Home Sweet Gnome

by Jennifer Zane

  I tilted my head up to the scoresheet. Sure enough, my bowling name was Silky.

  Since his name was entered first, he bowled first, knocking down eight, then waited for the lane to reset the two remaining pins.

  He clearly had a delineation in his mind between good girls and bad girls. One was fine for the night, the other for a lifetime.

  “Do you really think this Sarah woman is interested in finding a husband at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally? Seriously?” I leaned back in the plastic swivel chair, my legs tucked under the table, my arms over my chest. “She’s looking for the guy version of Silky Tangles.”

  The ball popped out of the return. He picked it up, chucked the ball down the lane, knocking over the remaining pins.

  “Spare,” he said. “What about you? You looking for Mr. Right?”

  The lane reset and it was my turn. I stood. “Don’t you mean Mr. Right Now?”

  I picked up my blue ball and lined up to go.

  “You have what, three or four Mr. Right Nows while filming. It’s not like Mr. Right’s going to want to come home to you.”

  Wow. That was…cruel and I wasn’t even a porn star. “That’s such a double standard.” I faced the lane, lined up and swung. The ball slid down the lane smoothly then took out all the pins.

  “Strike,” I replied. “I’m going to get a pitcher.” I didn’t look back, just headed for the bar. It was snoring in the RV or jackass JT. I chose neither.

  ***

  “You’ve got some pretty hot moves,” a man to my right said. I turned. Twenties, Wrangler jeans, snug T-shirt, cowboy hat. Not half bad.

  Not interested.

  “Um, thanks.” I turned back to watch the bartender fill the pitcher. “Bowling’s fun.”

  “I don’t mean bowling.” He moved in a smidgen closer, which put him definitely in my space. He had quite the roving eye, which seemed to stop squarely on my breasts.

  Another guy approached, leered. He wasn’t half-bad looking either, but he gave me the creeps. “I’m Jared. My idiot friend here is Paul.”

  I nodded vaguely, eyed the bartender who was at the tap. “Hi.”

  “What brings you to Montana?” Jared asked.

  “I live here.” No way was I giving more information than that.

  “In Hardin? Not a chance.” He shook his head and chuckled. “We would’ve known.” Anyone moving to a town the size of Hardin would be big news. Hardin made Bozeman look like New York City.

  “Nope. Not Hardin.”

  “Here with that guy?” Paul asked, tilting his chin toward the lanes.

  “Yup.” I leaned forward on the glossy wood bar and focused on the bartender, willing him to work his way back to me.

  “That’s okay. We don’t mind sharing.” He moved in closer. “We know you like it.” His words had me whipping my head around to look at him. The guy actually waggled his eyebrows. Jared just grinned.

  Oh great. They thought I was Silky Tangles.

  “Look, guys, I’m not who you think I am.”

  Jared’s gaze raked down my body, grinned. “Right. Incognito.” He looked left and right, leaned close and lowered his voice. “We won’t tell anyone. We promise, don’t we, Paul?”

  Jared’s leer matched Paul’s sleazy look. They were certainly not thinking pure thoughts at the moment. “Yeah, we promise.”

  “Look, guys, I’m flattered and all, but I’m not into sharing.”

  An arm came around my shoulder from behind. “Neither am I.”

  I tensed before realizing it was JT, relaxed into his hold, his hand warm on my upper arm. Even through the smoke and the spilled beer aroma, I picked up JT’s clean scent. I could handle brushing off a guy because I never really considered myself much of a catch, but two guys who thought I was a sexual acrobat and into ménage on film, was something else entirely. Silky Tangles seemed to have a lot of followers and they were all in Montana. Actually, because of me, she was probably stalker free. Wherever she was.

  “Right, baby?” He leaned in and whispered close to my ear. I felt his breath fan my nape. The possessiveness I heard in JT’s voice was not only a relief, but a total turn-on. He was a complete asshat, but it felt good to have a guy watch out for me. Even if it was a complete act.

  “You’re going to play hard to get? Seriously? Is this how you treat your fans?” Paul asked.

