The Perfect Solution

by Day Leclaire

  Her smile turned wry. “Don’t I always?”

  “Okay. Tell you what. This once—and just this once—you can test me.”

  That brightened her right up. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

  “People in Salmon Bay would do anything for you, Jane.” He gave a self-conscious shrug. “Well... Anything but participate in your experiments. Since it’s your birthday, I’ll make an exception this time. It’s nothing dangerous, is it?”

  “Not a bit.”

  He handed her the box and tapped the receipt taped to it. “Okay. You sign for the package and do whatever experiment you have to on me. But don’t take too long. I have the rest of my route to complete.”

  She gave the mail carrier a quick hug. “Thanks, Edward. I owe you one. Now, stand right there, okay?”

  “Right here,” the mail carrier confirmed, planting his size twelves firmly on her doormat.

  She rushed back inside and closed the door behind her, looking hastily around. “Darn it all. Where did I put that spray?” She frowned at Dipstick. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Do you suppose it’s because I turned twenty-nine today? I thought I’d have until at least thirty before I became an absentminded professor.”

  The dog nudged her pocket and she plunged her hand into it, coming up with a glass atomizer. “There we go. Thanks, Dip.”

  Hastily spritzing herself with a bit of perfume, she glanced in the mirror to make sure her hair was right. It hadn’t budged from the impossibly tight knot she’d twisted it into this morning. She slipped her glasses from the crown of her head to the tip of her nose and smoothed the lapel of her lab coat, checking to make sure nothing untoward had spilled on it. She wanted to look businesslike, not grungy. And she wanted to make sure her appearance wouldn’t in any way affect the results of their encounter.

  Crossing to the door, she pulled it open and greeted the mail carrier with a professional smile. Not too much teeth. Heaven forbid she taint her experiment by being too friendly. “Hello, again,” she said casually. At least, she hoped it sounded casual. She’d never been terribly good at pretense.

  Edward Keenan fought back a grin. “Hello again, Miss Jane.”

  Dipstick shoved his huge head between the two of them, snuffling loudly. Darn it all! The silly dog had probably sucked up all of her perfume. “Phew. Sure is warm today.” She leaned over the Saint Bernard and gently fanned the air in the mail carrier’s direction. Nothing. Maybe she hadn’t been generous enough with the spray bottle. No doubt another squirt was in order, if only she could find a way to do it without Edward catching on.

  “Sure is.” The mail carrier shifted from foot to foot. “Er, Jane?”

  “Yes, Edward?”

  He gestured toward the box she still clutched. “I need you to sign the receipt on that package I brought, remember?”

  Inspiration struck. “Let me get a pen,” she said. That way she could give herself another dousing of perfume.

  To her dismay, he pulled one from his shirt pocket and offered it. “No need. I have a pen right here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Edward. Why would I want to use up your ink when I have plenty of my own?”

  The mail carrier groaned. “Okay, okay. Time out.”

  “Already?” She checked her watch before regarding him with a frown. “Thirty-two seconds. I seriously doubt that’s sufficient time for my experiment to take effect.”

  “Come on, Jane. Spill it. What witch’s brew have you cooked up in that lab of yours? Doggy love drops? Won’t help.” He stared glumly at Dipstick. “No offense, but I hate dogs and not even one of your concoctions can change that.”

  She grabbed for Dipstick, covered her poor baby’s ears. “Mr. Keenan, I think very highly of you, you know I do. In fact, I can honestly say your attitude toward dogs is your one-and-only failing as far as I’m concerned, though it’s a serious one. But please don’t say such things where Dipstick can hear. And it’s not doggy love drops.”

  “Right. Let me guess. Mind-altering address labels. You switched the labels, right?” He reeled around, staggering ever so slightly. “I’m hallucinating as we speak, aren’t I?”

  She didn’t know what to say to that one. “I suppose that depends on what you’re seeing,” she offered after a moment’s consideration. “Since it’s impossible for me to make a specific comparison between your perception and mine, we can only attempt to match—”

  He staggered again. “I’m sure my mind is altered.”

