by Ann Charles
“No, don’t.” She covered his lips with her palm.
How such an intelligent woman could suffer from such acute symptoms of Commitment Phobia was beyond him. They needed to work through this little problem to keep the fissures from spreading, but not in the middle of the dance floor at The Shaft. Maybe later tonight in bed with the lights off—where eye contact wasn’t required.
He pulled her hand away and nodded in Kate’s direction. “I think your cowboy is hitting on your sister.”
“He’s not my … what?” Claire looked at Kate. “That figures. They always go for Kate in the end.”
“Not always.” Kate might be cute, but Claire burrowed into a guy’s head and drove him nuts with hunger for more of her. He tipped her chin up. “Some of us can’t get past you.”
Claire’s gaze met his, her eyes lighting up with wicked promises. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her soft curves against his length, making everything south of his neck rigid.
“You haven’t kissed me ‘hello’ yet,” she said, licking her lips.
“Claire,” he said leaning down.
“Yeah?” She rose up onto her toes, closing the gap.
He cupped her head, his fingers entwined in her silky-smooth hair. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, teasing her mouth open, then increased the pressure, exploring deeper. She tasted like cinnamon and beer and all things Claire, and he ached to bury himself deep inside her.
They’d danced long enough. He pulled away. “Let’s get out of here.”
Her heavy breathing matched his. “You read my mind.”
She led the way back to the table where Kate and the cowboy were trading flirting glances.
“It’s time to leave, Kate,” Claire said.
Kate waved her off. “You guys go ahead. I’ll follow later in Mabel.”
“No way,” Claire said. “You know you’re not allowed to drive Mabel after the last incident.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll drive Mac’s truck back.”
“Mac likes his pickup the way it is—dent-free. Why don’t you just ride home with me and drive your own car back?”
“Good idea.” Kate stood, touching the cowboy’s shoulder. “You’ll still be here when I get back, right?”
Not interested in hanging around to hear the guy’s answer, Mac towed Claire toward the door. It opened from the outside as he reached for it.
Butch, The Shaft’s owner, stepped aside to let them pass. “Howdy, Mac. Claire.” His smile faltered when his gaze landed on Kate.
“Butch.” Mac nodded his hello. “This is Kate Morgan, Claire’s sister.”
Kate wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression.
“Nice to meet you, Kate.” Butch offered his hand.
After a moment, Kate finally shook his hand. She cleared her throat. “You, too.”
“See ya, Butch.” Claire patted the bar owner on the arm on her way out the door. She grabbed Mac by the shirt as she passed and dragged him with her.
Glancing back, he saw Kate stumble after them, looking like her shoes were tied together.
Maybe Kate driving back to The Shaft wasn’t such a great idea. “Claire,” Mac started.
“No talking.” She hit the remote and Mabel’s doors popped open. “No thinking either. Just you and me, naked and sweaty.”
His body throbbed in agreement.
“I didn’t need to hear that.” Kate said, rounding Mabel’s grill.
“Get inside.” Claire ordered. She fired up Mabel.
Chuckling, Mac climbed into his pickup and shadowed Mabel’s taillights to the R.V. park. Claire was opening the camper door when he cut the engine and climbed out.
Behind the R.V., Sonoran Desert toads trilled their mating calls from the weeds that banked Jackrabbit Creek. He smirked in their direction, appreciating the irony.
A breeze with a trace of coolness ruffled his hair. As usual during monsoon season, the storm had sapped the earth of some of its heat. The sun would dish it back out tomorrow.
He glanced at the darkened windows in Chester and Manny’s rigs, crossing his fingers they were up to their elbows in beer, cigars, and cards at Ruby’s place. He didn’t want any interruptions tonight.
Stepping inside the Winnebago, Mac blinked in the light. The place smelled just as he remembered, like stale cigar smoke with an inkling of dog. The only difference was the hint of something flowery on top of it all.
“I need to use the bathroom quick.” Kate grabbed her keys from the counter. “Then I’ll leave you guys alone for an hour.”
