Venus in Blue Jeans

by Meg Benjamin

  “Nope.” Docia shook her head. “My one non-negotiable demand—when we get married, it’ll be here in town so Lee and Ken and Allie can cater. I can’t wait to see what she does with a wedding cake.”

  “Maybe she could make one out of scones,” Cal mused, a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Oh, this is going to be loads of fun.” Docia snuggled against him again, feeling his warmth envelop her. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. Mama will go into overdrive.”

  Cal sighed. “You haven’t met my mama yet. She’ll have a few things to say about this.”

  He pulled her close and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Better get some rest, babe, we’ve got the long haul ahead. And a wedding sometime in the foreseeable future.”

  Docia narrowed her eyes. “Get some rest?”

  Cal nodded, eyes closed.

  She pulled herself to her knees, straddling his lap. “Hey, you.”

  Cal’s eyes popped open. “Yes?”

  “If you think we’re getting any rest tonight—any rest for the immediate future, in fact, I have two words for you.” She leaned down until her breasts brushed against his chest hair, her forehead almost against his.

  “Two words?” A grin played at the corner of his mouth.

  “Think again.”

  —

  Nico landed smack in the middle of Docia’s chest at seven a.m. as he did most mornings. Having spent a good part of the night celebrating with Cal, Docia wasn’t in the mood to be attentive.

  “Go away,” she mumbled.

  “Mowr!” Nico’s tone of voice was definitely threatening.

  Cal muttered something next to her and turned over.

  “Okay, okay.” Docia pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and headed for the kitchen.

  She gave Nico his bowl of cat food and put the coffee on, then checked the window. Sunshine. She studied the landscape, coffee perking in the background. Her backyard still had a few wisps of trash here and there, but overall it looked pretty good.

  Of course, right now everything looked pretty good.

  Docia poured herself a cup of coffee and went downstairs to the shop. The place needed to be straightened from the treasure hunt, but it didn’t look too bad, all things considered. Maybe they could open again today. She figured a lot of the people in town would want to come check out the back wall, even if the map wasn’t on it anymore. Maybe a few of them would even buy something. She started toward the front of the store and then stopped, frozen in place.

  Someone was leaning against the front door. Someone she recognized.

  Hell, damn, stink.

  Of course, he’d show up on the day she’d finally gotten everything worked out with Cal.

  She edged back into the dimness at the rear of the shop, then slipped through the door and up the stairs.

  “Cal,” she called, breathlessly. “I need you in the shop.” She turned and crept back down again.

  She stood in the darkened doorway, staring toward the front as Cal made his way downstairs. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else. Curling hair spilled down over his ears.

  Docia promised herself time to appreciate him later.

  “There’s somebody at the door,” she murmured.

  Cal frowned. “You want me to find out who it is?”

  “I know who it is. I just want you to be here too.”

  Docia took a deep breath, then walked forward and undid the lock. “’Morning, Dub.”

  “’Morning, Ms. Docia.” Dub gave her one of his cagey smiles and half shuffled through the open door.

  And then suddenly he was flat against the wall, with one of Cal’s hands spread against his chest.

  “Listen, old man,” Cal snarled, “normally I don’t believe in beating up the elderly. But you’re about five seconds away from eating your teeth!”

  Dub wheezed. His hands gripped the wall beside him, faded blue eyes wide with shock. “No call to get all worked up. Not like I was the one who did anything to your lady friend.”

  “No.” Cal tightened his grip. “You just set her up so that Brody could do something to her. And he almost did!”

  “Well, he would’ve done the same to me if I’d hung onto that map.” Dub’s voice rose. “They wrecked my house. You think they’d have been real gentle with me if I’d been there?”

  Docia leaned back against the counter, wondering if she should step in. Did she feel any sympathy for Dub Tyler?

  Nope.

  “How did Brody find out about the map?” she asked.

  Dub shook his head. “Don’t know exactly. I had a couple people interested in buying it. One of them might have told Brody. Doesn’t matter how he found out. Once he knew about it, he was gonna take it away from me.”

  “So you let him have Docia instead.” Cal tightened his grip.

