The Green-Eyed Doll

by Jerrie Alexander

  “Honey.” Marty’s voice grew louder when the jukebox blared with an old Trace Atkins song. “If you’re running from something or somebody, here may not be a good place for you. I don’t need the trouble.”

  “I’m not wanted if that’s what you mean. There’s no crazy husband or boyfriend stalking me.” She pushed bad memories away. “I’m a hard worker and need a job. Truthfully, I need the money.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever met a woman who’s ‘just’ passing through.” Marty pursed her lips and sucked air through the narrow space between her front teeth. “There’s more you ain’t telling.”

  Piercing blue eyes made Catherine squirm. “Well, you’ve met one now. It’s the same sad story you’ve probably been told a million times.”

  “Cheating husband?”

  “Dead husband.” The shock on Marty’s face quickly morphed to pity, which was the last thing Catherine wanted.

  She should’ve lied. Damn, she was sick of untruths.

  “Well, I don’t rightly know what to say.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted that out.”

  “Couldn’t have been a happy marriage. I’ve been a bartender long enough to know sorrow when I see it. Or the absence of.”

  The air in the room thinned. Panic tightened her chest. This job couldn’t get away from her. “Long story short, we fell in love in college. I dropped out and worked while he finished law school. A few years after he passed the bar and signed on at his family’s high-profile law firm, he decided I was beneath him. I didn’t measure up to his intellectual level and lifestyle.”

  Marty sat quietly.

  Catherine gripped the can, hoping Marty wouldn’t pry and ask how Catherine’s husband had died. The bar was her only hope. The Final Touch Funeral Home was out. She’d just now added working around dead people to her Never list.

  “You own a pair of boots?”

  “I sure do,” Catherine answered, flashing her best smile.

  “Well, I’ll try and forget you’re not a Texan. Let’s give it a go.”

  “Thank you.” The tight coil in her belly relaxed a smidge.

  “Here’s the deal. I pay thirty dollars a shift. You keep your tips. I need you Friday and Saturday nights, Sunday afternoon. Start tonight if you want.”

  Catherine’s heart sank. The place was empty, except for the three men gathered around the pool table. “That’s not much to live on.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re here in the afternoon. The Saddleback sets on the edge of a dry county. Come the weekend around six, everybody gets thirsty. We pack ’em in. You can easy make a hundred bucks a night. Sometimes more. What you report to Uncle Sam, that’s your business.”

  “Then I’d love to give it a try. I’ll check around for some part-time work during the week.”

  “I’m gonna like you, Catherine McCoy. I can already tell.”

  For the second time today, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. “Now all I need is a place to stay.”

  “Don’t look at me. My place is barely big enough for one. We’ve got a couple of motels that aren’t too expensive.” Marty drummed long pink fingernails on the bar. “The Williamsons’ little house is empty and about five miles south of town. It’s furnished, and you might be exactly what Emma needs. I can give her a call. Ask if she’s interested in renting.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.” This day was getting better by the minute. “That’d be really nice of you.”

  “Nice?” Marty looked both ways and then wagged her finger. “Don’t you dare start that rumor. You’ll see a different me when this joint gets busy and the guys get rowdy.” Marty stood. “Sit tight. I’ll call Emma.” She put her hand on Catherine’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I’m being nice to you, because you’re running. Maybe you’ll figure out whether it’s away from something—or to something—while you’re in Butte Crest.”

  ****

  Friday, July 28th, 4:00 p.m.

  “Crap,” he yelped. Daydreaming had cost him a scrape on the chin. He wiped the blood off with a washrag and finished shaving. Keeping his mind off his new doll was as hard as his dick.

  She’d been difficult at first, fought some when he’d made her strip. The doll didn’t like mama’s lipstick or makeup. After a few whacks across her bare ass with a wire hanger, she’d painted her lips without arguing. Then he’d tied a red ribbon around her neck into a bow.

  Both Mama and the prison guards had used the punishment and reward system. It worked for him, too. When his doll hadn’t behaved, he’d whipped her good. What a powerful feeling. A rush of blood had flooded his cock with every down stroke.

