Shut Up and Kiss Me

by Christie Craig

  No one answered. Thank God and hallelujah. As he’d hoped, Maria had stayed at the hospital. Walking off the porch, looking for the fake rock in the flower bed, he removed the spare key from its hidden compartment. It had lain in the same rock for sixteen years. His mother’s idea.

  God, he still missed his mother. She’d been the one sane thing in the otherwise-crazy life here.

  Letting himself in, he headed right for the kitchen and prayed his dad’s liquor cabinet was stocked. He pushed the Jack Daniel’s, the tequila, and the expensive bottle of scotch to the back and thanked the heavens when he spotted the V8. But there were only two bottles, not nearly enough to kill the skunk stench.

  Damn. He started to close the door when, on second thought, he grabbed the whiskey, unscrewed the top, tossed it across the room, and took a big gulp. It didn’t burn near as bad as his balls.

  Stumbling to the master bathroom, he stood staring at the shower. He needed a tub. He needed to soak in what juice he had to get the smell off. Thus, he turned around and headed to the bathroom with the tub: Maria’s.

  One step into her room, his gaze shot to the bed where they’d made love numerous times. It had been good, too. A smile threatened to wipe the scowl off his face when he spotted the romance novels on her nightstand. She’d never change.

  He moved into the bathroom and stripped off his clothes, stuffed them into the plastic bag that lined the garbage can, and tied it in a knot. He hoped like hell he could find some of his old clothes, or he’d be making the hike back to his car wearing the pink nubby housecoat that hung on the door.

  Two measly bottles of juice he had to bathe in. He needed more. At last he remembered hearing another remedy for removing skunk smell: women’s douche. Something about the vinegar and odor eliminator. Desperate, he looked toward the cabinets. Maria had regularly used one after having sex. What was the chance she’d have some now? Was she having sex? Even though he could really use the stuff to remove the stench, he hoped like hell her cabinet was douche-free.

  He opened the first cabinet and smiled when all he saw were tampons and her makeup case. He moved to the second. His smile took a hike, and he took a swig of whiskey. There, lined up like soldiers waiting for action, were six Summer’s Eve bottles, in the Sweet Romance fragrance. The real kicker, however, was tucked in the back: a thirty-six pack of extra-large strawberry-scented French-tickler rubbers.

  Extra large? Who was the bastard? Jose considered all the men living in town that he thought were available. Couldn’t be more than six possibilities. Then the craziest thought shot through his head. Sky? No, Sky wouldn’t do that. Sky was her foster brother. “Just like you are, idiot!”

  He took a two-shot swig of whiskey, then another when he saw his reflection in the mirror. What a fucking reflection. Leaning against the counter, he touched the blood-streaked goose egg on his head. Ouch! Both his eyes had half-moon bruises, and he counted at least a half dozen thorns sticking out of his face. He tried to pull one out, but that seemed to only push it deeper. He needed tweezers.

  He’d just started to search the bathroom when he remembered he really needed to get the skunk off him. Grabbing all six douches, he tossed them beside the tub and placed the whiskey down, too. He set the stopper in the tub and climbed his bare ass inside.

  Opening the V8, he poured one bottle of juice and then the other over his head, then scrubbed it into his scalp. He didn’t know if it was cutting the smell or not, but he wished he had a shot of vodka, celery stick, and a lime. He reached for a bottle of douche, found the whiskey instead. Good enough.

  After two more good long swigs, he leaned back in the tub and started thinking about Maria again. Was her relationship serious? Shit! He hadn’t decided that trying to patch things up was right, but he’d sure as hell wanted the option. Realizing how egotistical that sounded, he downed another long drink. The buzz of the whiskey through his veins made the fire-ant bites on his legs and balls hurt less, so he downed a few more swigs.

