by Sheri Leigh
She waved the question away. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about, especially here. “What can I get you?”
He ignored her question, asking instead, “So what are you going to do after this, then?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. Whenever she thought of her future now, it looked blank to her, like static on the television. There was nothing there. “Any ideas?”
“You could always come work at Vikings with me and Shane.” He winked at her as he leaned back in his chair.
She laughed. “I’m hardly qualified.”
“Oh come on, you could drop an engine with the best of us,” he reminded her with a smile. The memory of working on cars with Nick and Shane and the rest of the gang made her both sad and nostalgic. She had rebuilt the transmission on Shane’s Mustang herself.
“That was a million years ago,” she said, reminding them both of that fact. “I don’t remember the difference between a torque wrench and a screwdriver anymore.”
Jake scoffed, blowing a stray piece of dark hair out of his eyes. “Most girls don’t even know what a torque wrench is.”
“Most girls didn’t grow up in Larkspur.”
He sighed. “Man, I miss those days.”
“I guess life goes on…” Dusty bit her lip, hard, not wanting to remember the things that were coming back.
Jake leaned forward, hair falling in his face again, his eyes softening along with his voice. “Dusty, I really am sorry…”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thanks.”
“I really wish we hadn’t…” Jake’s voice trailed off and when she raised her eyebrows at him in inquiry, his mouth snapped shut. He didn’t finish the sentence, but she noticed he glanced toward the door.
“Hadn’t what?” Dusty prompted.
“I just…” Jake shrugged. “I wish he’d been with us that night. Here, I mean.”
She cocked her head at him, eyes narrowing. “Wasn’t he?”
“No.” He shook his head, his eyes meeting hers. She was good at knowing when someone was lying—it was a skill cops developed quickly—and she could have sworn Jake was telling the truth. That was maddening, considering where Nick had claimed he was going that night, and she couldn’t reconcile those two things.
Jake wasn’t lying…but she was sure Shane was. Chris, too, for that matter. She remembered how restless Chris had been that morning she saw him at Nick’s grave. Of course, no one was going to tell her the truth. They were hiding something…something. But what?
“Earth to Dusty?” Jake waved a hand at her, looking bemused.
“Sorry.” She smiled sheepishly. “What can I get you, Jake?”
“Strohs,” he said. “And a shot of Jack.”
“Coming up.” Dusty turned away and headed toward the bar. "Stroh’s," she told Lee. “And a shot of Jack.”
"In a minute." He was just opening the breather cap on the keg. Dusty leaned against the side of the bar, waiting.
"You okay?" Lee asked, and then swore as foam came out of the spout. The second was better. Dusty didn’t answer him for a minute. The guy she was standing next to was peering at the front of her blouse, his gaze then slipping below the line of her skirt, and then up again. She had the urge to take him down. She was certainly capable—two maneuvers and he’d be on the ground. She fought the impulse, knowing her anger wasn’t about him, and turned to Lee.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" Dusty put the drinks on her tray.
“Sure.” Lee raised an eyebrow at her.
“The night…Nick died…” She hated saying it out loud. She hadn’t mentioned Nick to Lee or vice versa since the day she’d applied for the job. “Was he in here that night? Do you remember?”
“No.” Lee shook his head sadly. “Cops asked me that, too. I don’t know what he was doing out at the cemetery that night, Dusty. Wish I could help you.”
Was her motivation so obvious, she wondered. Did everyone know what she was doing, hanging around town, asking questions? Did everyone know that Buck Thompson had cut her off from any official information, that she’d been suspended and subsequently fired? No one talked about it, at least to her face, but she had a feeling they all knew.
She put Jake’s drinks on the table and waited for him to dig through his pocket for the cash. Out of habit, her eyes turned toward the door and she saw Shane standing in the doorway. The sight of him made her stomach flip, and while she noted he was flanked on either side by Chris and Billy, her eyes didn’t leave Shane. He hadn’t been in the Starlite since she’d started work, and the sight of him now was so surprising to her that if she’d been carrying drinks at that moment, she probably would have dropped them.
