Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (31 page)

“Kate.” Claire’s tone warned. She twisted the doorknob and
pulled it open a crack. “If you don’t exit this room immediately and plant your
ass back on that bar stool, I’m going to tell Mom that you were the one who
spilled the wine on her great-grandmother’s silk wedding gown.”

“Fine. Tattle away, but she’ll never believe—”

“Hi, Butch.” The cook’s voice carried through the crack in
the door.

Kate’s tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. She locked
wide eyes with Claire.

“I told you so,” she mouthed.

Footfalls crossed the linoleum, coming their way.

“Hey, can you come look at this?” the cook said, and the
footfalls stopped, then faded.

Claire raced over and grabbed Kate by the forearm. “Get out
there and distract him.”

“What! How am I going to do that?”

“I don’t know. Use that brain of yours and figure out a way
to keep him from coming in here.”

“No! You go out there. You’ve known him longer.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who’s been going on picnics with
him.”

Claire, who’d always managed to beat Kate in arm wrestling,
leg wrestling, and any other sport where extra pounds offered an unfair
advantage, dragged Kate across the room. “Now, work your magic.”

She shoved Kate out the door.

Kate whirled around in time to hear the deadbolt click. She
closed her eyes, imagining seven different ways she was going to kill Claire as
soon as this door didn’t separate them.

She glanced toward the kitchen. Butch was nowhere to be
seen, but she could hear his low voice as he spoke to the cook. Turning back,
she rapped on the door lightly with her knuckles.

“Claire!” she whispered. “Open this damned door before I—”

“Kate?”

She froze at the sound of Butch’s voice, knuckles hovering.

“What are you doing?” He came up behind her.

Forcing a smile, she turned around. “Looking for you. I need
to talk to you.”

Butch’s gaze drifted down the front of her pink cotton tank
top and red shorts, dipping clear down to her white ankle-wrap sandals before
cruising back up to her face, his blue eyes suddenly dark, intense. “About
what?”

Ignoring the fluttering in her lungs, Kate made a point of
looking toward the kitchen. “It’s kind of private.”

She stalled while her mind raced, trying to come up with
something.

He closed the gap between them with two steps and reached
around her, his arm brushing her hip. “Let’s go in my office.”

“No!” She fell more than leaned back against the door,
barricading it with her body.

“Why not?” His grin surfaced. “I promise I won’t bite you.”

He nudged her hip aside and twisted the knob.

“Huh,” he said under his breath, twisting the knob again. “I
swear I left the door unlocked.” His grin faded. “I know I did, because I
forgot my keys at home.”

“Maybe one of your employees locked it for you, thinking you’d
forgotten to when you left.”

“Yeah, maybe. Hold on, I’ll go see if Gary brought his spare
key.”

“Wait!” Kate grabbed Butch’s arm.

Butch looked at her with raised brows.

Still holding his arm, she dragged him down the hall to the
supply room door. “We can talk in here.”

“But it’ll just take me a second to get the key.”

“Trust me, this can’t wait.”

She flicked on the light and closed the door behind them.

“What in the hell is so important that you can’t wait two
minutes for me to get the spare key?”

From where Kate stood, she could see Butch’s office door out
the window in the supply room door. As she watched, Claire stepped out into the
hall.

Unfortunately, from where Butch stood, he would see Claire
slip past them into the kitchen. Her heart in her throat, Kate grabbed Butch by
the shoulders and shoved him back against the door.

Butch frowned down at her. “Did you forget to take your pills
tonight, Kate?”

“No.” She laughed him off with a rattling cackle. Evil
witches sounded more sane.

“All right.” He crossed his arms. “You have me in here. What
do you need to tell me?”

Opening her mouth, she paused, her mind fishing for lies and
hauling up nothing but empty nets.

The sound of the mop handle sliding down the wall and
smacking onto the floor made Butch look toward the window.

No!

“I need to … uh …”
Think of something, moron
.

His focus returned to her. “You need to what, Kate?”

She had an idea. Standing on her tiptoes, she slipped her
hands around the back of his neck.

“I need to kiss you.” She pulled him down to her and covered
his lips with hers.

