Montana Mine

by Vanessa Vale

  Over the next hour, turkey sandwiches were made by Goldie while Velma drove on a state road back toward interstate ninety, meeting up with it southeast of Billings to get us back on track toward Sturgis, and ultimately Omaha. Esther was the drinks lady, mixing fruity cocktails for all of us—except Velma—to go with our meal. Without a place to sleep, the cat had gone off into the back bedroom and hadn't been seen since.

  "If you aren't going to eat your fruit, you might as well drink it. It's important to have a healthy diet." Esther returned to her recliner, her drink in the little built in cup holder, paper plate in her lap. Goldie sat with me at the little dinette and JT across from us.

  "How long is your vacation?" Goldie asked JT.

  "Ten days." He chomped on a chip.

  "That's a nice bike you have," Goldie added, clearly trying for small talk.

  JT just glared at me, remembering I was the one who had broken it. I glared at Goldie, not thankful she'd reminded JT why he was riding with us. I took a big gulp of my drink. My eyes watered. Wow, it was strong and had plenty of vitamin C.

  "I like it," JT finally said. "I guess I have to thank you for arranging with Bob to have it fixed."

  Goldie just shrugged. She'd put on a hot pink hoodie over her t-shirt. "It's the least we could do. Right, Daphne?"

  "Right," I agreed quickly. "What kinds of things do you do at the Rally?"

  "More like who," murmured Goldie.

  "What?" I asked, confused. We hit another pothole and I bounced up in my seat.

  Goldie shook her head as she sipped her own drink. "What's in this, pineapple?" she called to Esther.

  "Secret ingredient. Not telling," Esther replied. I really didn't care what she put in it. It was tasty and if it could numb my senses, it would be all the better.

  "I've never been before, but friends of mine are already there and invited me to catch up." JT took a healthy gulp of his drink. "My days off were short notice."

  "Oh?" Goldie asked. "You mean your trip wasn't planned?"

  I swear JT blushed, but couldn't tell for sure. It was starting to get dark and the RV's lights weren't overly bright. Things were starting to get a little blurry around the edges from the drink.

  "I got the time off because of that call out on Baxter Road," JT murmured.

  "You were on that call?" Velma asked from the driver's seat. She might have had her eyes on the road, but her ears were on the conversation.

  JT nodded, his mouth a thin line. "It was pretty bad. All of us who responded were given some leave."

  I looked at Goldie. She wasn't smiling. "What call?" I asked.

  "Some drunk driver on the wrong side of the road. You should tell it, JT, not me." Goldie took a bite of her sandwich, letting JT take his time to respond.

  "A family was killed. It wasn't pretty. End of story."

  My sandwich felt like lead in my stomach. "Oh. I'm sorry."

  "Now you're going to go to Sturgis for a little fun," Goldie said, her voice filled once again with verve. She even waggled her eyebrows.

  I darted a glance at JT.

  He grinned. "We'll see." He turned those dark eyes on me, looked at me in a way that had my toes curling in my sneakers. "We'll see," he repeated. "What about you, Daphne?"

  I pointed a chip at myself. "Me?"

  "Yeah, you. What's this with Thailand?"

  I arched a brow. "Now you believe me?"

  He shrugged, tipped up the corner of his lip. "You have to admit, it's a good front for being Silky Tangles."

  "Silky Tangles?" Esther asked. She narrowed her eyes at me. "I thought you looked familiar. You're pretty smart going off and doing that job on the sly. I could pull it off if I was a few years younger. My breasts aren't quite what they used to be."

  Goldie chuckled into her drink. JT shifted uncomfortably, possibly from the visual Esther shared or indigestion. How Esther knew who Silky Tangles was had me putting down the remainder of my sandwich for good.

  The RV came to a stop. "Okay, people. I need a break. I'm starving," Velma said as she turned off the engine and came into the back to join us. I glanced out the front window. We were in a Wal-Mart parking lot, the farthest spots from the entrance.

  "Where are we?" Goldie asked, glancing out the side window.

  "Hardin," Velma replied, making herself a sandwich.

  "I'll drive," Esther piped in.

