Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (15 page)

“And for your information, Princess Kate hasn’t been a
virgin since her sixteenth birthday, while I waited until my eighteenth before
letting Stevie Logan go cherry picking. So stuff that in Kate’s ‘Best Daughter’
trophy and shove it.”

Claire slammed out the back door with Henry in tow.

* * *

Mac pulled up next to the General Store and cut the engine.
The rec room lights blazed through the window in the back door. Mabel gleamed
under the outside nightlight, but Ruby’s truck was gone and chances were, so
was Ruby.

After spending the last ten hours inside a hole in the
earth, Mac wanted nothing more than to wash the dirt from his body and touch
Claire, but if Harley was home, he couldn’t walk in the back door looking like
he’d been in a mine all day. Claire’s grandpa would tie him in a chair and put
a spotlight on his face until Mac coughed up all the details and then some
about the letters to Ruby.

He stepped to the ground, slinging his pack over his back.
The pickup engine ticked as it cooled. The willow tree next to the house
quivered in the lukewarm breeze.

He tiptoed up to one of the rec room windows and peeked
inside. Harley, Chester, Manny, and Deborah sat at the card table, playing cards,
drinking beer—well, except for Deborah, she had a half-full glass of wine in
front of her.

Where was Claire? He glanced up at the spare room window.
The light was off. Maybe she was with Ruby.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his skin sticky. So much for
that shower. Then he remembered Harley’s R.V.

Crunching along under the waning moon toward the Winnebago,
his thoughts slipped back underground.

The mine hadn’t given up its secrets, if there were any. Joe’s
old maps were outdated—several tunnels not shown, others now blocked by
cave-ins. But the maps were all Mac had, since the library’s stash had been
pilfered. He’d taken his time, noting changes on the maps, inspecting the walls
and ceiling for cracks, using spray paint as bread crumbs so he didn’t end up
lost in the black maze.

The Winnebago’s windows were dark, the door locked. Maybe
Harley still kept a spare key hidden inside the rear bumper.

Down by Jackrabbit Creek, Chorus frogs trilled their raspy
tunes, sounding like fingernails running over comb teeth. High up in one of the
cottonwoods, a Western Screech owl greeted him with a soft “cr-r-oo-oo-oo-oo.”

Desert summer nights reminded him of a rave party, with
hundreds of mammals, amphibians, and insects all clamoring and bumping against
each other under the Milky Way.

He squatted next to the back bumper avoiding a patch of rank-smelling
clammyweed and reached underneath. His fingers brushed over the magnetic key
box.

The hinges creaked as he swung open the R.V.’s door. With
two claps the light overhead flickered to life. He trod softly across the
linoleum floor even though the place was empty.

Somebody had opened the windows. A breeze rippled the
curtains.

Mac didn’t waste any time while showering; Deborah or Kate
could walk into the Winnebago at any minute and he didn’t want to risk seeing
either of them, especially the former.

Squeaky clean, still damp around the edges, he slid into his
jeans. He grabbed his pack and dug out the extra T-shirt he kept there,
slipping it over his head. With one last glance in the bathroom mirror to make
sure he’d washed off all traces of the Lucky Monk, he clapped the lights off,
swung open the door, and stepped down into the night.

“Come here often?” A soft voice asked.

Mac lowered his pack to the ground and walked over to where
Claire stood in the shadows under the awning. “Not often enough.”

He ran his hands down her arms, slid his fingers between
hers, and sandwiched her against the R.V.’s aluminum siding.

“You’re late,” she whispered as he nuzzled her neck.

He dragged his lips along her jaw line. “I missed you.”

She moaned as his mouth covered hers.

“You taste like chocolate.” He released her fingers so he
could explore the warm skin under her shirt.

“It’s the M&Ms.”

He nibbled on her collarbone; his fingertips slid up her
smooth stomach and paused. “Hey, you’re not wearing a bra.”

Her laugh sounded low and husky.

His body hardened, eager to explore further. “Let’s go
inside.”

“We can’t.” She delved her fingers into his hair, dragging
his lips back to hers.

“Why not?” he asked when he came up for air.

“Because my mom could be back any minute, and what I plan on
doing to you is going to be loud and take a while.”

