Stef Ann Holm (19 page)

The corners of Drew’s mouth pulled upward in amusement. “Of course you do, sugar. You’re only a year younger than me,” he drawled, cranking up the volume and enjoying the beat of the song.

Music drifted across the water, catching on the sun-ripened ripples, and the day was good. Drew liked simplicity, and this was one of those times.

“You’re a complicated man,” Lucy said, coming closer and looking him directly in the eyes.

“No, darlin’. I’m just the Tolman-ater.”

“You hide behind that, but there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“Is there now?”

The pink-painted toes on her bare feet were so close to his, he could step on her foot and caress it if he wanted to. And he wanted to. But with Mackenzie and her sons, and the other boys right there, that was something he wasn’t going to do. But he could think it.

He could even fantasize about it.

“You have a scandalous past.”

Drew laughed. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t.”

“None that you’ve ever let me see. Maybe you do, sugar, only I just haven’t figured out that part about you yet.” Drew inched his bare foot toward hers, his big toe meeting her pinkie.

To her credit, she didn’t flinch or move away. She held strong and kept her chin up, brows raised. He thought she might be a little skittish after that kiss in his kitchen…and then Jacquie showing up.

Not something he wanted to think about. Damn awkward.

“Don’t play with me, Drew.”

“Well, hell, you got me.” He lowered his voice. The cleavage from her bikini top was full and round. She had nice breasts, perfectly shaped for a man’s hand. “That’s exactly what I wanted to do.”

“Funny.”

She smelled like body splash, sweet and inviting. Her hair was pulled back in a green tie, silken brown strands having fallen out in a messy caress at her cheeks, tugged by the wind as he’d opened up the twin diesel engines. He wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear, kiss the shell and trace her lobe, slowly lick the side of her neck.

The fire in his eyes must have been blazing because she stood back, took a step away. She turned, gazed at the dock and refocused her attention. Probably more to get him out of her mind than to see what her boys were up to.

Absently, her hands rose to her hair and she pulled the tie out to redo it. As her slender fingers worked her hair into a ponytail, he came up behind her, knitted his hands with hers and said against her cheek, “I got that.”

She went ramrod still, but didn’t knock his hands away.

The texture of her hair was soft, and strands sifted through his fingers like sugar. He used his fingers to comb it back, then pulled the scarf around and knotted it.

“You want a bow?”

“Do I look like a bow girl?”

He smiled silently, made the bow. Her shapely body shivered, most likely out of control from his soft touch as he pulled the ends of the scarf. Then he grazed his career-scarred knuckles down the back of her bare neck.

Lingering, he fought the strongest urge to kiss her shoulder.

The bareness of her back aroused him, the thin band of her bikini top more sensual to him than if she’d stood there without it on. The idea of unhooking it teased far more.

So he stayed close, close enough that he could feel the heat off her body like a gym sauna, and feel their jumping heartbeats pulsing in the air around them.

“This Tuesday,” he said softly, leaning closer, “when you come over to cook…I want you to…”

He let the sentence trail, let her think what she wanted. And he hoped it was the same thing he wanted.

Long seconds played out. He inwardly smiled.

“What?” she finally said, the word a breathy sound.

“I want you to…cook for two. I’ve got a houseguest for the summer.”

Lucy’s shoulders relaxed, a soft snort left her lungs. “Sure. I can do that.”

She ducked away from him, stepped up onto the dock and did a quick pivot on her feet. A cool pink blush worked across her face, her cheeks.

He grinned.

Indignant sparks flew from her eyes, and he knew damn well he’d yanked her chain and gotten her pissed.

“You know what?” she declared in a tone edged with sass. “I never did like KISS. I always thought that group was for immature men who had tongue envy and complexes about their drumsticks.” Then she strode to the kids, her hips swaying hotly. The shape of her back was sexy as all hell.

Rather than being annoyed with her, he wanted to take that luscious body of hers and show her just how good his tongue would be in all the right places.

“Dude, there’s an ATV at Bomber’s that has snow tracks on it,” Ryan said. “You can spin donuts on it.”

