Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite)

by Jodi Linton

  I bit my tongue, surprised. “You mean we have someone pushing drugs around here besides Skinny Picket?”

  Gunner knocked his fist on top of the table. “Hit the nail on the head with that one, Laney.”

  “And you didn’t even call to warn me you’d be in town?”

  He reached for my hand. I swiftly dropped it into my lap under the table cloth. “Thought a surprise would be nice. And it was well worth it.”

  Well, he got me there. It truly was a good surprise on his part. I just hated being on the receiving end of his ambush. I took a sip of tea, then munched on a fry to buy myself time to think. I eyed him while he took a bite of burger, pondering my next question. Here goes nothing, I thought.

  “Gunner,” I said in my most ingenuous voice, “didn’t you just say the reason for your being back in town was due to some Special K?”

  He didn’t bother to look at me, just kept eating. “Yep.”

  I swallowed the urge to flick a fry at him and pressed on. “Then why were you out at Arrowhead Range this morning?”

  He grinned and dipped a fry in some ketchup, tossing it into his mouth, and I knew I wouldn’t get an answer.

  “It’s my turn to ask a question,” Gunner said, kicking back in his chair.

  I gave a resigned sigh and looked at him. “Shoot.”

  “Why the hell did you accept that douche’s marriage proposal?”

  “For your information, I happen to like Nathan.”

  He grimaced. “But you don’t love him.”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “No, Laney, you just used the word like.”

  I shoved my plate forward and leaned across the tabletop. “If you must know, I’m pretty damn happy with my life,” I ground out.

  “Just checking.” Gunner tipped his hat forward. “It looked like you were cringing when the fella kissed you. That’s all.”

  I could sense the mouths gape open in the café—and I knew mine was. That comment was most definitely getting back to Nathan. Before I could say anything pithy or snide to the arrogant, dirt-bag Texas Ranger across from me, the bell above the Whistling Wind’s door chimed. Elroy ran over to our table, panting all the way. His forehead glistened, and he had a half -eaten Twinkie sticking out of his shirt pocket.

  “We have an emergency,” he wheezed at me.

  Rising, I slapped down a ten, but Gunner caught my hand. “I’ve got this. It’s the least I owe you,” he said, looking me in the eye.

  Although I was happy to keep my money, the idea of having Gunner buy me lunch didn’t set too well. “Fine,” I huffed.

  “Hurry it up, will ya,” Elroy called.

  I grabbed my gun off the table where I’d set it during lunch and stuffed it back into the holster strapped to my jeans. Gunner caught my arm as I brushed past the table. “Now keep in touch.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I smiled through clenched teeth and jerked my arm back.

  Elroy was pacing outside his ’89 beige Bronco, wiping his head every two seconds. It didn’t help. The sweat seemed to pour from his forehead in rivers.

  “So what’s the emergency?” I asked, annoyed.

  He opened his car door. “It’s Walter Gibbons down at the Alley Way Bowling. He’s locked himself in the office.”

  Fantastic. First, a delightful lunch with Gunner. Now the cherry on top was that I had to go deal with crazy ass Walter Gibbons.

  …

  Pistol Rock held the bar low when it came to spontaneous entertainment. Alley Way Bowling happened to be the only place in town to pass a couple hours if one wasn’t in the mood to bump uglies with one’s neighbors. Personally, I dreaded the bowling alley. There was nothing worse than hurling a greasy, ten-pound ball down a lane in an attempt to knock shit over.

  I shot a look at Elroy as he again swerved over the dotted, yellow line while trying to retrieve and eat the dang Twinkie stuffed in his shirt pocket.

  “Elroy,” I shouted above the rattletrap truck noise, “are you scared you’re gonna starve to death if you don’t finish that Twinkie right now?”

  He crammed the rest of it into his mouth. “What?” he asked, oblivious of the cream smeared across his face. He gunned the Bronco into the gravel parking lot then skidded to a stop. The engine hadn’t even killed before he’d propelled himself out the door. I chose a more lady-like maneuver and scooted my ass down from the seat.

  “You coming, Laney?” Elroy huffed and stalked off to the front door of the Alley Way.

