The Great Jackalope Stampede (14 page)

All around her, pictures and paintings of mules hung on the walls. Sculptures and miniatures of the stubborn animal lined shelves nailed up high here and there. Even the tablecloths had cute versions of the beasts of burden on them. There were mules everywhere, including sitting at the table in front of her, demanding she sit in the chair he had kicked out and join him.

With his whiskey-colored eyes scrunched into a wary glare, Sheriff Hardass watched her like he thought she might turn tail and bolt at any moment. But the high and mighty lawman did not realize with whom he was dealing. After being grilled repeatedly by a dizzying number of investigators from multiple law enforcement branches of the U.S. government about Lyle Jefferson’s many illegal activities, one Sheriff from Po-dunk-ville, Arizona did not have a chance at winning a standoff against her.

Acting all prim and proper, Ronnie tucked in her skirt and lowered into the seat waiting for her as if she had not recently been playing hide and seek with a couple of boogeymen. She laced her fingers together and rested them on the table, adopting the same stiff-backed stance she had in each interrogation months ago.

She nodded and smiled at an older couple who passed by their table on the way out the door, leaving her and the Sheriff alone except for a grizzled, gray haired old guy at the counter.

Sheriff Hardass’s stare did not waver. Was he even blinking? The thought of reaching across the table and flicking him on that slightly crooked nose of his made a giggle bubble up in Ronnie’s throat. She coughed it back down and glanced at the remains of his sandwich.

“As eating joints go in this corner of the state,” she said, her voice steady, “the Mule Train Diner appears to be a step above the rest. You come here often, Sheriff?”

He nodded once.

She detected a hint of his bay rum cologne over the aroma of fresh baked bread, noticing his freshly shaved jaw. Did he smell that good all over? Her brain digressed, painting a picture of him dressed in only a towel while he rubbed cologne on his skin.
Whoa!
Where had that come from? She blinked away the image before he figured out what she was picturing and arrested her for having lewd and lascivious thoughts.

“How are their doughnuts?” She could not resist a little jab.

“Nonexistent.”

“You could threaten the owner with jail time if he doesn’t change the menu to accommodate you.” She landed a second jab, still sore about his comment last night regarding making room in his jail cells for her family of outlaws.

“I already tried that and it backfired.”

Ronnie could not tell if he were joking or not. “Really? How?”

“She told on me to my mother and I got chewed out for harassing my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. She’s the owner.”

Behind the rigid smile on her face, Ronnie cringed. Of all of the mule joints in all of the dust-bunny towns out West, Ronnie had stumbled into the Sheriff’s sister’s restaurant. Damn.

Claire would have laughed her ass off if she had been sitting there next to Ronnie. Then again, Claire would not have hidden in this diner from those two goons. She would have grabbed a baseball bat and chased after their sedan, probably ending up staring at Sheriff Hardass through the bars of a jail cell.

When Ronnie grew up and had untangled herself from this makeshift noose Lyle had wrapped around her neck, she wanted to be as carefree and reckless as her middle sister. She was tired of always being the proper and responsible one in the family. Look where it had landed her—sitting in a diner full of mules with the law breathing down her neck.

“Maybe you should say ‘pretty please’ when you ask your sister for a doughnut,” Ronnie suggested.

“Those two words aren’t in my vocabulary.”

No shit. She leveled her chin at the Sheriff. “If we’re about done here, Sheriff Harrison,” she started, enunciating his name for her own sake, not wanting to drag this out any longer with insubordination.

“We’re not,” he interrupted and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

If he was waiting for her to sit there and sing like a canary for him, his sandwich was going to go stale. She raised her eyebrows. “Well, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

His lips twitched. “I always keep a firm grip on my piece, Mrs. Jefferson.”

She found his attempt to embarrass her with a double entendre cute at best. But after the humiliation of finding out that Lyle had planted a hidden security camera in their bedroom and some of the federal investigators had taken a peek at several of the episodes starring Ronnie with her favorite intimate massage device, which she fondly had referred to as
Raphael
at the top of her lungs during the filming, this was child’s play.

