by Ann Charles
“You will find him?” Gramps followed her outside into the early morning sunshine. “The last time you said those words to me, you brought home a skunk. We had to burn the couch, rip up the carpet, and bathe the dog in V-8 juice for a week to get rid of the stench.”
Claire shoved her cap over her uncombed hair and lifted her chin. “That’s not fair. I was eight. Besides, you were the one who painted the white stripe on Blacky for shits and giggles.”
Gramps’s lips twitched. “Yes, well,” the irritation had seeped from his tone, “just make sure it’s my dog you bring home this time.”
He stared off toward the stand of cottonwood trees sheltering Jackrabbit Creek, which meandered around the park’s western and southern border. Deep, straight grooves ran down his cheeks where crescent moons usually dwelt. “The ol’ boy doesn’t like to miss a meal, let alone two.”
“I know.” The dog’s pitiful howls of hunger were hard to forget. “He’ll show up. Don’t worry.” She’d worry enough for the two of them.
With a goodbye salute, she half-jogged, half-skipped toward Ruby’s store. Minutes later, huffing, she climbed the steps and reached for the screen door handle. The door flew open before she touched it, and Jess burst out, a huge grin plastered on her face.
“Hi, Claire,” she sang and leaped to the ground, missing the porch steps completely, then raced across the drive to Ruby’s old, blue Ford truck.
Claire caught the door before it shut, backing into the doorway as she watched Jess climb into the driver’s side of the pickup and pretend to steer. “Where is she going?” she wondered aloud.
She turned around to go inside and stopped short at the sight of Mac’s Adam’s apple.
“With me.”
She looked up. His honey-brown hair was damp and curly on the ends. His hazel eyes stared back from behind wire-rimmed glasses resting on his straight nose. “Morning, Mac.” The glasses gave him a sophisticated look that left her a bit winded.
“Claire,” he said, nodding, then grabbed her shoulders and gently shifted her to the side so he could step past her. The scent of warm sage baking under the midday sun clung to his skin.
She stared after him as he strode across the packed-dirt and gravel-strewn drive. His Levi jeans hugged his long legs. She whistled under her breath. Nice butt.
Mac waited for Jess to slide to the passenger side before he crawled in and started the truck. He held Claire’s stare for several seconds through the front windshield.
Jess bounced and waved as they rolled toward the bridge leading out of the park. Claire waved back, wondering if someone had slipped Mexican jumping beans into Jess’s shorts this morning.
Turning away from the cloud of exhaust and dust, Claire stepped inside the florescent-lit store. Ruby stood behind the counter, her hip resting against the cash register drawer as she spooned what looked like strawberry yogurt into her mouth from a small plastic cup.
She smiled as Claire approached. “Mornin’.”
“I’m sorry I’m la—” Claire started, but Ruby waved Claire off with the spoon.
“Mac told me your grandpa’s dog ran away last night. Do you want to take some time this morning to go look for him?”
Claire shook her head. “Henry won’t come to me unless he thinks he’s dying of starvation, so I might as well wait until he’s good and hungry before heading out.”
She reached over the counter and grabbed her tool belt from the shelf. “Where are those two heading?” She tried to sound indifferent as she swung the belt around her hips.
“To tow Mac’s truck back here. I’d have gone with him, but I have company coming soon, so Jess is going to steer it home.”
“You’re expecting company this early in the morning?”
Ruby nodded. “Some bean counter from the mining company is coming to answer my questions about their offer for the mines.”
Claire halted in the midst of buckling and stared at Ruby. “Do you think they’ll use the open-pit mining method like they did down the road?” She already knew the answer to that question, along with what would happen to her grandma’s grave if the land sold. But did Ruby?
Ruby tossed her spoon on the counter and set the yogurt down. “Of course. That’s what they do nowadays. It’s easier to gut the landscape than tunnel beneath it.”
“So why sell the mines to them?”
“I need the money more than the land.”