Drew had driven them around the reservoir in his badass boat, and now they were back with everyone on the main dock. The group of boys congregated at the corner, talking about nothing and junk; but all of them were looking at Mackenzie when they were talking. She stayed on other side of the dock, laughing with some girls.

“I spun donuts in my mom’s car.” Brownie shoved a handful of pork rinds into his mouth, some getting stuck on his braces.

“Dude!” Ryan exclaimed. “I did that once on the ice, pulled the e-brake. I about lost it and took out our mailbox.”

The boys laughed.

“I was lifting weights in my garage,” Nutter stated, “and there was this time that I almost dropped a barbell on my dad’s Suburban. He would have freakin’ freaked out.”

“How much do you weigh, Nutter?” Jason asked, dipping into the conversation.

“A hundred and forty.”

“You’re a hundred and forty?” Ryan challenged, grabbing the bag of rinds. “I’m one-sixty. I can bench-press two hundred.”

“You’re full of shit.” Nutter grabbed the bag back.

Jason sat on his towel, the sun in his eyes, but he was just as interested in Mackenzie as the other boys. They’d all been horsing around, trying to get her attention at the dock by the dam.

Mackenzie had smiled at all of them, been friendly, but Jason thought she was looking at him the most. So he’d tried to play it cool.

Mackenzie was real pretty, and he liked how she sounded when she talked. He’d never heard anyone say “ya’ll” before unless it was in the movies. When she said “dinner” it sounded like “dinnah.” She told him his momma was making her supper. He didn’t know what supper was, and she said, “Ya’ll don’t call the evenin’ meal supper? Oh, then I’m meanin’ dinnah.”

Thinking about the quality of her voice gave Jason a flush on his warm, summer skin. He found himself extremely conscious of every move she made and every word out of her mouth. He could listen to her talk forever.

She was by Drew, sitting on a chair and talking to another girl on the dock. They were laughing about something, and Jason felt a little like toeing the rubber—showing off.

Effing A.

Jason never did anything stupid like this—have a head-banger over a girl. But Mackenzie wasn’t just any girl.

She was like one of those magnolia tree flowers that bloomed in the park by the Boise zoo. She was different. And all of the boys making jokes, talking big and staring at her—they all knew it, too.

“C
lyde, you are just downright wrong.” Opal’s insistent voice carried loudly enough to give a brass band a run for its money. “It was Burt Gunderson who had the affair with
Betty-Lay,
that waitress at the Timberline Lodge.” Opal was adamant in her argument with the deputy. She remembered things like a womanizer, and Burt had been a real hands-all-over-you guy.

“Beverly wasn’t doing no two-step with Dirty Burty. You’ve got it all wrong. That was Blanche who worked at the ski lodge. Them broads both have names that start with the letter
B.
” Deputy Cooper gave a snort-laugh. “Though Beverly earned her nickname, I won’t argue that. I recall Roger almost calling her
Betty-Lay
to her face. I-gad, now that would have been something.”

Opal dragged a chip through the gooey nacho cheese sauce, ate it with a jalapeño and a green onion, then took a sip of her margarita. The coarse salt on the rim puckered her lips, but the tequila went down smooth. It was Wednesday—“Olé Night” at the High Country Lounge—and the drinks and appetizers had a Mexican theme.

“I’m telling you,” Opal insisted sharply. “It was Beverly.”

“I saw
Betty-Lay
suntanning at the dam last week. Holy God a’mighty, she’s got to be in her mid-seventies now.” Clyde pursed his lips in remembrance. “That tattoo she had on her breast has become a long stemmed rose, if you get my meaning.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” Opal was glad she’d never taken to any body art. It was bad enough her
girls
were drooping without having an artist’s ink to accent nature’s deficit.

Raul grimaced as he ate a nacho, then looked as if he was going to spit the chip out. “This cheez isn’t real cheez. It’s that piss-whiz from a can. Jess the taste of it insults my tongue.”

“Raul, this is all-American Mexican food. You just haven’t developed the right taste buds.”

“The Raul has an excellent palate.”