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad,” I shot back, tugging my jeans straight and readjusting my uniform shirt before hesitantly walking up to the door. Elroy was known to overreact on occasions. Case in point—right now he had his gun drawn and was waving it in the faces of the local bowling league.

  “Put that down,” I demanded.

  “Fine. You win,” Elroy snapped sourly. He lowered the gun and holstered it. “But you know how Walter gets sometimes.”

  I did, but since Walter rarely meant anything by whatever stupid thing he was doing at the time, I was more of a mind to check out the situation before pulling my weapon. I jerked open the door and walked inside.

  When I was in middle school, my father had been an avid leaguer, but then he threw his left hip out, and that, thankfully, put an end to my Tuesday nights of wiping down his bowling balls. The place had been a dump back then. Fifteen years later, it still was with four wooden warped lanes, mustard yellow walls, and a chipped, chrome diner that only served one flavor of Blue Bell ice cream, pistachio. I glanced over at the register. Sissy Murdock looked redder than a fire ant.

  “He’s locked himself inside the office again.” She pointed a tattooed arm at the door behind her.

  I nodded, understanding her predicament. I propped my boot against the back of the counter and scanned the room for Elroy. He was over by lane three chatting with Sue Miller. He had a thing for her. In his hand was a soda. I knew the instant I saw the soda that Elroy had checked out of the job. But I had good manners, and it was always polite to ask.

  “Elroy, you want this?”

  He drew on the straw. “The coot’s all yours.”

  I rolled my eyes at him then tapped my finger on the frosted glass window. “Walter, you mind coming out of there?” I shouted through the door.

  He popped the door open an inch. God almighty was he a sight to see. He was dressed only in stretched-out, white briefs and a brown-tinged tank top. I should’ve expected as much. Walter was notorious around town for not putting on pants before leaving the house. But the image of his wanker flapping out of one of the leg holes of his baggy ass briefs almost took my breath away.

  “The hell I will.”

  I squelched back a gag. “Didn’t think you would. How about you tell me what’s going on here.”

  Walter grumbled, “I’ll talk, but I’m not coming out.” He shut the door in my face.

  “Fine by me. I just want to get everything straightened out here.”

  A decayed, chewing-tobacco mouth beamed at me as he cracked the door again and poked his nose through the opening. “I want her to stay back,” he hissed, shaking a finger at Sissy, who’d come up close behind me.

  “Okay, this is just between you and me,” I reassured him and waved Sissy away.

  Walter rubbed his palm through the grease and sweat of his stringy, grey hair. “I just wanna bowl. That’s all. And this bitch,” he pointed at Sissy, “says I have a back fee that wasn’t paid.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t owe no fees. Walter Gibbons is in debt to no one.”

  “You owe ten dollars on a pair of bowling shoes that never made it back to my counter,” Sissy shouted at him.

  Walter slammed the door shut again.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed, “Elroy, I could use a little help here!”

  “Laney, you’re the badass, dead-body-finding deputy around here.” He snickered. “Getting Walter outta that office should be a piece of cake for ya.”

  That
stirred up a buzzing swarm of whispering. I turned and gave Elroy the evil eye. He didn’t budge, although I didn’t think he would. Elroy was throwing his best game at Sue Miller, kindly offering up the other end of his Twinkie. Pathetic.

  “How about I pay your bill?” I asked Walter, going above and beyond the call for the sake of getting the hell out of here fast.

  “You’d do that?” Walter’s pudgy nose was back against the window pane.

  “I’m paying it right now.”

  I marched over to Sissy and slapped down the ten dollars, grateful I’d let Gunner pay for lunch. Sissy picked up the bill and examined it.

  “For the love of God,” I moaned.

  “You never know these days,” she said before cramming it into the money drawer.

  The door to the office was flung open. “Now can I have a lane?” Walter pleaded.

  “No!” Sissy spat.

  “Well, damn you, bitch,” Walter yelled before closing the door again. When he kicked it back open, he was holding a shotgun. I ducked behind the door right before he blasted off a shot.

  “Well, shit,” Elroy shouted, throwing his drink to the floor and scrambling for cover with Sue.

