Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (32 page)

“If you wanted to drive, you shouldn’t have slammed those
four shots.” Kate let up on the gas pedal, the scrub bushes at the side of the
road no longer just a blur.

Visibly gulping, Claire stuck her head out the window.

“He’s supposed to be my boyfriend, you know,” Kate yelled,
so that Claire could hear her over the wind.

Claire pulled her head back inside. “Did I or did I not see
you swapping spit with Butch in the supply room tonight?”

“I was distracting him.” At least that was what Kate kept
telling herself.

“It looked to me like you were using your tongue to measure
the inside of his mouth for braces.”

Her lips tightening at Claire’s smartass remark, Kate
swerved unnecessarily to avoid a small pothole. Claire scrambled partway out
the window again, where she stayed until Kate parked the pickup in front of
Ruby’s place and turned off the ignition.

“What was it like?” Kate asked as she shut the truck door.
Stones crunched under her shoes as she rounded the pickup.

“What was what like?” Claire stumbled from the cab. “Ugh.
Shit.” She leaned back against the side of the truck bed and bent over, her
hands planted on her thighs. “I shouldn’t have eaten that whole basket of fried
mushrooms.”

“When you kissed Porter.”

Had his mouth delivered all that his good looks promised?
Did his lips melt her knee joints, make her head float, and leave her clinging
to him like a faux leather catsuit—like Butch’s kiss?

Kate shivered in the warm evening air at the memory of Butch’s
touch, goose bumps prickling her arms and neck. She pinched her forearm,
dragging her thoughts back from the stars.

Somehow, she had to get a grip on this foolish crush that
had her daydreaming about strolls on the beach and rolls in the hay with the
man bent on stealing Ruby’s mine. If she could just find some physical proof … and
the brunch he’d invited her to tomorrow morning at his house was just the
opportunity she needed to search his home turf.

“I told you,” Claire said with a smile, “I didn’t kiss him.”

“Fine, what was it like when Porter kissed you then?”

Claire peered up at Kate with one eye open. “What are you
talking about? You’ve kissed the guy several times already.”

“Porter has never kissed me
that
way. All he’s done
so far is given me a peck on the lips.”

“Well, it wasn’t as bad as when Danny Timberman drooled down
my chin.” Standing upright, Claire gripped the door handle with one hand and held
her stomach with the other. “Let’s just say Porter has had plenty of practice
perfecting the art of kissing, but …” She looked up at the stars and sucked in
a couple of deep breaths.

“But what?” Kate grabbed Claire’s arm as her sister
staggered forward and led Claire toward the porch.

Claire plopped down on the top step and listed until she
came to rest against the rail. “But he’s not Mac.”

Groaning, Kate dropped onto the steps next to Claire.

“Even drunk you can’t stop blathering about Mac. You might
as well hang up your rope and spurs for good, cowgirl, because you’ve done
tamed your last stallion.”

A mooning smile spread across Claire’s face. “Have I told
you what Mac can do with his tongue?”

“No!” Kate covered Claire’s mouth with her hand. “I don’t
want to hear the details of your love life and then have to sit across from Mac
at the dinner table.”

“I do.” Manny said.

Kate jerked in surprise, then whirled around and squinted
into the shadowed porch. A match flared to life. “What are you doing out here?”

“Eavesdropping.” Chester answered for Manny. The red butt of
a cigar glowed for a moment, the smell of cigar smoke reaching her. “Now let
Claire talk. I could use some new tricks. My arthritis hasn’t reached my tongue
yet.”

Kate winced at the image that popped into her head.

“So, let me get this straight.” Manny’s chair squeaked as he
leaned forward. “Claire and Porter kissed?”

Claire moaned and flopped back onto the porch floorboards.

“That’s none of your business.” Kate frowned down at Claire.

“I thought he was your boyfriend,” Chester said.

“Claire must be trying to steal him away from Kate,
si
?”

“Ah. Cat fight.” Chester meowed. “Are you going to tell Mac?”

“Of course not.” Kate glanced at Claire. “Are we?”

Claire rolled her head back and forth on the wood boards. “Not
on purpose.”

