by Ann Charles
She blinked at the date. Holy shit! She’d been out for almost twenty-four hours. Those pills could drop a horse.
As Claire limped toward the bathroom, grunting with each footfall, she listened for the rumbling of voices outside, but the only rumbling she heard came from her stomach.
Fudge marble cake sounded positively orgasmic. Top it off with a chili-bean burrito and she’d never need a man again.
She winced at the mirror’s reflection. Frankenstein’s twin sister stared back at her, complete with greenish-purple bruises and steri-strips. She’d have to wear a ski mask for a week.
Showering stung more than soothed, but at least she didn’t stink like an ape’s armpit.
Tennis shoes were too much work after her jean shorts and Yosemite Sam T-shirt, so she slipped on Gramps’s brown leather slippers and stepped into the heat-rippling air.
A Steller’s Jay shrilled from the canopy of one of the cottonwoods overlooking Jackrabbit Creek.
“Stuff a cork in it!” Claire yelled back and scowled at a passing grasshopper.
Limping toward the General Store, she tried to pinpoint the source of unease making her antsy as a turkey on Thanksgiving morning.
With Sophy locked away in a Yuccaville jail cell waiting for an all-expense paid vacation to the big house, Claire should have been picking daisies and whistling “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah.” Instead, here she was snapping at Jays, cursing the sun.
Oh, who was she trying to fool? She knew the source of her angst.
His long legs and hazel eyes were always hovering in the shadows of her thoughts lately. The desert-fresh scent of his skin had been branded into her memory.
She kicked at a large pebble.
This whole head-over-heels-for-one-man business left her reeling, like she’d stepped off the Tilt-O-Whirl after spinning for an hour. But the way her heart flipped and flopped at just the thought of seeing Mac made it clear there was no coming back down to Earth now. She was totally screwed.
If only she could block out those nagging fears whispering in her ears, demanding she stomp out the fires he’d started and ride like hell for the hills—the Black Hills, that was. With or without Gramps.
At the sound of a rattling engine approaching from behind, she shuffled to the shoulder.
A pink Fleetwood Mini Motor Home rolled up beside her. Chester’s sparkly playmate, Fanny Derriere, sat behind the steering wheel. Her rhinestone-studded cowboy hat blinded Claire with dazzles of reflected sunlight. Black puffs of exhaust filled the air as the Miss Piggy-mobile passed her and crept out of the R.V. park.
It looked like the boys’ babe-hunting season was coming to an end, and none too soon for Claire. If she never saw another sixty-five year-old woman in a thong bikini and cowboy boots, it’d be too soon.
As she neared Ruby’s store, she slowed at the sight of Gramps standing on the porch. Rosy Linstad was with him, smiling and laughing as she talked, her words drowned by the guttural growl of her red Chevy Dually idling in the drive with a Coachmen Fifth Wheel hooked on back.
Claire slipped behind the drooping willow branches, peeking through the leaves in time to see Rosy drop a kiss on Gramps’s cheek, then crawl into her Chevy and cruise toward town.
She hid until Gramps disappeared into the store. With Rosy gone, the Internet Floozy Alert level dropped from orange to yellow. The sky seemed bluer all of a sudden, despite the fact that Mac’s pickup was nowhere in sight.
She patted Mabel’s hot roof as she passed and climbed the front steps. Jess sat behind the counter, smiling instead of shooting surly glares for once.
“Hey, kiddo.” Claire grabbed a cherry Hostess fruit pie from the shelf. From the backroom, the King of rock-n-roll crooned about being all shook up. Join the club, Elvis, Claire thought with a wry grin. “Are Gramps and your mom back there?” she asked, nudging her head toward the curtain as she tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter.
Jess nodded and handed Claire her change. “Along with the other old dudes and Henry.”
Chester’s wheezy laugh blocked out Elvis for several seconds, confirming Jess’s story.
“Mac around?”
“Nope.”
The definitive tone in Jess’s voice made Claire pause, her hand still buried in her front pocket with the change.
