Bubba slapped a coin on the table. “Flip for who goes first.” He nodded to Tara and she picked up the coin. Chuck called heads, and Tara revealed the coin. “Tails.”
Bubba nodded and rubbed his grease-lined fists together. He did some shoulder stretches and arm flexes as he approached Sweet Georgia.
“You forgot to put your money down,” Chuck called after him.
Bubba ambled back, eyed Chuck’s money and pursed his lips. Then he ran his tongue over his teeth and pushed one gold-edged tooth loose with his tongue. He set the tooth on the table next to Chuck’s money.
Chuck turned an unflattering shade of green.
“Okay,” Tara said. “I’ll watch the bets.” But I won’t touch them.
Bubba returned to Sweet Georgia, grasped the worn handle and swung himself into the seat. The operator offered him a helmet, but Bubba waved it away and gave the go signal.
The rear of Sweet Georgia bucked and Bubba rolled with it, flying his free hand in the air like a flag. After a full minute, it was obvious to Tara and the rest of the crowd they were about to witness mechanical bull riding history in Carterville. The crowd chanted, “Bubba! Bubba!”
As the operator bumped the lever up to the next level, he signaled Bubba had made it to the top level. Bubba’s hips rotated as Sweet Georgia rocked and bucked. The bull twisted, and Bubba’s rear slipped. The pocket of his jeans caught on the side of the saddle. While Bubba tumbled out of the seat, his jeans did not. The crowd cheered and hooted as Bubba untangled himself from the bull and hitched his jeans back around his non-precious metal jewels.
“Bubba missed the record by a tenth of a second,” the operator announced and the onlookers groaned. “Do we have any challengers?”
Chuck downed the rest of his drink, then skipped up to the bull like a political candidate trying to fit in with his constituency. People cheered for him as well. He awkwardly jumped on the bull and wrapped his hand around the handle, also declining the helmet.
Ryan snuck up behind Tara. He placed his hand on the small of her back. “Does he have a shot at staying on?”
“With as many drinks as he’s had, I’m surprised he found his way there.” She laughed, angling her body toward his. “I’m glad he’s wearing a belt.”
Ryan laughed. “I think everyone here would be willing to donate for a sturdy one for Bubba.”
“Were you able to find a police officer?”
“She had to run out to her car a minute. Hope she makes it back before Chuck kills himself.”
The operator was about to start Chuck’s ride, when Chuck motioned for him to stop. He said something to Angel — or was it Bebe? — and she brought him her beer. He downed that too and handed the empty back to Angel. He whirled his hand, and the operator started the bull. Chuck’s butt bounced off the side on the first rock. He regained his seat, but slipped to the other side on the next one. Chuck swung around like a rag doll for a couple rocks, but managed to keep his grip. The operator bumped him up a level.
“This almost makes all the crap he’s given me worth it.”
“Except the part where he framed you for identity theft.”
“He can’t make up for that until I see him in handcuffs.”
Ryan surveyed the crowd and his gaze ended at the door. He raised his hand and gestured for someone to come this way. A moment later, the svelte figure of Carterville’s only plainclothes detective approached. She’d added a simple black messenger bag to her evening ensemble.
“Detective Gager.” She flashed her badge and ID. “You wanted to see me?” The detective gave Tara a suspicious look as she took in the multiple empty glasses on the table and the other two occupants.
She probably thinks she walked into a cat-fight. She gripped her phone and moved closer to the detective. “I have evidence of identity theft and defrauding the Internal Revenue Service.”
“Identity theft?” Detective Gager reached in her bag for a notebook. “That’s a serious charge. You have to be prepared to back it up.”
“Yes, I understand, but the culprit is here, and we have a recording of his confession,” Tara explained.
“You said it was urgent. Identity theft isn’t life threatening and very difficult to prove. Without seeing the paper-trail to back it up, I can’t arrest anyone. Just who do you believe committed this crime?”
Tara and Ryan both tipped their heads toward Chuck, but Tara’s heart was sinking. Detective Gager wasn’t going to perp-walk Chuck out of the benefit. Tara couldn’t let him come into the office on Monday. She had to convince the officer Chuck had committed a serious crime.