  “Is this how you treat women?” I countered, hand on hip.

  “You’re not a woman, you’re a porn star. At least show us your tits.” Jared reached out to tuck a finger under the hem of my T-shirt.

  That’s when I grabbed his wrist and twisted it sideways with my left hand while I punched him in the nose with my right.

  After that, all hell broke loose.

  Paul said something nasty, JT tackled him to the floor, breaking a table in the process. Jared covered his bleeding nose and called me a really nasty name not even used in porn flicks. By the time I kneed him in the groin, the bartender had come around the bar to grab my arm.

  Of course, it would have just been a bar brawl and we wouldn’t have been arrested if the Hardin police department wasn’t in lane four and cranky from losing to the volunteer fire department the next lane over. Team Bowl Movement took us to jail while team Ebowla dealt with Jared’s broken nose.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Arrested twice three days, Daphne, is not something to be proud of.” Aunt Velma’s voice was what woke me. My head felt like a bowling ball, my tongue needed to be shaved and I smelled like beer. I’d open my eyes wider than narrow slits, but I was afraid the overhead light might blind me.

  “Don’t talk so loud,” I groaned.

  “Here.”

  I opened one eye carefully and saw four pills resting in Aunt Velma’s palm along with a tiny paper cup of water. I took the pills and guzzled the water, although it was only about a swallow’s worth.

  “We go to sleep and the next thing I know, I’m being called down to the police station. Again.”

  Police station? Oh shit.

  I sat up and looked around and wished I hadn’t. My head was about to explode. I was once again in a jail cell, these cinderblock walls painted a lovely shade of mauve. The bed was once again hard plastic and the smell the same institutional scent as in Bozeman. “Where’s JT?”

  “Goldie’s bailing him out now.”

  “I expected you to punch him again, not someone else.”

  I ran my hand over my hair and felt it sticking out in the back. I felt like road kill and I probably looked like it too. “JT isn’t the only asshat around,” I replied dryly.

  “You started a bar brawl, Daphne.” The sound of her voice had me turning my head. She wasn’t angry, she was trying not to laugh.

  I cracked a smile, but doing any kind of grinning would make my head hurt too much. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

  “You’ve got some serious anger management issues.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. I was sitting in jail cell. Again. I definitely had issues.

  ***

  When a woman took the Walk Of Shame, usually it was after a one-night stand. Since that would be too cool for me—either a guy didn’t want me, like Roger, or guys wanted me too much, like those losers at the bowling alley—I had to come up with my own kind of personal hell.

  Walking out of a police station, hungover, in clothes that reeked of stale booze, my hair snarled in ways not able to be made by man and had to face not only Goldie and Esther Millhouse, but the guy who’d been trying to defend me, well, I’d stooped to a whole new low. I couldn’t escape any of them since we were all stuck in the RV together.

  “At least you didn’t pee yourself this time,” Goldie said to me.

  I rolled my eyes up into my head. “I didn’t pee myself last time,” I replied wearily.

  “Last time?” Esther asked. This morning she wore a hot pink tracksuit, her hair in the same perfect ringlets. I worried about her getting too close to open flame with all the hairspray.

&
nbsp; “You wouldn’t believe it. She was headed to the airport and—”

  Goldie and Esther walked out of the lobby and into the bright sunshine, a few words drifting back as the door closed behind them. No. JT did that? She did what to him? He did? Of course she peed her pants.

  “You.” JT pointed at me, although he looked too tired to put much anger behind the words. For spending the night in a jail cell, JT didn’t look all that bad. Of course his hair looked good all messed up. Of course he looked good with whiskers that were twelve hours past a five o’clock shadow. “You are a total menace. I should—”

  “What? Taser me?” I was hungover, I had several members of the Hardin police department staring at us from behind the counter and Aunt Velma looming over us, but that didn’t mean I was going to stand here and take it. “If you’d just let me get on that damn plane, none of this would have happened.”

  I sliced through the air with my hand.