  For a man who didn’t put much stock in fate, he had to admit destiny had smiled on him. When he’d stopped by a florist to pick up some carnations for Mama, he’d found his doll. Her green eyes looked right into his, and her red lips smiled. Oh, yeah. He’d found a live doll to replace the one he’d lost. He’d gotten flustered, tongue-tied to the point he’d left without buying flowers.

  He’d immediately decided not to sell Mama’s trailer. It was the perfect box for his new doll. He couldn’t have handpicked a better spot to keep her. Isolated, out in the country and sitting at the end of a long dirt driveway, nobody would hear a thing.

  All the storeowners on the square parked in the back alley, leaving the prime parking for their customers. He’d waited until nearly six, drove around back of her flower shop and waited until she closed.

  His heart had jumped clear up to the back of his throat when she came strolling out alone. With no one around, he’d grabbed her and forced her into his pickup. Amazing how exciting it had been to feel her struggle against him. Talk about a rush. Blood had raced straight to his cock. He’d wanted to rip her clothes off right there in the alley.

  He’d hated to leave her tied up and alone, but they’d have lots of time together—just the two of them. She was all his and he’d play with her.

  Mama had been right all along. He did want to fuck the doll.

  Chapter Two

  Saturday, July 29th, 6:20 p.m.

  Matt hadn’t slept Friday night. He’d rest when he found Julia. Fatigue numbed his brain, but he pushed on. He entered his notes on Julia Kaye Drummond into the computer then reread every word. How the hell did a twenty-four-year-old woman close her florist shop and vanish? He’d located her car in the alley behind her building with her purse and cell in the front seat.

  A thorough search of her place of business, her home, and the surrounding area had netted zero clues. Crest County was normally quiet and peaceful. Ms. Drummond’s disappearance ate at Matt’s gut. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes, pressing at a headache the likes of which he hadn’t had in over a year. Monday morning, Matt would pull a second deputy, Rey Santos, in to help. Between Matt, Jake, and Rey they’d break this case.

  Sue leaned against the doorframe to Matt’s office. “I’m going home. It’s after five.”

  “You were a big help today.” He pretended to straighten the files on his desk. If his hunch was right, another lengthy chat about his personal life was about to take place.

  “No problem. You got plans for the rest of the weekend?”

  “Sleep tonight.” He stifled a yawn. “Tomorrow, Jake and I are canvassing Julia Drummond’s neighborhood.”

  “You’ve done that once. What do you expect to find?”

  “Won’t know until we look.” He grinned at her...waiting...waiting.

  Sue stepped inside his office. “This is a sparsely populated county with nothing but rattlesnakes, underbrush, and mesquite trees. Gonna be hard for you to find a missus.”

  Matt leaned back in his chair. Marrying him off was one of Sue’s favorite subjects. “Still not looking. Keep feeding me apple pie and I might propose to you.”

  “Thirty-four’s a mite young for me. Besides, I buried one husband. Don’t want to go through that again.” Her face sobered. “You have your messages, right?”


  “Got ’em right here. See you Monday.” After his gentle hint of picking up a file and glancing at the front page, the tap-tap of her shoes faded, indicating she’d left his office.

  Sue Conner was one of Matt’s favorite people. Prim and proper, he couldn’t remember her wearing anything other than dark-colored dresses to the office. Somewhere between sixty and seventy years old, her sea blue eyes could cut a man in half or freeze him in his tracks. Her knowledge of the county’s past and present business boggled the mind. She’d successfully guided three sheriffs before him through their terms and not by using kid gloves. She ran a good bluff, but didn’t fool Matt for a minute. A sweetheart lived under her crusty exterior.

  He pulled the messages off the post. Three calls from Ash Hunter, Matt’s first partner when he’d made homicide detective. After his transfer to the narcotics task force, they’d remained good friends. When Matt had been shot, Ash parked his butt next to Matt’s bed and refused to budge. His friend pushed harder than the physical therapist during Matt’s recovery. Ash probably wanted to talk about subjects better left alone. Matt lived in the present. Didn’t need to relive the past. He lived. Elena died. End of story.

