by Ann Charles
She reached into the coffin-sized closet and pulled out the Betty Boop bag Kate had given her for Christmas two years ago.
The pounding in Kate’s head spread to her chest as she watched Claire open the top drawer of the built-in dresser and throw her underwear into the bag. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“You’re not leaving me here with her.”
“Watch me.”
“Claire, come on.” Kate placed Henry on the bed next to her and scooted to the end of the mattress. “Ruby and Gramps need you here. You’re supposed to watch Ruby’s kid while they’re on their honeymoon, remember?”
Claire stuffed her socks into the bag. “You can watch Jess. You’re the teacher. You have loads of experience with kids.”
“Well, yeah, but …” Kate gulped. Nobody in her family knew her dirty little unemployment secret—yet.
Lightning flashed outside the window. Thunder rumbled an encore seconds later.
Henry whined, burying his nose in Kate’s ribs.
Claire tucked a few T-shirts into her bag. “Besides, Jess is easy.”
An easy teenager? That was laugh-out-loud funny.
“You just need an ear to listen to her troubles and a shoulder for her to cry on. She’ll take care of the rest.”
Kate grabbed her sister’s hand as she reached for another drawer. “Claire, you can’t leave me here with her.”
“Come on, Jess isn’t so bad.” Claire’s grin didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She’s a real sweetheart when she’s not yelling at her mom.”
“I’m talking about your mother, not Jess.”
“My mother, huh? At least she likes the way you dress.” Pulling away, Claire opened the next drawer. “I’m getting out of here before she has me wearing frilly dresses and pajamas with footies again.”
“Claire, I need you here.”
“Ha! You just need someone to run interference.”
“No, there’s more to it than that.” Kate squeezed the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. She was going to have to spill the beans.
“Let me guess.” Claire turned toward Kate with a small stack of jean shorts in her arms and a grin on her lips. “You’re engaged to another klepto, and this one stole your half of the his-and-hers heart pendant you bought.”
“That’s real funny coming from a woman who can’t even commit to a hair appointment.”
Henry barked at the rude gesture Claire gave Kate. Kate patted his head, earning a few licks in return.
Grumbling under her breath, Claire tossed the shorts into the bag.
A cool breeze ruffled the faded brown curtains covering the window, sweeping Kate’s hot skin. Two flashes of lightning followed, then a drum roll of thunder.
Taking a deep breath, Kate laid her cards face-up on the table. “I quit my job. I don’t want to be a teacher anymore. In fact, I don’t want to have anything to do with public education at all. But don’t say anything to Mom; I haven’t told her yet.”
Claire’s brown eyes widened. “You’re kidding me. When did you quit?”
“Last month. I couldn’t stand it any longer.” It had been her mom’s dream job, never hers.
“Mom’s going to shit ostrich eggs when she finds out. This isn’t in the ten-year plan she has mapped out for you.”
Beads of sweat coated Kate’s upper lip at just the thought of telling her mom. “Well, she forgot to ask me about my plan.”
“So, what job do you have lined up?”
“None.”
“Wow, that’s ballsy for you.” Claire plopped onto the edge of the mattress next to Kate.
“I know, right? But I don’t want to tell Mom until I figure out what I want to do. That’s why I need you to stay.”
Claire jumped up like Henry had bitten her on the butt. “No way. I’m not going to be your fall guy.”
“That’s not what I was thinking. I want to pick your brain.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it sure sounded legit.
“Pick my brain? You’ve been smoking that weed that grows behind Gramps’s house again.”
“I’m serious. You have more college credits than anyone I know.” Claire had more schooling under her belt than most doctorate holders. Unfortunately, the content of her classes spanned the spectrum, and she had yet to find a degree program that held her interest for more than a year. Kate had lost count of the number of jobs listed on her sister’s resume.
“I’m also the family joke.”
Kate sighed. This was going to take some arm twisting. “Please stay. If not for me, then for Ruby. You know how Mom can be when she’s got her sights set on something, and she is hell bent on keeping Ruby from becoming one of the family.”