“Then go paint a mural.” Clyde cracked himself up.

Raul didn’t see the humor.

Sheriff Lewis came in through the doors, felt hat cocked at an angle and determination in his gaze. “Raul, you’re parked over the line in the parking lot, gawdammit. I couldn’t find a single space for my Blazer, so I’m double-parked in back of Opal’s Ford. Go out there and move your car, Raul, or I’m going to slap a ticket on it right after I order my beer.”

“C’hew can’t ticket me if you’re off duty.” Raul’s dark hair was a perfect black wing, parted and combed on the side. “And if you’re on duty, c’hew can’t be drinking no beers.”

“I’ll call it in to Dispatch and the sheriff on duty can come on over and tow you.”

“How do you know it’s my car?”

“For the love of Pete,” Roger said, sidling up to the bar. “Who else drives a 1985 Cadillac DeVille with CHEF4U personal plates?”

“He’s got you there, Raul,” Clyde laughed.

“That issa classic automobile,” Raul intoned with indignance. “In La Puente, that cherry DeVille was borrowed for weddings and funerals.”

“Well, go bury it in its own parking slot and free one up for me.”

Raul muttered, fishing through his pockets for his car keys. “I don’ like this town sometimes. Everyone knows everyone’s business and it makes me sick.”

“Speaking of business,” Clyde offered, sliding the nachos down the sheriff’s way, “you find out anything more on that young gal who Drew Tolman has staying with him? She really a family friend?”

“Far as I can tell, his story hasn’t deviated.” Roger Lewis took a long drink of his Coors. “I think she is.”

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing,” Opal said. “You boys are actually thinking Drew would have some underage girl in his home and she ain’t family? I’m shocked.”

“Oh, hell, Opal, stop with the indignant look. Nothing shocks you.” The teasing mirth in Roger’s handsome eyes pulled at Opal’s heartbeat like the choke on her old Ford Falcon.

“Now, Roger, you know I’m not a prude. But I think it’s bad of you to talk like that about that young lady. Drew’s brought her into the diner, and I think she’s sweet as can be. If you put your glasses on, you’d see the family resemblance between him and Mackenzie. She’s peach pie fresh and quite charming.”

“I heard someone say she’s his second cousin,” Bud Tremore interjected. He’d been sitting quietly listening to the exchange with a big sombrero on his head. He’d won the raffle earlier on in the evening. All the beer he wanted as long as he wore a sombrero with OLÉ on the band of the crown.

Clyde refilled his mug with beer. “That’s not what I heard. I heard she was his niece, only we all know Tolman don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

Biting her lip as long as she could, not wanting to talk out of turn about her favorite customer, Opal piped up and spilled. “I did hear something…but it was passed on several times over, and I can’t tell you who started it…but I heard she was a love child he had with Goldie Hawn.”

“No shit?”

“I’d believe it.”

“Is that so?”

“I-gad.”

Then someone tossed in the comment, “I saw Kurt Russell over at Starbucks a week ago. He held up the line by ordering a specialty coffee. Quarter-pump of chocolate syrup. Some people just can’t drink a regular cup of coffee.”

“I always had a crush on him when he was in those Disney movies.” Opal got a dreamy look on her face.

Then the group grew thoughtful, and Roger’s threat to have Raul’s Cadillac towed was forgotten.

Wouldn’t it be just like the Tolman-ater to have a love child with a famous Hollywood actress?

J
acquie Santini had gone exactly seven weeks, six days and four hours without a man.

Turning onto Honeysuckle Road and Main Street, she frowned without regard to the lines she was probably putting in her forehead. “God didn’t make Adam to have him end up alone,” she reasoned to Spin, who sat belted into the Jaguar’s passenger seat. “That’s why he created the Eves and the Jacquies to handle all the men’s needs.”

“What a load. You haven’t read the King James version if you came up with that.” A stiff, black leather handbag rested on Spin’s narrow lap. Running her bony hand across the gray upholstery, she asked, “Is this Corinthian leather?”

“No, Spin. You asked me that the last time. It’s just regular leather and that’s a black-walnut dash.”