“Jesus, Claire.” Mac pressed harder against her and savored
her sweetness, immersing himself in her scent and softness. She filled his
palms, so full and inviting.

Her hand pressed his zipper, and he almost hoisted her over
his shoulder, carried her down by the creek, and had his way with her on the
bank.

Instead, he pulled away from the she-devil’s grasp and took
several deep breaths. He needed to focus on something besides Claire’s body for
a few minutes.

Claire adjusted her shirt, her breath as choppy as his. “Did
you find anything at the mine?”

Good idea, talk about the mine. “Just some empty ore carts
and a dead possum.”

“Yuck.” She grabbed Henry’s leash from the back of a lawn
chair. “So now what?”

“Dig deeper. It’s an expansive mine with a lot of real
estate left to cover.”

“Are you going back up there tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from
grabbing her and yanking her shirt over her head.

“I don’t want you to.”

“I have to.”

“Is there anything I can do to stop you?”

Mac chuckled. “Tie me to the bed.”

“Okay.”

“I forgot to tell you this morning that I’m going home
tomorrow night.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “But you don’t have to be back to
work until Tuesday.”

“I’m going to pay a visit to Leo Scott.”

He hoped a little face-to-face exchange would land some
answers—like who was so hell bent on taking the Lucky Monk mine from Ruby. Mac
would work on figuring out the “why” part on his own.

Claire closed the distance between them. “When are you
leaving for the mine tomorrow?”

“Before Harley wakes up.”

She ran her fingertip down his sternum. “So, I get you until
sunrise?”

He captured her hand at the waistline of his jeans. “Unless
you put me in a coma.”

“I’ll give it the old college try.”

Lifting her palm, he kissed the center of it. “Let’s go back
to Ruby’s.”

She moaned and curled her fingers, rubbing her knuckles
along his stubble-covered jaw. “Let me just run inside and get some underwear.”

“You’re not wearing underwear either?” Screw the bed, the
creek bank would do just fine. A little sand never hurt anyone.

“I’m totally commando, baby.” Handing him Henry’s leash, she
asked, “Will you get Henry? He’s down by the creek taking care of doggie
business.”

Then she took the spare key from him, unlocked the door, and
stepped into the darkness. He listened to her footfalls as she walked to the
back bedroom.

“Henry?” Mac shook the bell on the dog’s leash.

The thick thatch of mesquite behind the R.V. rattled.

Inside the Winnebago, the bedroom light switched on. A soft
glow spilled out from the window.

“Henry?”

Something growled from under the thicket.

“Henry!” Mac walked toward the bushes. “Come here, boy.”

Hisses came from the brush.

Crap! Somebody’s cat was about to tear Henry a new ass. Mac
squatted, spreading the low branches, looking for a patch of white beagle fur.

The growling stopped, replaced by a rhythmic thumping.

Thumping? Mac frowned; cats didn’t thump. Pack rats thumped
their tails. Skunks thumped their feet.

He rose and took several steps back. “Henry?”

Suddenly, something small and black bolted toward him from
the bush. Henry chased it, hot on its tail—its long black tail with a white
stripe running down the center of it.

Mac leapt aside.

The skunk veered, raced past the lawn table, and dashed up
the Winnebago’s steps. Henry followed it through the door and into the darkness
beyond.

“Oh, shit!” Mac whispered, frozen. He heard a crash.

The lights came on, thanks to the Clapper.

Henry barked.

The skunk growled, thumping again.

Another crash. The lights went out.

A series of thumps and hisses and barks followed, the light flicking
on and off. The Winnebago flashed and pinged like an oversized pinball machine.

“What in the hell?” Mac heard Claire yell. The sound of her
voice snapped him out of his paralysis. He sprinted to the door.

The light went out again.

Henry howled and Claire screamed.

* * *

Sunday, August 15th

Jess sat behind the General Store counter, twirling her
hair. “I can still smell that skunk on you.”

Claire stuffed half a Twinkie in her mouth to keep from
biting Jess’s head off. The sponge cake was tasteless on her tongue. Her sense
of smell still suffered from olfactory fatigue.

She swallowed the lump of dough. “Spray some more perfume.”

“Where’s Mac?”

Claire pulled another handful of Milky Way candy bars from
the box and lined them up on the shelf. “You just asked me that a half hour ago
and nothing has changed since then.”

