by Patrice Lyle
He backed away from her. "Mystic Ming's hair pink on purpose."
Aunt Alfa eyed his shirt and tightened her lips. "Kick-ass psychic? I doubt that. Your shirt should say lame-ass psychic."
"Me lame?" Mystic Ming stiffened, and his cheeks flushed. "Dr. Meadows lame. She lie on her application for expo. She say she aromatherapist, but she not. She a fake."
Aunt Alfa went on the defense. "You're the phony who faked a fainting episode, and your accent's fake too."
Gasps and murmurs arose from the crowd.
"Everybody love Mystic Ming," he said, fanning his hand as if he didn't care what she said. "And you better get that pig out of here. Pork bad for you."
How dare he say the p word in front of Brownie. Now my hair probably really was standing on end.
"Don't talk about his kind like that." And before I knew it, I was pushing up the sleeves of my pink sequined dress.
Maternal instincts at their best.
Mystic Ming smirked. "Figure you get upset about stupid stuff."
"Can it, you pink-haired freak. Brownie's incredible." Aunt Alfa's eyes misted, and she sniffed. "He's the world's best seeing-eye piglet."
Apparently Brownie and I both had new professions.
"Seeing-eye piglet?" I asked Aunt Alfa, but she avoided my gaze.
"Does he wear a harness?" someone asked. "Like a guide dog?"
She turned toward the crowd. "He sure does, and he sees auras too."
What? Since when?
She marched over and let my adorable piglet out of the bag. Brownie toddled out in a teal-blue bejeweled harness that read, Brownie, Seeing-Eye Pig & Aura Reader. A crystal ball had been embroidered on the back of his harness in silver thread. Brownie looked up at her with such love, and I swear he smiled. Aw.
How could anyone not adore him?
"Get that thing out of here." Mystic Ming shot poor, innocent Brownie a super mean look.
"Thing?" A primal protective drive erupted in me, and I edged toward Mystic Ming. "Quit looking at my piglet like that."
"All right, people. Break it up." The brunette from registration—in a slutty yoga girl get-up, according to Aunt Alfa—barged onto the expo floor and blew her whistle. "Everyone get back to business."
Sounded good to me. I headed toward Brownie, glad the incident was over.
"Except for you, Dr. Meadows." Yoga Girl's tone jeered with the message busted.
I turned to face Yoga Girl and came face to face with someone else instead. The hottest guy I'd ever seen.
And I wasn't referring to his temperature.
He wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a fitted black running jacket. At six-foot-whatever, his chest flaunted muscles firmer than a wedge of Parmesan. His hair was the color of maple syrup. And his eyes were the exact color of my favorite organic dark chocolate.
Hello, Stranger.
He reached over his shoulders and tugged a black cowboy hat on top of his head. "Howdy, ma'am. I'm Tattoo Tex, a tattoo artist from Texas."
My fantasy was officially obliterated. Why did the hot guy have to be a tattoo artist? I wasn't a fan of needles or permanent makeup. And worse yet, why did he have to be a dumb cowpoke? Yes, that was rude, but I despised anything preceded—by the word Western.
Western movies. Western novels. Western clothes. Western Medicine for chronic health problems. And I didn't even like the West Coast either, except for Half Moon Bay, California. And that was only because I'd found a super cute sequined clutch on sale at a cool boutique, and I'd eaten the most decadent dark chocolate mousse at an artsy cafe.
"I'm fixin' to move into the booth right over there." Only with his accent, there sounded like thar.
I forced a smile. "You're right next to me."
He acknowledged me with a gentlemanly nod and peeked at my nametag. "I've never met a doctor who looked like you. I'm afraid most doctors are a bit on the homely side."
My cheeks heated, but I remained professional. Despite being a bit flattered. "A different image is always good for the profession."
He cast a glance over yonder at the goods displayed at my booth, and a smile creased his face. "Health Nuts Rock? Great title. You write that book?"
Wow. A man who gave me compliments. So refreshing, and so unlike Floyd.
"Yeah, I self-published it." Whenever I got nervous, my heart rate took off. And right now my stethoscope would have detected an all-out flutter-fest.
He tipped his hat in my direction. "Gotta love a woman who has the confidence to write a book."
And gotta love a man whose face the sun had bronzed and whose body God had blessed with superstar genes.
