developed amazing control, and yet every time she put him through this, he was sure he’d never make it.

  At last, with a throaty groan, she shivered and was still. Then, with a sly smile, she raised her hand to her mouth and began to lick her fingers. “I should do it again,” she said. “Just because you’ve been such a bad boy.”

  He held his breath, ready to burst. If she went for round two…

  “But I won’t.” She rose languidly from the sofa and walked toward him. Curling her forefinger under her thumb, she released it with a snap, flicking her nail against the head of his penis.

  He bit the inside of his cheek and managed not to come.

  “Very good, Kurt, baby. Now stand like that while I go change into that ugly photographer’s outfit. God knows why this woman always dressed in khaki. It’s so unattractive.” She started out of the room, but then she turned, put her finger against her chin and looked him up and down. “You know what? This whole photography gig is giving me ideas.”

  “What do you mean?” He watched nervously as she wandered back to the table and picked up one of the cameras.

  “Say cheese.” She pushed a button and the camera flashed.

  “Did you really take a picture?” He thought briefly of the blackmail possibilities, but she already had so much on him she wouldn’t need a picture of him standing with his ding-dong hanging out to blackmail him. They’d been planning this caper for two years, ever since he’d hooked up with her at a Vegas S and M club and had mentioned that his wealthy stepmother had a brain tumor.

  “Of course I took a picture.” The telephoto eased out with a little whine and she pointed it right at his crotch. “Oh, my, we seem to have some shrinkage. Don’t tell me you’re camera shy.”