Groaning, Claire banged her head against the wall. “Fine, but you have to sleep on the couch—and the dog, too.” Claire pointed at Henry, who growled in response. “This is my bed, and I’m the only one who gets to snore in it.”
“Okay.” The couch couldn’t be that bad. Anything was better than sharing the queen bed at Ruby’s house with her mother.
“And you have to help out at the store for free.”
It wasn’t like she had papers to grade. The only thing she’d intended to work on this trip was her tan. “No problem.”
“And you have to help me figure out who broke into Ruby’s place last month and why.”
A little summer mystery could be fun. “Sure, as long as I don’t have to do anything illegal.”
Claire licked her lips. “Define illegal.”
“As in forbidden by law.” Kate glared at her sister. “I still haven’t forgiven you for our last trip to jail.”
“Fine, I’ll do the illegal stuff on my own. But it’s going to cost you a sandwich and a drink at The Shaft. We’ll drop off Henry at Ruby’s on the way.”
Henry whimpered and buried his snout under his paws.
Kate’s headache dulled at the thought of throwing back something mixed with alcohol. She slipped on her sandals. “Just one drink?” That didn’t sound like her sister.
“You’re right. We’re talking about defending Ruby from your mother. Bring your credit card.” Claire smiled at her from the doorway. “And grab Gramps’s spare keys from the bed stand drawer. We’re taking his car. He owes us both.”
* * *
The Shaft bustled—well, as much as a small-time bar in a two-bit former railroad stop can bustle. With Happy Hour still at full throttle, miners and cowboys took turns cuing up at the pool table, shoving quarters in the old jukebox, and shooting at Bambi’s folks with a plastic rifle on the Big Buck Hunter video game. The artificial plants swayed to the music and the peanut-shell-covered floor crackled underfoot as Hank “Bocephus” Williams Jr. sang about giving some guy an attitude adjustment.
Claire tapped her cigarette on the lip of the ashtray, ignoring the disapproving frowns Kate kept sending her way. If she was sticking around to deal with her mother, she deserved a reward. Or two. She took a swig of her Corona.
Despite the thunderstorm that had blown through town a short time ago carrying cooler breezes in its one-two punch, the air in the bar felt steamed-towel hot and made everything sticky.
Across the room, a lovesick cowpoke strutted around like a peacock with its tail feathers spread, casting glances at Kate as he hooted and hollered over the twang of Hank’s guitar. Claire expected him to start shaking his ass and flapping his arms any minute now.
Kate seemed oblivious to the mating ritual display as she sipped her favorite drink, a Fuzzy Navel, and stared out at the rolling sea of cowboy hats.
“Do you know most of these people?” she yelled to Claire over the ruckus.
“Nope, just Guillermo over there by the Strip Poker video game. Oh, and Butch, of course.”
“Who’s Butch?”
“The bartender.”
“You mean the guy behind the bar with the Coke-bottle glasses?”
“No, that’s Gary. He’s Butch’s pinch hitter. Butch must be i
n his office in back.”
Kate took another sip. “When’s Mac going to get here?”
Too soon. “Tomorrow night.”
“What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing much.” Just some boat rocking, and not the fun, under-the-covers kind.
“I’m sorry about what I said to Mom about you two.” Leaning closer to Claire, Kate lowered her voice to a public speaking level. The scent of peach schnapps was heavy on her breath. “It’s just he’s not at all like the other men you’ve dated.”
Kate was dead-on there. Mac had not only turned Claire’s nice little snow globe of a world upside down, he’d shaken the shit out of it, too. In the four months they’d been together, she’d lost track of which way was up.
“I mean, for one thing, he’s intelligent.”
“Hey!” Claire sat up straight. “I’ve dated smart guys before. Remember the chemist?”
“Claire, he mixed paint at Sherwin Williams.” Kate stirred her drink. “Mac also has a steady job.”
