She ducked her head against the wind whipping her curled hair about her face, and she would not have been surprised if it blew off the fake eyelashes Lilah had glued to her lids. Natalie had half a buzz, and she’d let Lilah do her makeup. Lilah made her look more like a vixen than a superheroine.
With the velvet cape tucked around her for warmth, they ducked between the salon and the construction company. A block down the street, Mort’s Bar pulsed and vibrated with electric light and country music. There were four bars in Truly, but Mort’s was more than a bar. More than just a place to drink cold beers and get into a fight on Friday nights. Mort’s was an institution. Old like Princeton or Harvard, only for dumb people who wanted to get an education in getting tanked.
Natalie and Lilah passed devils and slutty nurses as they walked down the sidewalk and ducked beneath the “No One Under 21” sign above the bar’s door.
The heavy thump of the jukebox and the smells of hops and old wood filled Natalie’s nose as she stepped inside. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She hadn’t been in Mort’s in years, but it hadn’t changed. An array of antlers still hung above the long mahogany bar. The jackalope the original Mort had “bagged” back in ’52 still hung front and center. Behind the cash register and bottles of alcohol, a mirror ran the length of the bar, while three bartenders pulled beers and blended drinks.
“What can I get you girls?” the owner of Mort’s, Mick Hennessey, asked as they wedged themselves in at the bar. Out of the four bars, Mick owned two—Mort’s and the saloon that had been handed down through generations and bore his last name.
“White wine,” Natalie answered.
“Dirty Redheaded Slut.”
A smile curved Mick’s handsome face. “You got it.”
Natalie looked at her friend within the shadows and neon glow. “Seriously?”
Lilah shrugged her bare shoulders. “I like them.”
“You like the name.”
Lilah flipped the ponytail of the sleek black wig she wore. “You should try one. Lighten you right up.”
“No thanks. Charlotte goes to school with Mick’s son. His wife is a Thursday helper. I’m not going to get drunk on Dirty Sluts.”
“Dirty Redheaded Sluts,” Lilah corrected her as she took off her jacket. “Are you going to wear that cape all night?”
“I’m cold.” Which was true, but she discovered that she wasn’t all that comfortable wearing a bustier in public. Not now. After a few glasses of wine, she might lighten up.
Natalie felt an arm slide around her shoulders before a voice said, “Hey sis. What’s up?”
Lilah sighed and asked her brother, Tommy, “Is your wife here?” It was no secret that Lilah couldn’t stand her sister-in-law, Helen. Helen owned a hair salon in town, but Lilah refused to work there. Helen had a reputation for giving shitty cuts and bad color.
Tommy hung one arm around Natalie and the other around his sister. “She’s at home with the kids.”
Natalie had known Tommy Markham for as long as she’d known Lilah. At one time, he’d been a good-looking guy, but his lifestyle was quickly catching up with him.
“How are you, Nat?” he asked.
“I’m okay. Business is good. Charlotte’s good.”
Their drinks arrived and Tommy put them on his tab. They toasted with their glasses, then Lilah left her at the bar to chat with Tommy. They talked about his parents and his sons, who played junior high football. He bought her another glass of wine and a vodka shot.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Tommy?”
He grinned, and a bit of his youthful charm shone through. “Maybe.”
It was no secret that Tommy was a dog and a serial cheater. It was also no secret that the Markhams in general were horny people. Natalie shot the lemon-flavored vodka down her throat and let out a breath. “You’re like a brother.”
“But I’m not. No one would have to know.”
“Gross, Tommy.” She grabbed her wine and turned away.
“Ah, don’t run away,” he called after her as she moved through the bar toward Lilah, standing beneath a big moose head. She got halfway across the bar before she was stopped by Suzanne Porter. Suzanne was dressed as a sexy mouse, which fit. She’d gone to school with Suzanne, and the girl had always been quiet but wild.
They talked about kids and business, and Natalie’s cheeks glowed with a happy buzz until Suzanne asked, “When’s Michael getting out?”
“I’m not absolutely sure,” Natalie answered. “Ask his mother and father.”
“He won’t be staying with you?”
Natalie looked at Suzanne’s whiskers and red nose. “Of course not.” She excused herself and found Lilah cozying up with none other than Frankie Cornell. “Hi, Frankie,” she said, and kept her gaze glued to his vampire fangs drawn on his lips and chin.
“Hey, Natalie. I sent my Halloween pictures to your business.”
She hadn’t seen them yet, but she hoped they weren’t photos of his magnum wang. “Thanks for the business.”
“You’re welcome. Just doing my part to keep my business local.”
Natalie took a drink and looked at Lilah over the rim of her glass.
Lilah had a big grin that reached her eyes and made them shine with humor. “That’s what we love about you, Frankie.”
Frankie beamed beneath the attention. “I hear Michael’s getting out soon.”
Natalie lowered her glass. “That’s what I hear.”
“That’s great!” Frankie, never good with social cues, rattled on about high school and football and how nice it was going to be to see Michael again. “Remember that game against the bulldogs when Michael threw that touchdown pass in the last three seconds?”