  "Oh no, you don't," JT said. "You've had way too much to drink and that secret ingredient you mentioned has to be some kind of moonshine. Unfortunately, none of us can drive except Velma."

  "In that case, I say we spend the night here, get schnockered, then head out in the morning," Esther said. She worked her way out of the recliner and grabbed everyone's cup, added one from the cabinet for Velma, and lined them up on the tiny countertop.

  JT glanced at his watch, rolled his eyes. "We've been gone ten hours and only made it two hundred miles. At this rate, we'll be in Sturgis in three days."

  "Then have yourself another drink. It'll change your whole outlook." She handed him a full cup.

  "We're in Montana, one of the prettiest places on earth and our view is the Wal-Mart parking lot," Goldie grumbled.

  "Just for tonight, GG," Velma commented, accepting the cup Esther offered her and taking a big sip. "Wow, that's a serious drink. I'm too tired to search for a campground. Besides, you can always park your camper overnight at a Wal-Mart."

  I wasn't getting involved in this one; I was along for the ride. I knew going in that this wasn't going to be a straight shot to Omaha since nothing with Aunt Velma ever went as planned. I'd hoped, but deep down, knew that I was doomed. It was going to be an adventure; I just didn't know what it would entail. JT, on the other hand, had to come to the realization that Sturgis might not actually happen. Maybe he had come to terms with this because when Esther handed him his drink refill, he tossed it back like a fraternity brother.

  "Let's play a game," Esther said, settling back into the recliner.

  I had no interest in playing Quarters and Truth or Dare with this group would give me nightmares.

  "What game?" Goldie asked.

  "What's the one word you hate?"

  "That's a game?" Aunt Velma asked.

  "Sure," Esther countered. "I'll start. I hate the word tabernacle."

  "Tabernacle?" Goldie repeated, shaking her head. "What on earth is wrong with that?"

  "It's the 'nacle' part. It just sounds weird. I mean, it's just a funny sounding word for a church. What's the point?"

  Okay, the word was weird.

  "You go next, Daphne," Esther said.

  I thought for a moment. "Slacks." Everyone glanced at me. "What? Old grandpas wear slacks, so I hate it when I read in books these thirty-year-old hot guys are wearing slacks. It ruins it." I took a gulp of my drink. "Pants is better."

  The ladies considered it and somewhat grudgingly agreed.

  "I don't like the word demure," Aunt Velma said.

  Goldie frowned. "Why not? What on earth is wrong with it?"

  "I don't know if it's supposed to be said like 'I want more,' or like a 'mural'."

  "I say demure," Goldie said, using the mural sound.

  "Well I say the opposite. Demure," Velma countered with the more version.

  "It's like caramel. Is it car-mel or car-a-mel?" Goldie asked.

  We all piped up with our different versions.

  "Your turn, hot stuff," Esther said. We all looked to JT.

  "Panties," he replied, taking a sip of his drink.

  My mouth fell open. So did the others.

  "Why?" I wondered.

  He shrugged. "Just don't like saying it."

  "If not panties, what should they be then?"

  He was facing all of us, but his gaze was on me. "On the floor."

  Chapter 7

  Two hours later, JT and I sat across from each other—still—and questioned our sanity. I was forming a little ass groove in the cushion beneath me. Goldie and Velma had gone to slee
p, the two of them sharing the small bedroom in the back, only after Esther grabbed the cat, who hadn't been happy about losing its bed. How Goldie and Velma fit in that bed was beyond me, but that was their problem. What was my problem was that I could hear them snoring through the closed door. Esther had made it one drink longer than the other two and had conked out in the recliner, her head tilted back, mouth open, cat asleep in lap. She, too, snored and sounded like a buzz saw.

  "I've never heard anything like it," JT said, wincing when Esther's snore turned into a snort.

  I put my hands up to my ears. "I'm not drunk enough to survive this."

  JT stood, held out his hand. "Let's get out of here."

  I stared at him for a moment, long enough to suffer through a chorus of commingled snores. I reached out, took his hand and we fled the RV.

  Once we'd walked far enough away to have the buzz saw silenced, we paused. His hand was big, engulfing mine, but his touch was gentle. Warm. Very reassuring for someone who'd tased me. Oh yeah, the guy was a jerk. It was just hard to remember that when his hand felt good. And that was just his hand. So I tugged it from his grip and stepped back.