He gazed at my silver sandals and said three words that changed my life. "Hot shoes, doc."
For the first time ever, I wondered what was so wrong with Western stuff.
* * *
An hour later—after we'd deposited Brownie in our hotel room with two gluten-free Cosmic Cupcakes and a private viewing of Babe—I'd finally groveled over my alleged application transgression to Yoga Girl's satisfaction. And she agreed to let me stay at the show. Was I amazing or what?
Actually I made an amazing donation to New Beginnings. Not to mention the hundred-dollar bill I gave her.
The lure of Tattoo Tex was costing me a bundle.
"No more lying, Aunt Alfa," I said as we walked back toward our booth. "Brownie's not a seeing-eye piglet, and I'm not an aromatherapist."
"It wasn't a lie, Pipe, because your practice does have an aromatherapist, and that piglet does see auras."
I groaned but didn't want to debate the new abilities she'd attributed to Brownie. "Yeah, I know, but I'm not an aromatherapist. I'm a naturopathic doctor."
"No, what you are is hot for that jock cowboy."
Darn. She'd picked up on that. "Shh, I don't want anyone hearing."
Mortified, I guided her by the elbow toward our booth. We wove through the expo hall, checking out the psychic readers and their crystals, tarot cards, and potions for every emotional affliction. I was still disappointed it wasn't a wellness show because I'd hoped to jump-start my book marketing. But when I spotted Tattoo Tex, I quit caring about my sales.
The man was luscious.
He removed his running jacket—since when did workout gear and cowboy hats go together—and revealed a colorful tattoo that started at his shoulder and spiraled down past his elbow. The bulk of the artwork, which looked like a giant gemstone, settled on his bicep.
I wasn't normally a fan of tattoos, but I did have a thing for massive biceps.
"Great tat job," Aunt Alfa said to our new neighbor when we arrived at our booth. "That's the biggest rock I've ever seen."
Was she talking about the tattoo or his muscle?
Either way, he didn't seem to mind. "Thank you, ma'am. I designed it myself."
She paused to inspect his arm and read the words aloud. "Real women need real rocks. That's cute, Tattoo Tex."
He smiled, and I forced myself to stop gawking at the twinkling image of the giant diamond ring wrapped in a spiral of green leaves. What really got me was the kind of diamond it was. Princess cut.
Holy chocolate babka. Could this guy get any hotter?
I was so overwhelmed, I couldn't speak.
"You okay there, Doc Meadows?"
Who cared if his there sounded like thar? What a silly thing to get bothered over. I took a deep breath and managed to say, "I'm fine. I was just taken aback by the beauty and clarity of your ring tattoo. It's incredible."
"Watch how it lights up." He flexed his bicep (make me drool), and the facets of the diamond practically shone beneath the glow of the overhead lights. "It's my secret angle of tattoo art. Gotta make it real, so the ladies like it."
Ladies? Who and where?
As if he read my mind, he said, "My mom and auntie were real close, and my auntie died unmarried, so I designed this for her before she passed away."
Aw. How seriously cute is that?
"Sorry about your aunt," I s
aid. "But that was sweet."
He air-tossed his hand, as if to say, Shucks, ma'am. "I figure a fine woman deserves a fine piece of bling."
My heart swelled like a schoolgirl so I turned toward my booth. How was I going to be able to give my presentation after lunch when I was so smitten?
Act professional. Like now.
I slipped behind my table and sat on my chair. I took a much-needed deep breath while Aunt Alfa chattered and rearranged her oils and herbs. Then she excused herself to go take lunch orders, a designated part of her sentence for lying on my application. A moment of quiet was a good thing because my talk was looming, and I was so distracted by Tattoo Tex that I actually angled my KLCS pendant so I could see him in the reflection.
And what a reflection it was. That sexy face. That sexy body.
What am I doing? I need to focus.
I grabbed my Health Nuts Rock talk notes, intent on reviewing them for my presentation. Nothing like a little work to get my mind moving in the right direction. H was for hydration. E was for electromagnetic pollution. A was for acid alkaline balance. L was for lymphatic health. T was for…Tattoo Tex.
No, it wasn't. T was for targeted supplements.
This wasn't going well. I needed to concentrate on something other than Tattoo Tex if I was going to pull this talk off without looking like a moron.