  He pushed away from his desk, stretched out the kinks, and then reached for his hat. His stomach growled as he headed for the exit.

  The night dispatcher glanced up and smiled. “Calling it a night?”

  “Yeah. Have a good evening.” Matt stopped at the exit and glanced over his shoulder. “Donnie, call with any updates on Julia Drummond.”

  “Will do, Sheriff.”

  Matt stepped out into the evening air. The sun going down in a few hours wasn’t going to offer much relief to the sweltering temperatures. Curry had little traffic this time of day, and within minutes, he pulled onto the highway. He’d bought a place last month, a white frame house with a hundred acres. Located on the outskirts of Butte Crest, he was home in twenty minutes.

  The stray who’d adopted him waited on the porch. “Come on, dog.” He patted his leg, and the brindle mutt tagged along into the kitchen. Matt poured food in a bowl on the floor and watched it disappear in seconds. He reached for the empty dish, sending the dog scurrying out of reach. “Still don’t trust me. Somebody beat the hell out of you, didn’t they?” The animal twisted his head sideways watching Matt. “It’s okay. I won’t pet you until you’re ready.”

  He changed out of his uniform and slid on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Barefoot, he headed to the refrigerator where he grabbed the makings for a ham sandwich.

  The second he kicked back in his easy chair, his cell phone buzzed. The display indicated his dispatcher was calling. Had the missing woman turned up? “What’s up, Donnie?”

  “I hate to bother you at home. Carl’s an hour away, and there’s been a fight at the Saddleback.”

  “I’m on my way.” Matt disconnected, hurried to his bedroom, and jerked on his socks and boots. He glanced at his bed, shaking his head in resignation. The price of being sheriff in a large county with a small budget—too many miles to cover and not enough men.

  He put the dog outside, gulped down a couple of big bites of his sandwich, tossed the rest to the always-hungry mutt, and headed to Butte Crest.

  ****

  Saturday, July 29th, 8:30 p.m.

  Catherine refused to turn and look when the door to the bar opened and closed. Marty calling the cops was the last thing Catherine needed.

  “Well, how ’bout that,” Marty called out. “The man himself. Come on in.”

  “Marty.”

  Great. The sheriff. Catherine recognized his deep baritone voice even though they had only met once. First, he spoke to the bartender, JC Harper, and if she were any judge, his footsteps were headed straight for her and Marty.

  “You have trouble tonight?”

  “Hell,” Marty exclaimed, waving him to a chair. “Fight’s over. Almost everybody went home.”

  “What happened? You keep your customers under control—most of the time.”

  His gaze met Catherine’s and held for a long second. There was that almost grin again.

  “Let me guess, you were in the middle of things. Right?”

  Sitting at a table with an icepack on her jaw, Catherine gave him her best “who me?” look.

  “I forgot,” Marty commented. “You two know each other.”

  “We’ve met.” He tipped the brim of his hat with one finger. “One of you care to tell me what happened?”

  “Wasn’t a big deal.” Marty waved him off. “Catherine took a punch from a jealous wife.”

  “I’d like to hear her side.”

  His broad shoulders turned, and suddenly Catherine was face-to-face with him. She succinctly described the incident to the expressionless sheriff. His face was a blank slate, making it hard for her to get a good read. For some stupid reason, she wanted him to understand.

  “It’s the truth,” she ground out. “I didn’t flirt with Jessie Bradley’s husband.”

  “Whoa.” He held his hands up in the sign of surrender. “I believe you. You want to press assault charges?”

  “No.” The idea brought back images of bickering lawyers. She’d had enough of those vultures to last a lifetime.

  Marty put her hand on Catherine’s shoulder. “The fight was nothing. I’m sorry I called for help. Jessie is jealous as hell, and when Vince started fawning over Catherine, Jessie went a tad crazy. She did smack Catherine a good one.”

  “And I didn’t touch her.” She could’ve broken Jessie’s nose, but martial arts training had taught Catherine self-control along with self-defense.

