An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014

by Ann Charles

  “Yeah.” I knew the difference thanks to my fun times with Cooper. “Rex would have howled a lot more if it was broken.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  I smiled, relaxing back into the soft bed now that my admission about Rex hadn’t resulted in more than some minor bumps. “I’ll try harder next time.”

  “Use an oak cupboard door. That should do the trick. Or just taser him.”

  My chuckle stretched into a yawn that I couldn’t quite stifle.

  “Are you getting sleepy, Boots?”

  “Uh-huh.” I shifted lower in the bed, letting my chin loll to the side. “You have a way of sedating me, like a really good drug.”

  “This has nothing to do with good drugs, woman. I’ve got you under my spell. You’re doomed.”

  I snuggled into my pillow, imagining his arm wrapped around me, pulling me back into his warmth. “I like it when you doom me. I’d like it even more if you could come over here right now and doom me some more.”

  “How about I tell you exactly how I’d ruin you once and for all,” Doc said, “starting with those lovely, smooth legs of yours?”

  Yawning again, I pulled the covers up to my chin. “I thought you told me once you weren’t a leg man.”

  The sandman began to work his magic, making my eyes hard to keep open.

  “Yeah, but we weren’t talking about your legs then, Boots. They’re in a class all their own, along with the rest of your soft, curvy parts. Now close your eyes, listen, and go to sleep.”

  I did as he told me in that exact order. When I opened my eyes next, the sun was awake and waiting outside the window. My phone lay quiet and dark beside me. Doc must have hung up after I crashed.

  I stood and stretched, trying to remember how far up my legs Doc had made it before I fell asleep. He was past my knee, wasn’t he? Had I dreamed him saying he wanted to lick ice cream off of my thighs? I must have because it was peanut butter fudge, my favorite, not his.

  I took my time getting up and moving. I hadn’t had a day off in a while, so I wanted to savor this one. Detective Cooper’s text message saying he wanted to reschedule our meeting to a future date made me dance a little jig on the way to the bathroom.

  The kids got tired of waiting for me while I showered, shaved, primped, and styled. The Oktoberfest Weiner Dog races in Deadwood were no Del Mar horse track event, but I wanted to be dressed to impress in case Doc was able to wrap up his appointments early and join us at the festivities. One never knew when a certain red-haired, evil ex-flame would suddenly appear and try to show up all the other fair maidens in town with her perky breasts, flat stomach, and voluptuous everything else.

  Applying one last coat of mascara, I practiced my glare in the bathroom mirror. “Back off, bitch. He’s mine.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Addy asked from the doorway, where she stood watching me with Elvis at her feet.

  “Myself.”

  “Aunt Susan says that only crazy people talk to themselves.”

  My sister’s name set off alarms in my head. I whipped around. “You haven’t been talking to Susan, have you? You know how I feel about that.” As much as I’d have liked to handle my dislike for all things Susan with maturity and pretend everything was fine and dandy between us in front of my children, the instinct to shield them from the forces of evil won out.

  “Aunt Susan told me that a long, long time ago. It might have been back in August when we were staying with Grandma and Grandpa for a few days.”

  August was not exactly ancient history. Funny how time worked in a kid’s brain.

  “I’m not crazy.” Although I wasn’t as positive as I sounded about my sanity after some of the peculiar stuff I’d witnessed since moving to Deadwood. “Some people talk to themselves because they need to vent.”

  Addy’s chicken tipped her head to the side and clucked at me and then strutted away.

  I took that as an insult. “Adelynn,” I pointed my tube of mascara at her, “you know that chicken is not supposed to be upstairs.”

  “Ah, come on, Mom. Give Elvis a break. It’s National Chicken Week, you know.” She said it as if it were one of the eight major U.S. holidays.

  “There is no such thing as National Chicken Week. You think I was born yesterday?” Maybe I should look that up online later to make sure of that. I tossed the tube of mascara into my makeup bag. “Let’s go eat breakfast. Aunt Zoe and Layne are waiting.”

  I followed her downstairs, walking while she bounced and chattered about selling wiener dog sweat suits at next year’s Oktoberfest.

