by Diane Kelly
Trey began tapping keys on his computer, using his finger occasionally to manipulate the mouse pad, turning the screen to Dad so he could choose from a variety of standard setups.
I shooed a fly away from Bluebonnet’s face and looked over at Angus. “What’s the ETA on dinner?”
Angus poked the ribs with the fork, separating two of the bones, releasing a mouthwatering scent of tangy sauce. He checked the color of the meat. “Ten minutes.”
I headed into the house, gathering up plastic tubs of store-bought coleslaw and potato salad from the fridge, retrieving silverware and serving spoons from the drawers. I went back outside and laid out the spread on the picnic table, making a second run to the kitchen for napkins and plates.
By that time, Trey had constructed a basic but professional website for the tree-trimming business, including an animated lumberjack with a chainsaw in the upper corner. Dad revved up one of his saws and Trey recorded the sound on his cell phone, downloading the audio file to the laptop computer while Dad took the saw back to the garage.
“Wow,” I told Trey, watching the high-tech process over his shoulder. “You’ve got mad high-tech skills.”
“I’ve got mad low-tech skills, too,” Trey whispered, shooting me a sexy grin.
The website turned out great, the sound of the chainsaw emanating from the laptop’s speakers while Dad’s phone number flashed on the screen. Uncle Angus suggested Dad go with a harder-hitting motif a la Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but Dad ignored him.
The men bonded over the barbecue, talking sports, tools, miscellaneous guy stuff. I wouldn’t have expected a techie like Trey to have much in common with blue-collar types like my dad and Angus, but he fit right in. After dinner, Dad and Angus headed out to the Watering Hole. Trey helped me take care of the dishes in the kitchen. I washed. He dried.
He nudged me with an elbow as he wiped a plate. “You make those yellow latex gloves look sexy. I’m getting turned on.”
“Control yourself.” I flicked suds at him and handed him another plate. I set to work on a long spoon, purposefully rubbing the sponge up and down the handle, slowly and rhythmically.
He groaned. “Tease.”
I smiled and he bent down to kiss me, his kiss hotter and wetter than the dishwater my hands were resting in. I couldn’t remember ever having this much fun doing the dishes.
We met up with Dad and Angus later at the Watering Hole. I was glad to see no sign of Lucas Glick at the bar. Hopefully he was at home drying out. Trey and I danced to a few country songs, neither of us capable of more than the basic two-step taught in junior high gym class, but once the band switched to classic rock, we had the opportunity to show off our moves.
Trey was a good dancer, uninhibited and fun, making me wonder if his bold moves translated into other physical activities. With any luck, I’d soon find out. We’d already forged an emotional connection, why not go for a physical one, too? He’d brought me out of my emotional isolation, and I yearned to be close to him in every way possible.
***
Though I’d only known Trey a matter of days, I’d already grown used to having him around. I missed him on Sunday, when he was tied up with church and family obligations, his sister from Dallas driving to Hockerville for a visit. His father’s recovery had stalled, and it was unclear whether this was a temporary plateau or whether this was as far as he’d get. Trey called me that afternoon and told me he’d decided to stick around a little longer, see what the doctors could sort out.
I was sorry about his father’s setback, but thrilled Trey’s stay had been extended, much more excited than I should have been given the circumstances. I went for a long ride on my motorcycle to try to take my mind off him, but all I succeeded in doing was acquiring a raging sunburn on my forearms, exposed in short sleeves for the first time since the incident. Still, it felt good, the air and sun on my skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this free.
I thought I might run into the Ninja out for a drive, too, but no such luck. I passed a number of other riders, a few of whom rode tentatively, clearly weekend bikers, yuppie posers from Dallas. But who could blame them for wanting a fun escape from their regimented lives? Heck, even Chet had liked to hang up his silk ties and get out on my bike once in a while, collect a few bugs in his professionally whitened teeth.
Trey and I had lunch together on Monday, this time opting for tacos from the taco stand, which we ate on a bench in the city park. We repeated the routine, having lunch together virtually every day over the next week, lingering longer than we should have, far exceeding my one-hour lunch breaks.
On Wednesday, we ran into Lucas Glick at the catfish buffet, and decided to share a table and a basket of hush puppies in the crowded restaurant.
Trey eyed Lucas over the table. “I saw your eagle on the freezer wall at the station. It was damn good.”
Is that a blush on Lucas’s cheeks? Clearly he wasn’t used to receiving compliments.
“You should put that talent to work for you,” Trey said. “Ever thought of doing graphic design work? I could use someone to create custom graphics and logos for the websites I design.”
A look of shock registered on Glick’s face, as if he’d never received encouragement before and didn’t know how to respond to it. “I don’t know nothin’ about that kind of thing.”