The kid hopped on the stool and lifted her bare foot up next to the cash register. Her face scrunched in concentration, she carefully dabbed neon orange paint on her big toenail.
“He over in Yuccaville?” Claire pressed.
“Nuh, uh.”
“Up at the mines?”
“Nope.”
Claire frowned, her heart hopping up into her throat like a bullfrog on PCP. “Where is he?”
“Tucson.” Jess moved to her next toe. “Left yesterday afternoon. Said he needed to get back to work.”
“Oh.” Claire swallowed her heart back down to her chest. “I see. Did he, uh, mention when he’d be back?”
Jess shook her head, working her way to her smallest piggy. “But he left something for you.” She dropped the nailbrush in the bottle and reached under the counter.
Maybe it was a note explaining why he’d up and left without saying good-bye to her. Maybe a phone number or address where she could reach him. Maybe a ...
“Here ya go.” Jess held out a sealed manila envelope.
“Thanks.” Claire took the envelope.
It was light, but slightly bulky, soft when squeezed. Maybe he’d bought her some lingerie.
She walked toward the curtain, taking a bite out of her fruit pie. The cherries tasted bland, picked too early; the crust dry and flaky, the glaze sugar-free.
Laughter greeted her as she slipped through the curtain. Wispy whirls of cigar smoke danced in the air, twirling about with the help of the air conditioner.
Her fingers itched to tear open the envelope, but four pairs of eyes kept her in check.
“Hot damn!” Chester said, his mouth open wide enough to catch flies. “You need to learn how to duck and weave, girl.”
Claire slipped the envelope behind her back and walked over to the card table. They were playing with pennies, and judging from the stacks in front of Ruby, she wasn’t taking any prisoners.
Henry barked once at Claire from the couch, then returned to chewing on a rawhide bone twice the diameter of his head. Somebody had replaced his old leg bone—actually Arnie’s leg bone—with a new one. The memory of Mac telling Sheriff Harrison about the bone Henry had found flittered through her thoughts.
“Ay yi yi,” Manny said, tugging her arm to turn her in his direction. “Look at that shiner.” He grinned at Gramps. “Please tell me there was mud involved. And bikinis.”
“String bikinis,” Chester muttered around his cigar while looking at his cards.
“No, thongs—with tops made from little triangles tied with dental floss.” Manny showed an example with his fingers.
“Stop thinking about my granddaughter in a bikini, Carerra, and throw down a damned card.” Gramps shuffled the cards in his hand.
Manny winked at Claire—the conspiratorial kind rather than the make-a-girl’s-skin-crawl type. “Well, now that Kat kicked me out of her bed and left me limp and dry, I have to focus on the females left. Since you’re busy being Mighty Mouse with Ruby, saving her day and all, that leaves Claire.”
Claire looked at Ruby. “What does Manny mean by saving your day?” What had happened while she was playing Rip Van Winkle?
Ruby opened her mouth, but Gramps cut her off. “Never mind.”
“But—” Claire started.
Pale blue eyes shot her a warning glare. “Remember rule number seven.”
“What’s rule number seven?” Ruby asked Claire.
“That’s not fair,” Claire argued. “This is different.”
“How?”
“Harley, honey, what’s rule number seven?”
“I’ll tell you later, when we’re alone,” Gramps said to Ruby, his smile warming a blush
onto Ruby’s cheeks.
Claire crossed her arms over her chest; the envelope bumped against her stomach. What in the hell was going on? “Gramps, she’s my boss. If you screw this up, I could be fired.”
“I’d never fire you, Claire.” Ruby patted her arm.
Gramps’s eyes twinkled. The old buzzard had won this round.
“What’s in the envelope?” Chester asked and snatched it from Claire’s fingers.
“Hey! Give it back.” She reached for the envelope, but Chester tossed it to Manny.
“Looks like a man’s handwriting,” Manny said, inspecting the penmanship on the front. He shook the package. “Sounds silky, like lingerie.” He would know.
The boys chuckled. Ruby frowned at them over her cards.
