The Rowdy Coyote Rumble (Jackrabbit Junction Humorous Mystery Book 4)

by Ann Charles

  Claire must not have left yet. She peered into the darkness toward where Claire had parked earlier. The sight of two figures at the edge of the parking lot’s orange glow instead of one made her stand upright.

  Was that Arlene? The hair sure looked like it, along with that lanky yet busty frame of hers. What was she doing here? She’d asked for the night off. And why was Claire on her hands and knees? What was Arlene doing with a …

  Her breath caught.

  Holy fuck! That’s a shotgun!

  As Ronnie watched, the older waitress kicked Claire in the side, knocking her onto the gravel.

  “Get up,” she heard Arlene say, the cold air of the desert night made a great sound conductor. “We’re going to take a little drive, darlin’. I have a friend who wants to meet you. He has a couple of questions about those diamonds you’ve squirreled away.”

  A groan rolled across the gravel lot, followed by the sound of someone spitting.

  Claire was hurt.

  Adrenaline dug its spurs into Ronnie’s hide. Crouching, she slipped off her boots. There was no way she could sneak across the gravel in boots.

  Stones poked through her socks as she stepped off the concrete walkway and slid along the side of the building, still clutching the mop handle. She hid in the shadows under the awning as much as possible as she slinked closer to the action. At the corner of the building she waited, forming a plan of attack. The mop handle slipped from her sweaty palm, but she caught it before it clacked to the ground.

  Not fifteen yards away, Arlene had opened the driver’s side door. “Come on, Claire. According to Katie-doll, you’re supposed to be the tough sister.” She scoffed. “You don’t look so tough now.” She kicked Claire again, this time in the hip as she was trying to stand, knocking her into Ruby’s truck with a solid thump.

  Claire slid down the pickup, slumping onto her side in the gravel. Another groan filled the air, followed by a pain-laced “Fuck you.”

  Fury mixed with fear and rage adding a dose of nitro to the adrenaline coursing through Ronnie. Her muscles tightened, ready to spring into action.

  She needed to do something, but Arlene was still holding that shotgun. Shit! If only she had Katie’s cellphone to text Grady for help.

  “Get in the pickup, Claire. No more fucking around.”

  “Make me,” Claire mumbled.

  The sight of Arlene pointing the shotgun at Claire’s head snapped Ronnie out of her hesitation. Gravel chewed through her socks as she sprinted across the lot, hell bent on stopping that bitch from shooting her sister.

  Arlene turned as she neared, the barrel of her shotgun lining up with Ronnie’s chest.

  But she was too slow and Ronnie was ready, mop handle raised. Without a grunt, she swung the mop handle like Babe Ruth. Months of pent up rage and frustration from playing the part of prey fueled her muscles. The wood handle cracked against the gun barrel, knocking it aside. Ronnie used her momentum to propel her shoulder-first into Arlene’s chest, slamming her back into the front quarter panel of the truck.

  An “oof” flew from Arlene’s lips, but the older woman recovered and shoved Ronnie back, sending her flailing. She lifted the shotgun, but Ronnie sprang again, bringing the mop handle up hard under the heavy barrel as Arlene pulled the trigger.

  The BOOM! echoed across the empty parking lot into the desert. Ronnie’s ears rang, muffling the world around her. There was no time to recoup because that damned shotgun barrel was swinging around, lining her up in its sights again. Tightening her grip on the handle, she made a sideswipe strike and smacked the back of Arlene’s hand with a solid thwack!

  Arlene cried out but held onto the gun.

  Gasping for breath, Ronnie wiped the back of her mouth. Damn this battle-ax was tough. She had to get that shotgun away from Arlene and the mop wasn’t going to cut it.

  Before Arlene had fully recovered, Ronnie lunged, aiming at her hand again, connecting with the meat of her forearm with a solid thwap. Arlene recoiled in pain.

  Ronnie dropped the mop and grabbed the gun barrel. Digging her heels into the gravel, she yanked back hard, stepping to the side of the barrel.

