While You Were Dead (37 page)

Only a caveman would dream of ripping the phone from his lady's hand.  Only a cretin would throw it into the bay before he dragged her away to his cave for a year or two.  Only a sex-starved man would allow such idiotic impulses to get out of hand.

"Maybe Aunt Mary dragged us back to civilization just in time."  Dan scratched behind his dog's ears.  "Maybe I should go out on a date or two while we’re here.  Just to take the edge off."

Colby barked, and then rested his muzzle on the dashboard, pointing the way.

"No, it won't be with my sexy brunette."

The last thing Dan needed in his life was another career-focused woman to tempt him back to the competitive edge like the one he’d ridden in Chicago.  He'd leaped off that fast track without a backward glance—nearly dying did have a way of adjusting a man’s perspective, after all—but he could still spot a workaholic when he saw one.  He'd lived with one all his life.  First, his father.  More recently, Charlotte and himself.  And since he didn't know yet if he'd beaten that particular inclination, once and for all, he wasn't taking any chances.

The odd thing about chance, though, was the way it tended to come up and slap him when he wasn't looking.  Dan stared with consternation at the bright orange saucer veering out of control across his vision, aimed directly for his brunette.  "Watch out!"

He jumped from the truck in time to see the rigid plastic disc slam into her right cheek with a sharp thwack, angle over her head and disappear over the bridge railing into the bay.  Her cell sailed right behind it.

Dan sprinted in her direction but she’d fallen off the hood of her car and slumped to the pavement, her back against the front fender, before he could reach her. Kneeling beside her, he placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Are you all right?"

She didn't respond. 

"I didn't mean to hit her!"  The Frisbee thrower squatted next to Dan and watched him remove her cracked sunglasses.  "Oh, man, she's out cold."

Dan clamped a lid on his own spike of concern and thrust both hands into the woman's silky twist of hair.  In the time it took him to run from his truck he'd seen her fall against the side mirror on her downward slide, and then ram her head against the open car door.  So, it came as no surprise when he located a sizable lump over her left ear.

He examined the welt rising on her cheekbone, his curse short, succinct.  Her head cradled in his hands, he brushed his thumbs against her temples.  "Can you hear me?"

The woman’s eyelids fluttered, lifted.  "W-What happened?  H-Harry?  Where's Harry?"

Who the devil was Harry?  Dan gazed into cinnamon brown eyes, fogged with confusion, and experienced a surprising surge of possessiveness.  He couldn't drag his hands away from her fast enough.  "If Harry's the one on the phone, I believe he's now conferencing with the sharks."

"Oh. Oh! He'll kill me!"  She shifted, wrinkled her nose in obvious bewilderment at the sight of her legs stretched in front of her.  "Why am I sitting on the ground?"

The student piped in.  "My Frisbee hit you.  You fell."

"Frisbee?  Fell?"

Dan frowned.  A concussion wasn't out of the question.  Although her pupils didn't appear unequal or dilated, there was a large goose egg behind her ear and a welt across her cheek that grew more red and ugly by the minute.  He searched his brain for the standard questions used on concussion victims.  "What's your name, and who's the President?"

Dan glared the student into silence, motioning the kid to her other side so they could both help her to her feet.  "Which is which?" he asked, aware he needed to keep her talking.

"I'm Tess."  She wobbled on her spiked heels.  "The president's Webster."

Dan quickly calculated the distance to the camper in the back of his truck.  "I think we have a problem.  Webster is not President of the United States."

Her eyes widened.  "Oh. Wait. I thought you meant the president of my company!"  She assured him she did indeed know her country's president.  "Now I know two presidents' names and my own, but I don't know your names."

The student introduced himself and apologized for her injuries.  He wanted to share his doctor's phone number but, when she refused his assistance, he shrugged and walked off to rejoin his buddy sitting on the hood of their car.

Which left Dan where he shouldn't be now that the danger had passed...overwhelmed by the appeal of toffee hair, cinnamon eyes, and spicy scent.  Gasping for air like a wide-mouth bass in the bottom of his boat.  Alone...with his brunette.

The woman wasn’t on the hunt for a new car or juice boxes at the grocery store. Nope. She wanted a dildo. I called her type a Waffler. Someone who contemplated all options before even attempting to make a choice. Because of Miss Waffler, I had ten different dildo models spread out across the counter. Glass, silicone, jelly and battery powered. She needed help.

That’s where I came in. My name is Jane West and I run Goldilocks, the adult store my mother-in-law opened back in the seventies. Story goes she named it after the fairytale character when a mother bear and her two cubs walked down Willson right in front of the store the week before it opened. She called it fate. Or it could have been because her name is Goldie, so it made sense. I started working for her when my husband died, a temporary arrangement that helped her out. Three years later, things had turned long-term temporary.