  Before Walter could get off another shot, I swung around the door and elbowed him in the nose, then wrapped my arms around his chest, taking him down like a sack of potatoes. We wrestled for a few seconds before I got my legs latched around his throat and socked him in the nose, which hurt like the devil. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

  “Why you’d go and do a thing like that?” He winced in pain.

  “Resisting arrest. And you shot at me with a damn shotgun.”

  “But I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Oh, put a cork in it, Walter.” I wrestled him to his feet.

  Immediately, Sissy popped her head up from behind the counter. “You’re a goddamn lunatic. I’m revoking your membership.” She ripped Walter’s membership card in half.

  “Fuck,” Walter mumbled, dropping his chin.

  I whipped my cuffs out and slapped them on his wrists.

  “Dang, Laney, that’s tight,” he whined.

  I squeezed them tighter, just for the heck of it.

  …

  It was past twilight when we pulled up to the station. The neon-red sign was blinking over Rusty’s Saloon, beckoning folks to come and drink away their sorrows. All ten parking spots down Center Street were empty. Still, I found myself searching for Gunner’s black Yukon. The only vehicle was Dobbs’s jeep parked half-way up the curb. Elroy killed the loud Bronco engine and turned toward the backseat.

  “I need to poop,” Walter remarked.

  I grimaced. “TMI, Walter, let’s go,” I said and dragged his wrinkly ass from the backseat.

  I found Dobbs in the back, snacking on a stick of beef jerky. His cap was lowered over his eyes, hiding the wrinkled skin surrounding his eyelids. When he heard our footsteps, he popped forward and pulled back his cap.

  “Heard about the bowling alley,” he said. “Sounds like one messy incident.”

  “I hear you,” I said, opening the cell door and urging Walter inside.

  Dobbs stood, pulled his belt up around his belly flab, and turned toward the cell. “Walter, have some fun here tonight and don’t be shy. We got Jacey in here with ya, and he’s going to keep you real good company.” Dobbs winked at me. I smiled at his twisted sense of humor.

  Jacey Riggins was Pistol Rock’s lone hooker. He always wore a pair of cutoff jeans that barely covered his dong and a bright yellow thong. Frankly, he was harmless. His main pass-time was strolling downtown after nine. Sheriff Dobbs just enjoyed the occasional prank. When he had someone in custody Dobbs was known to pick up Jacey so the dumb bastard would pester the other fool to death.

  Walter gulped and slowly backed up to the wall, pressing his ass firmly against the cinder blocks. He looked petrified. I turned the lock and dropped the keys in Dobbs’s hand.

  “Where’s Bosley?” I asked.

  Dobbs tilted his head, gesturing behind him. “I had to lock him in the closet on account that Jacey wouldn’t stop stroking his hair. I was afraid Jacey was a couple of strokes away from getting his ass kicked.”

  “Not bad thinking on your part.”

  “Don’t you know.” Dobbs grinned.

  I signed off on some booking papers and then stuffed Walter’s file inside my desk. Tomorrow would be a fresh day. Maybe a night’s sleep would shed some light on today’s events. Bosley was going nowhere trapped inside that closet. The big hurdle I still had to overcome was tomorrow’s lunch date with my mother.

  …

  The farmhouse I lived in used to be my Aunt Faye’s. She left it to me when she bit the dirt twelve years back, so now I called it home. I drove down the quarter-of-a-mile gravel road leading to the front porch. The white clapboard glowed when my headlights picked it out. Black shutters were hinged to all ten windows, and a long, wrap-around front porch stretched the length of my prickly grass yard. Last spring, I had hung a white-washed swing to the left of the front door to help occupy my time, but just about everything else on the old house needed to be fixed. The screen door was missing a few screws, the shutters buckled in the strong, west Texas winds, and the porch had a few gaps from where the wood had rotted through.

  I parked next to a dead oak tree. Nathan had backed his truck up to my tin shed. I locked the cruiser and dragged my feet to the porch steps. We had our differences on living arrangements. He wanted me to leave this place and move to his. I wasn’t convinced. It was a discussion I kept meaning to have with him, but so far, there’d been no opportunity as both our dance cards kept being full. Today being a case in point.

