Dead and Dateless (25 page)

“He’s hard of hearing,” Morty told me. The old man had a head full of snow white hair and a bushy mustache. The mustache wagged as he took a puff on his pipe before adjusting his glasses to get a good look at me.

I smiled and he frowned.

Here’s the deal. Vamp magnetism works on the opposite sex provided they still have a little oomph left. Obviously, Morty was oomphed out.

When his gaze collided with mine, I realized why. He’d not only won several battles in World War II, but recently a knock-down drag-out with prostate cancer. He was healthy as a horse now and proud of it, and a little lonely, too. While he didn’t need a woman to replace his dear, departed Rosie, he did appreciate some company when he watched his nightly game shows. And a few soap operas, though he wasn’t admitting that to anyone, least of all the guys down at the local VFW hall.

Likewise, Ernest had fought in the same war. He was a widower, too, and the proud grandfather of fourteen grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Unfortunately, none of them lived nearby and so he spent most of his time playing checkers and making birdhouses and helping his brother-in-law, Morty, with the store.

I shifted my attention back to Morty. “Nice store you boys have here.”

“Thank you, little lady. What can I help you with? You in the market for fresh fruits? We got the finest.”

I eyed the huge crates overflowing with apples and peaches that sat against the far wall.

“That sounds really delectable, but I was actually wondering if you could help me with more of a tourist dilemma.”

“We don’t carry them fancy schmancy drinks around these parts,” Ernest said as he slid his king into place on the checkerboard. “You got to drive down to the highway to Mitchell’s Texaco if you want that.”

“It ain’t a drink,” Morty called out, raising his voice. “She’s talking about a dilemma. A problem. On account of she’s a tourist.”

“I don’t care if she’s Italian. We don’t carry nothing fancy like that.”

“Deaf old goat.” Morty waved a hand. “What sort of dilemma you in, little gal?”

“I was wondering if there was a club around here or someplace where a lot of men might congregate. Single men, that is.”

He puffed and seemed to think. “There’s the VFW hall,” he finally said, waving his pipe toward the right. “Just up the road, there. They’re having a spaghetti dinner tomorrow night. Should be lots of fellas at that and a danged many single ones to boot. Know for a fact that Howard Eisenbacher’ll be there. Damn good catch, that one. Lost his missus about twenty years ago and has been living off the life insurance ever since. Been banking his social security since then, too, which means he’s got one hell of a nest egg.”

“He sounds really great, but I’m really looking for someone a few years younger.”

He shook his head. “Can’t help you there. Most of the folks around here are retired, and so’s all the VFW members. Except my nephew, that is. Lloyd’s a damned sight younger than the rest of us.”

“Really?” I smiled. “How is he with a hammer?”

“The boy was born with one. There ain’t a car he can’t fix, or a tree he can’t chop. Why, me and Ernest, here, would be lost without him. Helps us right here at the store.”

“Today?”

“As a matter of fact, he’s out back right now.” He grinned. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to meet him.” One down and seven more to go. “He wouldn’t by any chance have red hair?”

“As a matter of fact, he does.”

My livelihood might not be totally screwed after all.

I smiled and waited as Ernest went to fetch Lloyd.

I
stared at the man who walked from the back of the old-fashioned general store.

He stood well over six feet, with massive shoulders and legs like tree trunks. He wore a red flannel button-down shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. He carried an ax in one hand and a bundle of firewood in the other. He smelled of freshly cut timber and pine cones. A real man’s man.

A hairy man’s man.

I stared at the mass of bright red hair that spilled over the V of his button-down shirt. More hair sprinkled the backs of his meaty hands. A thick mustache and beard surrounded his mouth and obliterated most of his face. Bright red fuzz peeked from the insides of his ears.

He had hair
everywhere,
except where it should have been.

His head gleamed as shiny as a cue ball and my heart gave a disappointed thump.

I was
so
screwed.