  The sheriff leaned forward and pulled the icepack away. He ran his finger across her skin, inspecting her injury.

  “Geesh.” His touch left a trail of heat on her skin. Surprised, she pulled away. “You’re looking at me like I’m a virus under a microscope.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted when he pushed the icepack back in place. “Skin’s not broken. I see a small bruise forming. You shouldn’t be working here. I told you this wasn’t a good choice. There’s trouble at this bar most every weekend.”

  “I’m not afraid of a little trouble.” Catherine blinked back the tears edging toward the surface. She refused to cry. No more tears ranked in the top ten of her Never list. She didn’t care if he approved. Like it or not, she needed this job.

  “That’s the God’s honest truth,” Marty said. “She showed amazing restraint. I should’ve known a pretty little thing like Catherine was gonna cause trouble, especially her being an outsider. I love it. Tomorrow night, this place will be packed.”

  “I might as well put a deputy in the parking lot,” the sheriff grumbled.

  “Listen, Catherine,” Marty said. “This night’s done. Why don’t you head on home?”

  “Thanks. I think I will.”

  Catherine went behind the bar for her purse and removed the cash from the tip jar Marty had given her. Considering she hadn’t worked the full shift, the stack of bills in her hand gave her a rush.

  “You heading out?” JC asked.

  “Yes. I appreciate your help—you know—earlier.” When Marty introduced the two of them, she’d said JC kept a close eye on the floor. Sure enough, he’d put a stop to the dispute before it got out of hand. Broad shoulders, at least six feet tall, and an easy going personality made him perfect for the job. He calmed everybody down without losing his temper.

  “Not a problem. Want me to walk you to your car?”

  “No thanks. I’ll be fine.” She shoved the bills into her purse and then waved to Marty and the sheriff.

  Catherine crossed the parking lot and got into her old Ford. It felt good to have cash in her purse. Based on Marty’s recommendation, Emma Williamson had let Catherine move into the tiny house with only a fifty-dollar deposit. A couple of nights like tonight and she’d pay her new landlady the full month’s rent.

  Catherine’s engine groaned. Turned over once, then nothing. Great, her car wouldn’t start. Sh
e tried again. Again, nothing. She rested her head on the steering wheel to indulge in a minute of self-pity. “Geesh,” she exclaimed when her car door opened.

  “Something wrong?” The sheriff crouched and put his hand on her arm.

  “No. Everything’s fine. Really.” His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man with such a large hand. Warmth rolled under her skin and across her chest. Confused, she pulled away from him.

  His head tilted as if to get a better view. “You were collapsed across the steering wheel.”

  “Really, it’s nothing.” Damn, she wasn’t weak or needy. Yet every time he showed up, she needed help. “Sheriff, I’m fine.”

  He removed his hat and rubbed his forehead. “Think you could call me Matt?”

  “Matt,” she said his name softly. “I’m Catherine.”

  The tension in the air eased when both their stomachs growled in harmony.

  “Look, we got off to a rocky start. How about I buy you a late supper?”

  She hesitated. Making friends with the sheriff went against her good judgment.

  “You’ll be safe with me. Off duty or on, I’m one of the good guys. I promise.”

  His full smile transformed his handsome face to beautiful. Catherine couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a meal sitting across from a member of the opposite sex. His offer made her want to forget the crisis of the hour. Her car wouldn’t start.

  He stood and extended his hand. “We’ll grab a bite, and I’ll bring you right back.”

  Defying all logic, she laid her palm against his. “I haven’t eaten since morning.” His grip was strong and warm. Before she had time to rethink her decision, he’d tucked her in his car and was buckling up his seat belt.

  “Nothing’s open this time of night except the truck stop, but the food is good.”

  “Truck drivers always know where to eat.” She looked around inside the cruiser and remembered a past and unpleasant ride in one. “What happens if you get a call, and I’m in the car with you?”

  “If there’s a shootout at the OK Corral, I’ll leave you somewhere safe and come back later.” He tossed her a smile. “The chances of that happening are slim.”