The Old Man's Back in Town (2 page)

“Ruthless bastards who have connections on the outside.”

“So, that’s why you’re here,
Detective
Andersen. The Las Vegas Police Department has you working overtime on Christmas Eve?” It had nothing to do with me, the woman he’d left behind for a job in the big city, rather with an escaped convict he was hunting down.

“Yes.”

Brutally honest Joel. He ran true, had to give him that.

I dropped my focus to my hands, which were all pretzel-twisted together. “Well, I haven’t seen him.”

“Good, but you’re probably on his list of must-sees this holiday season.”

“Does your brother know about this?”

He nodded. “He was supposed to have one of his deputies sitting outside your bar tonight.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Joel. A time for families, not babysitting the local bar owner. But that explains why your brother stopped by earlier at lunch and suggested that I cancel tonight’s holiday shindig.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t. It’s a Goldwash tradition. Besides, too many locals need it to make it through the holidays.”

“You realize he may try to kill you again.”

“He can try.”

“Listen—”

“But I might kill him first.”

Joel pushed to his feet, pacing in front of me. “Montana, think about what you’re up against. He’s twice your size, built up with years of prison bulk and revenge, and probably pissed as hell at the woman who helped put him behind bars.”

This explained the anxiety I’d been feeling in my gut for the last couple of days. The universe had been sending me get-the-hell-out-of-Dodge vibes. I needed to go home, grab my 12-gauge and some supplies, and head for the hills for a few days. Maybe Buffalo could cover for me here over New Year’s.

Brushing my hands down my jeans, I shoved to my feet, testing out my shaky knees. They felt solid again. “Thanks for driving out here to let me know. I appreciate the heads-up.” I crossed to the door. “Now, you’ve done your duty, so you’re free to head out.”

I held open the door for him.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he said, grabbing my arm. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“Joel,” I glared down at his hand on my arm, “you’re out of your jurisdiction, especially when it comes to touching me. Or have you forgotten that fact?”

He forced the door shut and walked me backwards until I was up against my desk, his body pressed into mine. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing about touching you.”

Damn, I’d missed his hard angles.

His long, dark eyelashes lowered, his green eyes full of sins of the flesh. “Did you miss me, Shooter?”

Like rain in Death Valley. “Kiss my ass, Andersen.”

“In a heartbeat. Are you wearing a thong or that underwear that only covers half of your cheeks?”

My core temperature hit a molten level. My limbs tingled, wanting to wrap around him and cling. But I stood still, hiding behind a jutted chin. “Stop flirting with me. You lost that right when you walked out.”

He trailed his knuckles along my collar bone, teasing. “I asked you to come with me.”

I clenched my fists, determined not to lean into him. “No, you informed me that your career was stagnant. That there was nothing left in Goldwash for you, so you were going to try your hand in Vegas.”

“Same thing.”

I planted both palms on his chest and pushed him back. “Your communication skills have never been your strong point.”

He allowed me the extra space, dropping his arms to his sides. “And your stubbornness will be the death of you.”

“That’s no longer your concern.”

“Bullshit, Shooter.” His eyes traveled down over my T-shirt. “You look thinner.”

Heartache made for a great dieting plan. Damn him for looking better than ever in his flannel shirt.

“I’ve been a little stressed.”

“How’s your dad doing on his own?” he asked.

“Coping. He helps out here some nights when the loneliness gets too much.” We made quite a pair—lonely and lonelier.

“Working with you can’t be easy.”

“I’m nicer to him than to you.” Dad didn’t choose a career over me.

His grin came quick. “I mean because you look so much like your mom when she was younger.” He reached out and fingered a strand of my hair. “Especially with your hair the same shade of auburn as hers. I like this longer, wavy cut. Makes you look more bohemian. She’d have approved.”

My eyes watered, damn it. I couldn’t let him use my momma to soften me up. I blinked away the tears. “What do you want from me, Joel?”

He released my hair. “I’ve chased you since you wore pigtails, Shooter. Just this once, couldn’t you have chased me?”

“I have a bar to run.”

“Buffalo could have filled in. Your sister and dad would have helped. Your brother, too.”

“It’s not their responsibility. Momma left the place to me.”

“She didn’t expect you to chain yourself to it.”

“It’s been in our family since this town was founded over a century ago. You don’t just walk away from that.”

“Excuses.”

I growled, pushing away from the desk, needing the room between us to hold my ground. “What was I supposed to do, Joel? Just drop everything in my life to follow you like a puppy, happy for any bits of attention you gave to me?”

“No.” His gaze bore into mine, all traces of humor and lust tempered. “You were supposed to ask me not to go.”

Huh?
That stole the wind from my world, my tumbleweed of frustration rolling to a stop. “And if I had?”

He shrugged. “I would have stayed.”

My mouth fell open. “So this was all some big test?”

