Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (6 page)

“Good evening, ladies.” A tall, blond haired cowboy with the
greenest eyes Claire had ever seen pulled out the chair next to her, turned it
around, and straddled it. His Hollywood smile and clean-shaven jaw emphasized
his strong cheekbones and rugged good looks.

He tipped his white Stetson at Claire. “Don’t you work at
that R.V. park just up the road?” His slow Texas drawl rounded out the hard
consonants.

Claire looked over at her sister, wondering if this Matthew
McConaughey look-a-like was just a figment of her over-stressed imagination.
But Kate was too busy doing that flirty eyelash-batting, pouty-lip routine she
always did when she was trying to catch a man’s attention to notice Claire.

“Who wants to know?” She wasn’t above being suspicious of a
stranger, especially one with whiter teeth than her dentist’s.

His smile deepened at the creases. “I forgot my manners.
Porter Banks at your service.” He held out his hand.

Claire stared at it a few seconds before shaking it,
wondering what Porter Banks was up to. If he thought spreading a little charm
would get her to agree to spin his spurs, he could climb back on his horse and
vaya con dios his sorry ass out of town.

His palm was pencil-pushing soft. She pulled her hand free.

“I’m Claire, and this is Kate.”

And that was how the song-and-dance usually started. Men
approached Claire first because Kate had eye-contact issues. But soon after
introducing her blonde sister, Claire was left to drink alone for the remainder
of the evening.

Porter gave Kate a quick “nice-ta-meetcha” and a brief nod,
then refocused on Claire.

She blinked in the halogen brightness of his smile. Wasn’t
it against the law for a man to be prettier than a woman? It made all of the
shaving and preening futile.

“Would you mind takin’ a spin on the dance floor, Claire?”
When she hesitated, he added, “I promise not to bite.”

What could one dance hurt? “Sure.”

Claire stubbed out her cigarette. She shoved a piece of
cinnamon gum in her mouth as she followed him. Hank Williams Jr.’s rowdy song
ended and Linda Ronstadt’s version of Desperado filled the bar. One other
couple shared the floor, their lips locked so tightly Claire couldn’t tell
where one started and the other ended.

Porter pulled her so close she could feel the heat radiating
from his skin. He smelled of a subtle mixture of vanilla and cedar. They danced
for several seconds in silence, his lead smooth, his footsteps sure.

In her pre-Mac days, Claire might have gotten a bit warm and
breathy around him. But just one look from Mac sucked the wind out of her sails
and lit her fire with rocket fuel gusto. Other men didn’t stand a chance.

“How’d you know I work at the R.V. park?”

“Butch mentioned it.”

There wasn’t much around Jackrabbit Junction that Butch the
bartender didn’t know.

“Do you live around here?” She hadn’t seen this guy in town
before.

“Not permanently. I’m renting a double-wide just south of
town. I’m here doing some research.”

“For what?”

“My next book.” He paused, as if waiting for her to ooh and
ahh.

“Let me guess, the great American novel.”

“Sarcasm, huh? I like that in a girl.”

“What are you researching?”

Jackrabbit Junction wasn’t exactly an eclectic town,
although the hardware store did offer a wide selection of deer piss and shotgun
shells.

“Mining.” He twirled her around and pulled her back against
him, even closer.

Claire didn’t object, not yet anyway. She could still make
eye contact. “How long are you staying?”

“A couple of months, maybe. Then I’ll head back to Amarillo
and put pen to paper.” He glanced over her head.

“How long does it take to research mining in this area?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Library hours, company records, people’s willingness to
share information.” He glanced over her head again. “I think your friend is
trying to get your attention.”

Her friend? “Oh, you mean my sister.”

“Your sister? Is she working at the R.V. park, too?”

“No, she’s just visiting. She’s here for—”

“Excuse me.” A very familiar, deep voice interrupted her. “Mind
if I cut in?”

Claire choked on the rest of her sentence.

“You come here often?” Mac asked as he tucked Claire into
his chest while swaying to Linda Ronstadt’s sappy finale to a perfectly good
Eagles’s tune. She felt supple and smooth in all the right places, despite the
slight tension in her back and shoulders.

“Not often enough.” Her breath heated his shoulder through
his shirt. “You’re early.”