  “Yesterday, Kelly signed her dad up for the wife carrying contest when he wasn’t looking,” Addy informed me as we joined Aunt Zoe and Layne at the kitchen table where a cup of coffee waited for me, along with eggs, bacon, and toast.

  “You’re too good to me.” I kissed Aunt Zoe on the forehead and dropped into my chair, reaching for the coffee.

  “It’s part of the deal we made when you were eight—I take care of you when you’re young and you take care of me when I’m old.”

  The coffee was sweetened just right. “The deal still stands.” I held out my finger for a pinky swear.

  “Mom, will you do me a big favor?” Addy asked when we’d returned to eating and drinking.

  “Sure.” I took a sip of coffee.

  “Will you be Kelly’s dad’s wife and help him win the trophy for us?”

  The gulp of coffee I’d been swallowing went down all wrong and then burned its way back up and out through my nose. I grabbed the napkin Aunt Zoe held out and swiped at the drips coming out my nostrils, nailing Addy with a watery-eyed squint. “I am not going to be Jeff’s anything, Adelynn Renee.”

  “It’s only for pretend. Sheesh, Mom, lighten up.”

  “I’ll lighten up when you quit trying to marry me off to that man.” I sneezed out a couple more coffee drips into the napkin, and then picked up my fork and dug into my eggs. “He has a new girlfriend, anyway. She can be his contest wife.”

  “Mr. Wymonds has a girlfriend?” Layne asked, his eyes shining with obvious glee.

  I felt the same way about Jeff taking his “plow” elsewhere and smiled back at him. “Yep. He told me about her last night.”

  “And you’re not sad, right?” Layne asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “Good.”

  “No, it’s not good, Layne.” Addy pinched her brother’s arm, which resulted in a return shove. “Just because she’s not going to marry Kelly’s dad doesn’t mean she won’t get married to someone else someday, you know.”

  Layne sneered at Addy. “Doc said he isn’t going to marry her, remember?”

  Doc said what now?

  I lowered my fork, my frown careening into Aunt Zoe’s matching one. Why would Doc say that? Had he even given me a chance?

  Then I realized that my kids must have harassed him about marrying me and my humiliation from his rejection flared even higher thanks to a sharp slap of mortification. My cheeks burned clear to my ears. I glanced downward while I picked up both halves of my heart and shoved them back into the hole in my chest cavity.

  Placing my fork on the table next to my spoon, I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “What did you two say to Doc yesterday?”

  They both started defending themselves at once, pointing food covered forks at each other, doing their best to shout louder than the other. I decided right there and then to start their punishment by grounding them at least until they were dead, maybe even through the end of time.

  “That’s enough!” I interrupted, out-yelling both of them. “Go outside.” I needed a few moments to corral the hurt tearing through me at Doc’s response, a short breather before I could act rationally when it came to my bratty spawn. When they just looked at me, I barked, “Now!”

  “But we’re not done,” Addy pointed at her half-full plate.

  “Take your plates and go eat on the back porch.”

  Addy stood and collected her food and silverware.
“Do we still get to go to the wiener dog races later?” she asked as she backed through the screen door.

  I picked up my coffee cup. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re the one who stuck us with Doc yesterday,” Layne said as he followed her. He paused on the threshold, one blonde eyebrow raised in challenge. “Don’t be mad at us because he doesn’t want to marry you. Besides, I thought you said you were just really good friends.”

  I set my coffee cup down and leveled my glare on him. “Doc is my boyfriend, Layne. Whether or not he wants to marry me is not even up for discussion at the moment.”

  “We don’t need or want a dad.” His chin jutted. “We’ve lived this long without one and we’re doing just fine.” He slammed the door closed behind him.

  I gaped at the door for a few seconds before turning to Aunt Zoe. “This is some fucked-up shit I’m in.”

  She burst out laughing.

  “It’s not funny,” I told her.

  Several snorts of laughter were her response, which in turn made me start to giggle in spite of my current maelstrom.

  When we stopped laughing, she swiped at the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t sleep well last night and that whole blow up caught me completely off guard.”