“No test. I was tired of running in place. It was change.”

I threw my hands up. “Well, you got your change, didn’t you? Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

He bridged the distance between us in three long strides, catching my hand, tugging me toward him. “A little birdie told me you’re going home alone every night.”

He had me so discombobulated that I let him pull me into his arms. “Tell your brother to mind his own goddamned business. He doesn’t know everything that happens in this town.”

“Are you sleeping with someone?”

“Maybe.”

“Your pants are on fire.”

He tended to have that effect on the lower half of my body. “Joel, you can’t just come back here and expect me to fall into your arms.”

“Don’t fall then.” He leaned in close, his lips even closer. “Walk.”

I almost danced to his snake charms again. “Stop it.” I nudged him aside and yanked open the door, escaping down the hall toward the bar.

“Montana,” he called. “Come back to me.”

“You need to leave,” I yelled back. If he didn’t, I might do something stupid and tell him how much I still loved him.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

I shoved out into the dark room and was halfway along the front of the bar toward the door before I fully registered that the lights were off—all of them, even the beer lights I usually left on in the windows.

“Buff?” My boot toe connected with what felt like a rolled up carpet on the floor. I stumbled to my knees, my hand coming down in something warm, wet, slippery. “What the hell?”

“Hi, Montana,” a scratchy voice said in the darkness. Fear spider-crawled up my spine. “Aren’t you going to welcome me home, baby?”

I gasped, my heart hurtling into a full-on panic. My ex was here, waiting for me in the darkness. I shouldn’t have left my shotgun at home.

“Sweetheart, I’m serious,” Joel said from the swinging doors. “I want you to come with—”

“Joel, watch out!” I yelled. Then a shot rang out over my head.

“No!” Scrambling, I tried to get to my feet and run to Joel, but I slipped on the wet floor.

A volley of gunshots blasted around me as I fell, my shoulder exploding in pain, my head connecting with a stool on the way down. The crack echoed through my skull…

Goldwash, Nevada

December 24th

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

“Would you turn off that Christmas crap and help me clean up all this beer?” I said, throwing a wet rag at my cousin Buffalo as he nursed his drink at the end of the bar.

Buffalo caught the rag mid-air. “Jeez, Montana, can’t you let a man enjoy a nostalgic moment? Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“I think your dog ate it.” I dragged a bucket of sudsy water over, pulling the stools out on each side of Buffalo, and mopped up the beer pooled there. The clinical, ammonia-heavy odor from the mop bucket blocked out any yeasty whiffs of beer.

“Leave Brunhilda out of this.” Buffalo reached down and scratched his bulldog between her fake reindeer antlers.

“I’d like to, but her fat butt is in my way.” I nudged her with the toe of my red cowboy boot. Brunhilda grunted, but didn’t budge. “I’m not even supposed to have dogs in here. If the state health inspector were to walk in, I’m screwed.”

“Nah. I’d just explain that she’s our Aunt Harriet. They kind of look alike. Besides, if it weren’t for me and Brunhilda, you’d be all alone on Christmas Eve.”

Sad, but true. I needed some new friends. “I’m closing the bar early tonight. You can either help me with this mess or drag both of your sorry asses home.”

“Just call me Cinderella,” Buffalo said, setting his glass to the side. “Whoever spilled all of this good beer should be thrown in the hoosegow.”

Something about my standing there with a mop in my hand spurred déjà vu. I tried to remember what had happened earlier in the night, but everything jumbled together in my memory—the two old drunks caroling on top of the bar like they were Vegas night club singers, the feisty retiree in the red velvet running suit bouncing around and dangling mistletoe over her head. It was a wonder someone hadn’t broken a hip.

“You have everything you need for New Year’s?” Buffalo asked.

“Everything but a date.”

“You can be mine—minus anything disgustingly sexual.”

I grinned. “The feeling is mutual, Buff. I still can’t believe you got in a fight with your girlfriend over your neighbor’s pig and ended up with a broken arm.”

“I can’t believe she came at me with that cast iron skillet.” He bent down and scratched Brunhilda’s back. “But we’re sure glad that crazy bitch left us, aren’t we old girl? She was just jealous because you’re prettier than she ever was.”

“You and that dog are spending way too much time together. Next you’ll be telling me she’s the ‘one’ for you.”

“You know I don’t believe in just having one woman for more than a couple of months. It’s unnatural.”

“You’re unnatural. Now help me clean up this beer or get the hell out of my bar.”

Buffalo wiped the bar down in silence for several seconds. “I wonder what Joel is up to. You’d think he’d come home for the holidays, pay his dad a visit, drop in and share a drink with the latest woman he’d kicked to the curb.”

I stopped mopping mid-swish, my hackles rising unbeknownst to Buffalo apparently, because he kept rambling. “The guy always hated staying in the big city too long, said it rotted his lungs.”