Lately, Spin’s state of mind had concerned Jacquie. As well, Spin had also been saying her bladder was giving her trouble. Always as sharp as a shooting pistol, the woman was clearly degenerating. The horrifying idea of Fern Goodey-Leonard’s possible demise clutched at Jacquie. She didn’t want to think about it.

Jacquie’s community service had ended at the Sunrise Trail Creek Home a couple of weeks ago, but during her time there she and Spin had formed a unique kind of friendship. Jacquie couldn’t exactly describe it, but taking Spin out of the residence and to the beauty parlor, or sometimes to the Mule Shoe for a brandy, and even to a movie down in Hailey—gave Jacquie a much-needed purpose in her present, man-less life.

“Can’t I just go on one date?” Jacquie teased, hoping to pull a smile from Spin and bring the old girl back.

Spin’s profile grew rigid, the spunk back in her posture. “I told you, you’re suffering from Goldilocks Syndrome. You just can’t keep trying out man after man for size, hoping you’ll get one to fit right.”

“Don’t tell me size doesn’t matter.” Jacquie parallel parked the sports car into a spot on the street.

“My Wally was a good-size man in that department and I had no complaints. That’s not what I’m talking about.” Spin put a hand to her chest, hammered back a burp of gas. “Take a breather on the men, Jacquie. If you keep doing things your way, you’ll end up with some asshole because you aren’t being picky.”

“I am picky!”

“Not with Max Beck you weren’t.”

“But he was there, and he was good-looking.”

“Humph! Good-looking is only as good as looking at a dead tree if there’s nobody nesting in the branches.”

Spin tried to undo her seat belt restraint, but she didn’t have the dexterity to push the button in hard enough. Smiling, Jacquie did it for her. Spin smiled back, her lipstick a little crooked. Her eyes looked large behind the lenses of her rhinestone glasses.

“Go to the Timberline spa and get the works,” Spin suggested. “It’ll get rid of some of the tension.”

“I know what would get rid of my tension.”

Spin laughed, her eyes merry. “You’re a bad girl, Jacquie. I like you. My great-nephew, Morris, he’d like you, too.”

As Jacquie got out of the car she thought, as desperate as she was, even a geek named Morris sounded good. If there were such a thing as a testosterone detox patch, she could have cut out men without upping her cigarette habit to a full pack a day versus the half pack she’d smoked when she’d been dating Drew.

Spin had been on her case to quit. Jacquie couldn’t give up men and nicotine at the same time. That just wasn’t possible.

She helped Spin to the sidewalk and they walked past several shops.

“Hold on, Spin. I’ll get the door.” With a tug, Jacquie swung open the door to the Shear Class Beauty Salon. “If the damn thing closes on you, you’re going to bust your arm.”

Inside the busy hair salon, the odor of perms, bleach and ammonia came at them in a strong wave. But the douse of cold AC was worth the stink.

July had slapped Red Duck like a bitch, hot and unrelenting. Nobody could recall it ever being so god-awful sweltering this early in the year.

Tomorrow was the big Fourth of July picnic at Overlook Dam. Big Eddy’s picnic grounds would be overrun with kids, parents, lawn games, and when the sun set around 9:40 p.m., fireworks would be let off.

“Spin, are you sure you want a set and style? Why don’t you try something a little different this time?” Jacquie settled her butt onto the vacant vinyl chair next to where Spin sat with her beautician. “Why don’t you give her a dye job? I’m thinking red.”

“I’m not going red. I like my silver.”

“But silver’s just so boring.”

“I don’t want to look like Lucille Ball in my casket.”

The whole casket thing was a moot point, since Spin was dead set about being cremated.

When Spin talked like that about herself, Jacquie didn’t like it. She supposed it was healthy to accept one’s fate…but still. The thought of losing Spin…

“Well, maybe you could go blue,” Jacquie said thoughtfully, in an attempt to get a rise out of Spin and get her mind away from funeral arrangements.

“Screw that,” Spin snipped, gazing at her tired reflection. “I’m not going to be any blue-haired old lady.”