  “You’re saying spending the night in jail was my fault?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “You’re the one who punched the guy in the face. You have anger management issues.”

  Aunt Velma just gave me a look that said it all: See?

  “You tackled the other jerk to the floor like a football linebacker!”

  “Boys and girls,” Aunt Velma called out, but we ignored her.

  “He called you a….” Yeah, the word was bad. At least JT had enough taste not to say it.

  “You’re only interested in a girl like me for a one-night stand, yet you deck a guy for wanting the exact same thing. You can’t have it both ways, JT.”

  He ran his hand over his neck and looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

  “You want a one-night stand with Daphne?”

  JT at least blushed at the words.

  “Aunt Velma,” I whined. “Can you just give us a minute?”

  “Why? If I leave, the nice police officers over there are still going to get to hear you both.”

  JT and I both turned to look at the men watching us like a tennis match.

  I lifted my hands in surrender. “Forget it. Let’s just get out of here.”

  One of the police officers cleared his throat. “Can we get your autograph before you go, Miss Tangles?”

  ***

  I opened the door to the RV and stepped back as Tigger hissed at me from inside. “Jesus,” I muttered. The cat’s fur stood on end, the tail straight up and it’s little kitty fangs hung down like a vampire. Velma leaned in and looked over my shoulder.

  “That cat is feral,” she muttered. “Esther, get your crazy cat!”

  Esther, a blur of hot pink, came by and scooped up the animal. “He’s a good attack cat.”

  Why anyone would want to steal the pickle was beyond me. With the coast clear, I climbed into the RV followed by Aunt Velma, JT taking up the rear.

  Esther was back in the recliner, cat in lap. It didn’t look overly feral at the moment. Maybe it was schizophrenic instead. Velma settled into the jump seat and JT and I took up our usual spots, me behind the table, him across on the bench seat.

  Goldie turned from the little kitchenette and handed both JT and I each a cup of coffee.

  Wrapping my hands around the hot mug, I sniffed the black brew and felt my headache recede.

  “We have a problem,” Goldie said.

  And the headache was back.

  “Oh, which problem?” I asked, taking a tentative sip.

  Goldie poured another cup and handed it to Esther. “Can you pour a little whiskey in mine?”

  A cell phone dinged. Velma grabbed hers from her purse on the floor between the two front seats. “Oh, it’s Carl,” she replied. I swear I saw little hearts floating around her head.

  Which problem could it possibly be? I was stuck with a chauvinistic asshat, or perhaps it was the feral cat. Maybe it was the pint-sized lush, or was it the nymphomaniac Amazon? Goldie was actually looking pretty tame right about now and that was saying something.

  “Put that away, Velma. Carl can live without you for a few minutes longer.”

  Aunt Velma pursed her lips but put her phone away.

  “What’s the problem, Goldie?”

  “Seniorita is having her girl parts pulled out and we need to go and be with her in the hospital.”

  JT was slumped low on the bench, his legs stretched out into the aisle, if you could call it that. He just sat there and drank his coffee, not even looking up at what Esther just said.

  “Seniorita? Isn’t it Senorita?” I wondered aloud.

  “Actually, it’s Tanya Kolanowski, but that’s her roller derby name,” Aunt Velma supplied. “She’s the oldest woman on the Roller Dolls team, so it’s a play on being a senior citizen.”

  I envisioned Esther with a helmet and knee pads out there on the oval course. “How old is this woman?”

  “Forty-two and she’s having a hysterectomy. Something weird’s going on in there and the plumbing’s got to go.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but why is that a problem?” My brain was still a little foggy, but the coffee was helping. A second cup would help even more. I got up to help myself.

  “We need to go to Fargo.”

  Now JT came alive. “Over my dead body.”

  “I have to agree with him on this one,” I muttered.

  The Dixie horn blared, making me wince.

  “There’s our ride!” Esther stood, dumping the cat onto the floor, where it padded unhappily into the bedroom at the back.

  “Ride?” I asked, JT tipping down the metal blinds.

  “Esther’s grandson is loaning us his car so we can drive to Fargo.”