Chuck flailed around on Sweet Georgia, having somehow hung on at the highest level, belying the neck injury he’d claimed this morning. His tie flopped around his neck as the bull bucked forward and twisted. Sweet Georgia kicked the rear up and Chuck tipped forward, almost taking a header into the floor, but his white-knuckled grip kept him from toppling into the hay.
“You’re kidding,” Detective Gager said. “There’s no way that man is capable of defrauding the Internal Revenue Service.”
“But we have a recording,” Tara insisted, waving her phone.
“Without the paperwork, the confession doesn’t mean anything. We need to have the body, so to speak. If you bring everything in to the office Monday, I can look it over then.” The detective turned to rejoin the party.
Tara couldn’t let her leave without fitting Chuck with a new set of bracelets. There was no way she’d leave him at the office alone tomorrow either. “If you flirt with him, he’ll probably offer to fudge your taxes and get you a bigger return. Please stay. He’ll fall off the bull any second now.”
“He better,” Bubba interjected. He jammed his fists into his hips. “I’d hate to lose my favorite tooth.” He picked up Chuck’s money clip as Chuck took another heart-stopping near-tumble on Sweet Georgia, but somehow clung to the handle. Bubba flipped through the bills and they came loose from the clip, spilling onto the table.
“Now hold on a minute!” Bubba picked up one of the twenties and held it to the light. He wrinkled his nose and slammed the bill on the table under his chipped fingernails. “That crap apple lying—” and Bubba was barreling toward Chuck and Sweet Georgia before anyone had a chance to blink. He ripped Chuck off the bull and flung him to the floor. He jammed his mud-encrusted work boot — another miss on the black tie interpretation — into Chuck’s heaving chest. “You were trying to pass fake twenties off in exchange for my real gold tooth!”
Detective Gager grabbed the bill and studied it. “He’s right. It’s the old style but the ink isn’t right. Someone’s been passing this stuff all over town.” She snatched her phone from her bag and called for backup. Then she scrambled over to where Bubba had Chuck nailed to the floor, fishing in her bag and withdrawing the silver cuffs Tara had been longing to see. Bits of hay clung to Chuck’s sweat-soaked shirt and hair as he tried unsuccessfully to thrash away from Bubba’s boot and his new genuine stainless steel jewelry.
“You’re under arrest for distribution of counterfeit currency.” Detective Gager yanked Chuck to his feet and slapped the cuffs on his wrists. Chuck’s protests were drowned out by the string of curses and rantings from Bubba.
“Tara,” Chuck squeaked. “You gotta help me.”
“You got it.” She gave him a thumbs-up and he relaxed enough for the detective to ensnare his wrists. “I’ll make sure they have all the evidence they need so you can have a nice long stay at the penitentiary.”
Chuck’s jaw dropped as Detective Gager clapped her hand around his elbow and hustled him outside.
Bubba returned to the table and pushed through the empty beer glasses. “Ah-ha!” He grabbed his gold tooth and wedged it back in his mouth.
Tara grabbed his arm before he disappeared into the crowd. “How’d you know the money was fake?”
Bubba shrugged. “We get them all the time at the junk yard. I’d be out of business in a week if I didn’t know what a fak
e twenty looked like. You know, people who do business with a junkyard ain’t always on the straight and narrow.” He smirked, revealing his glittering teeth, then winked. “Told you I wasn’t the moron.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ryan stared after Detective Gager as she hauled Chuck out to the parking lot. Ryan had never been so happy to see the back of someone. He turned to give Tara a high five. One less distraction for her at the office. If she didn’t have to chase after all of Chuck’s junk, she’d have time to focus on him.
Focus on him? He needed to do something to make himself worthy of her. The job offer from Mr. Tubbs flitted through his head again. It was a job. But one he seriously couldn’t handle.
She slapped his hand, then laced her fingers through his and brought their hands down to her side. “I can’t believe it worked. Course, I owe Bubba a huge favor.”