  Remembering what he was supposed to be doing, he grabbed the first bottle of douche and squeezed the fresh-scented liquid over his chest. It actually smelled pretty good, so he went for the second. That’s when the bathroom door swung open, and Maria and some white boy with sandy-colored hair—obviously the extra-large-tickler-condom wearer—stood gaping at his naked ass soaking in a half-inch tub of V8 juice, holding a bottle a Jack in one hand while squirting himself with Sweet Romance–scented douche with the other. Oh, and don’t forget the thorns in his nose or the black eyes.

  From the cleaning materials the pair held over their heads, he figured they expected to find a rabid skunk and not a naked man. Maria dropped the mop, but white boy held tight to his broom. Jose drew the whiskey back to his lips.

  Welcome to fucking Precious, he thought.

  Sky stood two feet away from Shala, who stood in the hotel parking lot staring at the smashed windows of her Honda. He expected her to start crying at any minute. Not that he considered her weak or an easy crier, but she’d come close several times, and this just might be what tossed her over the edge.

  Sal’s wife Jessie had called 911 when she saw what was going down in the parking lot. Martha had called Sky. Sal was now standing a car length away, as if scared Shala would turn on him for having allowed this to happen at his hotel. Who’d known his friend was a wuss?

  “You okay?” Sky asked Shala.

  She continued to stare, her arms folded tight across her chest. She slowly met his eyes. “Whoever named this town Precious needs to friggin’ be castrated.”

  Maybe it was the blue fire in her eyes, maybe it was the emotion she put in the word friggin’, but odds were, it was probably the word castrated. Sky instantly decided Sal was simply being cautious.

  Shala took a step toward Sky, and it took courage not to retreat. If looks could kill, he wasn’t sure anyone would find enough body parts to identify him.

  “I want whoever did this to pay!” she said. “I want him caught. I want him arrested. I want him castrated right along with the person who named this town!”

  Yup, it was definitely the word castrated.

  As she spun and shot off toward the hotel, it might not have been smart, but he caught up with her. “Shala, we need—”

  She stopped so fast that her shoes probably left skid marks. She swung around to face him. Her arms remained locked around her middle, which had to hurt, considering the stitches in her hand, but maybe the tight grip held her together. If she stopped hugging herself, she might fall apart.

  “Look,” he said.

  “No, you look. It’s two in the morning. Today, I’ve been stalked, robbed of my camera, vandalized, almost killed, twirled around a dance floor in an establishment named the Fucky Chicken by someone who thinks he’s Travolta, and—oh, yes—I’ve been leg-humped by the very same dog who stole my hamburger.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “In case you don’t get what that means, my point is, I’ve had it! I’m not dealing with this right now. Tomorrow, when you give me my camera back—which you will do—I’ll fill out a report or sign a statement or whatever it is that I need to do to have this bastard put away for life. But right now…right now I’m going to bed.”

  She turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs. Sky watched her go, and while he saw the fury in her, he also didn’t miss the vulnerable little girl who needed someone. And damn if he didn’t want to be that someone. Not forever, he amended. He simply wasn’t the forever kind, but maybe for longer than usual.

  He walked back to Sal, but before he could ask questions, his friend started in. “See, that’s what I saw this afternoon! Seriously, man, you give that woman even a mild case of PMS and she’s Lorena Bobbitt.”

  “Give her a freaking break,” Sky snapped. “She’s had a hard day. As hard as they come.”

  Sal studied his expression. “Well, I’ll be damned. Redfoot’s right. You’re already in love with her.”

  “God damn it, Sal!” Sky growled.
“Stop it”

  His friend shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m shutting up now. Everyone knows that once two people have been selected as soul mates, God forbid the poor sap who tries to come between them. Forget I said anything bad about her. Go for it. Like I said earlier, she’s hot—even if she’s a real handful.”

  “Would you please—?”

  Sal belted out laughter. “If there’s anyone who can handle her, though, it’s a man who’s always locked and loaded. That’s you, man. Just don’t expect us to have you guys over for Sunday dinner.”

  Sky clenched his jaw. “Shut. Up.”

  “I’m just sayin’, if you love her like I love Jessie, then I get it, man. You got my blessings.”