Squinting at the two old men, Kate said, “You two had better
keep your mouths shut about this, or I’ll tell Ruby about that hidden video
camera.”

“
Ah, mi amor
. I told you we weren’t really filming,
just testing out a new lens.”

“Promise or I’ll tattle.”

Chester grunted. “You sure know how to piss in an old man’s
punchbowl.”

“We promise.” Manny sat back. “But we can’t speak for
Señorita
Jess.”

Kate heard a muffled, high-pitched giggle from just beyond
the end of the porch. “Crap!”

“I’m think I’m gonna be sick.” Claire groaned, leaned over
the porch rail, and heave-hoed the contents of her stomach onto Ruby’s bed of
desert lavender.

* * *

Sunday, August 22nd

Claire stared down at the yellow Post-it note, her eyesight
blurring.

After spending most of last night draped over the toilet
rim, she’d dragged her hung-over ass to each of the park’s bathrooms at the
butt-crack of dawn. Hours of scrubbing God-knows-what from the stall floors
left her wanting to curl up in a dark closet and just practice breathing until
the juggernaut in her skull stopped swinging his sledgehammer around.

“What are you doing down here?” Mac’s deep voice snapped her
out of her trance.

Blinking several times, she looked up from where she sat
behind Ruby’s desk in the basement office.

Mac stood with his shoulder resting against the doorjamb, wearing
a faded red T-shirt and a pair of jeans worn white on the knees and thighs, the
ends of his hair curled with dampness. His hazel-eyes dropped to the Post-it
note and then the open pages of
Treasure Island
.

There was no use lying. Besides, her brain hurt too much to
even attempt a fib. “Trying to figure out what Joe meant by these clues.”

The chair creaked as she leaned back and rubbed her eyes,
which felt like she’d buffed them with steel wool.

Claire heard the door click shut. She opened her eyes as Mac
rounded the desk, leaned over, and dropped a kiss on her lips. He tasted minty
and smelled shower-fresh, whereas she felt like something wrung out of a dirty
mop.

“You doing okay, Slugger?” He moved behind her and started
massaging her shoulders.

“I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head by a mule.”

“Kate said you spent the night riding the porcelain bus—her
words, not mine.”

Kate or anyone else for that matter had better not have
mentioned anything else about last night, or Claire would string them up,
slather them with honey, and let the yellow jackets have at ‘em.

Another memory from last night flashed in her mind. “I
thought Kate had a date this morning.”

“So did she, but the phone rang while I was eating
breakfast, and Jess informed everyone in the room Butch had to cancel.
Something about him having an emergency in Phoenix and he wouldn’t be back until
tomorrow. I left the kitchen in the middle of your mother’s anti-Butch tirade.”

He squeezed the knotted muscles at the sides of her neck,
making her wince slightly. “What brought this on?”

“Mom’s tirade or Kate’s date?”

“Your hangover. You know your limit.”

“What time did you get in?” Claire skirted that question.

“Changing the subject?”

“I’m tired of thinking about puking.”

“A little after three.”

Claire’s head drooped as his hands worked on the tension in
her neck. “Were you up at the Lucky Monk all that time?”

“Most of it.”

“What were the boards and paint for?”

“Somebody broke through the barrier I put up at the entrance
to Socrates Pit mine, so I boarded it up again and painted No Trespassing
warnings on the wood. Then I checked the warnings posted on the barriers for
the other mines and nailed up a few more Private Property signs.”

“What was in the tube?”

Mac chuckled, his fingers massaging her scalp. “You don’t
miss a thing, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.” She did her best to keep from
sliding to the floor, landing in a pile of flabby flesh. Mac’s talent with his
fingers rivaled his tongue most days … and nights.

“I found the tube in the attic yesterday with some old maps
of Two Jakes, Rattlesnake Ridge, and the Lucky Monk.”

“How old?”

“Early 1900s.”

“So you spent half of the night traversing the Lucky Monk,
comparing reality to paper?”

“Pretty much, yep.”

“And?”

“There were a few variances.”

“And?”

“And I still have more evaluating to do.”

“I want to come with you.”

“You have an R.V. park to run.”

“Kate can take over for the day.”

“You’re in no shape to traipse through a mine, Claire. Not
with that hangover.”