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I have a pair of tweezers you can borrow if it will help.”

The widening of his eyes showed her that she had hit his battleship. Now to sink the sucker and be on her merry way.

Sitting back upright, she smiled big and bright. “Sheriff Harrison, if you have something you would like to ask me, can we please get to it. I have somewhere I need to be.” As in the inside of a glass of gin and tonic while sitting on a bar stool at The Shaft, but he didn’t need to know that.

His jaw stiffened so fast she checked his cheeks for stress fractures. “Where is your husband, Mrs. Jefferson?”

Oh, crap. She didn’t want him digging up what she had tried so hard to bury since coming down to Arizona. Holding onto her smile for dear life, she used the standard answer she’d been using since she had said, “I do,” all of those wasted years ago. “He’s away on business.”

“What kind of business?”

“The kind involving travel.”

He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You pawned your wedding ring set.”

There was no use denying it. She had blabbed that on their first meeting. “I did.”

“I take it the travel business is not going well for your husband.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a while.” Except for that one collect phone call she had accepted before heading to Arizona when Lyle had warned her about the possible price on her head, she had only spoken to the son of a bitch through her lawyer.

“Surely he has some way of being reached while traveling.”

There was a cocky glint in his eyes that made Ronnie want to lean over the table and bite his head right off. “Sheriff, what is the point of these questions?”

He shrugged, his shiny star bobbing along with his shoulders. “I’m just trying to figure out your next move, Mrs. Jefferson.”

“I’ll save you the trouble.” She jabbed her thumb behind her. “I’m heading right out that door.” And out of his life, if possible.

“What about that black Bonneville?”

“Bonneville?” She played dumb to buy a moment. Double crap! Of course he had not missed that detail. She must have been as obvious as a cat on the ceiling in her panic stricken state.

“Yes. The one you were hiding from when you ran in here.”

“Oh, that black car.”

“Yes, that one.” When she didn’t expound on her answer, he raised both brows. “Well, Mrs. Jefferson?”

“You can call me, Veronica, Sheriff.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Yet you continue not to.”

“I prefer to keep your current status in the forefront of my mind when in your presence.”

“And what status is that?”

“A married woman on the run from her husband.”

Her throat constricted, making her cough. She stole his drink, letting the cool water relax the tightness threatening to choke her.

Well, he was right about one part of that. She was on the run.

“What I want to know is if you are running because of something he did.”

She licked her lips and set his glass back down. “An interesting question,” she said. He had hit the bullseye with that one, sort of.

“Or was it something you have done?”

The only thing she had done was listen to her mother about marrying a “real gentleman” who would treat her like a queen. In the end, it turned out she was treated more like a high-priced whore that he cowered behind when the devil came calling to collect on outstanding debts.

She squared her shoulders, months of anger and frustration welling up in her gut. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff, but you’re sniffing around the wrong tree.”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Jefferson. There is something going on with you that feels not quite right.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “You know I thought you had a screw loose when I pulled you over the other day.” He tossed several bills on the table. “But then you came running in here today with a look on your face that said otherwise.”

“And what look was that?”

“The look of a woman in deep sh—trouble,” he corrected at the last moment.

No, he was right the first time, she was in deep shit. Over her head in it, to be truthful. But it was her shit, and he needed to keep his crooked nose out of it.

She stood, slinging Kate’s backpack over her shoulder. “You are mistaken, Sheriff.”

“About which part?”

“Well, I am a woman.”

His gaze held hers, steady as a riverboat gambler. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

“It’s good to hear that you’re not completely comprised of stone.”

“You think I’m made of stone?”

“I do. It explains how you can see a woman who you think is in deep shit and yet still give her a speeding ticket and then threaten her with jail time.”

“You are hardly a sad, helpless waif, Mrs. Jefferson.”

“You’re right. That being said, I would appreciate it if you’d let me go on my way and take care of my own difficulties without interfering.”

His grin came slow and sat crooked on his lips. “But it’s my job to interfere. I believe you mentioned last night that as a tax-paying citizen, you are compensating me to do just that.”

Damn, he got her on that one.