"Hey, sweet thing!" Someone was calling her—she knew the tone. She gave Jake a smile as she accepted his cash, moving toward the sound of the beckoning voice. She kept an eye on Shane, her thoughts and feelings mixed, watching him walk into the place like he owned it and everyone in it.
"Hey, Lee!" Shane called. Lee waved. Like old friends, Dusty thought. He spent a lot of time here…still. That much was clear.
"Waitress. Hey you, with the long legs," the voice called again. She turned toward the big guy with the Red Wings cap. He motioned to her.
"What can I get you?" she asked, approaching him.
"You." He grinned. Clearly he thought he was being funny…and original.
"To drink." She rolled her eyes.
"You." His grin spread as he leaned back in his chair and put his arms behind his head. Dusty had that impulse again—saw herself knocking his chair back, even saw the shock and fear on the man’s face before it went over…
"I don't have time for this.” Dusty sighed, shaking her head to clear it of the image. “We're busy, if you hadn't noticed?"
"Gimme another Bud, doll," he said, putting his chair back down.
She threaded her way through the tables back to the bar. When Lee handed the bottle of Bud to her, she went back to give Red Wings cap his beer and collect her money, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Shane standing at one of the pool tables.
"You gave me a dollar too much," Red Wings cap said, holding out a crumpled dollar bill.
Dusty's attention remained on Shane. He was having a heated conversation with the guy with the buzz cut who had moved from the bar and was now playing pool. Jake had joined them, she noticed, but stood talking to Chris and Billy, out of Shane’s way.
"I don't want to short change a pretty thing like you. You busy later?"
"Afraid so." She pocketed the dollar.
As she watched, Shane, with the same cool expression on his face, picked up a cue stick and belted Buzzcut across his mid-section. Dusty was on her way over before he hit the floor.
She glanced at the bar as she made her way through tables, ignoring people asking for refills. Lee was watching, looking calm, but his hands were out of sight, and she wondered if they were reaching for a weapon. She had reached instinctively for hers and, of course, found not only no gun, but no holster either. Everyone else paid no attention at all. The guy with the buzz cut lay crumpled on the floor, holding his stomach and gasping.
"Out." Shane ordered, leaning back against the pool table, crossing his arms, and looking down at Buzzcut. “Now.”
"Are you okay?" Dusty knelt beside the guy with the buzzcut, reaching out to help him up.
He looked at her, eyes dazed, coughing and gasping, but shrugged her off. Dusty shot Shane a dirty look, standing and reaching her hand out to Buzzcut anyway.
"Fine,” he wheezed, getting to his feet and ignoring Dusty’s outstretched hand. “I’m fine. I was just leaving,"
Dusty turned to Shane, her voice shaking with anger. "I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but where I come from, that was assault with a deadly weapon."
"Last I heard, you’re not a cop anymore." Shane raised an eyebrow at her and Dusty felt her whole body turn cold. Word got around fast in a small town, didn’t it? "Besid
es, you come from the same place I do, sweetheart. And the last time I checked, you don’t have any authority around here."
“You want to fight?” Dusty struggled to keep her voice toned down. “Then let’s go.”
Shane smirked, shaking his head. “Same old Dusty.”
“You think I couldn’t take you?”
“You’d give it the old college try, I’m sure.” He laughed. “Rack ‘em, Chris,” he said over his shoulder.
Dusty blazed at him. "You’d better start showing more respect for Starlite’s customers.”
"I don't hear the owner complaining.” Shane’s gaze swept up her outfit as he turned back to face her. “Look, Dusty, suffice to say this guy is a Grade A asshole, all right? Trust me on this.”
She looked over at Buzzcut as he started to stand, remembering what he’d said to Sam. "He still deserves the same respect as every other customer here—especially from the likes of you.”