"Excuse me, miss," an old man's voice said. "Is this Alfa Sprout's booth?"
An older man leaning against a walker stood before me, his blond toupee perilously perched on the side of his head. That was the only messy thing about him, though. His ivory slacks were pressed. His teal-striped shirt appeared brand new. And his burgundy leather shoes were shinier than my rhinestone stethoscope.
"Yes, it is," I said. "But she just stepped away."
"What are her rates? Does she charge by the hour?"
"By the session, actually." I set my lecture notes aside and stood up. "Are you interested in aromatherapy or herbal remedies?"
He scrunched his face in confusion. "Neither. I read her spicy profile on Wanna Get in My Granny Panties."
"What? Aunt Alfa would never register on such a site. I think you're mistaken, sir." Or possibly senile, given your appearance.
The man dug a crinkled piece of paper from his pockets and showed me. I gasped when I saw a familiar face in a not-so-familiar get up.
Aunt Alfa posed, one knee on a luxurious bed covered with a hot pink satin comforter and a mound of silver sequined pillows—hey, that was my bedroom—wearing her Mary Janes and a red leather bustier, with a red boa dangling from her neck.
"She's a babe isn't she?" The old man was practically drooling.
Tattoo Tex stepped across the aisle and peeked at the picture. "Wow. Your grandma's a hooker?"
"No." What an image that presented. "First, she's my great aunt, and she's an aromatherapist. Not a hooker." I grabbed the printout from the old guy and crumpled it up.
"I want that back." The old guy pointed at the paper ball in my fist.
"Not going to happen." My voice was firm.
The old guy flashed me sad puppy eyes, before turning to Tattoo Tex. "Some pink-haired Chinese guy is out there saying tattoos are bad for your health. I think he's trying to get you banned from the show."
Tattoo Tex rocked back on his tennis shoes and lifted his hand to chest level. "Little dude, about yay high?"
The old guy nodded.
"I had a brief run-in with him at an expo in Dallas last year," Tattoo Tex said.
Imagine that. "I rode the elevator with Mystic Ming this morning, and he was most unpleasant."
"He's down right disrespectful." Tattoo Tex's eyes clouded for a moment. "He told me he hated cowboy hats."
The tautness of Tattoo Tex's jaw told me he didn't welcome such remarks.
"How rude," I said. Even though I secretly agreed with Mystic Ming, I would never tell anyone that. Especially a long tall Texan.
"That's the equivalent of blasphemy where I come from, ma'am."
"He could have got himself shot in the Lone Star State for making a comment of that nature," the old man said.
"You're darn right," Tattoo Tex said. "But I let it go. I reckoned a dude with pink hair didn't know any better."
I laughed. "That hair is something else."
Tattoo Tex smiled, and I admired his side-profile. His sexiness lit something inside that I hadn't felt in a while.
"Long time no see, Mervyn," Aunt Alfa said as she returned to the booth. She angled the notepad in her hand and swatted the old man's derriere. "You here to get in my granny panties?"
CHAPTER SIX
Death by Kung Pao Shrimp
Granny panties? Since when? Aunt Alfa wore lacy thongs (trust me, I've tried to suppress that memory). I discovered this fact after she moved into my place. One Sunday afternoon, I found her hand-washed dainties lying on a towel to dry on my kitchen table. My kitchen table where I used to eat.
So why the ruse with Old Man Mervyn?
Mervyn shot Aunt Alfa a lascivious grin. "I can't stop thinking about your ad and how personal it was."
She laughed. "Can't catch a hummingbird without nectar."
What does that mean? On second thought, maybe I didn't want to know.
He gave her a slow once-over, his ogling eyes magnified behind his glasses. "Sure do miss you at Sunny Sands."
A sad look crossed her face. "I liked the pool."
"You wouldn't have gotten kicked out if you hadn't sunbathed in the nude. I told you that would make those old crows mad."
"Kicked out?" My eyebrows furrowed as I glanced at Aunt Alfa. "I thought you left because it was too expensive?"
Aunt Alfa shrugged. "Left, kicked out. They both add up to not being there."
"The place isn't the same without you." Mervyn frowned as if he'd missed getting his Social Security check.