Lilah, who was good at social cues, tried to change the subject several times, but Frankie was stuck on the same track. Finally Lilah just gave up and threaded her arm through his. “Come buy me a drink, Frankie,” she said, and led him through the crowd toward the bar.
Natalie found a group of friends at a high table in one corner of the bar. Some of them had children around Charlotte’s age, and they chatted about kids and jobs. They talked about the upcoming Truly Winter Festival, speculated who might win the ice sculpting trophy, and laughed about last year’s spectacular snowmobile wipeouts.
Then the subject turned to Michael, and Natalie wasn’t laughing anymore. She’d buried her past with Michael long ago, but with his impending release, it was brought up fresh, and suddenly her life was the subject of speculation. Everyone wanted to know when Michael was getting out. Where was he going to live? Did he have to pay restitution? What did Charlotte think of her daddy coming home?
Natalie finished her wine and excused herself. She wrapped her cape around herself and found Lilah by the bar hanging out with her brother and some guy named Steve.
“If one more person asks me about Michael, I’m going to crack a chair over somebody’s head.”
Lilah took a bite of a green olive on a toothpick. “You’re not a brawler.”
She looked into her friend’s smoky eyes. Either Lilah had smeared her makeup or Natalie was getting drunk. “I can throw down.” She held up the forearms covered in shiny green gauntlets. “I have superpowers.” She knew it was the alcohol, but she kind of felt like she could kick some butt tonight.
Lilah laughed. “You ran home crying when Linda Finley threw bird poop on you.”
“That was the sixth grade and it landed in my hair.” She dropped her arms. She’d never been in a fight in her life, but if one more person asked about her ex-husband, she could probably go all flying snooker crazy on someone.
Lilah shook her head. “Steve, dance with my friend Natalie.” She patted the guy on the shoulder and warned, “Behave.”
“And don’t mention Michael.”
“Who’s Michael?”
“Exactly.”
She and Steve moved to the small crowded dance floor and he wrapped his arm around her waist. All respectable like a real gentleman. “I like this Catwoman costume.”
Catwoman? “I’m Robin. Batman’s sidekick.”
“Robin’s a guy.”
“Not tonight.” Over Tyler Farr’s “Redneck Crazy,” she told Steve how long it had taken her to find the costume on the Internet. “Most were inappropriate.”
“I like inappropriate.” To prove it, Steve slid his hand down her green shorts and cupped her butt. She pushed at his shoulders and left him standing on the dance floor. What had she expected from a friend of Tommy’s?
She found Lilah chatting with a cute young bartender. “I’m going home.”
“Are you going to crash at my place?”
She’d love to. “I can’t leave the dog alone.” She was too tipsy to drive and Truly didn’t have taxis. “Are you sober?”
Lilah shook her head. “I know who is, though.”
Ten minutes later, Natalie sat in the back of Frankie’s piece-of-crap Ford Taurus. The heat didn’t seem to work and Natalie wrapped her cape tight around herself. Lilah sat in front, chatting nonstop like Frankie’s car was all nice and toasty and Natalie wasn’t in the back turning into an icicle.
When they pulled up in front of her house, Lilah looked over her shoulder at Natalie, “Are you going to be okay?”
Natalie nodded and looked past her friend’s head to the lights from the big house next door spilling into the darkness and onto the long drive. Light that hadn’t been burning hours ago. “Oh yeah. I’ll be just fine.”
Chapter Six
Blake laughed and raised a bottle of water to his lips. “Cliff was uglier than a bag of smashed assholes,” he said into his cell phone, then took a drink. “But there was no one better in the comm center during a firefight.”
Retired Navy SEAL buddy Vince Haven added, “And drank anyone under the table. Even you and your brother.”
“True. Remember that bar in Memphis when we took out a couple of firefighters and some of those mixed martial arts pussies.” Fighting was just a fact of life in the teams. Blake never went looking for a fight. A fight just always seemed to find him. Usually it started with a little dog itching to take on a big dog. Or it happened when a man insulted a woman, and Blake felt it his duty to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to shut his pie hole. And it just went without saying that all bets were off when someone disrespected a fellow serviceman or woman while sitting on their ass in a micro brewery, sipping pumpkin beer.
“You got arrested that time.”
Arrested because he’d been so shit-faced he’d kept fighting once the cops arrived. Blake took another drink, then set the bottle on the counter. “The charges were dropped,” he said as the doorbell rang. He raised his wrist and looked at his watch. It was midnight. “What the fuck? Someone’s at my door.”
“Booty call?”
He thought of Natalie. “Nah. That’s the big drawback of small-town living. Not a lot of booty to call.”
“Damn. I remember those days.”
Now Vince had a good-looking woman in his bed every night. He’d even put a ring on her finger. “My nut sack is about to explode from lack of action,” Blake said as he walked to the door. On the other side all he could make out was a yellow blur through the glass.
Vince laughed. “Go take some Motrin.”
The military handed out Motrin for everything from tooth pain to sucking chest wounds. “I don’t think Motrin can cure my blue balls,” he said as he opened the door and came face-to-face with someone who could. By the look on her face, she didn’t seem to be in a real accommodating mood.
“You’re finally back.”