  Arlene stumbled forward into Ronnie. Without boots for traction in the loose gravel, Ronnie lost ground. There was no way she could win this match in her stocking feet. While Arlene was still off balance, Ronnie wrapped one hand around the woman’s neck and lifted both of her feet off the ground, letting her weight take them both down.

  Gravity did its job a little too well. Ronnie’s left hip took the brunt of the fall along with Arlene’s knees. The shotgun bounced and slid out of their reach.

  Pain shot down her leg and clear up to her shoulder, but she gritted her teeth and shoved sideways, rolling across the gravel with Arlene, wrestling to get on top of her.

  The battle-ax refused to cry “Uncle.” She struggled under Ronnie, scratching at her arms and eyes. Ronnie was too busy blocking claws and elbows to look for the shotgun. Arlene bucked her hips, knocking Ronnie off balance. She rolled over on top of Ronnie, sitting on her stomach, pinning her to the biting gravel. She wrapped her hands around Ronnie’s neck, squeezing.

  Ronnie slid her hands up and under Arlene’s arms, using one of the tricks she’d learned in her self-defense classes to knock the older woman’s grip loose. When her hands were between their faces, she shoved the heel of her palm upward, slamming it into Arlene’s chin.

  Something crunched.

  Arlene reared back with a grunt, but her knees tightened on Ronnie’s ribs, squeezing hard enough to make her cry out in pain.

  “You’re going to pay for that, you stupid whore,” Arlene snarled, breathing hard. She reached behind her back.

  Ronnie heard a click and realized Arlene had a switchblade. She bucked, but the older woman must have been a rodeo star in her past life.

  “Hold still,” Arlene ordered, “or I’ll gut you.”

  Crack!

  One second Arlene hovered over Ronnie with the knife in the air, the next she timbered face forward onto Ronnie’s chest. The knife clattered onto the gravel next to them.

  It took Ronnie a second to focus on Claire standing over them, the mop handle pulled back and ready for another swing.

  “How tough do I look now, bitch?” Claire asked.

  Ronnie lay her head back on the gravel, trying to catch her breath under Arlene’s weight. “Now I see why Mac calls you Slugger.”

  The gritty sound of footfalls running across the gravel toward them made Ronnie catch her breath. Claire stepped over Ronnie, blocking her with her body.

  “Claire!” It was Butch, thank the stars. He held up his hands as he drew near. “Grady’s on the way.”

  She lowered the mop handle, her whole body slumping. “I need to sit down.” She limped over to Ruby’s pickup, sliding back down onto the gravel to lean against the tire.

  “Butch,” Ronnie gasped. “Get Arlene off me.” Her left hip hurt like a son of a gun, pissed off at her for using it as a landing pad and then pretending to be a bucking bronco.

  Butch lifted Arlene off, rolling her onto her back. He checked for a pulse. “Still alive.”

  “Damn,” Claire mumbled. “I’ll use a bigger stick next time.”

  He scooped up Arlene’s knife and closed it, shoving it in his back pocket. Then he held his hand out for Ronnie and helped her upright.

  “Where are your boots?” he asked, leading her over next to Claire, whose head was tipped back, her eyes closed.

  “I left them by the front door.”

  As Butch jogged over to grab them, she eased down next to her sister. When he returned with her boots in hand, he tried to pry Claire’s fingers from the mop handle, but she wasn’t letting go.

  She opened one eye. “There may be more, Butch.”

  “I got your back.” He held up Arlene’s shotgun.

  Claire let go of the mop.

  “Where is Katie?” Ronnie asked him, tenderly touching the heel of her right foot. She must
have come down hard on some sharp pieces of gravel. Walking was going to hurt for a day or two.

  “She’s calling in the cavalry.”

  “Good.” Ronnie looked over at Claire. “You okay?”

  “I’m pissed as hell.”

  “Why’s that? Because you got beat up by an old lady?” she teased.

  Claire chuckled and then groaned, holding her side. “No, I’m pissed because she picked on me instead of you about those stupid diamonds.”

  “Oh, poor baby. If it makes you feel better, she got a few good licks in on me, too.”

  “I’d feel better if I could kick her in the side once as payback. She got off easy.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ronnie pointed at Arlene’s still form. “You knocked her out cold. Her head’s going to hurt for days after she comes to.”