Shane’s eyes narrowed and one hand clenched into a fist. She waited for it, anticipating. If he made the first move, gave the slightest hint toward violence…
"If you weren't Nick's sister, I swear—” he murmured, letting his fist relax with a sigh.
She smiled grimly. "I told you—you wanna fight, let’s go.”
His jaw clenched but he didn’t move toward her.
Dusty smirked. “Wouldn’t want to end up in jail like your big brother, now would you?"
Shane glanced around. A few were watching, but she knew most were listening and pretending not to see. They knew he was dangerous when provoked. Dusty knew it, too—in spite of her training, in spite of her years on the force, she was still trembling. She blamed it on the adrenaline.
"Later," he told her, his jaw working.
She turned to Buzzcut, who was putting on his jacket. "This table is free for you to use."
Shane opened his mouth to protest, but Buzzcut interrupted him. "Thanks, but I think I've had enough pool for one night."
"Aww, you lost that one, Princess." Shane sounded almost affectionate. The old nickname made her head snap toward him. How old were we? Ten? Twelve? Nick used to sound the trumpets and Shane would pretend to roll out the red carpet—SNIP
She smiled grimly. "I think we still have a score to settle."
“Do we?” He smiled back, his gaze moving down her face to the not inconsiderable V of her blouse. Dusty flushed as if his eyes were burning her with their heat and when his gaze shifted back to her face, she felt his focus and attention on her completely.
“Don’t we?” She felt her tone melting, morphing from her earlier, angrier one into something softer. He took a step toward her and she didn’t move back, letting him fill her space.
“Always got something to prove, don’t you?” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I intend to,” she agreed, tilting her head and giving him a slow, seductive smile. “One way or another.”
His gaze moved to her mouth when she licked her lips and she thought she heard his breath pull in slightly when she let herself lean into him for a moment.
Then he took a quick step back, mumbling, "You’re something else," as he unzipped his leather, shaking his head. He frowned and glanced toward her again. "When did you start working here, anyway?"
"Couple days ago,” she replied, ignoring Chris’ look of surprise as she turned and slid up onto the edge of the pool table. She saw Shane noticing when she crossed her legs, her hemline riding dangerously high. “Where've you been?"
"Why, you been looking for me?" Shane asked, turning back to his friends. The three of them—Billy, Chris and Jake—just stood there watching, cue sticks in hand. "I said, rack ’em, Chris."
Chris moved slowly toward the table, reaching into pockets and rolling balls onto the green surface.
"Maybe." She tilted her eyes up at Shane, noting his gaze moving up her legs. “So, where were you?”
He shrugged his leather off, tossing it onto a chair and moving back toward her. She let him come close—too close—leaning against the pool table beside her, his mouth close to her ear. He whispered, “Hunting.”
She caught her breath, keeping it shallow, and looked sideways at him. “Seems like you haven’t stopped.”
He took a step back and smiled. “I never do.”
“What were you hunting?” she inquired. “It’s not deer season.”
“It’s not Dusty season either,” he replied with a wink. “And since when have I paid attention to the DNR?”
“Poaching?”
“Call it what you want.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I wasn’t looking for deer.”
“So, what were you looking for?” She lifted her eyes to his, watchful. “A bobcat?”
“Not me.” His gaze never wavered. “The Keystone Cops got that one under control, right?”
She smirked. “I hear Buck Thompson’s up for re-election.”
“Oh the cynicism.” He held his hand over his heart. “What happened to our naïve little princess?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was never as innocent as anyone thought I was.”
“That much I believe.” His smile was slow, knowing, and he winked as he picked up his cue stick.
“You’re not going to tell me what you were hunting for, are you?”
“Sure.” He reached out to line up the cue ball, glancing at her as she turned toward him, still sitting on the edge of the table. “When you tell me what you were fired for.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “You first.”
“What, don’t you trust me, Princess?” He laughed, aiming the stick and making a solid hit, scattering pool balls in all directions.