So the on-the-fly plan was to kiss him long enough for
Claire to slip by unnoticed. There’d be no tongue action, no extraneous
touching. And in spite of how good Butch smelled and tasted, Kate ignored all
other temptations and stuck to the plan.

She pulled back after a count of five—well, maybe it was
more like seven—and smiled up at Butch, feeling rather pleased with herself.
Miss Marple would have patted her on the head.

Butch stared down at her with a furrowed brow. “What was
that?”

Tucking a loose blonde tendril behind her ear, she said, “A
kiss.”

“Not really.”

What? “Yes, it was.”

“Who taught you how to kiss like
that
?”

“Like what?”

“Like a 1940’s movie starlet, all pursed lips and stiffness,
no mess and no heat.”

Kate sputtered. “Well, that wasn’t a real,
real
kiss.
I mean I know how to kiss, trust me. I’ve had my share of practice.”

“If that’s the end result of all your practicing, your
lessons must have really been boring.”

Her mouth gaped. “Boring? I can assure you that the last
thing I’ve ever been called is boring.”

“I don’t doubt that. Most guys would be happy just to have
your lips touching them, even if you are a shitty kisser.”

A shitty kisser
? Kate jammed her hands on her hips. “I
am an excellent kisser, Butch Carter, especially when I involve more than just
my lips.”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “I don’t believe you.”

“Ha! You’re just trying to get another kiss out of me.”

“Not really. I’d rather go get a burger. I skipped dinner.”

Kate shoved him back against the door. “Liar.”

“All right then, Kate. Show me what you got.”

This time, she went way off plan. She tugged him down to
her, pressing against his full length, going in for the kill.

His lips parted without hesitation when she ran her tongue
over them, then she followed with a nip and suck and a tickle. Her tongue found
his, coaxing him to play along, which he did with a skill that stole her breath
and made her ache for more.

She let her hands explore his shoulders and arms as she
rubbed against the wall of his chest, losing herself in the scent of his
cologne, the heat radiating off his skin, the feel of his mouth seducing hers.

Wait! She was supposed to be running the show. His hands
smoothed down her ribs, yanking her hips against his. She moved against him,
encouraging, wanting, forgetting where she was and why she was even there for
several heavy breath-filled moments.

Then he groaned against her throat. “Kate, you win.”

She pulled away, panting, yearning to keep proving him wrong
until she’d removed all of their clothing and finished what she’d started.

“See?” she said between breaths. “That was better, right?”

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I’d give it a six-point-five on
a scale of ten.”

“What?”

“Okay, maybe a seven.”

She glanced down at his fly, confirming what she’d thought
she’d felt a moment ago. “Just a seven, huh?”

“Yeah, but if you want to try for a higher score, I’d be
happy to oblige.”

“You are such a—”

“Butch!” the sound of Gary’s voice leaked through the door. “Phone.”

With a wink and a tweak of her chin, Butch said, “Let’s try
again another time.”

He left her there in the storage room, her curiosity piqued
about “another time.” Then she remembered where she was and why and took off to
find her damned sister.

* * *

“A shot of Southern Comfort, please,” Claire told Gary as
she waited at the bar for Kate to finish dilly-dallying in the store room with
Butch.

She blew out a breath of relief and tossed back the whiskey,
gasping as it burned a trail down her esophagus and slammed into the bottom of
her stomach.

That had been too damned close. If Kate was going to insist
on playing a role in her own
Murder, She Wrote
episode, she needed to
learn how to break-and-enter properly.

Gary refilled her glass.

“Good evening, Claire,” said a voice from behind her that
she wasn’t in the mood to deal with right then.

Whiskey sluiced over the edge of the glass and dripped down
her fingers. Claire lowered her shot back to the bar, drying her hand on her
pants.

“Hello, Porter.” She faked a smile.

“Do you know where I can find Kate?”

Making out with Butch in back
. “Umm, no, I sure don’t.
I haven’t seen her since I went to the ladies’ room. But she must be around here
somewhere.”