  Oh, dear. She’d hoped for a reaction to her perfume, had, in fact, felt an unsettling emotion akin to desperation. But this would never do. Not in a million years. Who’d want a perfume that drove men postal? “I just wanted your reaction to my perfume,” she hastened to explain. “That’s all.”

  He paused mid-stagger and winked at her. “Your perfume doesn’t affect my sanity, does it?”

  “No— Oh. You’re teasing,” she realized.

  “Yes, Jane. I’m teasing.” His expression gentled. “Sorry, I was just trying to make you smile on your birthday.”

  She sighed. “Thank you, but if you really want to make me smile, you’ll sniff me.”

  “Come again?”

  “Sniff me, Edward!”

  “Your perfume.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not doggy love drops?”

  “Goodness, no.” She gave the Saint Bernard a quick hug. “Dipstick is lovable enough without them.”

  “Not mind-altering address labels?”

  “You know... That’s an interesting concept.” Glimpsing a return of his earlier amusement, she hastened to add, “But, no.”

  “Just perfume.”

  “It’s a very special perfume. Does that help?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He checked his watch. “Sorry, Jane. I have to be off now. If I’m not reacting the way you hoped, then I guess your perfume doesn’t work any better than that bug spray you invented for Sheriff Tucker.” With a friendly wave, he started down her porch steps.

  “My bug spray worked just fine,” she retorted, stung. “The sheriff simply forgot to mention—” Edward disappeared down the sidewalk and Jane sighed. “He forgot to mention that he wanted it to kill the bugs. Though, why he’d want to kill something so fascinating is beyond me.”

  Returning inside, she picked up the atomizer she’d left on the hallway table and regarded it with a frown. “Well that didn’t work too well, did it, Dipstick?” The dog wagged his tail in agreement, as if he understood everything she said, which she secretly thought perhaps he did. “I have to find a man I can test this perfume on. It’s vital.”

  More important, she had to prove herself as a bona fide chemist. Prove that the years of effort and training she’d received from her uncles—brilliant chemists every one—hadn’t been an utter waste of resources. Time was running out, and with each passing day her desperation grew. This experiment was her life and nothing, absolutely nothing, would prevent her from finding a successful formulation for her perfume.

  Dipstick butted her with his head, and she scratched the dog behind his ears as she thought. “A man. I absolutely have to find a man for a test subject. Now, where am I going to find someone? It’s not like I can just order one through the mail.”

  She slumped onto the floor next to the Saint Bernard and shoved her glasses from the tip of her nose to the top of her head, ticking off on her fingers. “No students available. No townspeople willing to help. No men, period. Hell. Too bad I can’t just buy one.” She ruffled Dipstick’s ruff and chuckled. “Hey. Now, there’s an idea. I’ll run out to the corner store and buy myself a man. Wouldn’t that be a great solution?”

  * * *

  FLYNN STUDIED THE THREE MEN who had “bought” him. A ponytailed, silver-haired sorcerer, a hulking brute whose hangdog expression would have done Walter Matthau proud and a blushing-pink cherub. Just great. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He dreaded the first question he’d have to ask....

  Folding
his arms across his chest, he cocked an eyebrow. “So, gentlemen. What’s your pleasure?”

  The leader of the group, the one he’d privately dubbed “the sorcerer,” matched him, lifted eyebrow for lifted eyebrow, his pale blue eyes glittering with frank enjoyment of the situation. “Why, now you get to help save a beautiful young woman.” He tapped the massive chest of the brute with his gold-tipped cane. “Bring him, Dogg.”

  The brute—Dogg—made a growling noise deep in his throat while the cherub shifted from foot to foot in front of Flynn.

  “He means, he wants you to come,” the cherub explained. Chubby hands danced in the air. “Come along.”

  Flynn sighed. “Look... Why don’t I just—”

  “We don’t want our money back. We want you,” Dogg interrupted.

  “—give you the money you paid and we’ll call it—” Flynn broke off, disconcerted for an instant before managing to hide it. “Cute trick.”

  “Come along, Mr. Morgan.” The sorcerer’s voice drifted back to him. “Time is wasting.”