  “How was I to know she’d be around when they went through this place?” Dub squeaked. “Besides, it was me they were after, not her.”

  Docia sighed and put a hand on Cal’s arm. Annoying though he was, Dub had a point. “Let him go.”

  Cal loosened his grip, slowly.

  Dub rolled his shoulders and let his shirt drop back into place. He smiled again, a little less confidently. “Heard you found my map, missy.”

  Docia nodded. “The Rangers have it. I don’t know what they’ll do with it.”

  Dub raised one bushy gray eyebrow. “Ain’t yours, now, is it?”

  Docia noticed Cal’s knuckles begin to turn white again where he gripped the counter.

  She kept her hand on his shoulder. “Technically, it turns out that it just may be.”

  Cal turned to stare at her. So did Dub.

  “Daddy had his lawyers check into it.” Docia let her lips drift up in a slow smile—one of the few times Daddy’s interference had paid off. “It was in my store. And there’s nothing on it to identify it as yours. Technically, they could build a case that it’s my property since you left it here for me. Or anyway, they could tie it up in court for a while with oodles of interesting publicity.”

  Dub took several deep breaths, his face dark. “I got a bill of sale, missy. I can show I bought it and who I bought it from.”

  Docia nodded. “Yeah, well, good luck with that.” She picked up her coffee cup and began to stroll through the room again. “Is that transaction something you want to show off in court? I don’t remember hearing anything about this map being sold from a recognized collection. On the other hand, there was that big scandal about those forged Alamo documents in the seventies. A few of them never did turn up. If there’s any doubt about this map and where it came from, do you really want to go public with it?”

  Dub’s faded blue eyes turned crafty. “Won’t be easy for you to sell, you know. Not without provenance. I got provenance. I also got a buyer. I could split the price with you.”

  Bargaining—definitely Dub’s favorite strategy. The corners of Docia’s mouth edged up again. “Oh, I’m not going to sell it, Dub.”

  She watched Dub’s face turn an unattractive shade of magenta that did nothing for his wispy gray hair. “Not sell it? You gonna put that thing up on the wall here? Keep it so somebody else can steal it?”

  “Oh no.” Docia shook her head. “I won’t keep it either. I’m giving it to the state historical society. They can decide what they want to do with it—after they figure out whether it’s real or not. If you want it back, you can discuss it with them.”

  Dub’s face seemed to collapse inward, like punched bread dough. “You’re giving it to the state?”

  “Seems fitting.” Docia smiled at him. “Sam Houston would probably have preferred that the State of Texas would end up with it.”

  Dub took a deep breath and blew it out. “If it’s real,” he muttered, “you got any idea how much money it would be worth?”

  “Nope.” Docia frowned. “And I don’t care to know either.”

  Cal wrapped a hand around Dub’s arm and propelled him toward the door. “Well, so lo
ng Dub,” he growled. “It hasn’t been a pleasure. Don’t drop by again real soon.”

  Dub turned back a moment before the door closed behind him. “Well, Ms. Kent, I’m real sorry about all of this.” His mouth twisted in a sour grin. “Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”

  “Oh, I know, Dub.” Docia grinned back. “Trust me. I know.”

  —

  Cal arrived at the Dew Drop at five-thirty, grubby, sweaty, and probably smelling like the wrong end of a billy goat. He loved animals—all animals. That was why he’d become a vet in the first place. But he had to admit goats weren’t high on the list of animals he liked spending a lot of time with.

  He should have gone back to the barn and cleaned up, but he hadn’t. He wanted shade. He wanted a Dos Equis. He wanted the faint smell of dust and bodily fluids that passed for ambience at the Dew Drop.

  He wanted Docia. Mainly he wanted Docia.

  He stepped up beside Wonder, peering down the bar into the dim depths. Something moved. He leaned forward, peering harder.

  At the other end of the bar, Terrell Biedermeier tipped back his beer.

  “Crap.” Cal turned, resting his elbows on the bar.

  “Which pretty much sums up what you smell like.” Wonder cocked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t anybody ever wash those damn goats? What is it about that smell, an aphrodisiac or something? And is there any particular reason why you feel the need to share it with the rest of us?”