“Couldn’t you get a debt consolidation loan instead?”
Ruby grunted. “That’s how I got in this fix in the first place. If I don’t pay off my loan with the bank by the end of the month, they’ll take this store and the R.V. park.”
Frowning, Claire finished buckling the tool belt. “There has to be some other way.” She couldn’t let her grandma’s resting place be obliterated.
“Honey, if you find the tree that money is growin’ on these days, I’ll come running with a suitcase.”
“How much money are we talking? The cost of a house?”
“Twice that.”
Okay, that made it a bit tougher than just taking out another loan somewhere else. “There has to be some way to save this place without sacrificing the mines.” And the ash-sprinkled valley below them.
“Well, until you or someone else comes up with a better idea, I’m going with the mining company’s solution.”
Claire kneaded her hands, her thoughts on the mine Mac and she had climbed up to last night. “Mac says he works in Tucson.”
Ruby turned the key on the side of the cash register. “He sure does. Has ever since he graduated from college.”
“Is he just here for the weekend?”
“Nope. He’ll be staying for a few weeks.”
“On vacation?” Claire watched Ruby break open a roll of quarters and dump the coins into the cash drawer.
Ruby shook her head. “This is probably one of the last places Mac would go on vacation. He’s much more into geological-oriented trips and that kind of scientific hoopla.”
“So what’s he doing here, then?” Mac had refused to spill last night. Claire hoped Ruby wouldn’t be so tight-lipped.
“Making sure I sell those mines for the right price.”
* * *
“What can I get ya, sugar?”
Mac looked up from A Guidebook of United States Coins, his eyes honing in on the waitress’s red fingernails. He noticed one of them was broken as she tapped the tip of a silver pen against the pale green order pad in her hand.
Dolly Parton sang “Here You Come Again” from a radio that looked like it hadn’t seen the sticky side of a price tag since the early eighties. The smell of greasy burgers hung thick in the air.
It was a far cry from his Aunt Ruby’s kitchen, but Mac didn’t need to run up her grocery bill. Besides, he must have passed by this diner a hundred times over the last decade. It was about time he gave it a try.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries.”
The waitress hesitated, her pen hovering over the pad.
Mac glanced up. What was it with older women wearing so much makeup? Between the glittery eye shadow on the women strutting around Ruby’s place and the waitress’s fire-engine red lips, he was starting to feel like he’d stepped onto the set of an old Laugh-In episode.
“Anything to drink?” she asked, her voice deeper than it had been before. It reminded him of Kathleen Turner’s—low, sultry, the kind that made men listen up.
“Iced tea.”
She must have been quite a bombshell in her day. As she walked away, hips practically knocking the pictures off the walls, her short candy-striped skirt flashed glimpses of the tops of her stockings.
Mac grimaced. Apparently Jackrabbit Junction was the site of this year’s Playboy Bunny reunion, sponsored by AARP.
He turned back to the page he’d been reading. According to the book, in 1933, President Roosevelt sent out an Executive Order requiring Americans to turn in their gold U.S. coins.
Unfortuna
tely, the myth that millions of these coins were melted down or refined into bullion bars wasn’t true. The government gave foreigners the gold coins instead of fine gold bullion because the coins contained only .9675 ounces of gold instead of the .999 in the bullion.
In the grand scheme of things, of the 100 million twenty-dollar gold Liberty coins turned out between 1850 and 1907, tens of millions most likely still existed, with the majority of them sitting in European bank vaults.
If gold rallied, European banks could sell massive quantities of the coins, and the rare gold Liberty coin he’d found in Socrates Pit wouldn’t be so rare.
Figuring out how much Ruby could get for the coin was another matter. Depending on the coin’s wear, it could be worth anywhere from $300 up to $1000.
Mac closed the book. So much for buying Ruby more time by placating the bank with a few thousand dollars.