  Flynn gave in. What would it hurt to hear what they had to say? He could always refuse. They’d demand a refund from Lost Springs Ranch and he’d reimburse the loss, while, once again, having lived up to his reputation for being a no-good troublemaker.

  Yeah, right. That would work. A few years back, maybe. But not now. Which meant he gave these three their money’s worth as he’d promised.

  A large stretch limo waited outside the auction area, incongruous in a lot filled with pickups, rentals and more practical sedans. The sorcerer gestured for Flynn to enter. Eyeing the three purchasers with a combination of suspicion and resignation, he climbed into luxury. He’d thought being purchased by a pair of little old ladies or giggling young girls was laughable. But at least those fellow bachelors had been purchased by women. Hell, these three had to be bottom of the barrel, worst of the worst, god-awful bad.

  “Why don’t we introduce ourselves?” the sorcerer suggested. “I’m Hickory.”

  “And I’m Rube and this is Dogg,” the cherub hastened to add. “And you’re Flynn Morgan.”

  Flynn closed his eyes. Crazy. They were clearly crazy and he’d gotten into an enclosed space with them. “Look—”

  “Scaring him,” Dogg announced.

  “Are we?” Hickory planted his cane between his legs and leaned on the gold handle. “We’re chemists, if that helps at all. Perhaps it also helps explain our...oddness.”

  It was only then that Flynn realized the crisscross of gold lines of Hickory’s cane formed some sort of atomic model, like an explosion of elements. Perhaps if he’d paid closer attention in chemistry class, he’d have been able to decipher it. But at least it gave him some badly needed insight. It suggested the wizard appreciated science on some level and that he might employ reasoning and logic in his thought processes. Flynn settled back against the leather seat, forcing himself to utilize that possibility in his response to his three “purchasers.”

  “Fear is a natural fight-or-flight instinct,” he explained, projecting a calm he was far from feeling. “In my case, it’s a product of my early environment.”

  “How fascinating.” Hickory tilted his head to one side. “And what in particular about us causes this reaction?”

  “Your reason for purchasing me.”

  Wicked amusement flickered to life in Hickory’s eyes. “Did you think we wanted you for ourselves?”

  Flynn fingered the tender bruise at the corner of his mouth and winced. “I sincerely hope not.”

  Rube busied himself unwrapping a lemon sour ball. “Don’t have to worry about that. We’re not interested in you. Nope. Not at all. Want you for Jane.”

  “Rube.”

  The cherub blushed as pink as the wisps of faded red hair floating around his shiny pate. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Got ahead of myself.”

  Flynn sighed. If the last few minutes were any indication, it was going to be a very long weekend. “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain what this is about?”

  The three exchanged quick glances. “No,” Hickory replied, apparently having reached a consensus of opinion from that single look. “We wouldn’t. At least, not until we’re sitting down and enjoying a leisurely lunch. Then my brothers and I will be happy to explain everything.” His eyes glittered with amusement again, his focus uncomfortably intense. “Or almost everything.”

  They drove from the ranch, straight into wilderness, leaving a trail of dust in their wake—a dust Flynn had done his level best to shake from his boots years ago. The irony hit hard. It would seem he couldn’t escape this place any more than he could escape the past that had molded him. Though he appreciated how all the counselors and instructors associated with the ranch had helped him, encouraging him to set his feet on a different path through life, those years had been painful. Almost as painful as the events leading up to his stay at Lost Springs.

  When his parents had dumped him here, they’d neglected to release their parental rights. So though they were happy to forget all about him—never once visiting him—they refused to release him, to allow him to start over with a new family. Not that anyone had been terribly anxious to adopt him. He’d been far too much trouble for a sensible couple looking for an openhearted child. He’d been as closed-down as they came.

  But he’d dreamed of a real life, yearned for it, thirsted for it...and buried those desires deep inside where no one could find his vulnerability.

  It didn’t take long to get to Lightning Creek. Flynn slouched lower in his seat and thrust out his long legs, staring at sleepy roads and Old West buildings that hadn’t changed a bit since he’d left. Hell, the bustle from the auction had probably stirred up the most traffic they’d seen around this place in the last couple of decades. A traffic jam on Main Street. Who’d have thought?

