Her brows lowered. “I think everyone knows that, Mick.”
“So I’ve never lied to you about that.”
“No.”
Once he got Pam naked, he’d let her take his mind off other things. Pam didn’t like sex long and drawn out. She liked it quick and as many times as a man could get it up, and Mick was in the mood to accommodate her. He brushed his thumb up her ribs and felt a little spark of interest.
“I heard about that writer talking to everyone in town,” she said and snuffed out his spark.
He really wished she hadn’t said that. “See ya around.” He dropped his hand and took a step back toward the door.
“You’re leaving?” What she meant was:
You’re leaving without me?
“Gotta work.”
It was still light out when he stepped from the bar and drove toward Mort’s. He shoved his glasses on the bridge of his nose as a dull ache settled between his eyes. Maddie Dupree was messing with his past, talking to the town about his family, and affecting his sex life. With each passing moment, he felt the growing appeal of tying her up and stashing her someplace.
His stomach growled as he pulled his truck to a stop behind Mort’s, and instead of walking into the back of his bar, he walked a few doors down to the Willow Creek Brewpub and Restaurant. It was a little after nine and he hadn’t eaten since lunch. Small wonder that he had a headache.
The place was practically empty, and the scent of pub wings made him even hungrier as he made his way from the back. He walked to the hostess stand and placed his order to go with a young waitress. The restaurant made the best pastrami on marbled rye and kettle chips in three states. If Mick’d had the time, he would have ordered a summer ale. The brewpub made a damn good summer ale.
The inside of the restaurant was decorated with beer posters from around the world, and sitting in a booth beneath a Thirsty Dog Wheat poster was the one woman he’d been fantasizing about tying up and tossing in a closet.
A big salad and an open folder sat on the table in front of Maddie Dupree. She’d pulled her hair back from her face and painted her lips a deep red. Her brown eyes looked up as he sat on the bench seat across from her. “You’ve been busy,” he said.
“Hello, Mick.” She waved a fork toward him. “Have a seat.”
Her orange sweater was left unbuttoned up the front and she wore it over a white T-shirt. A tight white T-shirt. “I hear you’ve been talking to Bill Potter.”
“News travels fast.” She speared some lettuce and cheese and opened her mouth. Her red lips closed over the tines of the fork and she slowly pulled it back out of her mouth.
Mick pointed to the open folder. “Is that my rap sheet?”
She watched him as she chewed. “No,” she said after she swallowed. “The sheriff mentioned that you were a pain in the ass, but he didn’t mention a rap sheet.” She closed the folder and put it on the seat beside her. “What did he arrest you for? Vandalism? Urinating in public? Window-peeking?”
Smart-ass. “Fighting, mostly.”
“He mentioned a fire. You wouldn’t know about that, would you?” She took a bite of her salad and washed it down with iced tea.
He smiled. “I don’t know anything about any fires.”
“Of course not.” She set her fork on her plate, then sat back and folded her arms beneath her large breasts. Her T-shirt was so thin he could clearly see the white outline of her bra.
“Did you have a nice chat with Harriet Landers?”
She bit the side of her lip to keep from laughing. “It was interesting.”
Mick sank down on the seat and lowered his brows. The toe of his boot brushed her foot and she tilted her head to one side. Like smooth shiny silk, her hair fell across one shoulder as she looked at him. For several moments she stared into his eyes before she sat up straight and pulled her feet back.
“Harriet screwed my grandfather to death in the back of her car,” he said. “That’s hardly a crime.”
She pushed her plate aside and folded her arms on the table. “That’s true, but it’s juicy stuff.”
“And you’re going to write about it.”
“I hadn’t thought to mention your grandfather’s…ill-timed departure.” She turned her head a little to one side and looked at him out of the corners of her big brown eyes. “But I do need to fill pages with family background.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Or I could fill pages with photos.”
