Jackrabbit Junction Jitters

by Ann Charles

  The door to Butch’s office was closed, but the knob turned easily in her hand. Head held high, Kate marched into the room, only to falter at the sight of a jaw-dropping brunette sitting behind Butch’s desk.

  “Oh!” Kate gritted her teeth. Claire forgot to mention that Butch’s arm candy made Charlie’s Angels look like last week’s meatloaf. “I was looking for Butch.”

  “You found him,” Butch said from behind her. “Kate, say hello to Lana. Lana, this is Kate.”

  Lana’s grin accentuated her killer cheekbones. “Ah, the infamous Kate. It’s good to meet you.”

  Infamous? Kate wrestled with the urge to run screaming from the room.

  “You, too,” she said to Lana, remembering the woman’s name from the phone call Butch had taken the other day.

  She took a deep breath and faced Butch. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I have a moment of your time?” She glanced at Lana out of the corner of her eye. “Alone.”

  Butch’s face didn’t give away anything. “I’m kind of busy.”

  “Let me get out of your way.” Lana stood. “I could use a beer.” Pink cowboy boots clomped across Butch’s carpet. “Come and find me when you’re finished, Valentine.”

  Valentine? No Butch for Miss Lana and her sexy boots. Kate’s teeth were going to be nubs if she ground them any harder.

  She waited until the door clicked closed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me your real name?”

  Butch shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.” He sat on the corner of his desk. His gaze traveled down over the front of her rain speckled shirt and red jeans, his eyes telling no secrets when they met hers again. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence this afternoon, Kate?”

  Now that she stood in front of him, her well-practiced speech lodged in her throat. “I came to … umm … apologize.”

  “You already did this morning. If you’re looking for an official acceptance, you have it. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  His cold tone froze her tongue.

  He stood and passed her on his way to the door. “If not, I need to get back to work.”

  “Wait!”

  She hadn’t spent hours this afternoon on her nails to be blown off so quickly. Beating him to the door, Kate leaned against the hard slab and grabbed the door knob before he could.

  “I’m not leaving until you hear why I tried to break into your house.”

  A muscle twitched next to his left eye. “Fine. But make it quick. I have a lot to do and an early dinner reservation in Yuccaville.”

  With Lana? Kate blinked, trying to evict the brunette from her thoughts for the time being.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. Somebody is trying to steal one of Ruby’s mines out from under her and I thought …”

  Butch raised his brows. “And you thought it was me?”

  “Well, yeah. Kind of.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What in the hell would I want with a mine?”

  “I don’t know. It just seemed like all of the clues I found pointed to you.”

  “What clues?”

  “Well, your driver’s license for one thing. It has Valentine on it, not Butch. For all I knew, you were using an alias when making your crooked deals.”

  “Of course, my crooked deals.”

  Kate ignored his smirk. “Then there’s that Copper Snake Mining Company business card in your wallet.”

  Butch fished his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. Leaning forward, Kate pointed out the suspicion-causing card tucked into one of the narrow pockets.

  He drew the card out and flipped it over, showing her the address and phone number on the back. “It’s from one of the miners. The guy brews his own beer and wants me to try selling it here.” He handed her the card. “It’s just a generic business card.”

  Sure enough, the mining company’s name and address were the only words printed on the front. Kate’s forehead and nose roasted. Why couldn’t she blush like a normal person?

  “Then Betty Boop asked how the takeover was going and you stated your lawyer said it would be all wrapped up by the end of this month, which correlated with the attorney’s letter Ruby received listing a similar court date for when the mine’s ownership would be determined.”

  “Betty Boop?”

  “Yes. She also mentioned something about contacting her when it was all over and you two could play with some numbers.”

  “You must mean Sally, my accountant.”

  “Sure, if your accountant likes to ogle your ass when you’re not looking. I figured you were probably sleeping with her, too.”

  A grin surfaced on Butch’s lips. “Too? Who all do you think I’m sleeping with, Kate?”

  “Never mind.” Kate returned to the task at hand. “Then Lana called and you dropped everything to talk to her.”

  His grin spread wider. “You don’t know Lana.”

  “So, as far as I could see, all signs pointed to you being the one trying to take Ruby’s mine from her.” Kate blushed harder when she noticed the mirth flickering in his eyes, but continued in spite of it. “Claire told me I was crazy, but then we saw your beautiful house and Joe’s old El Camino in your garage, and even she admitted that it was odd for a bar owner to have so much money. Why do you have Joe’s car, anyway? I thought Sophy owned it.”

  “Sophy needed the cash and I wanted the car.”

  “Oh. So what takeover were you talking about?”

  “The one involving my business back home.”

  “You mean VC Industries?”

  Butch’s eyes widened for a split second. “Wow, you really did your homework on me.”

  “Jackrabbit Junction doesn’t offer a lot of distractions.”

  “Yes, VC Industries. The company my brother heads up is buying me out at my request. The paperwork should be finalized by the end of August, and then I’m free.”

  “So you didn’t buy that house with income from The Shaft?”

  “Hell, no. This place is more of a hobby than a business.”