  He could guess where they were headed for lunch, not that there were many choices in Lightning Creek. The Main Street Grill—or the Roadkill Grill, as the locals called it—was part restaurant, part bar and general hangout during his less-than-illustrious youth for the horny and hopeful. Of course, at this hour, it would be filled up with families intent on lunch.

  Walking in the door with his purchasers, Flynn did a quick scan of the place. There were a few bachelors from the auction scattered around, none of whom paid him any attention. He sighed. Well, what did he expect? He’d been a con artist all those years ago, not someone who’d have made an enduring friend. He’d also been one of the ranch’s most spectacular failures, so when they’d contacted him about the auction, he’d been amazed. The very fact that they’d be willing to solicit his help just proved the desperation of their financial situation. But then, perhaps they knew how hard he’d worked at redemption these past few years and that was why they’d called on him.

  There wasn’t much of a wait for a table. The minute they were all seated, Hickory spoke up. “You’ve been very patient, Mr. Morgan.”

  Flynn regarded the ringleader with an impassive expression. “Did I have a choice?”

  “None.” He tapped his cane against the floor, like a conductor signaling for the attention of his orchestra. “Shall we begin?”

  “We bought you for Jane,” Rube announced in a rush. “There. I said it. Phew! Now that we have that out of the way, we can enjoy our lunch.”

  “Who’s Jane?” Flynn asked mildly.

  Hickory reprimanded his brother with a look, before returning his attention to Flynn. “Jane Dearly. She’s our niece...”

  “Her parents died when she was five. We raised her.” This from Dogg.

  Rube nodded. “And she needs a man.”

  Flynn held up his hands. “Whoa! Time out. What do you mean, she needs a man?”

  Hickory smiled. “Why, just what we said. She’s in need—desperate need in our opinion—of a man.” He tapped Flynn with the handle of his cane. “We chose you.”

  * * *

  JANE STRAIGHTENED her lab coat and frowned. Maybe the coat had been a mist
ake, especially on her birthday, but donning it had become second nature to her, so she sometimes forgot she’d put it on. Perhaps no one would notice. She perked up. No. No one would notice anything out of the ordinary. They’d just conclude she’d been in a hurry and forgotten to take it off. That happy assumption lasted right up until she reached the outskirts of town.

  One look at her apparel and everyone smiled and shook their head. They also gave her a wide berth.

  With a tiny sigh, she shoved her glasses onto the top of her head and unbuttoned the coat, hoping it would make her look more casual. After all, she was heading into town for a drink at the local bar on her birthday. What could be more casual than that? Surely Mr. Keenan had been too busy delivering mail to spread word of her latest experiment. She didn’t want to give people the mistaken belief that her presence had anything to do with work.

  Pushing open the door to the Guy’s Place, she smiled at the bartender. “Hello, Milton. Could I have a diet soda, please?”

  “Happy birthday, Jane.” He filled a glass with ice and hesitated. “Sure you wouldn’t like something a little stronger? Maybe some rum in that soda?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Heard your latest experiment isn’t going well.”

  Just great. She should have known word would spread within five seconds of Edward’s departure from her front doorstep. “Not too well,” she admitted. “Between that and my birthday...” She trailed off with a shrug.

  With an understanding nod, he fixed the drink, thumping it onto the bar in front of her. “It’s on the house. Just don’t scare away my customers again with one of your experiments, okay?”

  She chuckled. “I’ll try not to, but I make no promises.”

  Two of the Henderson boys lounged at one end of the bar, and she offered a friendly nod. They were a bit younger and had once had an ongoing bet to see who’d be the first to date her. Neither had won. But she’d never held it against them. She understood all about competition and achieving goals.

  A whispered conversation ensued and then the oldest of the two, Glenn, joined her. “You here on business or pleasure, Janie?”

  Uh-oh. She leaned out of his air space as unobtrusively as possible so he wouldn’t accidently inhale her perfume, or this could very well turn into business. “As long as you can’t smell me, it’s pleasure.”