  “I just wanted to get here. I didn’t take time to clean up.” Cal sighed. “Docia and Allie haven’t come in yet?”

  “Nope.” Wonder shrugged. “Probably a last minute rush of tourists all around. It’s Friday.”

  “I hadn’t realized Friday was any worse than any other day, tourist-wise.”

  Wonder grimaced. “Wise is not a word I’d associate with the tourists around here. And it’s summer, Idaho. The crowds will stay up in the hundreds until at least September.”

  “And then they go away?” Cal said hopefully. The clogged sidewalks were getting to be a pain. Plus tables at Brenner’s were frequently hard to come by.

  “Then we hunker down for a few weeks until the Wine and Food Festival. You’ll like that, Idaho.” Wonder took a swallow of his Spaten. “Lots of dancing, not to mention drinking.”

  “And then it quiets down?”

  “No.” Wonder sighed. “Then we gear up for Thanksgiving and Christmas and the big shopping season. Then Valentine’s Day. Then Spring Break. And then, oh joy, Liddy Brenner will rear her lovely head once again. Face it, Idaho, you’re living in Tourist Central.”

  “Great.” Cal surveyed the room. Lumpish males leaning on the bar. Gift store owners lining the tables. It was almost like no time had passed at all since he’d first come in here a month ago.

  Almost.

  He turned and watched Docia stride through the door. Her hair was curling down on her shoulders, her white dress shirt knotted below her glorious breasts. Her jeans hugged her rounded hips seductively.

  Oh yeah. Definitely blood-to-groin time.

  “Hi.” Docia smiled, illuminating the Dew Drop, or at least that part of it where Cal stood.

  “Hi.” He couldn’t help grinning, although he suspected it made him look like a fifteen-year-old who hoped to get lucky.

  Docia waved at Ingstrom. “Margarita please, heavy on the salt.”

  Ingstrom nodded without looking up, pushing a Dos Equis in Cal’s direction and another Spaten at Wonder.

  Docia leaned against the bar beside him while Wonder made room for Allie, who’d wandered in behind her. She wrinkled her nose slightly. “What’s that smell?”

  “No telling,” Cal said hurriedly. “Good day?”

  “You’ll never guess who called me.”

  “No, I probably won’t.” Cal picked up his Dos Equis. “Who?”

  “Donnie Branscombe.” Docia’s lips moved up in a slightly feline smile. “He wanted to see how I was doing.”

  Cal managed to ignore the quick clenching in his gut. He was way too advanced for jealousy. “Did he now?”

  “Oh, yes, he was very concerned. Said he knew we hadn’t parted on the best of terms.”

  “True enough.” Cal took a sip of Dos Equis to give himself something to do. Jealousy was an immature emotion.

  “Then he asked me out to dinner.”

  Cal jerked back, staring. “He’s here? In town?” So he was immature, so what?

  Docia shrugged. “I don’t know where he is exactly. With Donnie he could always be in someplace like Austin. He said he’d drive over. I’d rather see him crawl, myself. Preferably on all fours. Over broken glass. And even then I wouldn’t talk to him.”

  Cal felt the corners of his mouth edge up again. “I take it you told him no.”

  “I told him I was busy. That I’d be busy every night for the foreseeable future. And that I’d just as soon he stayed out of my town for that same foreseeable future.”

  Cal put his arm around her waist, pulling her close so that he could kiss the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”

  Docia stared up at him, green eyes burning. “What on earth did I ever see in him?” she murmured.

  Cal shook his head. “No telling, babe.”

  “Oh well.” She sighed. “Thank God he turned out to be such a louse.”

  Cal arched an eyebrow. “And the reason for that would be…”

  “Because if he hadn’t been such a creep, I might never have run away to Konigsburg to mend my broken heart, and I might never have found you.” She slid her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. “The love of my life.”

  Cal felt a bubble of joy rising up inside him. He tried to think of something clever to say, but his brain had turned to mush.

