by Carly Bloom
Bubba was a lumbering alligator on dry land, but set him on some sawdust and he turned into a sleek and nimble creature. He could drop into the splits and pop right back up. A crowd always gathered once he got going, and Maggie didn’t need an audience watching as she stumbled around in her red porn star boots.
“You’ve got to dance tonight,” Claire said. “Those boots were made for it.”
Short of snowshoes, Maggie couldn’t think of anything made less for it.
They passed the final row of parked cars. “There’s the white horse,” Claire said, pointing to a gigantic white King Ranch Special Edition Ford F350 pickup. “JD is here.”
Maggie tripped, almost impaling herself on the iron railing of the Gothic fence surrounding the Chateau. Her heart hammered in her chest. “I wonder who he’s with.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re dressed better. If JD keeps you in the friend zone after seeing you like this, then he just doesn’t like girls.”
Bubba snorted, and so did Maggie. JD liked girls all right. And they liked him. He’d probably dated every single woman in Big Verde, with one obvious exception.
* * *
The lobby of the hotel was covered in cobwebs, flickering lights, and ghoulish displays. Maggie had to give Annabelle credit for throwing a different kind of Halloween party. Instead of renting the VFW Hall, she had transformed the Village Chateau into a proper haunted castle for a party nobody would soon forget.
Maggie rolled her shoulders. Time to focus. She was here for one reason and one reason only. Well, two, really. But the first order of business was to show off her cinched-in waist and nice round ass (optical illusion) to JD Mayes. “You go kiss up to Anna,” she said to Claire. “I’m going to find a certain cowboy.”
“Both of us need a drink before our missions,” Claire said. “Let’s get some witch’s brew.”
A waiter whisked past with a tray of smoking goblets, and they each snatched one. Witch’s brew was basically trashcan punch, and it went down easy. Maggie wiped her mouth on the hem of her cape. Then she looked around for JD.
Something shiny caught her eye, and since every cell in her body gravitated toward it, she knew it was JD. His boisterous laugh rose above the din, and Maggie’s feet automatically headed toward the source. The crowd parted, and there he stood, dressed as a knight in shining armor.
“Go get him,” Claire said. “I’ll go compliment Anna on the party, and her hair, and her costume…”
Maggie kept her eyes on the prize—gosh, he was cute—but her mind went to business. “Remind Anna that I’m the only landscape architect within a hundred miles and that Travis Blake is a guy with a lawn mower.”
Claire sauntered off and Maggie inhaled deeply, squared her shoulders, and strutted toward JD like America’s Next Top Model if America’s Next Top Model were wearing heels for the first time and was slightly buzzed on trashcan punch. JD stood with Alice, the town’s librarian, who wore the familiar yellow ball gown from Beauty and the Beast.
“Hi, Alice.”
“Oh my!” Alice squealed. “Look at you.” She turned to JD and poked him in the ribs with her finger. “JD, look at Maggie.”
JD took a long, hard look that turned Maggie’s legs to jelly. Then he flashed his two-million-dollar smile. “I don’t know who you’re supposed to be,” he said, “but red agrees with you.”
“I’m Little Red Riding Hood.”
JD wore a breastplate over his starched white shirt, and metal plates were strapped over his Wranglers to his thighs and shins. There was even a gilded faceplate attached to the brim of his white Stetson. He gave a deep, squeaky bow. “M’lady.”
“Isn’t he just precious?” Alice asked. She winked at Maggie from behind an open book.
“Oh yeah. He’s just precious.” Alice had pulled off coquettish, but Maggie sounded like she was having an asthma attack.
JD pulled a fake sword out of a scabbard hanging from his belt. “Check this out.”
Why wasn’t he drooling over her newly corseted curves? Maybe some pleasant conversation about his outfit would lead to some more comments about hers. She nodded at his boots. “You’re wearing the white tops.”
JD could afford hand-tooled Tony Lamas, but he always wore Justin Boots because that’s what George Strait wore. What’s good enough for King George is good enough for me.