Wagging his tail in greeting, Henry looked up from where he lay sprawled on his side on the couch. Mac patted him on the head on his way to Claire, who stood in the darkened hallway, wiggling her index finger for him to join her.
His blood pressure raced. No more dallying.
“Make that two hours, Kate,” Mac said. Then he strode over and pinned Claire against the wall, his mouth drinking her in. God, she always tasted so damned sweet.
“Jeez, you guys. You live together, for chrissake.” Kate squeezed past them, slapping Mac’s shoulder as she passed. “Quit acting like he just came back from the war.”
The bathroom light flooded the hall with a yellow glow. Mac caught a glimpse of Claire and him in the mirror on the closed bedroom door, his hands palming her hips through her jean shorts. Her fingers slid under his shirt, her nails scratching down his back. Maybe she had something with that mirror-covered wall idea a few weeks ago.
He pressed harder against her, hungry to tear off her T-shirt and explore his favorite terrain with his hands and mouth. He caught her leg as she rubbed it up and down his pants and slid his hand up the back of her bare thigh.
“Mac.” Claire writhed as his fingertips brushed along the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Take me to b—”
The bedroom door hinges squeaked.
“Claire Alice Morgan!”
Mac jerked back from Claire so hard he whacked his elbow on the opposite wall.
Claire gaped at her mother, who stood silhouetted in the bedroom doorway with her pink satin robe cinched around her.
Fuck! He groaned, adjusting his jeans to disguise the tell-tale effect her daughter had on his body. He’d hoped to delay his reunion with the woman who’d made it no secret that she’d rather see Claire join the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus as a tight-rope walker than live with him.
“Mom?” Kate popped her head out of the bathroom. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you two stay out of trouble.” Deborah sniffed. “And it’s obviously a good thing too, judging by the alcohol on your breath, Kathryn.”
A growling sound came from Claire. “Here we go.”
“And you.” Scowling, Deborah pointed at Claire. “What kind of a girl brings a man home to her grandfather’s bed?”
Sighing, Mac leaned his head back against the wall. Deborah didn’t need to worry about Claire’s virtue tonight. After seeing her pinched face, every single flame of desire was now doused, extinguished, stomped out.
“It’s Mac, Mom. I live with him, remember?”
“Maybe so, but this is not the time or place for fooling around. It’s a good thing I decided to stay here with you two.”
“You decided to stay here?” Kate stepped into the hall, an edge of panic in her voice. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m sleeping in your grandfather’s bed. I’d rather sleep in this smelly old beast than at her house.”
“Then where are we sleeping?” Claire shot Mac a troubled frown.
“Mac is sleeping in his aunt’s guest room. You’re on the couch with the dog.”
Henry barked from the couch cushions.
“No, she’s not.” Kate crossed her arms. “That’s my bed.”
“Then she can sleep with me in the bedroom.”
Claire shook her head. “I’ll sleep wherever Mac does.”
“No, you won’t. That’s irresponsibl
e.”
Mac opened his mouth to object, but Claire beat him to the punch. “Irresponsible?” Her tone insinuated Deborah had lost a few marbles out of one ear. He was figuring more like a bagful.
“Yes. What kind of an impression does that make on Kate?”
Claire laughed, short and sharp. “Kate sleeps with guys all the time.”
Mac chuckled under his breath.
“Claire!” Kate punched her sister’s arm.
“Claire Alice.” Deborah cinched her robe even tighter. Mac wondered how much more stress the belt could take. “Do not talk about your sister like that in front of strangers.”
“Mac isn’t a stranger.”
“I’m not talking about MacDonald.” Deborah glared past Mac. “I’m talking about those two.”
Mac followed her gaze. Manny and Chester stood inside the R.V., watching the fireworks display with beers in their hands and wide-toothed grins on their faces.
Damn. He’d forgotten to lock the door.
* * *
Friday, August 13th
Claire woke up feeling as if a mule train had tromped on her head. She swung her legs over the edge of the foam pad covering the R.V.’s dining table and rubbed the grit from her eyes. Her tongue tasted like sour milk and her teeth felt furry. Henry seemed to be rubbing off on her.