He sat up, placed his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. “You want me to give you photos? Nice happy family Polaroids? Maybe at Christmas or Thanksgiving or the summer we all went to Yellowstone?”
She took a drink of her tea, then set it back down. “That would be great.”
“Forget it. I can’t be blackmailed.”
“It’s not blackmail. More like both of us getting what we want. And what I really want is to take pictures of the inside of Hennessy’s.”
He leaned even farther across the table and said, “How does it feel to want?” A waitress set his plastic sack of food on the table and he said without removing his gaze from Maddie, “Stay out of my bar.”
She leaned toward him until his face was just a few inches from hers. “Or?”
She was gutsy as hell, and he almost liked that about her. Almost. He stood and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He tossed a twenty on the table. “I’ll throw you out on your ass.”
Chapter 9
“You’re crazy.”
“It’ll be fine.” Maddie looked over her shoulder at Adele and opened the door to Mort’s.
“Didn’t he say he was going to throw you out on your ass?”
“Technically, we were talk about Hennessy’s.”
They stepped inside and the door closed behind them. Adele leaned close to Maddie and asked above the noise and the music pouring from the jukebox, “Do you think he’s going to care about technicalities?”
Maddie figured that was pretty much a rhetorical question and her gaze scanned the crowd inside the dimly lit bar, looking for the owner. It was eight-thirty on a Friday night and Mort’s was once again packed. She’d had no intention of setting foot inside the cowboy bar again until Mick had told her not to. She had to let him know that he didn’t intimidate her. He had to know she wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t afraid of anything.
She recognized Darla from the last time she’d been in Mort’s and her neighbor Tanya from the Allegrezzas’ party. She didn’t see Mick and breathed a little easier. She wasn’t afraid. She just wanted to get more than three feet inside the bar before he laid eyes on her.
Earlier, she’d curled her hair on big rollers that gave it lots of volume and loose curls. She wore more makeup than usual and a white cotton jersey halter dress and sandals with two-inch heels. If she was going to get escorted out, she wanted to look good on the way. She carried her red angora cardigan because she knew that as soon as the clock struck nine she would freeze without it.
The juke pumped out a song about redneck women as Adele and Maddie wove their way through the crowd toward an empty table in the corner. Adele, with her long curls, tight jeans, and save a horse, ride a cowboy shirt, drew her share of attention.
“Do you see him?” Adele asked as they slid into chairs facing the bar with their backs to the wall.
They’d gone over the plan. It was simple. Nothing risky: just walk into Mort’s, have a few drinks, and walk out. Easy, cheesy, lemon squeezy, but now Adele was kind of acting spooked, casting her big-eyed gaze about as if she expected a SWAT team to swoop in, whip out their AK-47s, and force them spread-eagled on the floor.
“No. I don’t see him yet.” Maddie placed her purse on the table by her elbow and looked out at the bar. Light from the jukebox and bar poured over the crowd but hardly penetrated the corner. It was the perfect spot to see without being seen.
Adele leaned her head close to Maddie and asked, “What does he look like?”
She held up one hand and signaled the waitress. “Tall. Dark hair and very blue eyes,” she answered.
Charming when he wants something, and his kiss could make a woman lose her mind. Maddie thought about the day he’d brought her the Mouse Motel, about his kiss and his hands on her waist, and her stomach got a little tight. “If the women in the bar start flipping their hair and reaching for a breath mint, you’ll know he’s here.”
A waitress with an atrocious perm, butt-tight Wranglers, and a Mort’s T-shirt took their drink order.
“He’s that prime?” Adele asked as the waitress walked away.