Trey waved his hand dismissively and fished another hush puppy out of the red plastic basket. “It’s easy. You interview the client to get a feel for what type of design they’re looking for, then you create some options for them. I could show you how to use an electronic drawing pad, and you could e-mail your work to me. If you’re interested, I’ve got extra equipment I could lend you. That kind of work pays pretty well.” Trey handed Glick one of his TreyTech business cards. “Let me know. My cell number and e-mail address are on there.”
Lucas gave a quick nod and slid the card into the back pocket of his jeans. I might have been mistaken, but I think I saw a small gleam of hope in his eyes.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BIKER BLING
Mid-morning on Friday, Eric pulled his delivery truck into the parking lot of the police headquarters and came inside with a long box. I met him at the counter, hoping to hit him up for further information about deliveries to the Parker house on Renfro. I was still waiting on copies of the credit card applications filled out in Logan Mott’s and Taylor Heidenheimer’s names. I’d forwarded the police reports to the bank as instructed, but the legal department didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get the applications to me. Given the pervasiveness of identity theft, they were probably inundated with such requests.
Eric held the box out to me. “This one’s for you, Marnie.”
“Really? I wasn’t expecting a package.” I took the heavy box from him and looked at the return address. Harley Davidson. I hadn’t ordered anything, though I had been thinking about treating myself to those cool pipes from the catalog for Christmas. Probably Dad had ordered something and shipped it to my office where someone would be available to sign for it. Bluebonnet would have been the only one at home to accept delivery and a paw print wasn’t likely an acceptable substitute for a signature. But it was odd that my father hadn’t told me a package would be coming.
Eric held out his electronic tracking device. I set the box on the floor and signed on the bottom line.
When I was done, I handed it back to him. “Any deliveries to 612 Renfro lately?”
He jabbed at the gizmo, pulling up some information. “Had another delivery to a Logan Mott there two days ago.” He held out the device so I could verify the information on the screen.
What does it mean? What’s happening here?
Eric turned his attention to Selena, and the two began chatting. I might not be able to solve the mystery of the suspicious deliveries to Renfro, but I could at least solve the mystery of what was in the box Eric had given me. I returned to my booth and used the tiny pocketknife from my keychain to slice open one end. I pulled ba
ck the flaps and eased the contents onto my desk.
It was bling, biker style. Chrome pipes so bright and shiny they reflected every last freckle on my face as I gazed at them. The very pipes I’d been wanting. The ones I’d circled in the catalog still lying open on the corner of my tabletop.
I checked the paperwork. Trey had placed the order, paying a hefty premium for expedited delivery. He must have noticed the catalog on my desk while I booked the juvenile who tried to rob the Grab-N-Go.
A warm blush flooded my cheeks, even though nobody was looking. Trey had spent a small fortune on the pipes. Sure, high-tech jobs paid well, but still, this was an extremely generous gift, not the kind of thing a guy bought for someone he wasn’t really into. In video game terms, he’d advanced our relationship to the next level. Trey would be in for some extra lovin’ the next time I saw him.
As I went to discard the box, a tinkle inside caught my attention. I reached my arm down inside the long box to find a small shiny object, wrapped in bubble wrap, lodged in the end of the box. Carefully removing the wrap, I found a small gold bell adorned with a police shield.
My heart burst into a flurry of white doves in my chest. Trey wanted me safe, wanted to protect me. No matter how strong and capable I considered myself, no matter how strong and capable he considered me, knowing he cared enough to give me this symbol of affection was, well, totally kick ass. I went straight out to my bike to attach it.
***
Later that afternoon, I was out on patrol with my new bell shining brightly on the foot peg. I decided to check on the Parker house, see if the packages for Logan Mott were still around. I headed over to Renfro, parked my bike, and took a look around. I noticed nothing unusual, no suspicious items in the mail, no packages on the porch. Someone had picked up the boxes Eric had delivered there two days ago. But who?
As I climbed back onto my bike to leave, I spotted Tiffany’s red convertible heading up the street toward me, top down as usual. She’d racked up another speeding ticket this week, seemingly unconcerned, sure that daddy’s lawyers would take care of it, make them all go away. When Andre had clocked her at twenty over the limit and pulled her over, she’d had the nerve to poke fun at the broken lights on his cruiser, saying she should perform a citizen’s arrest for his equipment violation.
But what was she doing on Renfro? The road didn’t lead to the highway and there wasn’t much else in town that would interest a spoiled daddy’s girl like her. She wasn’t exactly the type who’d get excited by the day-old donuts sold for half price at the bakery thrift shop down the street.
Tiffany wore dark sunglasses, so it was hard to tell where she was looking as she headed toward me, but her head seemed to swivel just a tad in my direction. The scowl on her pink glossy lips was undeniable, but since a haughty frown seemed to be her natural expression, it was hard to say if it meant anything.