Across the room, Kate let out a soft sigh. Henry snored lightly. All cuddled up on the green cushions, they were a picture of cuteness. Claire whipped her pillow at them.
Henry yipped, bounding from behind the pillow with teeth bared. Kate moaned and rolled deeper into the crack between the back and butt cushions.
Claire slipped into the jean shorts and Speedy Gonzales T-shirt she’d worn yesterday. The Shaft’s smoky cologne still clung to them. Her clean clothes were in the bedroom with her mom, and nothing short of a swarm of killer bees would spur her to cross that threshold this morning.
Her ears still rang from all the yelling last night. She thought of Mac, sleepy and naked, all of that lovely male skin entangled in the pale yellow sheets on Ruby’s spare bed, and rattled out a string of curses that would have made Blackbeard proud.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.” Kate stared up at Claire with one eye open and hair plastered flat on the left side of her head.
Claire grabbed her pack of cigarettes from the counter.
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here.” She slid into her flip-flops and stepped out into the retina-frying sunlight.
“Buenos dias, bonita.” Manny sat in his usual lawn chair.
Nodding at him, Claire dropped into the chair next to him and rubbed her eyes. The sun-steamed breeze made her throbbing head feel like she could dispense cotton balls from her ears and nose.
She dumped her last cigarette on the table and swore when she saw it—smashed flat and broken in half. Her fairy godmother must have called in sick today. Maybe it was time to crawl back up on the smoke-free wagon. She eyed the chewed cigar butt in the ashtray. Or maybe not. Desperate times and all that shit, she thought, reaching for it.
“Please, querida.” Manny caught her hand and placed it palm down on the table. “That was Chester’s. You’d be better off licking the bottom of my shoe.”
Closing her eyes, Claire took a deep breath and wondered if she could get away with drugging her mom and shipping her home in a FedEx box. Three-day service would do fine. No bubble wrap necessary.
“How was the table?” Manny asked.
“Hard.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t sneak up to the house in the middle of the night. I would have.”
She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I tried. She caught me. I swear she’s half hound dog.”
“You going to sleep on that table for the next few weeks?”
“I don’t know.” Claire would be damned if she was sleeping on that table again tonight. “Do you know where a girl might be able to buy some hemlock around here?”
Manny chuckled.
“Where’s Chester?” She was surprised not to see the old bowlegged boy around this morning.
“I expect he’s still in bed.”
“It’s almost nine.” Which meant Claire needed to head to Ruby’s pronto. She’d agreed to watch the store this morning while Ruby took Jess to Yuccaville to shop for school clothes.
“He was out late last night, conducting auditions for Harley’s bachelor party.”
The door to Gramps’s R.V. slammed open. Still sleep rumpled, Kate stumbled out, recoiling visibly from the sun. She plopped down in the chair next to Claire.
“Well, if it isn’t Katie Morgan, porn star extraordinaire.” Manny’s grin mimicked the Cheshire Cat’s. He never missed a chance to give Kate trouble about sharing a porn star’s name.
Kate stuck her tongue out at him, then turned to Claire. “Mom’s up. I heard her humming ‘The Sound of Music’ in the bathroom.”
“That’s my cue.” Claire stood. “I’m off to work.” And off to see what was behind that little door in Joe’s office.
As she plodded along under the charring sun, her thoughts returned to Mac. Before he’d shown up at the bar last night, she’d been fostering the idea of throwing some water on the fire that had burned between them since they’d met in April. But then he’d appeared, wooed her with his sexy voice and heated touches, and kissed away all thoughts of rebellion.
But now, after a night of tossing and turning, her fears trickled back one drop at a time.
What if he grew tired of her job-hopping?
What if the flame blazing between them flickered and died?
What if, what if, what if? It was hard to think with the damned Energizer Bunny beating that drum in her head.