“After showing us his backside, I’d say we’re even.” He squeezed her hand.
Tara laughed. “You’re probably right. Thank you for your help, by the way. It was nice to know you had my back.” She brought the back of his hand to her lips and kissed it.
The touch of her mouth sent a shot to his gut. The way her dress shimmered over her curves had him ready to sprint a mile with her on his shoulders just to get her all to himself. “Glad to help.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Want to skedaddle?”
“Aren’t you having fun?” Her eyes glittered enticingly.
Ha! Get him out of this goof-suit and into something more comfortable and he could think of several ways to have more fun. Running over hot coals. Being chased by bees. Watching his mother’s aerobics class. But top of the list was sliding Tara out of her spangly dress.
Ryan scanned the crowd, then slid his gaze to Tara. She was the only person or activity he was willing to spend his attention on. His thoughts centered around getting her out of here and somewhere a lot more interesting, preferably without the carnival music. He inched toward the door, but Tara tugged him the other way. Her eyes spun around the room, lighting up at the carnival atmosphere. Ryan sighed. Tara was finally able to enjoy the party. His plans could wait while she had a few hours to cut loose.
“Did you see anyone you know? I’m sure there are some people from Glendale here.” She wandered toward the closed red velvet tent. Ryan allowed her to draw him back into the fray. He’d follow the iridescent vision anywhere.
“I did actually. My old athletic director is here. He offered me a coaching job.” He shook his head, still befuddled by the proposition.
Tara squealed. “He did? That’s fantastic. When do you start?” She threw her arms around his neck. “Isn’t this the best night?”
While he enjoyed the feel of her body against his, he couldn’t match her enthusiasm about the job.
“What’s the problem? This is great news.” The excitement wiped from her face. She studied him intently.
Ryan felt like a huge idiot. She was right, he should be thrilled. He should be ecstatic. A job in a field where he had a lot of experience. Unfortunately, he felt worse about bursting Tara’s bubble. “He offered me a job developing a girls’ cross country team and coaching track for what’s left of this season.”
“But you turned it down?” She leaned away from him. She gripped his sleeve, her face confused.
He shook his head. “I can’t set foot on the track like this.” He grasped his cane in the middle and waved it at her. His voice rose, anger over his recent life changes punctuated every word. “How can I coach runners when I can barely walk?”
“I’ve heard about a coach who chases his team from a golf cart.” She jammed her hands on her hips.
“It was a station wagon and he was my high school coach.” The last coach he wanted to emulate.
“Seemed to work pretty well for you.” Her eyes narrowed, and Ryan wished for a welding apron to block the sparks shooting at him.
“I don’t want to step into Coach Chambers’ shoes.” He’d succeeded in spite of Coach Chambers’ methods, not because of them. He’d gained experience and knowledge studying on his own. He’d dreamed of coaching… before his body let him down. But if they were talking about people using their talents…
“What about your college applications? Filled those out yet?” Ryan shot back. “Seems we both have opportunities we aren’t willing to take.” The second the words left his tongue, he wished them back. This wasn’t the time or place to examine their vulnerabilities.
Tara’s face reddened, and Ryan was sure smoke was going to puff from her ears. Anything related to running hurt more than jabbing bamboo under his fingernails. The look on Tara’s face was ten times worse. He took a deep breath. Tara simply wanted the best for him, but moving on was terrifying. But his terror was no reason to blow up at Tara or throw her fears in her face. He opened his mouth to apologize.
“Oh, Ryan!” His mother’s voice whistled through the assembly. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You’re late.”
“Late for what?” He didn’t need this right now. He wanted to get Tara alone, so they could straighten this out and get on with more entertaining things. His mother clenched his sleeve and dragged him across the hall.
“The Dunk a Hunk. You were supposed to be in the tank ten minutes ago.” She tapped her wrist, then grabbed his.
“Okay. I’ll get my swimsuit and be there in a couple minutes.” He wrenched his sleeve free, intending to apologize to Tara first, but the look on her face suggested the tank was a safer alternative.