Her hair was big. Her shiny yellow cape was not. “I’ll get in touch later, brother.” He hung up and slid the phone into his back pocket. He guessed it was too much to hope that she was naked beneath that thing. “What can I do for you, Ms. Cooper?”
She pointed down and listed to the left as if she were taking on water. “Your dog.”
He lowered his gaze from the little red smear of lipstick on the bottom of her lip, down her chin to the yellow cape tied around her throat. The shiny cape fell to mid-thigh, and his gaze continued down her long legs and black boots to the puppy lying at her feet like she’d dragged him out of his dog bed. For once, Recruit Sparky wasn’t bouncing around being a maniac.
“You can’t just take off any time you feel like it and neglect your responsibilities.” She righted herself and stood up straight. “Your actions affect other people, you know. You’re a bad dog owner and neighbor.”
Yet another affirmation why he was not the marrying kind of guy. “I was at a friend’s funeral in Oklahoma.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
He waved her inside and got a whiff of booze as she passed. “Are you drunk, Sweet Cheeks?” He shut the door behind her.
“I had some wine.” The dog finally recognized him and barked like the maniac Blake remembered. “Some vodka and maybe a shot of tequila.” Natalie leaned down to unsnap the leash and almost took a header into his crotch. She knelt on one knee, and the yellow cape parted around one of her smooth thighs. “How did your friend die?”
He looked down at the top of her blond hair so close to his button fly, and his blue balls turned a few shades bluer. “His convoy was hit with an IED in Ramadi.” Blake squatted down on the heels of his running shoes and petted the wiggling dog. She smelled like booze and perfume and temptation. A temptation that tugged at his belly and told him to slide his hand from the inside of her knee and up her thigh.
“He was a soldier?”
“No.” He looked into her eyes a few inches from his. “Navy SEAL Team One, Alpha Platoon. We graduated BUD/S together.” She looked like she sincerely felt bad and, if she offered to give him a hug, he didn’t trust himself not to throw her down and pin her to the floor.
“He was a SEAL?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t talk about his dead buddies with people who’d never lived in a war zone. “How many shots of vodka did you have?” he asked, purposely changing the subject.
“Two. Maybe.” Natalie put her hand on his shoulder and straightened. Put it on him like her touch meant nothing. As if her warm palm didn’t send fire down his chest and straight to his crotch. She dropped her hand like she didn’t notice. “I feel bad,” she added.
Sparky licked his face and he stood. He hung the dog upside down against his chest and scratched its belly. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d kind of missed the little guy. “Wine, tequila, and vodka is a bad combo.”
“No.” She pushed one side of her bouncy curls behind her ear. “I feel bad because I’ve been all annoyed that you stuck me with the dog for two weeks. I thought you’d gone on vacation, but you were at a funeral.”
He supposed now was not the time to mention he’d spent the week and a half after the funeral in Texas with Vince, refurbishing his ranch house and shooting skeet.
“Don’t feel bad.” The dog stretched and yawned and Blake patted Sparky’s round gut.
“So I trained Sparky to poop only in your yard.”
He looked up.
“There’s a lot of it.” She moved toward his kitchen. “You might want to pick it up soon.”
Blake set the dog down and brushed black fur from his white Henley. He wanted to get pissed off, but he’d dumped a puppy on her so he didn’t suppose he could get indignant about it now. “I don’t imagine you’re going to pick up your half.”
She shook her head. The heels of her boots tapping across his wood floor drew his gaze to her long bare legs in black fuck-me boots. “Possession is nine-tenths the law. Remember?”
Yeah. He remembered.
She reached for his bottle of water on the counter and made herself at home. “Do you cook?” She unscrewed the cap and lifted it to her lips.
“I Crock-Pot,” he answered as he watched her drain the bottle. “Do you want some water?”
“No. I’m not thirsty.” She wiped the back of her hand across her red mouth and set the empty bottle back down. “Are you recently divorced?”
“No.” He took his phone from the pocket of his jeans and set it on the island. “Never married.”
Again her heels tapped across the floor as she wandered into the living room. Tap-taps like a sexual code. A relay of information. It was late. She was in his house. He needed to get laid.
Copy that.
“You don’t have much furniture.” She turned in a slow circle while she looked up at the vaulted ceilings. “I thought maybe you got wiped out in a divorce.”
“Before moving here, I lived in a condo in Virginia Beach. I wasn’t there a lot.”
She looked over her shoulder at him as she walked to the big front windows. “Are you anti-marriage?”
What was this? Twenty-question night? “I think marriage is great. For other people.” His ran his gaze up the backs of her legs. “But it’s not for me.”
“Get your heart broke a time or two?” She stopped in front of her reflection.
“No.” He moved behind her, and his gaze met hers in the window. “Are you anti-marriage?”
“No. I’ve been married.” She looked out at the darkness, and the smattering of town lights across the lake. “I’d get married again if I met the right man.” She turned to face him and her cape brushed the front of his jeans. “A man around the house would come in handy for those things I can’t do myself.”
Sex. She couldn’t have skin-on-skin sex by herself.
What I Love About You (Truly, Idaho) Page 8