  Claire sniffed. “I should have shot her in the ass before Butch got out here and tried to stop me. Teach her for tangling with a Morgan.”

  Smiling, Ronnie leaned her head back on Claire’s shoulder. “We make a good team.”

  “Yeah? You think we should take up mud wrestling over at Dirty Gerties? Maybe go pro? Chester could be our manager.”

  Butch came over still holding Arlene’s shotgun and squatted in front of them. “You two going to live?”

  “Probably not,” Claire said.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Ah, you’d miss us?” Ronnie asked.

  She could see his grin clearly in the orange light. “Hell yes. It’s damned hard to find help as cheap as you two.”

  Claire flipped him off, making him laugh outright.

  “Butch?” Katie called from over by the door.

  “They’re both over here,” Butch hollered back.

  Katie ran to them, kneeling next to Claire. She tenderly tucked Claire’s hair back. “When I heard that gunshot I thought you were dead.” She wrapped her arms around Claire, hugging her tight, making her moan in pain.

  “No such luck, crazy.” Claire patted her little sister on the back. “You’re still stuck with me.” She grabbed Ronnie’s hand and squeezed. “You, too, knucklehead.”

  Ronnie’s eyes watered. “Takes one to know one, brat.”

  The blare of sirens cut through the air. Ronnie looked toward the road, waiting to see Grady’s Bronco.

  Fifteen minutes later, Arlene was still out. Claire had really rung her bell. One of Grady’s deputies, whom Ronnie hadn’t met before, had handcuffed the battle-ax and carried her over to the ambulance.

  The Sheriff himself hadn’t arrived on scene yet. According to Butch, who kept having quiet conversations off to the side with the two deputies who were there, Grady was dealing with another matter at the moment and had sent the two officers in his place.

  Ronnie approached the deputy who’d taken her account of what had happened. She asked him what the so-called matter was that had the Sheriff tied up.

  “It’s police business,” he told her.

  Grady had trained his men well, it appeared. Anxiety pooled in her stomach. Grady would be here if he could. She hoped that whatever was keeping him away wasn’t life threatening.

  Claire still sat on the ground over by Ruby’s truck. Mac was there with her, hovering nearby as one of the medics who’d arrived on the tails of the Sheriff’s deputies checked her over. Ronnie had been there when they lifted the side of Claire’s shirt to get a look at where she’d taken the kicks from Arlene’s pointy toed boots. The good news was her ribs seemed to be bruised but not broken. The medic said she probably had a slight concussion and should go to the hospital to make sure.

  The bad news was that Deborah had declared she was going to play Florence Nightingale and watch over Claire night and day. Ronnie told the medic she was fine when he came to check her over with Deborah in tow. She’d sooner run a marathon with her throbbing hip than have her mother play nursemaid with all of the wacky herbal concoctions and new-age ideas about psychic healing she had gotten from Mrs. Parker, their ex-flowerchild neighbor back in Rapid City.

  Butch walked over, watching with Ronnie as Claire fought off Deborah’s coddling. “I’m taking Katie inside,” he said. “She’s dead on her feet.”

  “Good idea. We’re fine out here.”

  “You sure?”

  Ronnie put on a brave smile when she met his searching gaze. “Sure enough for now.”

  He looked her over, measuring. “I guess so.”

  She must have passed his inspection. To her surprise he grabbed her and gave her a quick hug, then frowned down at her. “You did good, grasshopper. Way to save your sister from the evil villainess.”

  Ronnie shrugged. “All in a day’s work.”

  Chuckling, he headed over to Katie, who was leaning against Manny, her eyelids drooping.

  Truth be told, Ronnie thought, it was the other way around. Claire had saved her.

  Before Ronnie had come to Jackrabbit Junction, she’d been a lonely, angry mess. Now she had her life back and more. Her gaze moved from Manny and Katie to Jessica standing next to Chester, who was puffing on a cigar as he watched Mac, who was helping Claire to her feet while Deborah fussed, pecking at him the whole time about being gentle with her daughter.

  Yep. So much more.