He had a point there. “I don’t like you going up to the
Lucky Monk alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“What if someone follows you up there?”

“I’m careful.”

“They could slit your throat and shove you down a shaft.”

He worked his way down her shoulders to her upper arms. “I
appreciate your concern, Claire, but trust me, I take precautions now. I
learned a memorable lesson last spring.”

Claire looked up at him. “But what if—”

Mac tilted her chair back and covered her mouth with his,
effectively ending her rebuttal. Claire let him work his magic on her, moaning
as he increased the pressure and deepened the kiss. He pulled away way too
soon, leaving her winded and wanting, aching deep inside with anticipation for
the relief she knew he could deliver.

“Now tell me about these clues.” He stood upright, pointing
at the Post-it note.

Claire hesitated. Knowing Mac, he’d find a way to logically
explain every clue, and she wanted to dally in her kooky world of maybes and
what-ifs a little longer. “What’s in the package Gramps had you bring back from
Tucson?”

“Claire.” Mac’s eyes narrowed as he sat facing her on the
desktop, his leg brushing her arm.

Unable to resist, she reached out and ran her palm up his
thigh. Maybe just a touch or two would ease her …

He grabbed her wrist, barring her entry into the fun zone. “No
distractions, siren. Now spill.”

She sighed. “Fine. Tell me about the package and I’ll tell
you about the clues.”

“Swear?”

“Every chance I get.”

His grin surfaced. “I don’t know what’s in the package. I
didn’t open it.”

“Where did you get it?”

“He sent it to me at work.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Who’s it from?” Claire asked.

“Someone named R.L. Goebel from Phoenix.”

Who was that? Claire needed a Phoenix phone book. Damn that
library warden for barring the only access Claire had to the Internet. “Is the package
heavy?”

“Not really.”

“How big is it?”

He indicated the size with his hands—a mid-sized package.

“That could be anything. “Was it hard or soft? Where is it?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t treat it like a Christmas package.
Harley happily took it off my hands the night they eloped.”

“Shit.” Another road block.

“My turn.” Mac picked up the Post-it note. “Explain this.”

Claire stared at the note, now clearly able to read it after
deciphering Joe’s messy scrawls. She wasn’t sure where to start.

“I found this note in Joe’s first edition of
Treasure
Island
.” No need to mention Jess or Porter at this point. Both names would
land her in one form of trouble or another.

“And you think they are clues to what?”

She might as well just say it. “A treasure.”

Mac stared at her, the dimple in his cheek almost showing. “What
makes you think these lead to a treasure?”

At least he hadn’t laughed aloud at her … yet. But this was
where things got sticky. It was Porter’s actions that had led her to this, but
telling Mac that her reason for suspecting Porter had to do with gut instinct
would go over like a concrete blimp.

“Well, Kate has a theory,” Claire fibbed.

“Kate does, huh?” Mac played along like a good boyfriend.

“Yeah.” Claire continued. “She thinks that the artifacts we
found in that wall safe are more clues.”

“You’re referring to the mummified hand, right?”

Claire nodded.

“And why does Kate think the artifacts are clues?”

“Because why else would Joe have that stuff hidden in his
wall safe? Where did he find it?”

“Maybe he bought it from somebody.”

“It smells like a mine.”

Mac’s eyebrows rose. “You … I mean, Kate, thinks the bag of
goodies came from one of Ruby’s mines?”

Claire nodded again.

“Just because of the smell?”

“No, because of the smell and this clue here.” She pointed
at the first line on the note and read it aloud in case Mac couldn’t read Joe’s
scribbles. “Shiver my timbers.”

Mac eyed the words. “So the timbers refer to those that shore
up the mines.”

“Yep.”

“Maybe the hand was just buried in dirt somewhere else.”

“I thought that very thing, but this clue links the hand
even more to the mine.” Claire pointed at another line on the note. “Flint’s
pointer.”

“Flint was the dead pirate who buried the treasure on the
island, right?”

“Yes. Do you remember the actual name of the island?”

“Skeleton Island.”

“Exactly.”

She grabbed the book and flipped to the page number she’d
noted on the Post-it note next to the clue.