He pulled the coin from his pants pocket, careful to keep it hidden from the rest of the patrons. A ray of sunlight shined through the faded orange curtains, glinting off the unmarred gold surface, lightly hazed from oxidation. Its lack of scores and scuffs had him scratching his head.
He’d found it in a crack between the mine’s wall and floor, hiding partway under a small rock. Sure, it had been protected from the elements, but how could a coin lie in a mine for over a hundred years and still be as shiny as a one-year-old penny?
Slipping the coin back in his pocket, he spread out the copies he’d made of the mining claims for Socrates Pit.
“Here you go, darlin’.” The waitress placed his tea on the table.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes focused on one of the copies.
“I haven’t seen you in here before. You just passing through?” Her soft drawl was typical for this corner of Arizona.
“No, I’m visiting my aunt.”
“She live close by?”
“She owns the R.V. park just up the road.”
Her swift intake of breath surprised him. He looked up and raised his brows at her narrow-eyed glare. Then, in a blink, it was gone, and her lips were again pursed in that flirty, pouting look some women thought all men found sexy.
“I’ll be back with your food in a quick shake,” she said and wagged her tail across the room to a table full of suits—an after-church gossip session raged among them.
Mac shook his head. Women were fickle creatures, a commodity he could live without—except for the sex. Too bad they rarely climbed into bed without some kind of promise for the future first. That’s what had gotten him in trouble with the last one. He’d vowed to keep them out of his bed after that disaster. Hotel rooms worked just fine.
Claire’s face popped into his head, followed by her perfectly snug Cheerios T-shirt.
Ruby had given him a conspiratorial smile and wink over breakfast when he’d asked what Claire’s last name was. Jess had seemed oblivious during most of the meal, thank God, singing some pop song under her breath.
But during the five miles to his pickup, his cousin had talked non-stop about the handywoman. He doubted much of it was true. The part about Claire picking up a maggot-filled rat with her bare hands in particular. Jess had a tendency to fictionalize people, like she did her father, in order to make life more entertaining.
“Burger and fries.” The waitress shoved a plate of food under his nose. The hamburger bun was coated with a sheen of grease. “Can I grab anything else for ya?”
Mac’s mouth watered. He shook his head.
“We have lemon meringue and cherry pie for dessert today. Give me a holler if you change your mind.”
After dumping ketchup on his cheeseburger, he plowed into the hot fries. Nothing tasted as good as fried potatoes. He scanned the mining claim as he ate, his eyes on the paper, but his mind on his pickup.
Roadrunner Auto Parts was closed Sundays, so he was stuck using Ruby’s old Ford until Tuesday, since the parts he needed would most likely have to be shipped. Unless he drove into Tucson today and picked up the parts.
But even if he were to leave straight from the diner, he wouldn’t be home until close to six, which meant he’d have to back out of his agreement to help Claire find her dog.
He bit into the cheeseburger and contemplated the idea.
Providing Ruby didn’t need her truck over the next couple of days, he could probably get by using it to drive to the mines. But there was no way her old Ford could make it through the creek on the old road up to Socrates Pit or Two Jakes mines. The truck was two-wheel drive with barely twelve inches of clearance. He’d have to carry his equipment from the main road up to the mines and back.
Patsy Cline wailed on the radio about being crazy for feeling so lonely as he swallowed the last bite of his burger.
Driving to Tucson would undoubtedly be more productive than scouring the desert with Claire. But much less entertaining.
He gathered his stuff and stepped up to the cash register. The waitress wore her sultry smile as she punched a few keys on the register.
Mac threw down a ten. “You haven’t seen a beagle running around outside here today, have you?” he asked, watching her count back his change. “His back is about as tall as my shin, and his right eye and left ear have black around them.”
“Can’t say I have,” she answered, looking him in the eye.
Damn. He dropped a tip on the table on the way out. As he stood under the noon sun, he stared down the road leading toward Tucson. He could be there in about two hours.
He climbed into the old Ford, fired it up, and headed back to the R.V. park.