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

Hell, yes, she minded. Now that Claire had found the clues
in
Treasure Island
, more than ever she needed Kate to spy on Porter.

If Kate and Butch walked through the kitchen door together,
Porter would probably figure out that they’d been up to some hanky panky,
especially since Kate had never been able to keep guilt from advertising on her
face.

“How about a dance instead?” Claire slid off the stool. “I’ve
always loved this song.”

For a split second, Porter’s trademark, white-toothed smile
seemed flash frozen on his face; then he blinked and his cheeks relaxed into
his usual charming grin. “Sure.”

Claire led Porter to the far corner of the crowded dance
floor where there was no way he could see the kitchen door through all of the
cowboy hats.

Once there, Porter pulled her into his arms.

“Have you heard from Mac?” he asked in that smooth Texas
drawl, his green eyes drilling into hers.

She’d almost forgotten that as far as Porter knew, Mac had
left her high and dry on the side of the road.

“Yes, actually. We’re trying to work things out.”

She decided to tell the pseudo truth in case Porter ran into
Mac over the weekend—that was, if Mac took a moment away from the Lucky Monk,
which was where he’d run off to this evening with a load of two-by-fours, a can
of paint, and a long cardboard tube.

“Really?” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s too
bad.”

Claire wasn’t sure what to make of his reply. Instead of
asking, she just stared at his smooth, tan chest exposed by the V-neck of his
shirt.

They circled in silence for several seconds, Claire trying
to catch a glimpse of the bar, hoping that Kate was sitting there when the song
ended so that Claire could escape Porter’s arms.

Porter cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you
about our last conversation.”

Alarms whooped in Claire’s head. Their last conversation had
been the one where she’d found out his knowledge of classic literature could
fit into a thimble and she’d caught him lying through his movie star teeth.

“What about it?”

“Kate told me you don’t believe I’m really writing a book.”

“She did?” Claire envisioned stuffing a pair of Chester’s
dirty boxers down Kate’s throat.

“I hadn’t realized at the time that you were quizzing me on
classic lit. I’d just assumed we were having a conversation.”

Claire’s cheeks warmed, but she held her tongue. Short of
admitting he was correct, there was nothing else to say.

“I’d like to apologize for my ineptness. I’d had too many
drinks that night, and I found having you so near, after hearing you were free
and single again, distracting.”

That made Claire pause. She pulled back and frowned up at
him, not sure she heard him right. “You did?”

“Of course. Surely, you must remember that it was you I first
approached, not your sister.”

Claire blinked, twice. Could he be serious? Although, he had
turned to Kate only after Mac had made an appearance.

“You take my breath away, Claire.” He grabbed her hand and
held it against his chest. “Feel how fast you’ve made my heart beat.”

His heart thudded against her palm, but didn’t seem any
faster than hers, which happened to be busy drumming out a heavy metal music
solo in her ears.

He pulled her tighter against him. His belt buckle dug into
her belly button. “Of course I know that Robert Louis Stevenson didn’t write
either Jungle Book or Gulliver’s Travels, but when you’re pressed against me
like this, all I can think about is taking you to my place and showing you Mac’s
shortfalls.”

Okay, first of all, Mac didn’t have any shortfalls when it
came to the bedroom. Second, she needed another shot of whiskey.

She stared longingly at the bar.

“Claire, look at me.” He caught her chin.

“What about Kate?”

“Your sister is a lovely woman, but she’s not you.”

Claire held his gaze, trying to read his eyes as sparkles
rained down from the disco ball. He had to be playing her.

“Listen Porter, thanks for the dance and for being so nice
to my mother, but—”

Before she could finish with her brush off, Porter leaned
down and kissed her.

“Jeez, Claire, I can’t believe you kissed Porter,” Kate said
to her sister, who sat in the passenger seat of Ruby’s old truck.

A warm breeze blew in through her open window, tearing at
her hair that she’d fixed in the ladies’ room after Butch got her all
flutter-pated.

“Like I told you in the bar,” Claire said, “I didn’t kiss
him. He kissed me.” She white-knuckled the dashboard. “Damn it, Kate, would you
slow down! I’d like to make it home un-mangled.”