Claire moved closer to Manny and reached for the envelope. He tossed it back across the table to Chester.
“Not funny, Manny,” Claire said and poked his arm hard enough to make him jump before walking back around the table toward Chester. “Give it to me, Chester.”
He held it away from her. “What’s the magic word?”
“It’s black-eye,” Gramps said and threw down a card. “You’d better give her the package, Chester, before she gives you one.”
Claire grabbed for the package and managed to get a grip on the sealed end of it. She yanked hard, but Chester still had a secure hold. With a rip, the envelope tore in half and her butterfly panties dropped onto the table.
Her first impulse was to keel over dead with mortification. Instead, she snatched up her underwear and stuffed them in her pocket.
“Cute panties,” Manny said, laughter thick on his tongue. “I prefer lace and bows, but Mac seems like a butterfly-type of hombre.”
Claire was having trouble ungluing her tongue from the top of her mouth. Overriding her humiliation, white-hot fury tore through her veins. Flames of anger seared her neck and her cheeks. That rotten, no-good son of a bitch! How dare he leave her there in Jackrabbit Junction without even a good-bye?
“Sorry, Claire,” Chester said, handing her the other half of the envelope. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” The solemn look in Chester’s eyes spoke of true remorse—something Chester probably rarely felt.
She should have felt flattered.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said in a voice stronger and lighter than she felt at the moment, what with the hundred pound weight of rejection crushing her chest. “They’re just undies. It’s not like I haven’t seen yours.”
“Dios mio, who hasn’t?” Manny asked, chuckling at the glare Chester gave him. “What, mi amigo? Just two nights ago, you circled the park in nothing but your rainbow sock suspenders and skivvies—the ones with the pink hearts.”
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did.” Gramps joined in the mirth. “You were at least three sheets to the wind at the time and pissed as a newly castrated steer because Nasty Nurse Nancy walked out on you after she saw Chester Jr. in his pre-Viagra state.”
“Oh, yeah.” Chester cracked open a beer and gulped down half of it. His skin looked a tad bit pinker under the bristle of gray whiskers. “I should have popped some pills earlier for her. She’s a double-your-pleasure kind of woman, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows at Manny.
“I can’t believe you use that crap,” Manny said.
“Better than that Swiss pump you use.” Chester grinned at him around his cigar.
Claire recognized an exit opportunity when she saw one. She backed out through the curtain.
Jess was adding a second layer to her toenails, singing some hip-hop song under her breath.
“See ya later, Jess.” Claire passed the counter, not waiting for a reply, and stormed out through the screen door.
Racing down the steps, she limped as fast as possible back to Gramps’s Winnebago. Fury drove her forward; embarrassment nipped her heels.
If she ever saw Mac Garner again, she was going to cram her underwear down his throat until he choked on them.
* * *
Jess, Ruby, and Harley were all sitting on the front porch when Mac parked in front of the store.
The evening sun had lost its strength and was fading below the western skyline in a purple-shrouded death. Venus was out already, showing off with luminous splendor.
The air smelled clean, fresh, untouched by humans, unlike the man-made smog he’d waded through on his way out of Tucson in the rush hour traffic. Crickets were warming up for their evening serenade.
“Hi, Mac!” Jess said, a big smile warming her face. She scooted over on the bench to make room for him.
He nodded at each of them as he climbed the steps and asked the question that had been on his mind all day. “How’s Claire?”
Ruby chuckled and touched Harley’s arm. “You owe Jess five bucks. He couldn’t even make it up the steps before asking about her.”
“Have you no pride, son?” Harley shook his head in disgust, but the warmth in his eyes told a different story.
He dug in his pocket and tossed a wadded bill in Jess’s direction.
Jess caught it with a grin of triumph.
Mac dropped on the bench next to Jess, hitting her in the shoulder with a mock punch. “What did you think of the school?”
“It looks like any other high school—maybe a little smaller. Couldn’t Yuccaville have chosen a different mascot? I mean a wild pig, how silly is that?” But Jess’s words didn’t hold much fervor.