He pointed at the bag she was holding. “What’s in the backpack?”

“Library books,” she lied without a hitch.

“I didn’t realize you were a card-carrying member of the Yuccaville branch of the Cholla County Public Library.”

“I’m returning them for my sister.”

He smirked. “Claire found a way to sneak books out after being banned?”

It figured he knew about that, too. “No, Katie’s taken up reading.”

“Really? What kind of books does she like to read?”

“Ones with a lot of pictures of the latest fashion designs.”

His gaze measured her up and down. She must have added up to the right numbers because he nodded, seeming to accept what she said at face value.

“If you’re done with your questions now, Sheriff, I’ll be on my way.” She started backing toward the door.

“Sure, but don’t get too comfortable,
Veronica
.” His use of her first name did not go unnoticed, nor his threat. “You and I are far from being done with this subject.”

“That’s just peachy,
Grady
.” She needed to thank Mac for helping level the playing field on the name game. “Because I do so enjoy our little conversations.” She glanced down at the table where his belt buckle was in view. “Be sure to let me know if you need to borrow my tweezers.”

With a wink and a coy smile, she bowed her way out the door and practically ran back to Katie’s car. Her breathing did not slow until she had reached the city limits at the edge of Yuccaville.

“Great,” she growled and hit the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. “Just fucking great.”

Now she had the damned Sheriff of Cholla County riding her ass, too. Who was next? Jabba the Hutt and his slew of intergalactic bounty hunters?

* * *

“Claire,” Ruby called from the front of the unfinished restrooms.

Lowering the torch she was using to finish soldering an elbow joint onto a copper pipe, Claire looked over her shoulder.

The older woman leaned against the roughed out door frame, holding bottles of soda pop in each hand. “Why don’t you take a rest for the evenin’, mosey on out here, and share a drink with me for a spell?”

There was a hardness in Ruby’s soft drawl that made Claire take a closer look at her step-grandmother. Maybe it was the brassy orange tint coming from the sun as it sank toward the horizon, or the after effect of staring at the hot end of a blowtorch for too long, but Ruby seemed worn, faded into a dull sepia version of her vibrant self.

Deborah’s presence usually had a way of making Ruby spit and sputter, bringing her fiery temperament out. Tonight Ruby’s white and blue checkered shirt had deep wrinkles set in it, her red hair spiraled out of the clip she had holding it back, and her smile sort of drooped at the outer edges.

The fact that she had come bearing one of Claire’s favorite drinks made her stomach jittery, like it was full of short-horned grasshoppers. Ruby knew she preferred to dilute bad news with heavy-duty carbohydrates.

Ruby held up the bottles. “It’s not quite as good as what’s on tap down at The Shaft, but I promise not to act like one of those yokels and invite ya out to my truck to diddle with my bits.”

Claire grinned and turned off the torch, setting it on the concrete floor. “You mean fondle your drill bits,” she repeated one of the many corny pickup lines that she had heard since frequenting The Shaft. “Give me a minute to put away my tools and clean up.”

“I’ll be sittin’ over where the boys usually do.”

Gramps and his cronies had grown bored with watching Claire plumb in the warmer than normal afternoon heat and had headed off to the rec room to play some cards in the air conditioning. With the three of them no longer harassing her about the way she was soldering each joint, she was able to make twice as much progress. But she still had another couple of days left of plumbing work before she had the pipes for the showers and toilets ready for final installation.

After doing a quick clean up and stuffing anything worth stealing into her toolbox, she headed out into the evening’s warm breeze and dropped onto the lawn chair next to Ruby.

She noticed a dusty patch of flour on her step-grandmother’s shoulder. Crud. Ruby had been baking—even in this heat. The older woman had a bad habit of mixing delicious concoctions of flour and butter and sugar when stressed, and Claire had a butt-widening habit of eating at least two of everything Ruby pulled out of the oven. Her jeans couldn’t handle another couple of weeks of Deborah hanging around, getting Ruby all worked up into a Julia Child frenzy again. It had taken Claire three weeks to lose the ten pounds she’d gained the last time Deborah had stormed into town.