“Of course,” he said with a wink. “The prettiest girl in Big Verde helped me pick them out.”
She grinned and fluttered her eyelashes. “Maybe we can do that again sometime. I love hanging out with you, you know.” They’d gone to San Antonio to shop for boots, eaten dinner downtown, and then watched the Spurs game at a sports bar. Unfortunately, the evening had ended with a friendly pat on the back.
JD shrugged. “I don’t really need any boots right now.”
Alice patted Maggie’s arm sympathetically. “Is Claire here?” she asked. “I need to see if she’s coming to book club this month.”
Maybe the conversation could move beyond swords and boots if it was just the two of them. “She was headed to the ballroom.”
Alice nodded and swooshed off, popping open a book and nearly taking out a waiter. Dimples appeared in JD’s cheeks, and Maggie made sure her cape was open and pushed her chest out. Look! Boobs!
“You want to hit the bar for a drink?” JD asked, taking her empty goblet and ignoring her boobs entirely.
“Um, sure.” Feeling deflated, she renewed her effort at puffing out her chest and damn near threw her back out.
“You okay?” JD asked.
“Yeah, just stretching.”
JD cocked a brow and shook his head. “There’s a portable bar set up in the corner. We don’t have to go into the ballroom yet if you don’t want to.” He knew Maggie always needed a few moments to warm up before jumping into the fray. He was thoughtful and observant like that.
“Do you want another one of those misty things? Or your usual Dos Equis?”
A nice Mexican beer sounded delicious, but she didn’t want to be predictable tonight. “Another misty thing, please.”
While they waited for their drinks, JD folded his arms across his breastplate and gave her another good once-over. “So,” he said. “What happened to the stormtrooper costume?”
“Claire picked this out for me instead. Do you like it?” Her heart pounded while she tried not to blurt out that she’d worn it just for him.
“Like I said before, red looks good on you. You should wear it more often.”
The bartender set her drink down and JD doled out some money before picking up his beer. Was that all he was going to say? That she looked good in red?
“Bottoms up, Mighty Mack.”
She grabbed her trashcan punch and guzzled it down. Maybe JD was just dense. Maybe he was so used to the two of them being buddies that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. A warm, tingly sensation spread throughout her body. Time to show him.
A graveyard had been set up in the courtyard. She’d seen it when they’d parked. “Let’s get some air.”
They started for the courtyard with JD squeaking at every step and Maggie hobbling along beside him. “You’d better pace yourself with the drinking or you’re going to regret it in the morning.”
He offered his arm, but on a whim, Maggie grabbed his hand instead. He hesitated a moment, but then resumed his squeaky gait. Was he surprised? Maggie stared straight ahead, not daring to glance at his face. He didn’t let go and scream girl cooties, but he didn’t give it a sexy little squeeze either.
The courtyard was unreal. Tombstones leaned this way and that, casting long, sideways shadows across the ground. Every now and then a dismembered hand clawed its way out of the dirt.
“Hey, look,” JD said, pointing at a tombstone. “They have names of people we know on them.” He let go of her hand and started wandering around. “Listen to this one. ‘Here lies Dr. Martin—finally got something in the hole.’”
“I sincerely hope t
hat’s referring to his horrible golf game and not his dating life,” Maggie said.
JD laughed. “Knowing him, it could go either way.”
There were more amusing tombstones, but Maggie wasn’t interested. “Isn’t that the most gorgeous harvest moon you’ve ever seen?” she asked, sliding next to JD and slipping her arm through his. “It’s very romantic.”
JD looked at her. At least she thought he did. It was hard to tell because his Stetson cast the upper part of his face in shadow. But she could see the lower half, and his mouth was set in a stern, straight line. Either he was about to grab her and take her right here on the fake tombstones, romance novel–style, or he was not in the mood at all—at least where she was concerned.
She decided to press the issue by mashing her breast into his arm. Actually, it was probably the trashcan punch making that decision, but whatever. It seemed like a good one. JD’s biceps flexed against her breast, and then she felt it—a small shiver. It passed through JD’s body and into hers. She was getting to him.