  The night was cool, but I didn't need a jacket. The parking lot was deserted, the bright halide lights set JT in harsh shadows. He ran a hand over his face. "How do you handle that?" He tilted his head toward the RV.

  "Thailand."

  "And when you were younger?"

  A slight breeze swept my hair into my face and I tucked it behind my ear. "Boarding school, college, career."

  "The only way I'm going back in there is if I get more to drink first." He thumbed over his shoulder toward the RV.

  "All right, then where?"

  JT glanced around. "Bowling alley?"

  I turned to where he looked, saw the flickering neon sign in the squat building next to the Walmart. Chippers Lanes' lot was full. It appeared the place to be in Hardin. I shrugged. "You want to bowl, Detective?"

  He grinned, ran his hand over the back of his neck. "Bowling's best when you're not sober, so why the hell not? I promise not to pinch your ass like Frank."

  Pinch? No. Pat or hmm…spank? Yes, please.

  "It's not my sport, but I'm up for it." Anything was better than the snoring Three Stooges.

  We were lucky to get a spare lane, the place hopping with league games. The sound of pins being knocked down and heavy metal rock music filled the air along with a large cloud of cigarette smoke. The place was total vintage. The only thing that had been updated since 1965 was the game computers that did the scoring math for you. Young and old wore ridiculously bad shirts with team names like Holy Rollers and Dolls with Balls across the front. I sat and put on my rental shoes as JT got us some beers from the bar.

  "I hope you like light beer," he said as he placed two plastic cups filled with beer and foam on the table above our lane. "We might need a few more to make it through the night."

  Thinking of the snoring, I had to agree. I was definitely buzzed by Esther's liberal helpings of mystery drinks and grinned as I remembered the stupid rhyme from college: Beer before liquor, never felt sicker. Liquor before beer, you're in the clear. At least I wouldn’t be hungover. "Great idea."

  After JT traded his shoes for the rentals, I ogled his broad shoulders and back muscles flexing beneath his t-shirt as he bent down to put them on.

  "Want to tell me what Goldie's got on you?"

  He glanced up from his crouch as he tied a shoelace, eyes devoid of emotion. "What do you mean?"

  I went over and picked out a ball from the rack, tested the weight, the space of the finger holes. "Come on, she's got something about you at Sturgis. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

  He gave his shoulders a little shrug. "So?"

  "So I want to know what it is."

  "Nosy, are we?" His mouth quirked up at the corner. Somehow, he didn't seem as tense as a moment ago.

  I found the ball I wanted to use; a bright blue covered in silver sparkles. I placed it in the ball return. "What happens in Hardin, stays in Hardin."

  He stood to his full height, went to find his own ball. "All right. You heard about Bob, the guy who's going to fix my bike."

  I looked down at the linoleum tiles at my feet. "Yeah, about that—"

  "I've had too much to drink to be pissed at the moment about the bike."

  "Oh."

  "Bob, the mechanic, fixed me up and I was going to miss out."

  The liquor I'd drank felt sour in my stomach. I took a step back, realizing I was out of my element. Of course, he had a girl lined up. He wasn't hard on the eyes—even the older ladies in the lane beside ours couldn't keep from ogling him. If he broke bowling etiquette and veered into their lane, I might never see him again.

  "That's all Goldie has on you? A blind date?"

  He didn't say anything, just placed a red ball next to mine. The group in the lane next to ours broke out in shouts of "Turkey, turkey!" I had no idea what it meant, but they obviously did and it appeared to be a good thing.

  "All I'm going to share," he responded. There was a story there, the journalist in me could see it, but it didn't seem like I was going to get it out of him, even with liquor.

  "You should feel lucky then, a blind date's nothing. My friend Violet wrote a romance book and Goldie knew about it and published it behind her back."

  He frowned. "So? Sounds like she was helping."

  "Goldie gave her the pen name Cherry Bottoms."

  His mouth fell open. "Oh shit."

  "When her daughter-in-law started dating again—her husband died—Goldie sent the man a box of sex toys and condoms."