Mac could see her happiness in the way she was swinging her legs and chomping on her gum. “As silly as you,” he said, earning a light pinch in return. He turned to Harley. “Did all of the paperwork come in today?”
Harley nodded and draped his arm around Ruby’s shoulders. “We’re going to the bank tomorrow to sign everything.”
Mac stared at his aunt, trying to read something behind her smile. “You sure you’re okay with this? I can still call my—”
“This is better,” Ruby said. “I’m one hundred percent okay with it.” She dropped a kiss on Harley’s cheek and snuggled into his side.
Looking away, Mac tried to hide his concern for his aunt. When it came down to it, it was her business, her choice. He’d made his feelings about it clear before heading for Tucson and Ruby had listened, but the stubborn look in her eyes told him she’d already made up her mind.
“Claire was looking for you earlier,” Jess said.
Just what he wanted to hear. Mac looked at his cousin. “She was?”
“Yeah, I gave her the envelope.”
“Unopened?”
“Of course.” Two words, spoken indignantly.
“Good. Where is she?”
“Back at the Winnebago.” Gramps answered.
Then off to the Winnebago he would go. Hey-hey, ho-ho.
“But you’d better be careful when you open that door,” Gramps added. “She’s ballistic as a badger with a burr up its ass and doesn’t want any company.”
“Why?” Mac asked as he stood.
“I don’t know, but Manny has a bruise the size of my clock radio on his arm because he wouldn’t listen to me and tried to go in and calm her down. You might want to wear your hard hat.”
Minutes later, Mac rapped on the Winnebago door.
“Go away, Manny!” Claire shouted. Something hit the other side of the door with a loud thud. A metallic clang followed.
Mac waited for several seconds to make sure no other projectiles were going to be launched, then slowly turned the doorknob and opened the door a crack. He could hear Claire in the back of the Winnebago, the floor creaking under her feet as she tromped around, muttering under her breath.
Quietly, he slipped inside. A dented toaster lay on its side next to the doorway. He grimaced. The woman meant business.
Then he noticed the suitcase, stuffed so full it bulged.
His gut hit the floor. She was leaving him. Harley had warned him about her, but Mac had been stupid enough to believe he was different. To trust that look
in her eyes the other night.
A ball of anger formed in his chest, burning.
He had two options now: turn and leave with his pride intact, or stay and fight.
He closed the door and locked it.
* * *
Claire zipped closed her duffle bag. “There. Done.”
Now all that was left was convincing Gramps to drive her to the airport in Tucson tonight where a one-way ticket awaited her.
She hoisted her bag on her shoulder and turned toward the doorway.
All thoughts screeched to a stop.
Mac stood not four feet away, his shoulders filling the doorframe, his eyes hard in the soft lamplight.
A pulse ticked in his jaw. “Where are you running off to?”
The anger and pain that had been simmering inside her for the last few hours raged up through her core like a volcano. “Where am I running off to?” She threw her duffel on the bed behind her. She needed both hands free to fight. “You’re one to talk. You can’t even wait until I wake up before scampering back to Tucson.”
“I didn’t ‘scamper’ anywhere.”
“Oh, bullshit! You raced out of here like your hair was on fire. If you’re going to dump me, you could at least tell me to my face rather than sneak off without saying goodbye.”
Okay, so that was a bit hypocritical to say in light of her own past relationship termination techniques, which included faking her own death. But now was not the time to get nitpicky.
She took another breath and lashed out some more. “And then you have the nerve to give me back my underwear!”
The perplexed frown on his face didn’t stop her.
No way, she’d been steaming too long to cap the vent now.
Her heart pounded through her fingertips. “What kind of guy doesn’t even keep a pair of panties as a memento? Didn’t you ever see Sixteen Candles? You could sell those things on Ebay!”
“Jesus, Claire!” Mac’s lips twitched. “Would you just shut up for a moment and listen to—”
“Talk about kicking someone while they’re down. Next time why don’t you just broadcast over the damned radio that you’re rejecting me. Better yet, buy ad space on the front page of the Yuccaville Yodeler.”