Judging from her reluctance to meet his gaze, that wasn’t a
good thing. His slip of the tongue Wednesday morning seemed to have stuck in
her brain and festered. Shit.

“You make it tough to stay away,” he said.

He’d pushed hard, working late last night, and left straight
from the job site, driving too fast through the rain and wind.

“Did Gramps tell you where we were?”

“No. I haven’t made it out to Ruby’s yet. I saw Mabel in the
parking lot and figured it was you.”

Good ol’ sleek and sexy Mabel—Harley’s chopped top,
two-door, 1949 Merc. Dressed to thrill, with her player spoke wheels, skirts on
back, shaved door handles, side pipes, and custom flame paint job, she was a
hot rodder’s pinup. Just the sight of her buxom chrome grill gleaming under the
orange parking lot lights had made Mac itch to crawl behind the wheel, hit the
open road, and bury the gas pedal. But first, he needed to see Claire naked
again.

She leaned away from him, staring up at him with those sexy
dark eyes of hers fringed with even darker lashes. “Mac, do you realize we’re
slow dancing to ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’?”

A couple of girls jiggled and whooped on the dance floor
next to them.

“Yes.” He pulled her closer and brushed his lips across her
temple. A whiff of her watermelon-scented shampoo reminded him of how much he’d
missed her in his bed these last few nights, of how bland his life was without
her in it driving him nuts.

Claire let out a shaky sigh, the kind she usually saved for
under the covers. His body hardened as if on cue, his heart picking up speed.

“Aren’t you going to ask me who I was dancing with?” she
asked.

“No.”

Getting Claire alone, preferably with a bed close by,
dominated his thoughts at the moment.

“Why not?”

She’d let her hair down tonight. The dark, wavy tresses
shined, curling around her shoulders, softening her usually tough exterior. He
wanted to take her somewhere shadow-filled and explore more of her softness. Pushing
aside her silky brown tendrils, his mouth found the sweet spot right behind her
ear.

“Were you attracted to him?” he whispered against her skin.

He felt her shiver under his lips. “He was very charming.”

“Undoubtedly.” Charm came complimentary with his white
Stetson and ostrich-skin cowboy boots.

“And definitely good-looking. Even Kate was making googly
eyes at him.”

He dragged his mouth away from her skin and stared into her
brown eyes, searching for signs of one of her half-truths. “Claire, answer the
question. Were you attracted to him?”

“I might’ve been if you weren’t in the picture.” Her voice
sounded all husky, like when he joined her in the shower last Friday morning
before work and occupied her until the water ran cold.

“But I am in the picture.” He slipped his hands under her Speedy
Gonzales T-shirt, needing to touch bare skin, settling for her smooth back for
now. “And I trust you.”

“Why?”

“You know why. Do you want me to say it again?”

“No, don’t.” She covered his lips with her palm.

How such an intelligent woman could suffer from such acute
symptoms of Commitment Phobia was beyond him. They needed to work through this
little problem to keep the fissures from spreading, but not in the middle of
the dance floor at The Shaft. Maybe later tonight in bed with the lights off—where
eye contact wasn’t required.

He pulled her hand away and nodded in Kate’s direction. “I
think your cowboy is hitting on your sister.”

“He’s not my … what?” Claire looked at Kate. “That figures.
They always go for Kate in the end.”

“Not always.” Kate might be cute, but Claire burrowed into a
guy’s head and drove him nuts with hunger for more of her. He tipped her chin
up. “Some of us can’t get past you.”

Claire’s gaze met his, her eyes lighting up with wicked
promises. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her soft curves
against his length, making everything south of his neck rigid.

“You haven’t kissed me ‘hello’ yet,” she said, licking her
lips.

“Claire,” he said leaning down.

“Yeah?” She rose up onto her toes, closing the gap.

He cupped her head, his fingers entwined in her silky-smooth
hair. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, teasing her mouth open, then
increased the pressure, exploring deeper. She tasted like cinnamon and beer and
all things Claire, and he ached to bury himself deep inside her.

They’d danced long enough. He pulled away. “Let’s get out of
here.”

Her heavy breathing matched his. “You read my mind.”

She led the way back to the table where Kate and the cowboy
were trading flirting glances.

“It’s time to leave, Kate,” Claire said.