An accomplishment Claire had yet to attain. What was the big deal with being employed? As if a job defined the person.
“Plus, he has a house.”
He sure did, all set up and ready for a wife and two-point-five kids. He probably had a timeshare already rented at Disney World, too, knowing Mac and his organizational skills. Claire finished off her beer and set the bottle down with a thud.
“And he really cares about you.”
So he’d said Wednesday morning, smack dab in the middle of back-arching, blow-her-socks-off sex. Claire took a hit from her cigarette, remembering the icicle of panic that had stabbed her in the chest after he’d driven off to work.
In the two days she’d been in Jackrabbit Junction, she’d buried her head in the sand and avoided dealing with the insecurities Mac’s words had stirred up. But tomorrow night, Mac would be sharing the same bed with her. She couldn’t hide forever.
Kate finished her drink and pushed it aside. “So, how soon until you freak out and leave him?”
Claire did a double-take. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Claire. I’ve known you my whole life. All of those things I listed smell of commitment, and you and I know that at the merest whiff of the “C” word, you run like hell.”
Claire hated how well her family had her pegged.
“Good evening, ladies.” A tall, blond haired cowboy with the greenest eyes Claire had ever seen pulled out the chair next to her, turned it around, and straddled it. His Hollywood smile and clean-shaven jaw emphasized his strong cheekbones and rugged good looks.
He tipped his white Stetson at Claire. “Don’t you work at that R.V. park just up the road?” His slow Texas drawl rounded out the hard consonants.
Claire looked over at her sister, wondering if this Matthew McConaughey look-a-like was just a figment of her over-stressed imagination. But Kate was too busy doing that flirty eyelash-batting, pouty-lip routine she always did when she was trying to catch a man’s attention to notice Claire.
“Who wants to know?” She wasn’t above being suspicious of a stranger, especially one with whiter teeth than her dentist’s.
His smile deepened at the creases. “I forgot my manners. Porter Banks at your service.” He held out his hand.
Claire stared at it a few seconds before shaking it, wondering what Porter Banks was up to. If he thought spreading a little charm would get her to agree to spin his spurs, he could climb back on his horse and vaya con dios his sorry ass out of town.
His palm was pencil-pushing soft. She pulled her hand free.
“I’m Claire, and this is Kate.”
And that was how the song-and-dance usually started. Men approached Claire first because Kate had eye-contact issues. But soon after introducing her blonde sister, Claire was left to drink alone for the remainder of the evening.
Porter gave Kate a quick “nice-ta-meetcha” and a brief nod, then refocused on Claire.
She blinked in the halogen brightness of his smile. Wasn’t it against the law for a man to be prettier than a woman? It made all of the shaving and preening futile.
“Would you mind takin’ a spin on the dance floor, Claire?” When she hesitated, he added, “I promise not to bite.”
What could one dance hurt? “Sure.”
Claire stubbed out her cigarette. She shoved a piece of cinnamon gum in her mouth as she followed him. Hank Williams Jr.’s rowdy song ended and Linda Ronstadt’s version of Desperado filled the bar. One other couple shared the floor, their lips locked so tightly Claire couldn’t tell where one started and the other ended.
Porter pulled her so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. He smelled of a subtle mixture of vanilla and cedar. They danced for several seconds in silence, his lead smooth, his footsteps sure.
In her pre-Mac days, Claire might have gotten a bit warm and breathy around him. But just one look from Mac sucked the wind out of her sails and lit her fire with rocket fuel gusto. Other men didn’t stand a chance.
“How’d you know I work at the R.V. park?”
“Butch mentioned it.”
There wasn’t much around Jackrabbit Junction that Butch the bartender didn’t know.
“Do you live around here?” She hadn’t seen this guy in town before.
“Not permanently. I’m renting a double-wide just south of town. I’m here doing some research.”
“For what?”
“My next book.” He paused, as if waiting for her to ooh and ahh.
“Let me guess, the great American novel.”