She took the porch steps two at a time. Maybe her mother was right about not sleeping with Mac. His proximity short-circuited Claire’s brain and made her heartbeat erratic. Maybe she should avoid muddling her thoughts even more with sex, at least until she figured out if she was going to stay or run.
As she walked into the store, her steps faltered. Mac stood behind the counter next to Jess. His sandy-brown hair was still damp, curling just above his collar. His faded green T-shirt hugged broad shoulders. A combination of a rugged outdoorsman and a brainy science major, Mac the geotechnician could give Indiana Jones a run for his money.
He looked up from the Volkswagen Beetle magazine ad spread out on the counter in front of him, his gaze raking up and down her before locking onto her face. The blatant lust smoldering there made her mouth suddenly seem too dry, her tongue wooly.
“Morning, Slugger. How was your night?”
“Lonely,” she admitted.
“Mine, too.”
“Why do you call Claire Slugger?” Jess asked.
“Because she throws a wicked right hook.” Mac rounded the counter and dropped a kiss on Claire’s lips. He smelled fresh—of soap, sage, and something entirely too male that had Claire’s pheromones tripping breakers left and right.
She shoved her hands in her back pockets to keep from touching him and her right hand brushed over the attorney’s letter she’d found yesterday in Ruby’s office. She pulled it out and unfolded it.
Mac caught her free hand and reeled her in. “What are you up to this morning?”
“I’m watching the store.”
He ran a finger down the inside of her arm, his hazel eyes burning holes in all of her reasons for staying out of his bed. “We could close the place for a half hour.”
Claire grinned. “MacDonald Garner, what are you suggesting?”
He lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, kick-starting her libido with just a flick of his tongue on her skin. “Just a massage to work out the kinks you probably have from sleeping on that table last night.”
“Gawd!” Jess snorted, obviously grossed out at Mac’s public display of affection. “You guys need to get a room. Let me know when you’re done snogging.” She scuffed out of the room.
That
left the two of them alone under the buzzing florescent lights. On Ruby’s old radio, Patsy Cline sang about falling to pieces. Claire could empathize with the woman.
“Alone, finally.” Mac kissed his way up her arm to her shoulder.
Claire shivered, in spite of the sweat trickling down her spine. The throbbing in her head waned. She forced her attention on the piece of paper in her hand.
“Claire.” Mac breathed in her ear. “Let’s go—”
“Oh, shit.” Claire’s stomach clenched as her eyes and brain collaborated to make sense of the words on the page.
Mac released her arm. “What?”
“This.” She handed the letter to Mac and watched his eyes travel down the letter. His jaw clenched as he read.
“Son of a—” He crumpled the letter. “Ruby!” He took two strides toward the curtain, stopping when his aunt cruised through it.
“What, darlin’?” Ruby dropped her purse on the counter; the keys to her old pickup were in her hand. “Jessica, come on!” she yelled over her shoulder. “We gotta go.”
Mac handed the crinkled letter to her. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?” Ruby smoothed the piece of paper, her gaze moving down the page. Her cheeks blushed as she read. When she looked back at Mac, lines etched her forehead. “Where’d you find this?”
He glanced at Claire. Ruby’s eyes followed.
Claire felt her own cheeks redden. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I didn’t mean to snoop. I found it yesterday when I was in the office trying to find a reason for the break-in.”
“It’s okay, hon’,” Ruby told Claire and then handed the letter back to Mac. “You know what it is.”
“Yeah. Somebody wants the Lucky Monk.”
Claire blinked. “The lucky what?”
“The Lucky Monk,” Ruby said. “It’s one of Joe’s old mines.”
“Shit.” Mac tossed the letter on the counter.
“Now Mac, this is no concern of yours. I can handle it.”
He raked his hand through his hair. “Does Harley know?”
“No, and he doesn’t need to find out. Deborah already thinks I want him for his money. Him helpin’ me out of this mess will just cement that idea in her head.”
Last spring, Gramps had nearly bought Ruby’s mines in order to give her the cash to dig herself out of near-bankruptcy. In the end, though, they’d agreed he’d make her a loan, allowing Ruby to keep the mines and her dignity.