  “Ms. Morgan,” Grady’s deputy said.

  “Yes?” She turned to find him right behind her

  “I have a call for you.” He handed her his cellphone.

  She stared at it in surprise and then took it.

  “Hello?”

  “Veronica?” The sound of Grady’s voice made her body hum with relief.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yep.” Pretty much so now that he’d called.

  “Good. You’ll never guess who I just put in my holding cell.”

  Ronnie looked around. Claire and Katie were both there with her this time. “Who?”

  “The Polar Bear. Tell Crash Morgan that I owe her an apology along with that half-gallon of mint chocolate ice cream.”

  “You do?”

  “Yep. She was right all along about this one.”

  * * *

  Kate leaned back against Ruby’s pickup, surveying the red and blue flash filled world in front of her. She still couldn’t believe she’d been right about Arlene … well, right after she’d been initially wrong about her being a friend.

  She was so relieved Claire hadn’t been shot.

  Kate had been wiping down the bar, enjoying the sound of silence after a whirlwind day, when she’d heard the blast go off outside. Butch had burst through the swinging doors, calling her name. When he saw her standing there with a bar rag in hand, he’d asked where her sisters were. Kate hadn’t realized Ronnie had gone outside, too. She had thought her older sister was mopping in the bathroom.

  Butch had killed the lights and looked out through the front window.

  “Claire was parked toward the back,” Kate whispered.

  He moved to one of the side windows next to the door, peering between the blinds. “Oh, shit,” he said just loud enough for Kate to hear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Call 911,” he told her, locking the front door. “I’m going out the back. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay.” Racing back through the swinging doors, he left her standing there behind the bar with her heart hammering. She reached for the phone and started making calls, starting with 911 and then Mac and Manny.

  “Kate?” Butch’s voice pulled her back to the present.

  She blinked, looking up at him. “Yeah?”

  “Come to my office for a few minutes, will you?”

  The intensity in his gaze gave her pause. “Why?” What was wrong now?

  “Because you’re dead on your feet. After the day you’ve had, you need to take it easy.”

  “I’m pregnant, Butch. Not dying.” It was nice of him to be concerned, but her family was out here.

  His jaw tightened. “I know that.”

  M
anny nudged her shoulder. “Go rest for a minute, chica. I can take you home if you’re feeling tired.”

  Truth be told, her body did feel worn out and achy, and the parking lot party seemed to be wrapping up. “Is Mac going with Claire to the hospital?” she asked Manny.

  “Sí, with tu madre.”

  Kate winced. Poor Mac and Claire. Deborah was going to drive Claire to find another mop and start swinging.

  “Okay,” she turned to Butch. “I’ll go get my purse.”

  He followed her through the back door of the bar without a word. Inside his office, he waited just over the threshold as she shouldered her purse.

  Pausing in front of him, she gave him a polite smile. “What a day, huh? An accident, jail, and attempted murder.”

  “Life with you Morgan girls never gets boring.” His words were light, but his dark blue gaze was heavy.

  Kate felt the weight of it, suddenly unsure of what was going on. “Are you okay, Butch?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets, pulling his shoulders inward. “Kate,” he started and then hesitated.

  “Butch, you’re freaking me out a little. What’s going on?”

  His chest rose and fell a couple of times. “Stay with me,” he whispered.

  Her heart leapt up, tail wagging, but her brain ordered it to sit its ass back down. After all, they were unsure what he meant. They’d assumed too much once before in this very office and ended up the fools for it. “You mean stay here? Tonight? At the bar?”

  “No.” He licked his lips, glancing over at the couch and then back at her.

  “Oh,” she snorted. “You want to have sex.” She’d heard near death experiences often incited lust, a way to celebrate still being alive.

  “No, I don’t mean sex.” He grimaced. “Wait, that’s not entirely true. Part of it involves sex.” He licked his lips again, shuffling his feet. “What I meant was …”

  She’d never seen Butch so uncomfortable. Usually she was the one who stuttered, hesitated, and bumbled during their conversations. She waited for him to finish, her defenses crouched and at the ready just in case, while the rest of her senses were one hundred percent tuned in to see where he was going with this.