As Spin got her hair done in its usual fashion, Jacquie settled back and read
Cosmo.

The humming cone dryers warmed part of the long room with hot air, and the ink from a fresh shipment of
People
magazines permeated the smells of hair products.

Gazing from her magazine over to Spin, who sat with her eyes closed while getting a helmetlike dose of hair spray, Jacquie wondered what she’d be like if she lived to one hundred and three.

Chances were, if she kept smoking, she’d die at fifty.

Shit on a stick. Maybe she should give up her cigarettes.

When Spin was finished, Jacquie walked her to the door. She was unsteady on her feet from having sat for so long, and she tucked a hand into the crook of Jacquie’s arm.

“I got it,” a man’s voice said, and the door was pulled open.

Jacquie’s mood lifted from gloom to boom as her eyes fastened on the UPS driver. He wasn’t the regular. This guy was about six foot two, brown eyes and brown hair all wrapped up in a nice brown uniform—quite a package.

“Hey,” she said, thrusting out her meager breasts and standing taller. “Thanks so much.”

“No problem.” His smile was white, his tan appealing.

Spin passed through the door, gave Jacquie a quirk of her brow, saying, brassy as tacks, “When we get home, dear, don’t forget to take your antibiotics for that little problem you have.”

The door was let go and the UPS guy headed straight into the salon without a backward glance.

Jacquie stood on the sidewalk and put her hands on her hips after slapping a strand of hair from her eyes. “I cannot believe you just said that. How totally embarrassing is that?”

“Very embarrassing.”

Digging inside her purse, Jacquie found her Virginia Slims and got a cigarette. She stroked her lighter to life. So much for being worried about dying at fifty.

She helped Spin into the Jaguar, the smell of tobacco and hair spray overpowering the scent of the leather upholstery. Cranking the AC, she cracked the window and pulled away from the curb.

The two sat with electric hostility sizzling between them.

Spin wanted to shake Jacquie and make her realize she was an attractive and intelligent businesswoman all by herself. She had to be okay with being alone before she got involved with another man. If a woman wasn’t happy in her own skin, she could never be happy as part of a couple. She’d depend too much on the opposite sex to feed her ego. And Jacquie’s ego was so big, she couldn’t fit it under the hood of this big Jag.

Jacquie felt every bit of her loneliness fill her heart. She hated being alone. Hated not having a man. Hated Spin for making her promise not to date. She wished she could retract it, go back to having sex for fun. Life was too short. Pleasures were too wide and too enjoyable to live like a recluse.

But as Jacquie turned into the drive of the Sunrise, she hated to think that maybe Spin was right….

Maybe she wasn’t capable of going solo. And what did that say about her? Did she have such a fear of herself that she couldn’t stand the woman she’d become?

Dammit. She didn’t want Spin to be right.

Once she had Spin back in her room, Jacquie broke the frosty ice. “Are you sure you’re up to going to the picnic tomorrow?”

“What?” Spin made an adjustment on her hearing aids.

“About tomorrow. Are you sure you’re up to going to the picnic?”

Lying back on the bed, Spin gave an audible sigh of tiredness. She looked unwell. Feeble. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m thinking about missing it.” Jacquie mused on the various reasons why, then spoke the one at forefront of her mind. “I have no desire to run into Lucy Carpenter at the picnic. I heard she’s been riding on Drew’s boat with him. I think they’re dating.”

“It’s not your concern anymore, Jacquie.”

Jacquie swallowed and tasted bitterness. She’d loved Drew in so many ways. Seeing him with another woman was like salt in the wound.

“I want to find out more about this Mackenzie,” Spin said, sitting up taller on the bed.

That was another thing…. Jacquie knew damn well who Mackenzie was, and it chapped her hide knowing the whole truth, yet being one big outsider on the entire deal. Several times, she’d almost dialed Drew to ask him how that had all played out—how had he managed to get Mackenzie to come see him? And for the summer.

Jacquie felt cheated for not yet being introduced to Mackenzie, when she was the only one in Red Duck who knew who the girl was. Sadly, she and Drew just didn’t swim in the same circles anymore.