  Hank, my muddy chocolate Labrador, was curled up in a ball under the porch swing. His ears rustled at the sound of my boots creeping up the steps. He popped his head up and licked my leg. I bent down and gave him a good rub between the ears as he panted and rolled over, offering me his belly. His wagging tail thumped the wooden porch.

  Inside, something crashed. I pulled the screen door open. The living room lamps were on. I passed the couch, rounded the corner, and crossed into the kitchen.

  Nathan spun around, a wooden spoon in one hand and a tomato sauce-stained dish towel clutched in the other. He still had on his Gap jeans that carried the lingering smell of eau de veterinarian clinic. His denim, button up shirt was stained with the splatter of spaghetti sauce.

  “Laney, I hope spaghetti’s okay.”

  I smiled and walked over to take a taste off the spoon. “Tastes yummy,” I said, licking my lips clean.

  A basket of garlic bread and two lit votive candles decorated the center of my beige, lace tablecloth. Romantic gestures were Nathan’s specialty. He dished up a plate of spaghetti for each of us and poured two glasses of merlot.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, smiling.

  He set a plate and a glass of wine in front of me. I nodded and took a sip of my wine. Everything was just like it should be. It was pointless to waste my time and energy on Gunner Wilson. He was just going to drag me down. Besides, he would soon be packing his bags and high tailing it back to Houston.

  “Thanks, this is nice,” I said, twirling up a fork load of noodles.

  Nathan raised his glass and smiled, toasting, “To us.”

  I clanked mine to his and gulped the wine down. While pouring another glass, I looked over at my fiancé slurping up a stray noodle. He was a good-looking man in his own right, respected and well liked throughout the community. I was already letting Gunner get the best of me by making me question what I had with Nathan.

  He playfully tapped my foot with his Roper boot.

  “Hey, I’m trying to eat here.”

  A strand of spaghetti lingered on his chin. He slurped it up, wiggling it into his mouth. “I know, and you’re making a hell of a mess.” He winked.

  “You’re one to talk. At least my shirt is clean.”

  He shrugged impassively. “
So did Gunner tell you why he’s in town?”

  I washed down a noodle with the wine, hesitating. “He’s here for work.” I set the wine glass down and looked Nathan directly in the eyes. “You wouldn’t know anything about an outburst of Special K in the area?”

  “This is the first I’m hearing of it, babe.” Nathan lifted his wine glass and emptied it. Eyes narrowed on me, he poured himself another glass, then set it down, tucked his blonde hair behind his ears, and wet his lips. “I’ll let you know if I hear of any talk about Special K from the local veterinarians, but I’m not at the top of the list when it comes to illegal activities—you know, being engaged to you and all. Besides, I thought you were working the Pacey Monroe murder case,” he gave me a questioning look. “Did Dobbs reassign you?

  I shook my head. “Not really. Gunner is here following leads on a case he’s working that deals with a local Special K drug ring.”

  “Oh, I see.” Nathan took another drink of wine. “I don’t really like Gunner hanging around you.”

  I finished off my wine and scooted my chair back to walk around to him. He looked up at me.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” I said reassuringly, pulling his lips to mine.

  He kissed me and asked, “Laney, why don’t we move in together?”

  I sighed and looked down at him. “Nathan, you know I’m not ready to leave this place.”

  He pushed himself up from the table, cupped my face in his hands, and stepped into me, pressing my butt against the table. “I just need to know that it has nothing to do with Gunner Wilson,” he said.

  “It has nothing to do with Gunner.”

  He sighed and kissed me. “I love you, you know, Laney.”

  I had concluded a while back that I loved him, too. There was just a lot of baggage I was bringing to the table. I kissed him back and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you, too.”

  Nathan smiled and unzipped my jeans and ran a hand inside my pants, down my belly to my inner thighs. Digging his fingers under the lace leg of my panties, he pulled them down to my ankles with my jeans. Then he eased open the top buttons of my shirt and tenderly kissed my throat. Slowly, he dragged his hot mouth down to my collar bone to kiss my chest as he finished unbuttoning my blouse to sink his hands under my bra. “I love how good they feel in my hands,” he whispered, palming my throbbing breasts.