  “I thought he was going on the rodeo circuit?”

  “Who’s we?” JT asked warily.

  “Goldie, Esther and me,” Velma said, picking up her purse.

  I held up a hand. “Wait a second. Sit down!” I shouted, the ladies were fluttering around and driving me crazy. They all turned to look at me, probably more surprised I yelled with a hangover than my cranky tone. “What am I to do with the RV? I’m not driving it to Omaha.” No way in hell.

  “You’ll take JT to Sturgis, then drive from there to Fargo to pick us up.”

  “You want me to drive to Fargo, North Dakota. Are you serious?” The way they stared at me I knew they were.

  “I actually like this plan. We can be in Sturgis by the afternoon.” JT’s color had improved and he was actually smiling.

  “Just be there by the day tomorrow night because you’re on the roster as Seniorita’s replacement.”

  “For what, her uterus?” My lady parts were pretty rusty from lack of use, so I doubted she’d want them.

  Goldie frowned and Aunt Velma smirked. “For the Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby Association’s championship game between the Fargo Roller Dolls and the Houston Hell On Wheels.”

  JT spewed coffee all over himself. He seemed to have a problem with that.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “We don’t kid about roller derby, Daphne,” Esther chided.

  “You want me to be in a roller derby competition?”

  “You want Daphne to do roller derby?” JT asked, amusement lacing every word.

  I was part of the Minnesota women’s hockey team that won the national championship, not once, but twice. No way in hell was I telling that to JT. If he wanted to learn something about me besides my cup size, then he could just ask.

  All four of us glared at the man. “What?” he asked, hands up in surrender.

  “Your anger issues will come in handy,” Esther added, a gleam of maliciousness in her eye.

  “If you do this, Daph, then we’ll put you on a plane from Fargo back to Bozeman,” Velma added. “We’ll take the RV down to Omaha from there.”

  “That’s blackmail,” I replied. They were holding my escape from this ridiculous road trip over me.

  “You’re the best replacement I can think of.” Aunt Velma moved to put her hands on my shoulders. “I wouldn’t let just
anyone play for the Roller Dolls. You’ll do right by the team and make us all proud.”

  It was one of the sappiest moments I’d ever had with Aunt Velma. She wasn’t one to offer platitudes or feelings of any kind, for that matter.

  “I’ve never even played before.”

  JT said something under his breath along the lines of suicide, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “Doesn’t matter. You know the rules; I’ve beaten them into you when we used to watch it on TV. There will be some practice time in advance. Besides, spending time alone with JT will only build up your angst and you’ll be hell on wheels by the time competition rolls around.”

  “Every pun intended,” Esther added.

  This time, JT looked put out.

  The Dixie horn blared again. Esther picked up her Samsonite case. “I didn’t even get to use the watermelon,” she muttered as she left, leaving the door open behind her.

  “It’s what, about three hundred miles to Sturgis, then I can get rid of you.” I glared at JT. “Then I have peace and quiet all the way to Fargo.”

  “Just be there tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night? Fargo’s not around the corner.” They just looked at me, not interested in anything but agreement. I sighed loudly. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it.”

  Aunt Velma only nodded her head, but I could tell she was relieved. Both she and Goldie picked up their bags—clearly knowing I’d say yes and prepacked—and dropped kisses on my cheek before fleeing the RV as if it were on fire.

  “Text me when you hit the North Dakota line,” Aunt Velma called out. Two car doors slammed, then the horn blared one last time for effect and the car peeled out of the police lot.

  “God, it’s quiet,” JT said, the humming of the refrigerator loud now that the ladies were gone.

  “I need at least another two cups of coffee,” I said. “There’s got to be a McDonald’s in this town.”

  JT leaned down and pulled the door shut, then bent his body in half to squeeze behind the wheel. He fiddled with the seat and pushed it back about a foot. “I’ll take the first shift driving.”

  “Fine,” I countered. Three hundred miles. That’s all I had left with this man. Just breathe!

  I climbed into the passenger seat, put on my seat belt.