  “And that greenhouse in your garage?”

  “I like plants. If I can make a buck or two selling them, even better.”

  Kate stared at him, speechless. She decided not to bring up her suspicions about the mummified hand, his black market alliance with Joe, or her conclusions about why he had a key to Sophy’s place.

  “So, am I cleared of all of my fictional crimes?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now, if you don’t mind …” He grasped the door knob.

  “Butch.” She clamped her hand over his. His knuckles felt rough against the soft skin of her palm. God, he smelled good enough to eat.

  His gaze dipped to her lips for several heartbeats. When he raised his eyes back to hers, the intent smoldering in them turned her knees to Play-Doh.

  “Yes, Kate?”

  She took a deep breath, plugged her nose, and dove off the high dive. “I like you.”

  “Gee, that’s swell, Peggy Sue.”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “I mean, I really, really like you. If you’d give me another chance, I want to make up for all of my craziness by showing you how much I really like you.”

  He leaned in so close Kate could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “Define ‘showing.’”

  Licking her suddenly parched lips, Kate gulped. “Dinner, maybe some dancing, maybe something else.”

  “What else?” He leaned lower, his mouth hovering over hers.

  “Sex,” she whispered, waiting with every tingling nerve in her body to taste him. Instead, a cool breath of air conditioning swept across her fevered skin as he stepped back. “Or not.”

  “You’d have sex with me just to make up for accusing me of trying to steal Ruby’s mine?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, her heart still rattling.

  His forehead creased.

  “I mean, no. Butch, it’s not like that.”

  “Forget it, Kate. I don’t want pity sex
from you.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’d have sex with you because I like you.”

  “That’s right, you ‘really like’ me. I wonder what you do to the guys you just kind of like.”

  This was not going well at all.

  “Look, Butch, I know I probably give off crazy-girl vibes, but I’m not like that. I’m just an ex-school teacher who came to town for my grandfather’s wedding and ended up falling for a guy who owns the local bar.”

  She closed the distance between them, grabbing his hand, needing some kind of connection to continue. He didn’t pull away.

  “When I’m not doing a horrible job of playing Nancy Drew, I’m really boring and spend most of my days trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

  His silence squished all hope.

  She squeezed his hand and got nothing in return.

  Damn.

  It was time to get the hell out of there with what little pride she had left. “I’m sorry for being such an idiot and causing you so many problems. But I’m even sorrier for blowing any chance I had with you.”

  She let go of his hand and headed for the door. Her stupid tears threatening, she reached blindly for the doorknob.

  The kitchen was just a blur as she raced for the main entrance. It wasn’t until she yanked open the Ford’s door that she was able to breathe under the weight on her chest.

  Kate climbed into the cab, slammed her door shut, and burst into tears. Then she pounded the steering wheel and kicked the dash a few times for good measure.

  God, she needed a drink.

  She started the pickup and drove across the highway to Biddy’s Gas and Carryout. A stiff Bloody Mary—or four—would soothe her bruised ego and patch up her fractured heart. If not, she’d just crawl under Ruby’s bed and never come back out.

  * * *

  “Mac?” Claire called as she stepped into the mouth of the Lucky Monk mine. Then she remembered the thousands of tons of rock overhead and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  She stood still, the latest downpour dripping from her raincoat, her breath puffing out her nose in short bursts of steam, and listened for any sound other than her pulse clamoring in her ears. The stitch in her side ached.

  Silence urged her deeper into the mine. Drawing her flashlight from the inner pocket of her coat, she crunched across the loose pebbles strewn just inside the threshold.

  “Mac?” This time, she used her inside voice.

  Still, nothing but the smell of stale, earthy air greeted her.

  She glanced back at the entrance, debating whether to head back to his pickup and wait for him.

  The rain drizzled over the valley, and after slipping and sliding her way up to the mine for the last half hour, she wasn’t in a rush to battle the muddy trail again. Besides, she had the map—albeit waterlogged and mud-speckled—that Mac had left in his truck to steer her in the right direction. She also had the package she’d found in Joe’s post office box to show Mac.

  No More Secrets! That was her new policy.

  Her decision to stay made, Claire unrolled the map and spread it out on the floor. With her flashlight, she traced the adit back to the circle where Mac had told her he’d found the skeleton. She counted the side tunnels branching off from each side of the main adit and tried to convince herself that finding the dead guy would be a piece of cake.

  She rolled up the map as she stood. Convincing Mac to let her back in his bed might not be so simple. But if it came down to it, she could always start removing her clothes. She wasn’t above using whatever weapons she had in her arsenal to her advantage.

  Her flashlight guiding the way, Claire moved deeper into the Lucky Monk. The shadows flickered, brooding at the edge of her peripheral vision.

  Every five minutes or so, she called Mac’s name, then paused and listened, straining to hear any sound that confirmed she wasn’t the only one rattling around in the belly of the mine.

  By the time she reached the tunnel that led to the dead man, she was beginning to have serious doubts about her decision to go searching for Mac. For all she knew, he’d taken another trail down to the pickup while she was on her way up to find him and was on his way home to Tucson. She was also getting hungry for dinner. It had to be getting close to six by now.