* * *
Sophy watched through the finger-smudged diner windows as Ruby’s nephew sped away. The knot in her gut confirmed her worst fears—the door out of Jackrabbit Junction was on the verge of slamming shut.
She scooped up the tip he’d left and stuffed it in her bra, the crisp bills tickling her skin. The fact that Ruby’s nephew was the man who’d been looking for the dog last night made her upper lip sweat.
Pulling a pack of Pall Malls out of her apron pocket, she pushed through the diner’s front door and slipped around to the back of the restaurant. The roar of a passing semi drowned out the click of her lighter snapping shut.
The dog was safely tucked away for however long she needed him out of her hair. Although his nonstop baying had her contemplating shooting the mutt. Damn her weakness for four-legged creatures.
She took a long drag from her cigarette. So, if Ruby’s nephew had been the guy in the mine, who was the woman who’d been hollering for the dog? It hadn’t been Ruby.
The back door swung half open. “Sophy,” her line cook called. He jerked in surprise when she came around from behind the door. “Oh, there you are. The dude in the pink shirt wants his bill.”
“I’ll be right in.” She exhaled a stream of smoke.
As she stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it in the general direction of the garbage dumpster, she thought about the copies of mining claims Ruby’s nephew had been looking at Socrates Pit had been among them; where Joe had stashed the loot.
She had to find a way to keep Ruby’s nephew out of that mine.
* * *
“Where ya going?” Jess asked.
Claire paused on the top step of Ruby’s porch. Jess lounged in a plastic lawn chair with her feet propped up on the porch railing and a bottle of Mountain Dew in her hand.
“To grab some lunch.” Claire stepped to the ground, the gravel crunching under her tennis shoes. She’d been in such a rush this morning, not to mention distracted by a certain old man complaining about his missing dog, that she’d forgotten to eat breakfast, let alone grab some cash for lunch.
She heard footsteps running toward her from behind. “Can I come with you?”
“Don’t you have schoolwork to do?”
“Nah. I’m at recess.” Jess matched her pace.
“High schoolers don’t have recess.”
“Well, Ruby says I need to run around the park for a bit each day to get rid of som
e of my energy. She calls it recess.”
“You have a cool mom.” Claire’s mom probably wouldn’t have even given her a bathroom break—the dictator. She would’ve said it was important to learn how to control one’s bodily functions.
“I think I just get on her nerves. That’s why she wants to ship me off to school.” Jess let out a dramatically pathetic sigh. “I don’t know why she even bothered having me.”
Ah, the drama of adolescence. Behind her sunglasses, Claire rolled her eyes. “Probably just to have someone to torture.”
“Probably.” The flippant tone in Jess’s voice signaled the end of that particular conversation. “I hope Mac comes home soon. He promised to show me how to parallel park.”
Claire gritted her teeth at the sound of Mac’s name. If she didn’t need his help finding Henry, she’d hogtie him and hold him prisoner in the tool shed until the mining company’s signing date had come and gone.
“He asked about you at breakfast,” Jess said as they passed the restrooms across from Chester’s Winnebago Brave.
Despite her current anti-Mac campaign, a small bubble of happiness formed in her chest. She did her best to pop it.
“He wanted to know what your last name was.”
Not exactly a question an attractive man pining for her would ask.
Manny, Chester, and Gramps sat in the shade under the awning of Gramps’s Winnebago. Damn! She’d hoped to slip in and out without any more questions about Henry’s whereabouts.
“Mac thinks you’re hot.”
Claire shot Jess a surprised frown. “He told you that?”
“Well, not really. But I bet if you outline your lips with my dark pink liner and use my Raspberry Sparkle glitter gloss, he’d want to do some serious snogging with you.”
“Snogging?” Gramps asked, obviously eavesdropping. “What in the hell is snogging?”
Jess sighed, sounding every bit like the bored teenager dealing with an obtuse adult. “As in, to snog.”
Gramps glanced at Manny. “Is that some Spanish word?”