  At the other end of the room, Kris Kristofferson sang “Loving Her Was Easier Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again” on Ingstrom’s jukebox. Allie had climbed onto the barstool next to Wonder and was dusting flour off her chef’s pants. Janie and Ingstrom were involved in some kind of intense discussion, probably dealing with the lack of Texas wine by the glass.

  And then Docia looked up at him again, ruby hair curling around her shoulders.

  Botticelli’s Venus. In jeans. The love of his life in the Dew Drop Inn, downtown Konigsburg, Texas.

  Cal pressed his forehead against hers. “Welcome home, babe,” he murmured.

  About the Author

  Meg Benjamin lives in South Texas with her husband, two sons, and various animals. After teaching English and communication for over twenty years, she’s now retired and writing full time. To learn more about Meg, please visit www.megbenjamin.com. Meg loves to hear from her readers. Send an email to her at meg@megbenjamin.com.

  Is it possible to be jealous of yourself?

  Model Behavior

  © 2008 Janie Mason

  From nine to five, commercial artist Molly Birchfield lives a lie. A victim of sexual harassment at her previous job, she now hides behind boxy clothes and plastic glasses. She keeps much of her personal life a secret, even from her friend and coworker, Scott McDowell. Especially since erotic visions of him fill her dreams.

  When Scott finds himself in need of some quick cash, Molly grabs the chance to delve into an after-hours relationship with him. She concocts a fictitious twin sister to hire him—for some nude modeling sessions.

  Scott is immediately attracted to Molly’s “sister” Mary, who is physically identical but vastly different in style and temperament. Their sexual relationship quickly comes to a boil, but Scott soon realizes he’s missing something: Molly’s companionship.

  In the throes of passion, the truth tends to come out of hiding. Confession is good for the soul, but when Scott discovers her deception, Molly stands to lose more than a sexual partner and her best friend. She could lose the only man she’s ever loved.

  Warning: This story contains graphic language and enough explicit sex to leave you hot and bothered.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Mo
del Behavior:

  Molly Birchfield awoke, aroused and on edge from yet another erotic dream. As she had on previous nights, she rushed to her pad of drawing paper and graphite. Her hand flew over the surface of the page. A smooth line curved from her dream man’s broad back down to a firm, bare ass, then continuing down to outline muscular legs. The pad of her ring finger smeared blackened shadows at the cleft of his tightened buttocks.

  During these feverish bursts, Molly wished she was a sculptor, able to run her hands along a three-dimensional version of the man’s delicious contours.

  Working her way up the model’s incredible body, she added higher definition at the trapezius, deltoids and triceps. Not wanting to distract from the musculature, she chose to forgo body hair in these drawings, even though the man who haunted her nights had a masculine layer on his legs, forearms, chest and groin. She decided to add the facial profile to the drawing later, concentrating instead on capturing the perfection of the body. It was always the same face anyway.

  Scott’s.

  Near sexual frenzy, she let that first sheet of paper flutter to the floor and began a frontal pose. She illustrated the outer curve of muscular calves, thighs and hips with clean lines. Her heart raced as she sketched the corded muscles of the abdomen that flowed down to the groin. Male anatomy was no mystery to her, but she allowed herself to savor the mental image of her dream man’s semi-aroused penis before drawing it.

  Molly swallowed hard and then bit her bottom lip, lusting after his steely male thickness. In her dream she had reached out, weighing him, stroking him with her dusty palms. Then she had dropped to her knees…

  “Someday,” she whispered.

  —

  It looked like a twelve-story phallus.

  Molly, a seasoned commercial artist, stared wide-eyed at the paper. What was I thinking? Her rough sketch of Thrillville Amusement Park’s newest ride, the Fall of Fear, too closely resembled a very enthusiastic male organ.

  How Freudian is that?

  Probably a safe bet to say this wasn’t the image a family-oriented theme park wanted to project.

  She glanced quickly over her shoulders. Hopefully, none of her co-workers at K&B Advertising had entered her cubicle and gotten a peek at her erection. Wasting no time, she crumpled the paper, hopped off her ergonomic stool and buried the evidence of her self-imposed celibacy deep in the wastebasket.