“Feh!” She shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I know you.”
The emotion in his eyes was warm. “You seem to think you do.”
Lee whistled and motioned for Dusty. She nodded and waved, sliding off the table. "Got to get back to work."
"Maybe I'll see you around," Shane called as she started to walk away. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was watching her retreating form with great interest. The eyes of a hunter, she thought. It was definitely a useful trait in a man, especially this one.
She shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe.”
"Are you okay, Duh-Dusty?" Sam asked when she reached the bar, putting his hand on her arm. She smiled at him, but her stomach was tilting sideways. For some reason, being around Shane always did that to her.
"I'm fine," she told him.
"I swear to god, if you ever pull something like that again, I'll kill you myself," Lee said in a low voice, his dark eyes flashing.
Dusty gave him a slow, steady look, but he didn’t back down. "I didn't notice anyone else doing anything," she snapped. "I thought you took care of fights?"
"Not those kind." He shook his head. "You've got a lot to learn. Situations like that don’t get dangerous unless they’re interfered with."
"It looked pretty dangerous for the other guy,” she scoffed. “Or do you always make those kinds of exceptions for Shane Curtis?"
"Don't interfere, Dusty. I mean it."
She didn’t reply. She didn’t want to lose this job.
"Huh-he's dangerous." Sam’s brow furrowed as he looked at her.
"Fine." She turned away from him. "Next time, I'll let someone get killed, okay?"
Sam caught up with her. "Uh-are you sh-sh-sure you're uh-okay?" His blue eyes were filled with concern and, Dusty noted, something deeper.
She sighed and swallowed around something in her throat. "Don't worry about me, Sam.”
Shane watched her from the pool table while Chris was taking a shot. She felt his gaze, like a heat, following her.
What am I doing? What am I getting myself into?
She touched Sam's hand. "I can take care of myself."
* * * *
Dusty slipped her key into the lock and opened the door. Julia had taken to locking it in the past few weeks, and it was strange to use a key.
She yaw
ned, kicking off her shoes in the darkened kitchen, the only light a luminous green from the clock on the microwave. She threw her jacket over a chair and opened the refrigerator. The pitcher of Kool-Aid was sitting between the milk and a four pack of wine coolers and Dusty grabbed it.
We must have consumed gallons of this, she thought, getting herself a glass. Between the ages of six and sixteen, Kool-Aid had topped even Pepsi or Coke in their taste tests.
Nick used to— SNIP
She poured herself a glass in the greenish glow of the clock.
"Do you know what time it is?"
Dusty gasped, whirling around, her heart beating fast against her throat. She lost her grip on the plastic pitcher and cherry Kool-Aid flooded the linoleum.
"You scared me!" Dusty cried.
Julia flipped on the kitchen light and Dusty squinted against the brightness. She groped in the cupboard under the sink, taking out rags and beginning to mop up the mess. She placed the almost empty pitcher on the counter and the red-stained rags in the sink.
"It's two thirty in the morning, do you know that?" Julia sat on a kitchen chair.
Dusty leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest, waiting.
"Patty White let it slip about you working at the Starlite today,” Julia went on. “I didn't even know what she was talking about! Who told you you could go work in some sleazy bar?"
"I'm think I’m old enough to make my own decisions," Dusty told her. "I can work anywhere I want."
"Not while you're living under my roof!" Julia spat. Dusty watched her light a cigarette—another recent habit, or rather, an old one taken up again. "Why didn't you tell us you were working there?"
"Why bother?" Dusty ran a tired hand across her eyes. “You don’t listen to me anyway.”
There was a moment of silence.
"Do you want to go to hell?” Julia asked, her voice flat. “It’s certainly not a Christian place to work. I want you to quit tomorrow.”
"Oh my god!" Dusty pushed away from the sink.
“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain!”
"I'm not eight-years-old anymore!” Dusty hissed. “Just stay out of my life! You've shut Nick out of your life, why don't you just shut me out, too?"