A burn of tears threatened and Jacquie tried to stave off the empty ache in her heart. She wasn’t so much missing Drew these days, rather, missing being with someone who cared about her.

“I heard that young girl is a love child Drew had with Sophia Loren.”

“Sophia Loren?” Jacquie snapped. “Loren is old enough to be Drew’s grandmother.”

“But she was a real dish back in her day. I always wanted to be her.”

Jacquie glanced at the many photos of Spin as a young woman, displayed in various places around the tiny room. There were ones of Spin by the Boise courthouse, and others of her and Wally with a fish or dead animal, hunting and fishing.

Spin had been really pretty.

“I’m tired, Jacquie. I need a nap.”

Jacquie went to her, put a hand on her arm. “Okay. I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow.”

She nodded with her eyes closed, looking pale. Frail. Aged. Her thin skin like parchment.

Before Jacquie left the room, she gave the sleeping woman a fond smile.

“Matt, move the cheese spread over there. And Jason, I think the asparagus pasta should go here.”

As her sons made the necessary changes, Lucy placed her hands on her hips and assessed the table.

She’d borrowed a folding picnic table from Sue Lawrence for the Fourth of July picnic at Big Eddy’s. Several days ago, Lucy had had an inspiring idea on how to drum up more business. To date, her clients included Drew, the Dickensons and the Gentrys. Word of mouth went only so far; food to mouth went further.

Lucy had spent the last several days cooking and preparing dishes she knew were crowd pleasers. It had cost a small fortune to buy all the ingredients, and then the time to put everything together. But in the end, she was certain that having a table set up, and offering free samples at the town’s biggest summer gathering, would be worth every dime and minute she’d invested.

“Can we go now, Mom?” Matt asked, nabbing a butter cracker, which, thankfully, he didn’t swipe through her feta and roasted garlic paté. “I want to watch the guys set off firecrackers.”

Dusk wouldn’t descend for another couple hours, but already the boys were down by the water shooting off smoke bombs and devil rays.

“In a minute, honey.”

“But, Mom,” Jason complained, looking over his shoulder as if he were trying to be nonchalant about his actions. But it was obvious to Lucy he was looking for Mackenzie.

“Jason, come here.”

A worried expression crossed his face. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I know you didn’t. Matthew, come, too.”

The boys rounded to her side of the table, but before she reached under the tablecloth, she put her hands on their shoulders.

Jason was the first to speak, his tone sarcastic and low. “Gary’s not coming.”

That thought hadn’t crossed Lucy’s mind—at least not at the present time. Last week, Gary had called the boys and said he’d be coming to Red Duck for a visit. She wouldn’t count on him being here until he actually showed up at the house, but he had promised the boys. She could only hope he’d follow through. The fact he’d bring Diane with him wasn’t something Lucy looked forward to, but she was an adult and, for the boys’ sake, she had to be civil. Even if it was to the woman their father had had an affair with.

“As far as I know, your dad’s still coming.” Lucy’s reassurance was met with lukewarm reception. “I have something I want to tell you boys.” She affectionately squeezed their shoulders. “I’m very proud of you both for doing such good jobs. Matt, I didn’t think you’d keep up with the dog walking, but you have.”

Yesterday, she’d picked Matt up at Ada’s and taken him out to lunch—just the two of them. She’d spent so much time helping Jason pull himself together that she’d had to stop and realize she had a younger son who needed her attention just as much. Over French fries and chicken strips, Matt had told her the latest about every dog that came through the groomer’s.

“Yes, ma’am. I like it.”

“You’re a good boy.” Then she turned to her oldest son, his hair spiked in a short summer cut. She swore he’d grown an inch taller in the last few days. “Jason, you’ve really proved yourself lately. Taking the initiative for the job at Woolly Burgers, going to the Sunrise and helping. Staying out of trouble. I appreciate the effort. Thanks.”

“Sure, Mom.”

“So because you’ve both been on your best behavior, I got you something.” She grabbed the large bag of fireworks she’d bought at one of the stands in town. “Here. Just don’t hurt yourselves when you set them off.”