“This here’s my nephew, Lloyd,” Morty said. “Lloyd, this little lady’s eager to make your acquaintance. She’s looking for a single man who ain’t an old geezer like us.”

“Really?” Hope fired in Lloyd’s pale green eyes. Nice eyes, actually, once you got past the whole Sasquatch meets Mr. Clean thing.

My gaze met his and his stats flashed in my head.

Lloyd Herbert Price. Forty-four. Only child. Parents deceased. Never been married. Addicted to the Discovery Channel. Never been married. Liked to fish and hunt and had his own dead animal motif going back at his cabin. Never been married. Worked for his uncle during the day and did taxidermy work at night.

And did I mention
never been married
?

Not for lack of trying, of course. He simply hadn’t found the right woman who shared his interests and didn’t mind that he had as much hair on his back as he did on his chest.

Ugh. Too much information.

I focused on the hope in his gaze and gave him a dazzling smile.

“I’m Lil Marchette—that is—” I cleared my throat as my frantic brain reminded me of a few key points—
on the run, wanted for murder, low profile
. “That is, I, um,
work
for Lil Marchette. A wonderful woman. A goddess among the fashionably well-dressed. Anyhow, my name is Evie and I’m with Dead End Dating, a fantabulous new hook-up service in the city.” My smile widened. “And it would be my honor to help you out.”

“Already got a towing service around these parts,” Morty chimed in.

“Rowing service?” Ernest frowned. “We ain’t got any rowing services ’round these parts. Everybody I know with a boat uses at least a fifty horsepower. Then again, there’s Stuart Jenkins. He’s got that pissant bass boat with the trolling motor.”

“That’s TOWING,” Morty said. “A
TOWING
service.”

“Don’t need a towing service,” Lloyd told me, his voice deep and gruff.

Okay, so maybe he was a pretty decent alpha specimen. Totally rough and tough. But attractive?

Mentally, I did some cutting and pasting to rearrange the body hair. A little more here, a lot less there…Maybe.

“Don’t have a car for you to hook up. Had a pickup a few years back, but I traded it in. I don’t get down to the city too often.”

Imagine that.

“I meant hook-up service, as in personal hook-ups, not vehicular ones. We’re a
dating
service. I’m afraid I don’t have any business cards on me.” I’d left them back at Ty’s loft when fleeing from the cops. “But I’m staying just up the road. I’d love to talk to you about your options as a single, brawny male.”

“Come again?”

“Well, a young, virile man like yourself has various choices when it comes to the opposite sex. There’s the obvious—meet a woman, settle down, sink up to your neck in mortgage payments.” The comment produced the expected narrowing of the eyes. “Or you can maintain your own space. No one to tell you what to do or make you cart out the trash and gripe about the seat being up. You can stay loose and unattached and just have some fun. Sort of test the waters. As a professional, I thoroughly recommend testing the waters.”

Lloyd simply stared at me a few silent seconds be fore shaking his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. My well’s pumping one hundred percent spring water. Had it tested just last year.”

“Not that water, you dummy,” Morty chimed in. “She’s talking about the deed.”

One bushy red eyebrow inched higher. “Don’t have no deed for my well. Got one for my cabin, though. Clear and free as of last year.”

“Not that deed.” Morty shook his head. “
The
deed. You know. Cleaning the old shotgun.” When Lloyd didn’t look the least bit enlightened, Morty added, “Sex, you moron. The lady, here, is talking about S-E-X.”

His gaze zigzagged from Morty to me. “You want to have sex with me?” It was pure lust that fired his eyes this time.

Not that I could blame him. Sure, I didn’t look all that impressive in a no-name T-shirt and stiff, off-the-shelf jeans, but beneath the brandless clothes, I was a vampire. I oozed magnetism.

“Not me,” I clarified. “Not that I wouldn’t love to have sex with you. It’s just that I never mix business and pleasure. And this is purely business. See, I have a beautiful, vivacious, extremely wealthy client who’s eager to find a brawny specimen like yourself for some, er, companionship.”