The store was tasteful considering the offerings. The walls were a fresh white, shelves and displays just like you’d find at the typical department store. Then tasteful made way for tacky. Gold toned industrial carpet like you’d see in Vegas, a photo of a naked woman sprawled artfully across a bearskin rug over the counter. A sixties chandelier graced the meager entry. Goldie had to put her unique stamp on things somehow.

It wasn’t a big store, just one room with a storage area and bathroom in back. Whatever she didn’t have in stock—although you'd be amazed at the selection Goldie offered in such a small space—we ordered in. Montanans were patient shoppers. With few options store-wise in Bozeman, most people ordered everything but the basics from the Internet. There’s one Walmart, one Target, one Old Navy. Only one of everything. In a big city, if you drove two miles you came across a repeat store. Urban sprawl at its finest. Not here, although there were two sets of Golden Arches. One in town and one off the highway for the tourists who needed a Big Mac on the way to Yellowstone. The anchor store of the town’s only mall was a chain bookstore. No Nordstrom or Bass Pro Shop out here. You shopped local or you went home.

In the case of the woman in front of me, I wished she’d just go home.

Don’t get me wrong, I liked helping people and I’m comfortable talking sex toys with anyone. But this time was definitely different. Big time.

Behind Miss Waffler stood a fireman. A
really
attractive, tall, well muscled one wearing a Bozeman Fire T-shirt and navy pants. Can you say
hot?
A hot man in uniform? Yup, it was a cliché, but this one was dead-on accurate. He’d come in while I was comparing the various dildo models before I went into the perks of having rotation for best female stimulation. The first time.

“Can you explain the features of each one again?” Miss Waffler had her fingers on the edge of the glass counter as if she were afraid to touch them. Petite, she was slim to the point of anorexic. Her rough voice said smoker, at least a pack a day. Her skin was weathered, either from cigarettes or the Montana weather, and wrinkles had taken over her face. She’d be pretty if she ate something and kicked the habit.

I gave her my best fake smile. “Sure.”

I darted a glance at the fireman over the woman’s shoulder. Sandy hair trimmed military short, blue eyes, strong features. Thirties. A great smile. He seemed perfectly content to wait his turn. If the humorous glint in his eye and the way he bit his lip, most likely to keep from smiling, was any indication, he was clearly enjoying himself. A radio squawked on his belt and he turned it down. Obviously my lesson on sexual aids was more important than a five-alarm fire.

Miss Waffler was completely oblivious of, and unaffected by, the fireman. I now knew why she wanted a dildo.

I picked up a bright blue model. “This one is battery powered and vibrates. Three settings. Good for clitoral stimulation.” I put it down and picked up another. “This one is glass. No batteries, so it’s meant for penetration. The best thing about it is you can put it in the freezer or warm it and it provides a varied experience.”

The woman made some
ah
sounds as I gave the details. I went through all the possibilities with her one at a time. I got to the tenth and final model. “This one is obviously realistic. It’s actually molded from the erect penis of a porn star. It’s made of silicone and has suction cups on the base.”

Fireman peered over the woman’s shoulder as I suction cupped the dildo to the glass counter.
Thwap.

Right there, in the middle of my mother-in-law’s sex store, dildos and all, there was a spring thaw in my libido. It had long since gone as cold as Montana in January. Who could have blamed it with all of my dead husband’s shenanigans? But right then I felt my heart rate go up, my palms sweat from nerves. The fireman didn’t seem the least bit phased by my little sex toy talk. I, on the other hand, was having a hot flash like a menopausal woman just looking at him.

“I’m Jane. What can I help you with today?” Hi, I’m Jane. I’m thirty-three. I like hiking in the mountains, cross-country skiing, I’m a Scorpio, and I want to rip that uniform off your hot body. I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts.

He laughed and held out his hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm and a little rough. “Ty. Thanks, but no toys for me.” A pager beeped. He looked at it briefly and ignored it.

“Don’t you need to answer that? A fire or something?” I asked.

“Cat up a tree,” he joked.

I laughed, and heard my nerves in it. I took a deep breath to try and calm my racing heart. It didn’t work. All it did was make me discover how good he smelled. It wasn’t heavy cologne. Soap maybe. I didn’t really care if it was deodorant. He smelled fabulous.

“Actually, it was for station two. I’m here for your fire safety inspection.” He placed papers on the counter. Had he been holding them all this time? I hadn’t noticed. For the next fifteen minutes we went over fire inspection paperwork with an elephant in the room the shape of a dildo.

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“Look at me, Princess. You know me. Your heart knows me. Trust it. Trust what you feel.” His deep, rich baritone, softly washed over her, filling a void long forgotten.