“There’s no time. We are losing money every second that tank is empty.” She slapped her hands on her cheeks and gasped. “No. No. Your tux will be great. People will pony up extra money.”
Ryan barely had time to fish his phone out of his pocket and slough off his coat. He handed them to his mother before she herded him up the steps to the tank. He caught sight of Tara at the bottom of the steps as his mom dropped his tuxedo jacket into Tara’s arms and rushed away. If Tara ended up in the tank, she’d boil the water. He hoped a cooling off period would be beneficial for their eventual conversation.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tara chased after Ryan and Yvonne, struggling to keep up as the crowd shuffled in front of her. She wasn’t done with Ryan and his decision about the coaching job. How could he turn it down?
He would be a natural coach with his knowledge and experience. He’d also be great with the kids. He’d propped her up often enough in the last couple weeks. Didn’t he know that?
Tara’s emotions were bouncing more than Sweet Georgia. They’d caught Chuck and saved Leslie’s company.
But that brief moment of relief had been washed away. What was Ryan thinking? A job offer in a field he knew so much about; he shouldn’t even think of refusing. He’d be perfect.
If Ryan didn’t take the coaching job, he would be leaving soon. Leaving Carterville and her. It was the only explanation she could come up with. He was leaving her to take a job somewhere else. Leaving her? That was it. He thought she was too needy, too airheaded, and he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Hadn’t she proved she was worth more than superficial interest? She thought they had something real. Something they couldn’t find just anywhere.
But Ryan had made no declarations and didn’t talk of the future. She’d made all that up on her own. She’d allowed Ryan to con her as much as Chuck had.
She hovered near the front of the line with Ryan’s jacket. She looked down at the coat and brushed away a speck of lint. What was she doing standing here like a coat rack? She rolled her eyes. Besides being the idiot everyone thought she was. She chucked the jacket on the floor and took a place at the front of the line.
Tara tapped her foot while Ryan settled in the tank and others lined up behind her for their chance to dunk him. A dollar for three throws at the target. Tara reached for her purse, then changed her mind. She bent and picked up Ryan’s coat. After a quick search of the pockets, she found his wallet. Unfortunately, it was devoid of cash. S
he flipped it closed, then opened it again to peek behind the credit cards. Ah-ha! An emergency twenty. She kept cash hidden to use only for an emergency, too. She slid the bill out of the pocket and crushed it in her fist. If she didn’t let off some of this anger and disappointment, it would be an emergency.
She tossed the crumpled bill at the attendant and stepped up to the line.
“How many throws?”
“All of them,” Tara said, holding her hand out for the marred softball. She rubbed her fingers over the crusty leather and stared at Ryan. A golden opportunity lost. She wound up and chucked the ball. It went high and wide of the target. Someone behind her made a remark about throwing like a girl. Ryan gave her a thumbs-up. If he thought that was a good throw, he had another thing coming. He should think twice about encouraging her. She needed a couple throws to get warmed up. She grabbed the next ball and wrapped her fingers around the seams.
“You should take the job,” she muttered as she let this one fly. It dinged the corner of the target, but not hard enough to trigger the release. The ball ricocheted off the tank, and Ryan almost dunked himself when he flinched.
He might have said “what was that?” but Tara screwed up her mouth and reached for another ball. She had been through enough this week with the stress of tax season, Chuck’s demands, and Ryan’s stupid, stupid obstinacy. “Lead me on, did you?” She whipped the ball at the target. She missed again, this time nailing the acrylic glass surround with a vicious thunk.
“Somebody’s got some anger issues,” the man behind her said under his breath.
Tara snatched another ball and whirled around on her heels. She shoved the ball under his nose. “Unless you want this ball blocking your next sneeze, you’ll keep your comments to yourself.”
The man stepped back a full yard and put his hands up to protect his ability to shoot germs from his nose.
“Thank you.” Tara pursed her lips and turned back to the tank. She tightened her focus on the red bulls-eye. This time Ryan was hers. She whipped the ball with a caveman-like growl.
Climbing Heartbreak Hill Page 16