  Sky shook his head to clear it. “What happened here? Did you even see the guy who did this?” He’d almost asked what kind of a joint his friend was running, but he knew the answer. Sal and Jessie ran a small-time hotel that barely paid their electric bills, and Sal also ran housecleaning and eBay businesses on the side.

  “It’s just like I told you on the phone.”

  “You didn’t make a damn lick of sense on the phone,” Sky growled.

  “Okay, I may have been shaken up. That asshole nearly killed me.” Sal paused. “I got this call from some guy wanting Shala Winters’s room number.”

  “Tell me you didn’t give it to him.”

  “No. I never give out room numbers unless…well, let’s just say I don’t do it. Anyway, I heard the train rolling by, and that’s when I realized that I could hear the train on the phone, too. Don’t ask how I knew, but I got a feeling the guy was calling from here. I stepped out of the hotel and saw this man on the phone standing next to your chick’s car. And I could see the broken glass. I yelled and started walking over. He jumped into a running car and—”

  “What kind of car?” Sky asked, though could have guessed.

  “A dark sedan. I hoped to get the license plate, but damn if he didn’t aim right at me, full throttle and everything. I swear, his bumper was kissing my ass when I climbed up that there tree.” He pointed to an oak with low-hanging limbs. “We really must be related to chimpanzees, because I instinctively knew how to climb, and I never did that as a kid.” Sal leaned close and added, “Don’t tell a soul, but I had to change my shorts.”

  Sky glanced up at Shala’s hotel room. The lights were still on. He doubted she’d let him in this time. Not that that was going to stop him. Whoever was after her camera had gone to extreme measures, and Sky doubted he would stop now. He wasn’t about to let the asshole get close to Shala again.

  “Do me a favor, Sal. Give me her room key and bring me her camera.”

  “Room key? You sure you want to do that?” Sal asked. “With her talking about castration? I’d let her cool off.”

  “Just do it!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Maria paced from one side of the living room to the other, questions, concerns, and emotions doing somersaults in her chest.

  “Calm down,” Matt said.

  “Calm down?” Maria snapped. “My house smells like skunk and he’s being impossible. He needs to be seen by a doctor. He looks as bad as Redfoot. You saw his black eyes!”

  “I wish that was all I saw.” Matt laughed.

  “This isn’t funny!”

  Matt wiped his smile off his face. “Maria, you can’t force him to see a doctor.”

  “He’s just like Redfoot: stubborn, hardheaded, and—”

  “Is this normal for him?” Matt asked.

  “Is what normal?” Maria’s head and heart swam.

  “The drinking,” Matt explained.

  “What? Because he’s Native American, you just assume—”

  “No.” Matt held up his hands and stepped back. “I didn’t say that, Maria.”

  “You implied it,” she accused.

  “No, I didn’t imply it. I’m asking because he’s obviously drunk off his ass right now.” Matt shook his head and studied her. “What’s wrong? You’re supersensitive and acting crazy.”

  She shook her head, torn in so many ways. She could still remember her talk with Redfoot. She could still remember admitting she needed to ask Matt about his weekends in Dallas. She remembered how good it had felt when he wrapped his arms around her at the hospital. But on top of that, she had to deal with Jose. About Jose not knowing about her pregnancy or the miscarriage. About Matt not knowing about Jose. About Matt not knowing that she might be infertile. “You know, I think it might be best if you left.”

  “Left?” His eyebrows shot together. “You asked me to stay.”

  “It’s just…awkward.”

  He stared at her. “Why is it that I get a feeling that when you say awkward, you mean more than just your brother smelling like a skunk, being drunk and naked in your bathroom, and bathing with your douche?”

  The denial lay on her tongue but she couldn’t lie. Not when she knew sooner or later she would have to tell him. But not tonight. Not when she couldn’t understand whatever her heart was telling her. She needed to think before she spoke. She needed Jose far away when she came clean.

  “What is it you’re not saying?” Matt asked.

  “I’m saying we need to talk. I…need to tell you things, but not now.”

