The Old Man's Back in Town (4 page)

“Maybe you should have given it to him.” Joel’s thermal undershirt dropped to the floor. “Your communication skills have never been your…” I paused to swallow the excess saliva the sight of his bared skin produced, the dark dusting of hair pointing my eyes southward, “…your strong point.”

He tugged my T-shirt over my head. “And your stubbornness will be the death of you, unless I can help it.”

“That’s no longer your concern.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.” His fingers traced along the lace at the top of my bra, making me squirm. He leaned down and kissed the swell of skin just above the fabric. “You look thinner, sweetheart.”

“I’ve been busy,” I lied.

His gaze held mine, suddenly serious. “Tell me there’s nobody else in the picture.”

There never would be, but I had to salvage my pride, what little of it he hadn’t stripped from me yet again tonight. “Why didn’t you call me back, Joel?”

He cupped my face, brushing his lips over mine so slowly, so tenderly, like he wanted to savor them. I couldn’t hold in the moan that reached up from my heart.

“I’ve chased you since you wore pigtails, Shooter,” he whispered. “Just this once, couldn’t you have chased me?”

“You ran too far.”

His mouth trailed down my neck. “I wouldn’t have run anywhere if you’d told me you wanted me to stay.”

I leaned back on the desk, tipping my head back to give him more access, wanting to ask if that meant what I thought it did, but the sound of glass breaking crashed through my lust-filled haze. I froze. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Another crash resounded.
Buffalo!

“That.” I shoved him back, scooped up my T-shirt from the floor, and raced out the door, pulling the shirt over my head as I ran.

“Montana,” he said from the doorway. “Come back to me.”

I shoved out the swinging doors into the darkness and was halfway along the front of the bar when I realized the lights were off—all of them, even the beer lights I usually left on in the windows.

“Buffalo?” I said. My boot toe connected with what felt like a body, making me stumble to my knees, my hand coming down on something warm, wet, slippery.

A heavy, coppery scent filled my head.

“Oh, God. Buffalo?” I reached for his body, but it wasn’t there, just blood, pooled all around me.

Then I heard it, the breathing in the darkness.

“Hey, baby,” an all-too familiar scratchy voice said.

I froze, my heart throwing itself against my rib cage like it wanted to bust free and high-tail it out of town. Maybe if I just held still in the blackness, he wouldn’t see me.

“Aren’t you going to welcome me home?”

“Montana,” Joel said from the direction of the swinging doors. “Are you okay?”

I heard the click of a hammer being cocked back.

“Joel, get down!” I yelled.

A shot rang out over my head.

“No!” I screamed, struggling to my feet, lurching toward where Joel stood by the swinging doors. Only he wasn’t there.

A second shot exploded. Then a third, which tore across the outside of my shoulder, stinging like a son of a bitch.

I slipped, the blood slick as ice under my boots. On the way down, my skull connected with something hard. Pain flared above my left ear and ripped through my skull…

Goldwash, Nevada

December 24th

O holy night!

The stars are brightly shining…

“Would you turn off that Christmas crap and help me clean up all this …” A déjà vu gave me pause in the midst of throwing a wet rag at my cousin Buffalo, who nursed a mug of beer at the end of the bar.

Buffalo frowned at me over his glass. “Jeez, Montana, can’t you let a man enjoy a nostalgic moment? Where’s your—”

“Holiday spirit?” I finished for him, feeling like I was rehearsing for a play I knew from memory. Something was supposed to come next about Brunhilda, Buffalo’s fat bulldog, who lay splayed on her belly next to his bar stool snoring, but I changed it up. “I lost it when Joel left town.”

The bastard broke my heart and months later it still sat like a cold, cracked piece of granite in my chest.

I dragged a bucket of sudsy, ammonia-smelling water around to the front of the bar, pulling the stools out on each side of Buffalo, only to realize there wasn’t anything to mop up, except peanut shells. Hadn’t something been spilled here? Weird.

“I’m closing the bar early tonight,” I told Buffalo. “You want to come back to my place and hang out for a while? Watch a movie? I think the Western channel is having a Clint Eastwood marathon.”

Buffalo wiped the beer foam moustache from his upper lip. “Sure, if you don’t mind me bringing Brunhilda. I hate to leave her alone on Christmas Eve.”

“Are you afraid she’ll actually wake up this year for Christmas?” His dog stirred only long enough to snarfle down food, I swore.

He grinned and reached down to scratch Brunhilda’s head between her fake reindeer antlers. “She’ll perk up. Santa brought her a special bone.”

Brunhilda’s ears twitched at the word
bone
, but that was the only sign of life.

“I’m not interfering with any plans with your girlfriend, am I?” I asked.

“Didn’t you hear? We split up. She’s knocking boots with my neighbor now.”

“Oh.” How had I missed that in this one-horse town? I really needed to get my head out of the sand and get back to living. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He waved me off. “He has pigs. Her constant squealing doesn’t faze him.”