  “You and me both.” I picked up a piece of bacon, not sure I was up to eating it now thanks to the angst churning in my gut. “I thought we were making some progress with those two accepting Doc. Now I’m thinking it’s only gotten worse.”

  “I disagree. This is progress. They know Doc is in the picture and not going anywhere. They’re having to adjust is all, which is usually not an easy thing.”

  I groaned and sat back, clutching my stomach. “Why on earth did they have to ask him about marrying me?”

  “Because they love you. They’re afraid of losing you and at the same time they want some kind of affirmation from Doc that he’s not going to leave you … and them. Plus, in their heads, marriage is the next logical step. Keep in mind that they grew up watching Disney movies. They don’t know that sometimes you can love someone with everything you have and never get your happily ever after.”

  I did a doubletake. “Are we talking about Doc or Reid?”

  Her blue eyes flashed in pain. “There’s nothing to talk about when it comes to Reid.”

  “Really? Because you’ve been playing that super sad Linda Ronstadt song over and over. What’s it called? Long, Long Time, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I heard it coming out from under your door last night when I was getting ready for bed.”

  “This topic is off limits this morning.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “And you need to stop listening under my door.”

  “Okay, okay. You want me to go eat outside, too?”

  She spared me a small smile and returned to her breakfast.

  I on the other hand returned to my wallow. “How do you know they weren’t trying to scare Doc off?”

  “Did you mention anything in front of them about Doc’s aversion to marriage when it came to his ex-girlfriend?”

  “No, only you know about that.” I might have told Natalie, too. I couldn’t remember.

  “Then they have no clue that bringing up marriage would scare him, right?” At my nod, she continued. “Violet, they’re kids. They’re putting out feelers.”

  “Do you think I should bring it up with Doc?”

  Aunt Zoe shrugged. “How bad do you want to know why he said he wouldn’t marry you?”

  I considered trying to play it cool and lie that I didn’t care.

  She smirked at me. “Let me rephrase that. How awkward of a conversation do you want to have with Doc about marriage?”

  I shuddered visibly at the thought. “Face-to-face rejection is not really my thing.”

  “What is your thing?”

  “I’m still figuring that out.” I tossed the uneaten piece of bacon onto my plate. “Apparently, it’s not getting married.”

  Not that I wanted to rush down the aisle anytime soon, but having the option would be nice when it came to Doc.

  Aunt Zoe scoffed. “You and me both, kiddo.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunday, October 7th

  Twenty-four hours later, I was still obsessing.

  Never mind that I sat in Bighorn Billy’s Diner with Ray, Mona, and Ben while Jerry led our weekly meeting; or that I should be listening to my boss’s game plan for the next week since he’d mentioned something about me playing “point guard” with Dickie and Honey.

  I stabbed at my salad with my fork, wondering why I gave such a damn that wedding bells weren’t in the future for Doc and me.

  It wasn’t like I didn’t have bigger problems, what with Rex leaving multiple messages for me at work about going out to see more houses. His badgering wasn’t going unnoticed by Mona, who was asking a lot of questions now, wondering if Rex and I had met before he’d walked in our office looking for a Realtor.

  Then there was Detective Hawke, who had tried to get a hold of me on my cell phone several times this morning. I doubted he appreciated being sent to voicemail call after call.

  I shoved a forkful of salad in my mouth, chewing the hell out of it. Marriage was probably overrated anyway. And I surely didn’t need a man to make me feel more like a woman. Hell, I felt plenty female every month when my period came: cramps, hormone rages, and all.

  I tried to focus on the good things happening in my life, like yesterday with my kids. We had made up after our spat and not only had shared lots of laughs at the wiener dog races, but they’d also gotten up early today and served me a breakfast of Pop Tarts, grapes, and orange juice in bed. And last night Doc had called, flirting and laughing with me as if he hadn’t told my kids he wasn’t going to marry me.

  The salad tasted dry and stale. I grabbed the ranch dressing and coated the chopped leaves in my bowl and then some, making ranch dressing soup with a sprinkling of lettuce.