“That’s sex,” Morty clarified for his nephew. “Ain’t that what you mean by that there
companionship
?”

“Maybe. While I’ll make the introduction between you and my client, after that it’s up to Mother Nature.”

“So you can’t actually guarantee he’ll get lucky?” Morty asked.

“No. Not exactly.”

“Well”—Morty waved his pipe—“you can just forget it. He ain’t saying yes unless there’s a guarantee what comes with it. Ain’t that right, Lloyd?”

When Lloyd simply stood there, Morty nudged him. “Ain’t that right?” he prompted again.

“Uh, yeah. If you can’t give me a guarantee, I’m not interested. I got better stuff to do than waste my time on a blind date.”

Yeah, like stuffing poor, defenseless bunnies.

“I can’t
promise
sex.”

“And why not?”
Ty’s deep voice slid into my head and I turned to see him standing across the room, his back to me as he examined a row of fishing lures.

I’d heard his voice in my head too many times over the past few days and it had always unnerved me. As if he were intruding on my private space. But standing in the middle of the store, I felt this odd sense of camaraderie.

“Isn’t that the goal?
” he went on.
“To give Viola and the girls a wild night of
cleaning the shotgun
?”

I was
not
going to smile.

This was serious. I was down to the wire. Viola wanted results and I had to give them to her, even if they weren’t exactly what she’d asked for.

Lloyd was close enough.

Or he would be by the time I finished with him.

“My goal is to give her possible
candidates
for a wild night of cleaning the shotgun.”
I sent Ty the silent response.
“The actual ‘cleaning’ is none of my business. Besides, I already told you, I don’t clean.”

He turned then and his gaze collided with mine. Humor sparked in the dark blue depths of his eyes and my stomach hollowed out.
“That’s not the kind I’m talking about and you know it.”

I did. The thing was, I didn’t
want
to know it. I wanted my life to get back to normal.

“I know, but I don’t do guns, either.”

Okay, so I wanted to jump Ty first and then have my life get back to normal. But I was exercising some self-discipline and controlling that want. Having him teasing and flirting in my head, however, chipped away at my resolve.

I licked my suddenly dry lips and forced my attention back to Lloyd. “I can’t guarantee that the two of you will get
that
familiar with each other.” I could only hope and—don’t tell my mom—pray. “It’s really a matter of chemistry once you meet. But I can promise that she’ll be exceptionally beautiful and very amorous.”

Lloyd’s eyebrows kicked up a notch. “Amorwhat?”

“Amorous,” I said again.

“Horny,” Morty quipped before taking a quick puff on his pipe.

Understanding lit Lloyd’s pale green eyes, but he didn’t so much as blush.

I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. Good if I were judging his alphaness. Alpha males obviously didn’t go around blushing. That particular quality fell to the full-blooded betas.

On the other hand, Richie Cunningham had probably blushed up a storm during each and every
Happy Days
episode, which screamed
beta,
which screamed
you are so screwed.

“If you’re through pimping, we really need to get back,” Ty said as he came up next to me.

I shot him a glare before giving Lloyd a brilliant smile. “So what do you say? You interested in a date?” I focused my most intense vamp stare on the brawny man.
Yes
, I sent him the silent message.
You’ll say yes to anything I want because I’m so hot and you simply can’t resist my inner sexuality.

His eyes glazed over and he stood dumbfounded for several long seconds before Morty elbowed him in the ribs.

“Speak up, boy.”

Yes, yes, yes
, I echoed silently.

Lloyd’s gaze seemed to clear and he nodded. “I guess so.”

Bingo.

I think.

I watched as he shoved a finger into one hairy ear and scratched. I tried to ignore the rush of dread in the pit of my stomach and focused on being as positive and as enthusiastic as possible. “Great! The date is Friday night. I’ll pick you up here and you can drive in with us.”