  “What things? What are you saying?” He glanced down the hall toward her bedroom. “You know, I really wish you would explain, because my head is coming up with things that I don’t like.”

  “Please, let’s talk later.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I drove like an idiot to get back to you, and now you send me off as if…That isn’t your brother, is it? Who’s in your bedroom, Maria?”

  Her patience snapped. “What did you leave in Dallas? Or who? Who did you leave?”

  He stood stunned. Emotion played on his face—oh God, was it guilt? His expression echoed what she felt inside.

  Tears came to her eyes. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” he said, but his voice was fraught with meaning.

  “I’m suggesting the same thing you are.”

  Matt shook his head. “Who is he?”

  “It’s Jose. There is no blood between us. But he is Redfoot’s son.”

  “So what you’re saying is—”

  “Go!” she ordered.

  He did.

  Although she’d asked him to go—insisted he go—when the front door slammed behind him, Maria felt her heart crash against her breastbone. Pain exploded in her chest and she felt certain her heart curled up in a mangled mess and died. Oh, God, what had she done?

  “I think I love you,” she said to the slammed door.

  She moved to stop him, but before she even got to the door his tires were spitting gravel out in the drive.

  She ran to the phone, ready to call him to come back. Then she remembered Dallas. Walking to the sofa, she dropped down and let herself just sit there. The emotional pain was almost too much, pain like on her fifteenth birthday, as she’d watched her mother pack her bags to go to Vegas with her new boyfriend with no intention of coming back.

  She recalled that look in Matt’s eyes when she’d asked about Dallas…Oh, God, did it have to hurt this much? Of course it did. Didn’t it always? Hadn’t it when her mother walked out? When Jose walked out? Why would Matt’s leaving be easy? And why the hell had she expected it to end any differently?

  Because you believe in the fantasy.

  No more. That was it. She was throwing away every romance novel she had.

  “You don’t look too good,” said a deep voice.

  Maria looked up. Jose stood before her, whiskey still in hand. “Neither do you. You’re drunk off your ass.”

  “Nah, I’m not drunk. I’m working on getting that way, but I’m not there yet.”

  “Really? Then why in the hell are you wearing my robe?”

  He looked down at the pink terry cloth and laughed. “Maybe I am drunk.” His gaze shifted around the r
oom and he whispered, “Is Monsieur Le Tickler still here?”

  She frowned. “You need to be seen by a doctor.”

  “Not happening,” he said with defiance. Then he gave her that bad-boy grin Maria remembered so well. The one she’d watched him offer to other beautiful women when she was young. The one she’d swooned over when he finally offered it to her. Of course, with his beat-up face, it didn’t have quite the same appeal.

  He took a step closer. She took one back. He still smelled of skunk—which meant so did her robe.

  He waggled his brows. “Why don’t you just take care of me?”

  “Why don’t you go to hell!” She shot up from the sofa.

  “I already have,” she heard him say as she walked away. “I’m in Precious. And the only thing precious about this place is you.”

  Maria slammed her bedroom door.

  “Shala?”

  She heard Sky at her door and rolled her eyes. Slipping her pajama top on over her head, she frowned when saw blood on it and went to grab a clean set from her suitcase. “Go away!” She got dressed.

  “I can’t.”

  Maybe if she just ignored him, he’d leave. She went to the bed. But just as she had the covers pulled back, she heard her door opening. She swung around, seeing the chain dangling on the door, which she hadn’t locked. Duh! She had a crazed stalker after her and she hadn’t even taken precautions. Not smart. So not smart.

  Sky stepped into the room. She got over being angry with herself and focused on him. “You can’t just walk into my hotel room!”

  “I think I should stay here, in case this guy comes back.”

  Shala shook her head. “I’m dead tired. I’m going to sleep. You can’t stay here.”

  He looked around the room. “The chair looks comfortable. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  She closed her eyes for a second. God, she was so tired. Probably, it was the pill the doctor had given her. Opening her eyes, she studied him. “I can take care of myself.”