“It’s a little chilly out here, isn’t it?” she asked, giving him an opportunity to deny it was the cool night air giving him the shivers.
JD cleared his throat and stared at his boots. Then he slowly lifted his gaze to hers. Maybe it was just the neon glow from the Pump ’n’ Go sign across the street, but his hazel eyes gleamed like they’d been struck by moonbeams. Maggie held her breath. This was it. She reached up and softly traced the outline of his jaw with her finger. And he…flinched.
It was just a flash of a flinch. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have missed it or been able to talk herself out of having seen it. But there was no doubt in her mind about what had just happened. JD Mayes had flinched at her touch.
It felt like a slap piercing the alcohol buzz as easily as a cartoon cannon ball shot through a cloud. Her mouth dried up. Her skin broke out in a light sweat followed by a chill. She wrapped herself in her cape.
“Maggie—”
“No.” She held her hand in front of JD’s face like a shield. She needed to block the words before they ripped her apart like bullets from a machine gun.
I don’t like you in that way.
Let’s just be friends.
You’re not my type.
She’d known it. So why had she made such a fool of herself?
It was the stupid corset, the ridiculous boots, and Claire’s infuriating optimism. Claire had never known rejection. She hadn’t been stood up by Scott Flores for the eighth grade Sadie Hawkins dance, nor had she sat home the night of the senior prom, pretending she hadn’t wanted to go anyway. Women like Claire were never tucked away into friend zones, forced to watch the objects of their affection cry into their beers over other women. They never stood in front of JD Mayes while dressed like the world’s least shapely porn star, watching him flinch and shiver at their touch.
JD moved her hand away from his face. The contact was electric. Not the sexy shock of fireworks, more like sticking your wet finger into an electrical outlet.
“I need to tell you something, Maggie.”
Her eyes stung. She hadn’t cried since Honey died. She couldn’t blink. If she did, a tear might escape. Hold it in, Mackey.
“No. You really don’t need to say anything,” she said.
Blink.
Dammit. A tear slipped out. JD wiped it away with his finger. How dare he touch her tenderly on the face?
“You need to know—”
“I got the message, okay? Loud and clear.”
JD dropped his hand to his side. “Let me talk, Maggie. You’re my best friend—”
“Not anymore,” she said. “It’s too cruel.”
She couldn’t look at JD’s face for one second longer. She turned and walked steadily—how, she didn’t know—in the direction of the bar. She needed to find Claire and tell her she was leaving. Corsets, red porn star boots, and smoky eyes weren’t meant for women like her. She could only imagine what people were thinking.
Look at little Mighty Mack trying to be sexy.
“Maggie, wait!”
She walked faster. A blur of unrecognizable faces rushed past as she stormed into the hotel, pushing her way through throngs of people, ignoring the few who called out greetings. She held the cape tightly closed.
Through her watery eyes she saw the tip of a pointy hat. Claire! She sped up, zigzagging through people toward the circular bar. But just as she got there, the hat disappeared. She headed for the one empty seat at the bar. She’d sit there and wait for Claire. Just like always.
She started to hoist herself onto the stool—they were tricky things for short people in tight miniskirts—and her heel missed the rung. She lurched forward and landed in a pair of strong arms.
“Are you okay?”
The voice was deep and held a hint of humor. She looked up to see vicious fangs, a tapered snout, and pointed ears. She gasped, even though it was a mask.
“I’m fine,” she finally said. “But my, what big teeth you have.”
Chapter Four
The entire night had been so surreal that Travis didn’t know why he was surprised when a pretty woman in red—almost elfin with large eyes set in a small heart-shaped face—fell into his arms with a sarcastic comment about the size of his teeth. He couldn’t help it; he ran his tongue over them. They felt perfectly normal.
“Thanks a lot,” he mumbled, helping to get the little blonde upright again.
He assisted her onto the barstool, getting a good look at the red boots she wore. They were probably the reason she’d flopped into his arms, but damn, they looked good on her legs.
Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Your mask,” she said. “It has fangs. I wasn’t referring to your actual teeth.”
He smiled with a dumb sense of relief. The child’s mask only covered the upper part of his fully adult-sized face, and his mouth was framed by long, sharp, and appropriately named plastic canine teeth. “I’m not used to having fangs.”
“Admit it. You thought I had a tooth fetish.”
Travis leaned over and whispered, “Do you?”
She grinned, but her eyes were shiny, as if maybe she’d been crying or trying not to cry. And her makeup was smudged. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe I have a mask fetish. I think that’s an actual thing.”
Her voice was smoky and sultry, like a jazz singer’s, and surprisingly low for such a small woman. And yes, he would definitely like to know if she had a fetish of any kind whatsoever. “Wolf masks, in particular, seem to turn women on,” he offered.
He wasn’t even kidding. He’d initially left the mask in the truck, but even though he did his best to avoid socializing, he’d been forced into a couple of awkward conversations with people he didn’t know but who seemed to know him. He’d retrieved the mask and quickly found Anna to give her the bid. She’d seemed pleased and insisted he stay long enough for one drink. Since then he’d been growled at, petted, and a woman who might have been his freshman English teacher had called him a good puppy.
His new blond friend seemed fascinated by the dance floor, staring at it intently. “My, what big eyes you have,” he said.
He cringed as the eyes in question turned their gaze back to him. He couldn’t seem to stop the stupid from pouring out of his mouth.
“That’s my line,” she replied.
He swallowed. Her voice was such a turn-on. She practically channeled Kathleen Turner with a little Emma Stone around the edges. It made it hard to follow a conversation. “Pardon?”
“You said, My, what big eyes you have. I’m Little Red Riding Hood. That’s my line.”
She didn’t look anything like the Little Red Riding Hood in Henry’s bedtime storybook. “I’m the—”
“Big Bad Wolf. Yeah, I get it,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She called the bartender over with just a nod of her head. “Dos Equis,” she said. “With lime.”
Travis pulled out hi
s wallet. “Let me get that for you.”
“No, thanks. I’ve got it.”
Was that a rejection? And if so, a rejection of what? He wasn’t exactly looking for a romantic relationship, and even a hookup seemed complicated now that he had a kid at home. It wasn’t like he could stay out all night, or even real late, for that matter. And he certainly couldn’t show up at the ranch with Little Red Riding Hood in tow. What would Mrs. Garza think?
Little Red Riding Hood dug around in her purse while the bartender looked on. In only a few seconds there was an impressive pile of crap on the counter, but she hadn’t scrounged up any money. She sighed in resignation. “Just water, I guess.”
“I’ve already opened the bottle,” the bartender said.
She turned her big brown eyes on Travis. “Do you mind?”
Heck, no, he didn’t mind. It was why he’d offered. He handed some cash to the bartender as the blonde took a big swig of beer. And then another.
“Argument with a boyfriend?” he asked.
Her big eyes grew even larger. He probably shouldn’t have said anything. “You just look a bit…out of sorts.”
“Great. I look out of sorts.”
He couldn’t say the right thing to save his soul. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just wondering why your makeup is smudged.”
“My makeup is smudged?” She dug through the pile of crap still on the counter and pulled out a small mirror.
“You look fine.”
“Fine? Aren’t you a sweet talker. And oh wow”—she stared in the mirror—“in what universe do I look fine?” She licked her finger and rubbed it beneath her eye. “And there is no boyfriend,” she added. “Zero, zilch, nada.”
A flicker of hope popped up and settled inconveniently in Travis’s crotch. He had no intention of fanning it into a flame, so he took a sip of beer and tried to ignore it.
“I guess I do technically have a boyfriend.”
Good. The flicker of hope fizzled out.
Little Red Riding Hood rubbed a cocktail napkin across the condensation on her beer bottle and smeared it under her eyes in earnest. “Lots of them, actually. That’s the problem.”