“Sarcasm, huh? I like that in a girl.”
“What are you researching?”
Jackrabbit Junction wasn’t exactly an eclectic town, although the hardware store did offer a wide selection of deer piss and shotgun shells.
“Mining.” He twirled her around and pulled her back against him, even closer.
Claire didn’t object, not yet anyway. She could still make eye contact. “How long are you staying?”
“A couple of months, maybe. Then I’ll head back to Amarillo and put pen to paper.” He glanced over her head.
“How long does it take to research mining in this area?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Library hours, company records, people’s willingness to share information.” He glanced over her head again. “I think your friend is trying to get your attention.”
Her friend? “Oh, you mean my sister.”
“Your sister? Is she working at the R.V. park, too?”
“No, she’s just visiting. She’s here for—”
“Excuse me.” A very familiar, deep voice interrupted her. “Mind if I cut in?”
Claire choked on the rest of her sentence.
Chapter Four
“You come here often?” Mac asked as he tucked Claire into his chest while swaying to Linda Ronstadt’s sappy finale to a perfectly good Eagles’s tune. She felt supple and smooth in all the right places, despite the slight tension in her back and shoulders.
“Not often enough.” Her breath heated his shoulder through his shirt. “You’re early.”
Judging from her reluctance to meet his gaze, that wasn’t a good thing. His slip of the tongue Wednesday morning seemed to have stuck in her brain and festered. Shit.
“You make it tough to stay away,” he said.
He’d pushed hard, working late last night, and left straight from the job site, driving too fast through the rain and wind.
“Did Gramps tell you where we were?”
“No. I haven’t made it out to Ruby’s yet. I saw Mabel in the parking lot and figured it was you.”
Good ol’ sleek and sexy Mabel—Harley’s chopped top, two-door, 1949 Merc. Dressed to thrill, with her player spoke wheels, skirts on back, shaved door handles, side pipes, and custom flame paint job, she was a hot rodder’s pinup. Just the sight of her buxom chrome grill gleaming under the orange parking lot ligh
ts had made Mac itch to crawl behind the wheel, hit the open road, and bury the gas pedal. But first, he needed to see Claire naked again.
She leaned away from him, staring up at him with those sexy dark eyes of hers fringed with even darker lashes. “Mac, do you realize we’re slow dancing to ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’?”
A couple of girls jiggled and whooped on the dance floor next to them.
“Yes.” He pulled her closer and brushed his lips across her temple. A whiff of her watermelon-scented shampoo reminded him of how much he’d missed her in his bed these last few nights, of how bland his life was without her in it driving him nuts.
Claire let out a shaky sigh, the kind she usually saved for under the covers. His body hardened as if on cue, his heart picking up speed.
“Aren’t you going to ask me who I was dancing with?” she asked.
“No.”
Getting Claire alone, preferably with a bed close by, dominated his thoughts at the moment.
“Why not?”
She’d let her hair down tonight. The dark, wavy tresses shined, curling around her shoulders, softening her usually tough exterior. He wanted to take her somewhere shadow-filled and explore more of her softness. Pushing aside her silky brown tendrils, his mouth found the sweet spot right behind her ear.
“Were you attracted to him?” he whispered against her skin.
He felt her shiver under his lips. “He was very charming.”
“Undoubtedly.” Charm came complimentary with his white Stetson and ostrich-skin cowboy boots.
“And definitely good-looking. Even Kate was making googly eyes at him.”
He dragged his mouth away from her skin and stared into her brown eyes, searching for signs of one of her half-truths. “Claire, answer the question. Were you attracted to him?”
“I might’ve been if you weren’t in the picture.” Her voice sounded all husky, like when he joined her in the shower last Friday morning before work and occupied her until the water ran cold.
“But I am in the picture.” He slipped his hands under her Speedy Gonzales T-shirt, needing to touch bare skin, settling for her smooth back for now. “And I trust you.”
“Why?”
“You know why. Do you want me to say it again?”