Kate waved her off. “You guys go ahead. I’ll follow later in
Mabel.”

“No way,” Claire said. “You know you’re not allowed to drive
Mabel after the last incident.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll drive Mac’s truck back.”

“Mac likes his pickup the way it is—dent-free. Why don’t you
just ride home with me and drive your own car back?”

“Good idea.” Kate stood, touching the cowboy’s shoulder. “You’ll
still be here when I get back, right?”

Not interested in hanging around to hear the guy’s answer,
Mac towed Claire toward the door. It opened from the outside as he reached for
it.

Butch, The Shaft’s owner, stepped aside to let them pass. “Howdy,
Mac. Claire.” His smile faltered when his gaze landed on Kate.

“Butch.” Mac nodded his hello. “This is Kate Morgan, Claire’s
sister.”

Kate wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“Nice to meet you, Kate.” Butch offered his hand.

After a moment, Kate finally shook his hand. She cleared her
throat. “You, too.”

“See ya, Butch.” Claire patted the bar owner on the arm on
her way out the door. She grabbed Mac by the shirt as she passed and dragged
him with her.

Glancing back, he saw Kate stumble after them, looking like
her shoes were tied together.

Maybe Kate driving back to The Shaft wasn’t such a great
idea. “Claire,” Mac started.

“No talking.” She hit the remote and Mabel’s doors popped
open. “No thinking either. Just you and me, naked and sweaty.”

His body throbbed in agreement.

“I didn’t need to hear that.” Kate said, rounding Mabel’s
grill.

“Get inside.” Claire ordered. She fired up Mabel.

Chuckling, Mac climbed into his pickup and shadowed Mabel’s
taillights to the R.V. park. Claire was opening the camper door when he cut the
engine and climbed out.

Behind the R.V., Sonoran Desert toads trilled their mating
calls from the weeds that banked Jackrabbit Creek. He smirked in their
direction, appreciating the irony.

A breeze with a trace of coolness ruffled his hair. As usual
during monsoon season, the storm had sapped the earth of some of its heat. The
sun would dish it back out tomorrow.

He glanced at the darkened windows in Chester and Manny’s
rigs, crossing his fingers they were up to their elbows in beer, cigars, and
cards at Ruby’s place. He didn’t want any interruptions tonight.

Stepping inside the Winnebago, Mac blinked in the light. The
place smelled just as he remembered, like stale cigar smoke with an inkling of
dog. The only difference was the hint of something flowery on top of it all.

“I need to use the bathroom quick.” Kate grabbed her keys
from the counter. “Then I’ll leave you guys alone for an hour.”

Wagging his tail in greeting, Henry looked up from where he lay
sprawled on his side on the couch. Mac patted him on the head on his way to
Claire, who stood in the darkened hallway, wiggling her index finger for him to
join her.

His blood pressure raced. No more dallying.

“Make that two hours, Kate,” Mac said. Then he strode over
and pinned Claire against the wall, his mouth drinking her in. God, she always
tasted so damned sweet.

“Jeez, you guys. You live together, for chrissake.” Kate
squeezed past them, slapping Mac’s shoulder as she passed. “Quit acting like he
just came back from the war.”

The bathroom light flooded the hall with a yellow glow. Mac
caught a glimpse of Claire and him in the mirror on the closed bedroom door,
his hands palming her hips through her jean shorts. Her fingers slid under his
shirt, her nails scratching down his back. Maybe she had something with that
mirror-covered wall idea a few weeks ago.

He pressed harder against her, hungry to tear off her T-shirt
and explore his favorite terrain with his hands and mouth. He caught her leg as
she rubbed it up and down his pants and slid his hand up the back of her bare
thigh.

“Mac.” Claire writhed as his fingertips brushed along the
soft skin of her inner thigh. “Take me to b—”

The bedroom door hinges squeaked.

“Claire Alice Morgan!”

Mac jerked back from Claire so hard he whacked his elbow on
the opposite wall.

Claire gaped at her mother, who stood silhouetted in the
bedroom doorway with her pink satin robe cinched around her.

Fuck! He groaned, adjusting his jeans to disguise the tell-tale
effect her daughter had on his body. He’d hoped to delay his reunion with the
woman who’d made it no secret that she’d rather see Claire join the Ringling
Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus as a tight-rope walker than live with him.