  The corner of his mouth ticked up. "What's she got on you?"

  "Nothing. I'm not in town enough."

  "That's right, Silky. Your job keeps you away."

  "At least I don't have to be fixed up on a blind date," I countered, bitterness lacing every word. I couldn't even keep Roger, the philandering computer guy. He never once said I looked like Silky Tangles.

  "The blind date's name is Sarah. She's a dentist from Denver looking to settle down, not some guy named Benny from the Trekker Truck Stop with a DVD player."

  My mouth fell open at his insult as I spun on my rental shoes and went over to the computer game display and sat down. I couldn't compare to a dentist from Denver. I had no real home, I traveled fifty weeks out of the year and lived out of a suitcase. I pasted on a fake smile. "Ah, you're looking for the whole picket fence, are you?"

  "Girls like you are larger than life on screen, gorgeous in person, but only good for a quick tumble."

  "What do you have against porn stars anyway? It sounds like you know all about Silky Tangles and have seen all her movies since you know about the whole Stuffed and Cuffed thing. You can't hate porn that much."

  "It suits its purpose, but I'm not interested in a woman like you."

  I shifted in my seat. He either believed I really was Silky Tangles or he was completely delusional. "Right, a woman just like me fucked up your life from a DVD?" I shook my head. "Whatever." I typed his name into the computer keyboard to keep from punching him once again. My only advantage was that he probably didn't have his stun gun on him.

  "McHottie?" He moved to lean over my shoulder. His arm came around to type one handed. His body heat radiated, his clean scent circled around and I felt his breath next to my ear. He was very...close. Was it hot in here? "Okay, Silky, let's play."

  I tilted my head up to the electronic scoresheet. Sure enough, my bowling name was Silky.

  Since his name was entered first, he bowled first, knocking down eight, then waited for the lane to reset the two remaining pins.

  He clearly had a delineation in his mind between good girls and bad girls. One was fine for the night, the other for a lifetime.

  "Do you really think this Sarah woman is interested in finding a husband at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally? Seriously?" I leaned back in the plastic swivel chair, my legs tucked under the table, my arms folded over m
y chest. "She's looking for the guy version of Silky Tangles."

  The ball popped out of the return. He picked it up, chucked the ball down the lane, knocking over the remaining pins.

  "Spare," he said. "What about you? You looking for Mr. Right?"

  The lane reset and it was my turn. I stood. "Don't you mean Mr. Right Now?"

  I picked up my blue ball and lined up to go.

  "You have what, three or four Mr. Right Now's while filming. It's not like Mr. Right's going to want to come home to you."

  Wow. That was...cruel and I wasn't even a porn star. "That's such a double standard." I faced the lane, lined up and swung. The ball slid down the lane smoothly then took out all the pins.

  "Strike," I replied. "I'm going to get a pitcher." I didn't look back, just headed for the bar. It was snoring in the RV or jackass JT. I chose neither.

  "You've got some pretty hot moves," a man to my right said. I turned. Twenties, Wrangler jeans, snug t-shirt, cowboy hat. Not half bad.

  Not interested.

  "Um, thanks." I turned back to watch the bartender fill the pitcher. "Bowling's fun."

  "I don't mean bowling." He moved in a smidgen closer, which put him definitely in my space. He had quite the roving eye which seemed to stop squarely on my breasts.

  Another guy approached, leered. He wasn't half bad looking either, but he gave me the creeps. "I'm Jared. My idiot friend here is Paul."

  I nodded vaguely, eyed the bartender who was at the tap. "Hi."

  "What brings you to Montana?" Jared asked.

  "I live here." No way was I giving more information than that.

  "In Hardin? Not a chance." He shook his head and chuckled. "We would've known." Anyone moving to a town the size of Hardin would be big news. Hardin made Bozeman look like New York City.

  "Nope. Not Hardin."

  "Here with that guy?" Paul asked, tilting his chin toward the lanes.

  "Yup." I leaned forward on the glossy wood bar and focused on the bartender, willing him to work his way back to me.

  "That's okay. We don't mind sharing." He moved in closer. "We know you like it." His words had me whipping my head around to look at him. The guy actually waggled his eyebrows. Jared just grinned.