“I can’t remember your answer. I think that skunk smell has
zapped my brain.”

Only Ruby and Claire knew that Mac had gone up to the mine
today. Ruby didn’t want Jess knowing because she’d undoubtedly let it leak to
Gramps.

Tossing the empty cardboard box toward the trash can, Claire
ripped open a box of Baby Ruth bars. “He’s gone to Bisbee again today.”

“Oh, that’s right—to see an old friend.”

Worried Jess might be onto her, Claire glanced at the girl.
Jess’s head bobbed to some tune beating in her brain while she stared into a
small mirror, puckering her glossed lips repeatedly. “I hope Mom buys me that
mini-skirt we saw in the store window yesterday.”

Nope, not a single suspicious thought in that head.

Claire stacked Baby Ruths on the shelf and wondered if Ruby had
slit her wrists yet. Since the skunk spray had saturated everything in the
R.V., including Kate and Deborah’s clothes, Ruby had volunteered to take the
two women shopping this morning, unaware that taming hungry lions would have
been less dangerous.

Unfortunately, being a Sunday, the only store open in
Yuccaville was a secondhand one, and Claire doubted they’d find any Ralph
Lauren, Abercrombie & Fitch, or Ann Taylor labels hanging on the racks.

Luckily for Claire, she had the spare painting clothes she
could wear until Mac returned next weekend with reinforcements. She just needed
to find another dress for the wedding, but she had a week to do that.

The bells over the door jingled. Claire winced in
anticipation of a skunk-smell comment from another customer.

“Ah, my two favorite chicas.” Manny closed the door behind
him, his smile wide—suspiciously so.

“What are you doing in here?” Claire finished stacking Baby
Ruths and tossed the box aside. “You’re supposed to be helping Gramps and
Chester gut the Winnebago.”

After being reminded of all the times during the war that
Gramps had saved their asses, Chester and Manny had grudgingly been manipulated
to help.

“Woo wee!” Jess spritzed Manny with perfume as he approached
the counter. “And I thought Claire was stinky.”

Gramps had driven the R.V. to the back of the park next to
the tool shed. His insurance company was going to give him some money to pay
for a detailed detoxification, but he wanted to gut the Winnebago to remove as
much of the stench as possible before driving it to the closest detailer he
could find—in Tucson.

“I needed a break from the frontlines.” Manny pointed at the
guestbook leaning between the cash register and the wall. “Will you hand me
that book, por favor?”

Her nose pinched shut, Jess dropped the book onto the
counter. She hopped off the chair and walked over to the curtain, putting some
distance between her and Manny. “Maybe you should look at it outside.”

“I’ll just be un segundo.” Manny flipped through the pages.

Claire moved up beside him. “What are you doing?”

“Finding out the name of my future wife.”

As if she hadn’t heard that line before from Don Juan Sr.
Claire leaned against the counter. “How’s Gramps doing?”

While she hadn’t lured the skunk into the Winnebago, she
couldn’t help feeling guilty about the whole smelly incident. Gramps loved that
R.V., almost as much as he did Mabel.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see him through the tears in my
eyes.” Manny trailed his finger down one of the pages. “Aha!” He grabbed the
pen next to the cash register and wrote Rebecca Hawthorne on his palm.

Claire grinned. “When is the wedding?”

“Soon, mi amor.” He stood back, blowing the ink dry on his
hand. The book pages fluttered closed, leaving the inside front cover showing. “I
just need to introduce myself first.”

With a bounce in his step, he disappeared out the door.

“Ick.” Jess slipped back behind the counter and sprayed more
perfume. “You guys all need a bath.”

After last night, what Claire needed was a long vacation far
from the desert.

Mac had tried to save her from the skunk, but by the time he’d
clambered into the R.V., the skunk had darted back outside, and Claire and
Henry were temporarily blinded from the spray. He led them both outside to a
lawn chair and left Claire holding Henry’s leash while he ran back to Ruby’s to
get some help.

Alone in the watery shadows, Claire’s sinuses had drained
and drained. When the cavalry arrived, the liquid exorcism began. First a
vinegar scrub down, then a cold water rinse from the hose. By her third bath, her
skin was beyond pruned—closer to raisined. It had taken an hour for the shakes
to stop.