That made me smile. “Do you think you’ll ever find a nice woman, settle down, raise a couple of baby buffalos? You’re not getting any younger, you know.” Buffalo had two years on my thirty-six.

“Nope. I’ve told you my thoughts about monogamy and matrimony too many times to count.”

“What happened with your parents isn’t genetic, you know. Marriages don’t have to involve flying cast iron skillets and burning pickups. Look at my parents. They were married for almost forty years.” And then Momma got sick and all of our lives went to hell in a handcart.

Buffalo slurped his beer. “Yeah, well you’re not setting the best example for happily ever after. First, you shacked up with a three-timin’ rodeo clown, then you married a killer, and
then
you hooked up with Joel Andersen, of all guys. You’re like the pin-up girl for
Fucked-Up Life
magazine.”

He had a point, but I didn’t need him needling me with it. “Kiss my pin-up ass.” I picked up the wet rag and whipped it at him.

He dodged it, chuckling.

“So marriage isn’t for me,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make a go of it.”

“Monty, dear, you may not know a thing about picking the right guy, but you sure throw one hell of a Christmas party.”

He was changing the subject, as he so often did when I tried to bring up his future love life for anything other than his damned dog.

“I think this party was our best since Momma ran the bar,” I said, going along with him. Tonight’s drunken merriment replayed in my head as I kicked the mop bucket to the corner, including slurred caroling, random sloppy kisses, and a marriage proposal from a lonely widowed rancher who had a huge spread east of town. Too bad he was a leftover from the Paleozoic era.

I reached up to remove some tinsel hanging from the ceiling fan and the telephone hanging on the wall behind the bar rang. I jogged over to grab it then hesitated with my hand on the receiver. I’d gotten a rash of creepy calls lately, filled with heavy breathing and this skin-crawling, undecipherable whispering.

When I’d told Buffalo about the calls, he’d pushed me to tell the sheriff, but I’d resisted because the local law dog also happened to be Joel’s brother. While I liked to think my hesitation had more to do with not letting some heavy breather bully me into running with my tail between my legs, I had no doubt that my pride figured into the mix.

“I’m not sure if you know this,” Buffalo said, “but you need to actually pick up the receiver to make the phone stop ringing.”

I flipped him off and lifted the handset. “The Ugly Rooster,” I said, using my usual greeting.

A thick silence came through the line, sounding as if I’d tuned into some empty airspace out over one of the government’s testing ranges. I’d almost rather have the breathing. After the count of three, I hung up.

“Dead,” I answered Buffalo’s wrinkled brow. I double-checked to make sure the 12-gauge shotgun I’d brought from home earlier this week was still under the counter.

The bell over the front door jingled, making me jerk in surprise, raising the shotgun in reaction.

Buffalo hollered over his shoulder, “Bar’s closed.”

“I disagree.” The deep voice nearly made me choke on my tongue.

I gripped the shotgun, wishing I’d loaded it with rock salt instead of slugs.

“You brought out your big gun to welcome me home?” Joel Andersen asked, closing the door on the wailing groan of the Nevada winter wind. “I’m flattered.”

I put the shotgun down on the bar before I did something stupid like shoot Joel in the toe.

“Well, well, well,” Buffalo said, his tone low. “Would ya look at that—the old man’s back in town.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Am I leavin’?”

“Stay,” I said, my gaze focused on Joel as he crossed the bar floor, shucking his thick coat along the way. He must have thought he was staying, too. He was mistaken.

Joel was carrying, as usual, his Colt .45 riding in his shoulder holster.

Before I sent him back out into the cold winter night, I took a moment to drink in the sight of his wind-ruffled black hair, stubble-covered square jaw, and bright green eyes. My heartbeat ratcheted, my core cranked up the heat, and my mouth went dry.

Ah, damn. Hell was coming to Christmas.

Joel cozied up to the bar.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Like Buffalo said, the bar’s closed.”

“I heard him, Shooter.” My childhood nickname rolled off his tongue like he’d never deserted town and left me face down in a mud puddle.

He patted Buffalo on the back. “Hey Buff, I’m hanging around for a bit. Want some help with fixing up the ol’ Goldwash Grand?”

Hanging around for a bit? How long was a bit? More importantly, why was Joel here? No, even more worrisome, how was I going to keep from ending up in his bed when just the sight of him had me wanting to vault the bar, lay him out with my fists, and then have my merry naked way with him?

Criminy, I’d seen centipedes with more backbone than I had when it came to the green-eyed devil in front of me.

“Free labor? You’re hired.” Buffalo snuck a glance my way. “But aren’t you gonna miss the wild Vegas nightlife?”

“No,” Joel answered Buffalo, but his green eyes held mine captive, a fire burning in their depths that practically made my skin crackle from the heat. “The nightlife here is much wilder.”

I took a step back before I got seared. “What do you want, Joel?” I asked, not mincing words.

His gaze dropped to the front of my shirt. “I need to talk to you, Montana.”

My body felt the invisible pull that was always there between us, lassoing me, tugging me in.