  She turned a corner and found a huge pile of rocks looming ahead. Claire’s heart thumped in her chest. What if Mac were trapped on the other side of the rocks? How much oxygen did he have? Should she try to dig him out or go get some help?

  Then she noticed the hole up near the ceiling and scrambled up the pile, shining her light through the opening.

  “Mac?” she whispered.

  Her flashlight lit a wall of boards, a few of which were missing from the center. She lowered the beam and flinched at the sight of a dead man staring blindly at the opposite wall.

  Wow! She’d anticipated a replica of Mr. Bones, her anatomy class’s mascot, not a desiccated body covered with scraps of leathered flesh.

  She shined her light back on the gaping hole in the boards. Had Mac gone through there? What was on the other side?

  Rocks clattered as she scrambled headfirst through the hole, scraping her kneecap on a protruding rock along the way. Cursing, she limped up to the skeleton, curiosity urging her on, and shined her light into the empty eye sockets. Something moved in amongst the shadows.

  Claire screeched and jumped back.

  The mine’s silence suddenly seemed ominous, suffocating—giving her goose bumps.

  She peeked through the hole in the boards.

  “Mac?”

  Boot prints littered the floor. Were they Mac’s?

  A waft of musty air slid past her cheeks. She blinked in surprise. Why would there be a breeze hundreds of feet under the earth?

  After one last look at the dead guy to make sure he had both hands, she climbed between the boards and tiptoed further down the tunnel, following the boot prints in the dust-coated floor. She’d rounded a couple of bends when a second pair of footprints split off from the first.

  She stopped, squatting. If one set of the prints were Mac’s, then either he’d been carrying someone on his back until this point, or somebody else was in the mine.

  Claire’s skin tingled. She whipped her light all around, half-expecting the creature from the Black Lagoon to rush at her from out of the shadows. Fear locked her legs at the knees. She listened and heard what sounded like heavy breathing, then pinched herself for freaking out at the racket of her own breath rushing in and out of her open mouth.

  Her logic stepped up to the microphone. Maybe Mac had actually brought somebody else into the mine—Sheriff Harrison, for example—to show him the skeleton.

  Of course! Mac probably had already contacted the police about the dead man he’d found.

  She chewed on her knuckle as she stared down at the prints. Damn, he must really be pissed to include the cops before her.

  Uncertainty lingering, she inched further along the mine walls. Even if the prints belonged to the sheriff and not some Ted Bundy wannabe, it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

  Several bends later, she came to another cave-in. This one had a V-shaped clearing along the left wall.

  The air back here was murkier, as if it’d been stirred up. Her lips tasted like she’d been blowing raspberries on the tunnel floor. Dust tickled her nose, and she pinched it to hold back a sneeze.

  As she tried to sneak through the cleared section, one of the rocks wobbled loose under her weight and rolled down to the floor with a loud clackity-clack-clack-clack.

  Rooted in mid-wince, Claire waited until silence again surrounded her, then edged along the wall to the other side of the cave-in.

  Still, the only sign of human presence was the footprints.

  Further ahead, the tunnel narrowed quickly, the walls jagged and uneven, the ceiling much lower. Claire felt like Alice, getting closer and closer to that little door. Too bad she didn’t have any blue or red pills in her pocket;
she could have used something to distort her reality at the moment.

  As one bend turned into the next and the walls contracted around her, Claire’s leg muscles began to quake and burn. Her raincoat scratched over the rocks as she slid through a narrow gap toward a rectangular opening ahead that glowed with light.

  A shadow flickered across the gap. She froze, her heart sharing real estate with her tonsils.

  Mac?

  After several seconds of willing her legs to move, she shut off her flashlight and crept forward, peeking into a cavernous chamber.

  Across the room, Mac leaned against a wall half-covered with crude drawings of what looked like deer, or maybe horses. His eyes opened and closed in the battery lamp-lit room, his wrists and ankles bound with red climbing rope.

  Claire’s mouth opened in a noiseless gasp.

  Mac’s gaze seemed to land on her for several seconds, then he groaned and tried to sit up, only to fall back against the wall, his eyes shutting, his head lolling to the side. Blood trailed from his temple and stained his cheek.

  For half a minute, Claire sat there, every cell locked in uncertainty. She listened for the sound of Mac’s captor, and for another half a minute, the only noise she heard was an occasional groan from Mac, along with her own pulse banging in her ears like a Tommy Gun.

  Her gut told her to go to Mac, untie him, and drag him to safety.

  Her head warned her to race back to Mac’s pickup and go get help in the form of a badge and licensed firearm.

  Her feet and legs voted to just stay there in the crook of the mine’s intestines until she woke up from this nightmare.

  Claire decided to go with her gut. It had served her well most of the time in the past. Moving with her version of sniper-like grace, she snuck into the chamber.

  Three clicks of a revolver hammer stopped her a few steps in.

  “Move and I’ll pull the trigger,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind her.

  Fuck! Shit! Damn!

  Her gut had been wrong.

  * * *