My aunt air-kissed him on each cheek (on his face, you'll be happy to know). "I miss you, too, Merv. I don't miss those old crows, though."
He pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed a few sweat beads from his forehead. "You're the hottest woman ever."
She slapped his derriere again. Then she turned toward me and held up her notepad. "I got everyone's orders except for yours. What'll you have for lunch, Tattoo Tex?"
"Where are you going?"
"Some Chinese joint."
"I'll have kung pao chicken," he said. "With extra celery and extra peanut."
I gasped. Was Tattoo Tex my Chinese-food soul mate? "That's my exact order."
"That's highly unusual, ma'am."
No kidding. "I've never met a guy into celery." I was intrigued.
Tattoo Tex gave me a look that told me he was equally intrigued. "I'm usually the only one who wants extra celery, with it being a filler vegetable."
"I'd like to fill something right now, but first things first." Mervyn playfully swatted Aunt Alfa's arm.
"Don't be a perv, Merv." Aunt Alfa's giggly tone indicated she wasn't giving an order. She was issuing an invitation. "You want your regular order, Pipe?"
I nodded, wondering what kind of retirement place Sunny Sands was. And exactly how well did Aunt Alfa know Mervyn?
Mervyn pointed to Aunt Alfa's notepad. "Why are you taking orders?"
"Because this jerk-wad psychic, who I wish would drop dead, started a big brouhaha, so I had to agree to pick up lunch in order to stay. My niece, Pipe," she said, gesturing at me, "had to cough up a brand new hundred-dollar bill."
"Sheesh, that's pricey." Mervyn looked around the exhibit hall. "Anyone have a menu?"
"No, but they have good Chinese food from what I hear." Aunt Alfa wedged the notepad under her armpit and fidgeted with a curler. "They have egg rolls, egg drop soup, chow mein, kung pao. The regular dishes."
Mervyn adjusted his hands on his walker. "I'll take some egg foo young."
"Good choice." Aunt Alfa scribbled his order and held her hand out. "Now I just need Pinky's keys, Pipe."
/> A stab of panic hit me. Auntie Alfa driving my gorgeous Sparkle O car? No way. No how. Not ever. When I'd agreed to her getting lunch, I'd assumed she could take Yoga Girl's car. My aunt wasn't a horrible driver, but she'd need a booster seat to get her chin above the steering wheel. And when she turned on Elvis Radio, she'd pay more attention to the King of Rock and Roll than the traffic. But how to say this politely?
"Um, my keys are in our room." Hopefully that would do.
"Can you be a dear and go get them? Slutty Yoga Girl said I'd need to take my own car."
Mervyn lifted his fuzzy gray eyebrows. "I didn't know Bertha was here."
Aunt Alfa laughed. "She's not, and Bertha took Pilates, not yoga." She cut her gaze toward Tattoo Tex. "What about you? You got a ride an old gal could borrow?"
He shot her a wide-eyed gaze. "Sorry, ma' am, but my truck's awfully tall."
Aka, you'd need to forklift to get in.
Mervyn blotted his face again, stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, and retrieved a giant blue fuzzy-dice key ring. How had he squeezed that in there? It was huge. But I really didn't want to imagine how things were arranged in Mervyn's pants.
I'd leave that to Aunt Alfa.
He dangled the dice and said, "Let's take my Caprice Classic, babe."
"Ooh, fancy car." She looped her arm through his and looked at me, all smiles. "Before I forget, Pipe, change of plans. Your talk's before lunch." She gestured toward the small stage where a couple of hotel audiovisual techs were setting up. "In like fifteen minutes."
"What?" I might have just pierced my eardrums, along with everyone else's. "I thought Mystic Ming was going before lunch?"
"He changed his mind. So you're on."
Holy chocolate babka. This couldn't be happening. I wasn't focused. I'd been too distracted by Tattoo Tex. And apparently Aunt Alfa had a profile on some get-in-my-granny-panties website.
She certainly hadn't denied it.
"You can do it, Pipe. Love you." She winked and shuffled off with Mervyn, obviously more interested in a hot date than my talk.
Not that I could blame her.
Tattoo Tex sauntered over to my booth. "You're going to rock your talk." He slipped his hands into his pockets and flooded me with a smile bigger than Texas. "All you have to do is get up there and let your sparkliness shine."