Maddie nodded. Prime was a fairly accurate description. He was certainly drool-worthy, and there had been a time or two when she’d been tempted to bite into him. Like when she’d looked up from her salad at the Willow Creek Brewpub and Restaurant and he’d been sitting across from her. One moment she’d been minding her own business, reading her latest notes from Sheriff Potter, then, poof, there was Mick looking extremely hot and incredibly pissed off. Normally, she wouldn’t consider an angry man the least bit hot, but Mick wasn’t a normal man. As he’d sat across from her, working himself up, warning her to stay out of his bar, his eyes had turned a deep, fascinating blue. And she’d found herself wondering what he’d do if she climbed across the table and planted her mouth on his. If she kissed his neck and bit him just below his ear.
“I talked to Clare today,” Adele said and pulled Maddie’s attention away from the contemplation of Mick. The two friends talked about the upcoming wedding until the waitress returned with Adele’s Bitch on Wheels and Maddie’s extra-dry vodka martini. The waitress might have bad hair, but she was damn fine at her job.
“What is up with some of these women’s hair?” Adele asked as the waitress walked away.
Maddie’s gaze scanned the crowd and she figured the ratio of bad hair vs. good hair was about fifty-fifty. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.” Maddie raised her glass to her lips. “Half of them have good hair and the other half are an overprocessed mess.” Over the rim of her glass, she continued her surveillance. There was still no sign of Mick.
“Did I tell you about the guy I dated last weekend?” Adele asked.
“No.” Maddie put on her sweater and prepared for a dating disaster story.
“Well, he picked me up in a souped-up Pinto.”
“Pinto? Aren’t those the cars from the seventies that explode?”
“Yeah. It was bright orange, like a moving target, and he drove like he thought he was Jeff Gordon.” Adele pushed several springy curls behind her ears. “He even wore those fingerless racing gloves.”
“You have got to be shitting me. Where did you meet this guy?”
“At the raceway.”
Maddie didn’t ask what Adele had been doing at the raceway. She didn’t want to know. “Tell me you didn’t have sex with him.”
“No. I figure a guy who drove that fast had to do other things fast too.” Adele sighed. “I think I’ve been cursed with bad dates.”
Maddie didn’t believe in curses, but she couldn’t disagree. Adele had the worst luck with men of any woman she’d ever known. And Maddie had had a lot of bad luck herself.
An hour and three more bad date stories later, there was still no sign of Mick. Maddie and Adele ordered another drink and she began to wonder if he just might not show up at all.
“Hello, ladies.”
Maddie glanced up from her martini at the two guys standing in front of her. They were both tall and blond and very tan. The man who’d spoken had an Australian accent.
“Hello,” Adele said and took a sip of her Bitch on Wheels. Adele might have a lot of bad dates, but that was only because she attracted a lot of men. With her golden curls and big aquamarine eyes, Adele seemed to draw men in like bees to a barbeque. Obviously Adele’s mojo worked on all nationalities. Behind her glass, Maddie glanced at Adele and laughed.
“Would you like to sit down?” Adele asked.
They didn’t have to be asked twice and slid into the two empty chairs. “M’names Ryan,” the guy closest to Maddie introduced himself, flattening his vowels like he was Crocodile Dundee.
She set down her drink. “Maddie.”
“That’s Tom. He’s m’mate.” He pointed to his friend. “D’ya live in Truly?”
“Just moved here.” Good Lord, she half expected him to say “G’day” and “Crickey.” It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but he was cute. “How about you?”
He scooted his chair closer so she could hear him better. “We’re just here for the summer fightin’ fires.”
Foreign and cute. “Are you a smoke jumper?”
He nodded and went on to explain that the fire season in Australia was the exact opposite of the season in the U.S. As a result, a lot of Australian smoke jumpers worked in the American West during the summer. The longer he talked, the more fascinated Maddie became, not only by what he said but by the sound of his voice as he said it. And the longer he talked, the more Maddie began to wonder if this wasn’t the perfect man for her to fall off the wagon with. He would be in Truly for a short time and then he’d leave. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but she knew that didn’t mean anything. She leaned in a little closer and asked, “Are you married?” just to make sure. But before he could answer, two hands grasped the backs her arms and lifted her to her feet. She was turned slowly around until her gaze landed on a broad chest in a black Mort’s T-shirt. Through the dark surrounding them, she recognized the chest even before she raised her gaze up a thick neck, strong chin, and compressed lips. She didn’t have to see his eyes clearly to know they burned an angry blue.