  Who said I even wanted a husband? I’d been raising my kids on my own since they were born. Did I really want to put up with someone else coming into my home and directing me on how to lead my life? How to raise my kids? Layne was right on that level—we’d been fine for a long time on our own. If any man thought that I was going to cook him dinner each night or have his breakfast ready for him when he got up in the morning, he was in for an unhappy reality.

  Shaking my head at the image of me in a June Cleaver apron, I snorted and plucked out a crouton floating in the ranch dressing. I may have fallen in love with Doc, the big bozo, but if no vows were exchanged it wouldn’t be the end of the world. We could still have fun under the sheets and enjoy each other’s company until it grew stale—like my salad.

  I crunched on the crouton. So there was no reason to be obsessed with Doc’s matrimonial allergy. It was time to quit spinning my wheels in this stupid rut, shift into four-wheel drive, and get the heck …

  “Violet?” Jerry’s voice penetrated my inner rant.

  I looked up from fishing lettuce pieces from my soupy salad to find four pairs of eyes locked on me.

  Shit, what had I missed. “Yeah?”

  “What do you think of Ray’s suggestion?”

  If it came from the mouth of that horse’s ass, I’d bet old man Harvey’s left nut that I was going to hate it. Or was it Harvey’s right nut? I shrugged. “I think we should discuss it more,” I said with as much absolute vagueness as I could muster.

  Ray smirked. “I told you she wasn’t paying attention.”

  I fantasized about jamming croutons up Ray’s nose.

  “Did you even hear what we’ve been talking about for the last five minutes, Violet?” Jerry asked, frowning down at my bowl of ranch dressing.

  “No.” My face warmed. “Sorry. I have some stuff going on at home that’s distracting me.”

  “Ray suggested you take Dickie and Honey out to Willis Harvey’s ranch,” Ben supplied, winking in response to the Th
anks I mouthed for helping me out while his uncle circled overhead with his sharp beak snapping.

  Go to Harvey’s, huh? I glanced at Ray. What a friggin’ stupid-assed suggestion. I turned to Jerry with a polite smile. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  Jerry’s big forehead got all crinkly. “Ray seems to think the excitement that’s gone on out at Mr. Harvey’s ranch would score us a three-pointer on the publicity factor. I think he may be onto something. Try to look at it from a marketing perspective, Violet.”

  Ray played chicken with my glare, neither one of us looking away until Mona waved her hand between us.

  I set my fork down. “Marketing-wise, I still think this is a bad idea.” At Jerry’s raised brows, I explained, “First, I’m not even sure that the police have removed all the barriers and crime scene tape from the property. Second, we’d be exploiting a poor old man who might not want negative attention.”

  A guffaw came from the dick-weed across the table. “Come on, Blondie, who are you trying to fool? Old man Harvey would love to have his mug on television. He’d probably figure out some way to use his celebrity status to score some new action down at the Prairie Dog Palace.”

  Ray pretty much nailed that one, but I wasn’t going to let him know it. I mocked a shocked expression, open mouth and all. “Really, Ray, that’s a bit crude for a work meeting.” I looked at Jerry. “Are you going to let him speak like that in front of Mona?”

  Jerry pointed at Ray. “Knock off the inappropriate language at the lunch table, Ray.”

  My nemesis cleared his throat, glancing at Mona. “Sorry about that, Red. I forgot where I was.”

  “And don’t call me Blondie,” I added.

  That earned me a curled lip but no apology.

  Jerry sat back, pushing his cleared plate away. “Violet, why don’t you ask Mr. Harvey how he feels about entertaining some visitors from the television industry?”

  Sighing, I caved to my boss with a nod.

  “Mention that there’s a chance he’ll be on TV, that might make him more amenable,” Jerry added.

  Harvey was going to eat this up. “Will do.”

  Zoning in and out for the remainder of the meeting while fishing for lettuce, I piped up when prodded about the statuses of Jeff’s and Cooper’s houses. A nod was enough of a reply for Jerry when he asked if we were still waiting for the final paperwork on Cornelius’s hotel purchase.