I pulled my bike crossways across the road in front of her, forcing her to stop. She slammed on her brakes and came to a stop just a couple feet from me. “Well, well,” she spat. “If it isn’t the Dyke of Haazard.”
I wasn’t about to let this bitch get to me. I let go of my handlebars and sat back as if I had all the time in the world. “What are you doing in this part of town?”
“Taking the scenic route,” she said. “After all, who wouldn’t enjoy such a beautiful view?” She gestured around at the rundown houses, a sarcastic smirk on her face. When I continued to sit there, head cocked, waiting for a real answer, she finally rolled her eyes and huffed. “If you must know, there’s work being done on Main and traffic is backed up. I was just trying to find another way out of this Godforsaken hellhole.”
I shrugged. One woman’s hellhole is another woman’s home sweet home.
I’d forced Tiffany to stop, given her a little hassle, and that satisfied me for now. I took hold of my handlebars and eased my bike back into the other lane. “Enjoy your tour.” I waved her on with my gloved hand.
After she passed me, I checked my side mirror. She held her hand up by her shoulder, her French-tipped middle finger sticking straight up in salute. That was no way to treat a civil servant. Perhaps I’m not quite done putting her in her place yet. I pulled my phone from my belt and held it up to select proper music for harassing a disrespectful debutante. The Rolling Stones “Bitch” seemed a perfect choice.
I U-turned, caught up with Tiffany, and followed her car for a few blocks, toying with her, not turning on my lights or siren but weaving back and forth behind her, coming close then backing off, like a cat playing with a bleach-blond mouse. She seemed to be driving aimlessly through town, making random turns and backtracking, no apparent destination in mind. Finally, she turned down Main, heading toward the highway back to Dallas. Just before she turned onto the road, she took off her sunglasses, turned, and shot me a glare so icy it could have reversed global warming.
I put two fingers to my eyes then pointed them at her, sign language for “I’m watching you.” With that, I gunned my engine and turned to head in the opposite direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE CHET HITS THE FAN
I spotted no work being done on Main, no traffic backup. Guess it had cleared quickly. At five o’clock, I headed out to my Harley. I stopped by the dry cleaners on my way home to pick up my Wonder Woman costume for my upcoming performance at the Jackrabbit Jamboree. I hoped the skimpy thing still fit. I’d been practicing my act for weeks, even added a new stunt to the grand finale. I’d give Gretchen the Yodeling Doberman a run for her dog biscuits.
Back at home, I showered, shaved, and washed my hair, even taking a curling iron to the ends to give my straight hair a touch of curl. I applied a layer of lip gloss and double-dipped the mascara, accentuating my eyes with a chocolate-brown outline. Tiffany Tindall isn’t the only one who knows how to handle a stick of eyeliner.
Why I was putting in more than the usual effort, I didn’t know. Trey would be gone shortly and I’d probably never see him again. It’s not like our relationship was going anywhere. But something about him had me feeling upbeat and attractive, made me want to make the most of myself. I’d learned by now that a relationship was only fifty percent about the guy and how you felt about him. The other fifty-percent was about who you were when you were with him, how he made you feel about yourself. And when I was with Trey, I felt strong, smart, and beautiful.
I slipped into a gauzy scarlet-red dress, sliding my feet into a pair of canvas wedges, the only pair of shoes I currently owned with even the slightest bit of heel. I’d ditched the heels I’d worn to the dinner with Tindall and his wife the instant Chet and I had arrived home that long-ago evening. Standing in front of the mirror, I tried to evaluate myself objectively. The lightweight fabric of the dress took some of the bulk off my stocky frame, and the red lacy bra just visible through the layers of sheer fabric added a sexy touch, enough to grab Trey’s attention without looking slutty.
Trey showed up wearing navy pants and a striped cotton shirt, looking well-groomed yet casual. We bade goodbye to Dad and headed out the door. Trey put a hand on my back as he helped me into the Lincoln, his touch light through the fabric, his fingertips leaving warm pinpoints of sensation on my spine, making me want to feel those fingers on other sensitive parts of my body. No guy had ever had such an effect on me, had gotten my juices flowing as easily as Trey did. Not even Chet.
After he climbed in the driver’s side, he looked over at me, his eyes running from the top of my head down to my toes. “Somebody better contact internal affairs ‘cause we’ve got a major case of police beautality here.”
I groaned at his lame joke but, truth be told, I was totally flattered. He leaned toward me and gave me a kiss. A hot one. Total power surge. He didn’t skimp on the tongue, and the way his hand gripped the hair at the nape of my neck had me wondering what he’d be like if we connected physically. I had a feeling this computer programmer had a hard drive and plenty of RAM, and would know just which keys to push to effecti
vely navigate my system. A moment later, Trey broke the kiss—damn him!—leaving me with all my applications running. Looked like I’d have to wait until later for further input.