Mick leaned close and said next to her ear, “What are you doing here?”
He smelled like soap and skin. “Apparently I’m talking to you.”
One of his hands slid to hers and grasped her like a hot vice. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed her purse from the table and looked over her shoulder at Ryan, then Adele. “I’ll be right back,” she hollered.
“You sound sure about that,” said the man hauling her through the crowd toward the back of Mort’s. “Excuse us,” she said as she bumped into Darla. He kept a tight grip on her hand as he just kind of moved through the crowd like a linebacker. She was forced to issue a “Pardon me” and another “Excuse us” over the music pouring from the juke. They walked past the end of the bar, down a short hall, and he pulled her behind him into a small room.
He closed the door and dropped her hand. “I told you to stay out of my bar.”
In one quick glance, Maddie’s gaze took in an oak desk, a coatrack, a big metal safe, and a leather sofa. “You were talking about Hennessy’s at the time.”
“No. I wasn’t.” His gaze narrowed and she could practically feel anger rolling off him in waves. “Because I’m a nice guy, I’m going to give you the option of grabbing your friend and walking out the front door.”
Once again, she didn’t fear his anger. Instead, she almost liked the way it turned his eyes kind of fierce, and she leaned back against the door. “Or?”
“I’ll toss you out on your ass.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Then I should probably warn you that, if you touch me again, I have a Taser and I’ll shoot fifty thousand volts in your ass.”
He blinked. “You pack a Taser?”
“Among other things.”
Again he blinked, kind of slow, like he couldn’t believe he’d heard her right. “What things?”
“Pepper spray. Brass knuckles. A hundred-and-twenty-five-decibel screecher alarm. Handcuffs and a Kubaton.”
“Is it even legal to pack a Taser?”
“It’s legal in forty-eight states. This is Idaho. What do you think?”
“You’re crazy.”
She smiled. “So I’ve been told.”
He stared at her for several moments before he asked, “Do you make it a habit of running around pissing people off?”
She occasionally did make people mad, but she never made a habit of it. “No.”
“Then it’s just me.”
“I don’t mean to make you mad, Mick.”
One dark brow rose up his tan forehead.
“Well, I didn’t mean to make you mad before tonight. But I kind of have a little problem with being told what I can and can’t do.”
“No shit.” He folded his arms across his wide chest. “Why do you need all that stuff?”
“I interview people who aren’t very nice.” She shrugged. “They’re usually in belly chains and leg irons and cuffed to a table when I talk to them, though. Or we talk through Plexiglas. Of course, prisons never let me take in my safety devices, but I always get them back when I leave. I feel safer when I’m packing.”
He took a step back and his gaze raked her up and down. “You look normal. But you’re not.”
Maddie didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not. He probably didn’t mean it as a compliment, though.
He rocked back on his heels and looked down at her. “Were you planning on zapping the blond guy coming on to you in the corner?”
“Ryan? No, but if he plays his cards right, I might cuff him.”
“He’s a tool.”
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous. “Do you know him?”
“I don’t have to know him to know he’s a tool.”
Which made no sense at all. “How can you say someone’s a tool if you don’t know him?”
Instead of answering, he said, “You were practically tongue-kissing him.”
“That’s ridiculous. I haven’t made out with a stranger in a bar since college.”
“Maybe you’re tired of being ‘kind of sexually abstinent.’”
That was an understatement. She was really tired of it, but when she thought of having hot, down-and-dirty, animal sex, she thought of Mick. Ryan was cute, but ultimately he was a stranger in a bar, and she no longer made out or picked up strangers in bars. “Don’t worry about my celibacy.”
Tangled Up in You Page 11