Venus in Blue Jeans

by Meg Benjamin

She chanced another glance at the end of the bar. Even if he was a local, Dr. Gorgeous could still be a jerk.

  Would she know what to do with him if he wasn’t? Did she even remember? And, of course, there was no guarantee he’d be interested in her.

  “So what do you want to do?” Janie’s brow furrowed. “I could try luring Wonder away, but then I’d feel funny the next time I needed my teeth cleaned.”

  “Don’t do anything.” Docia massaged her neck again. “I’m not interested in introducing myself to a complete stranger.”

  Why today? Why couldn’t she have been wearing that gauze shirt she bought yesterday at the Lucky Lady? Why couldn’t she have washed her hair last night instead of waiting until tonight? Why couldn’t they have sat at a table instead of bellying up to the end of the bar like a pair of biker chicks?

  She was dirty. She’d been moving boxes all afternoon. She smelled. This was not the day to meet Mr. Right. Assuming Mr. Right existed anywhere except an alternate universe, which, given her luck, wasn’t likely.

  Hell, damn, stink!

  —

  Cal’s brain stumbled through a series of increasingly desperate scenarios. He could try one of the pick-up lines his brother Pete used, except Pete struck out about as often as he hit and Cal didn’t feel like risking it. He could try the old head across the room, spill the drink, oops, sorry bit, but then she might think he was an asshole.

  He could walk up, introduce himself and offer to buy her a drink. And watch her nose wrinkle when she got a whiff of goat.

  “You coming up with anything there, Idaho? Looks like your brain’s about to overheat.” Wonder grinned at him.

  A bar fight. He’d take a punch at Wonder and then let Wonder deck him and then she’d come down the bar and hold his head in her lap…

  Cal shook his head. “Not a goddamn thing.”

  “Cheer up. She’s not going anywhere and neither are you.” Wonder squinted at Cal as he got up from his bar stool. “You’re not going anywhere, right?”

  “In the long run, no. Right now I’m going back home.” Cal tossed down the last of his Dos Equis. “To regroup.”

  Wonder nodded. “Right. Go back to the old campfire and figure out that flanking maneuver.” He detoured around Biedermeier’s protruding rear end. “Terrell, it’s been a pleasure, as always.”

  Cal peered one more time down at the other end of the bar. Was Venus looking at him in the mirror? He turned quickly, but she’d picked up her margarita again.

  —

  Docia took a deep breath. Kleinschmidt was leaving. Biedermeier was only faintly conscious. If she was going to do anything it would have to be now.

  Was she going to do anything? And if so, what?

  She glanced back into the mirror again, only to see Gorgeous heading for the door. Janie was watching him. Now that she checked, Docia realized every female in the bar was watching him. Wonderful. Of course she wouldn’t be the only one to notice Dr. Gorgeous. He probably had a brigade of women already volunteering to do his bidding. One more reason not to get involved.

  “What’s Plan B?” Janie said beside her. “Maybe you could borrow your neighbor kid’s iguana and drop by the animal hospital. It looks sickly.”

  Docia massaged the back of her neck again, willing the headache to go away. “Iguanas always look sickly. It’s part of being an iguana.”

  Janie pushed her empty wine glass back across the bar toward Ingstrom. “Well then, why don’t you take your cat in for shots?”

  Docia sighed. “Right. Even assuming I could wrestle him into the cat carrier, that’d be a great way to get the vet’s attention. Bring in the Konigsburg Devil. There is no Plan B, Janie. There wasn’t even a Plan A. Guys who look like that never turn out to be as good as they look. And they never work out. Believe me, I should know.”

  “For a hard-headed businesswoman, you sure give up easily.” Janie grinned and patted Docia’s shoulder. “Tomorrow is another day, Scarlett.”

  —

  In the doorway, Cal turned to look back at Venus one more time. She still leaned against the bar, her rosy hair shining in the dim light above the cash register.

  For a brief moment, he could swear their gazes connected. He felt a quick jolt of pure adrenaline. Then Venus looked back down at her margarita.

  He heard it then, deep inside, so soft he might have missed it.

  Zing!

  Chapter Two

  Docia brought her breakfast coffee into the bookstore at nine the next morning. She’d managed to banish all thoughts of gorgeous vets from her mind, if you didn’t count that dream about chasing the neighbor kid’s iguana through a particularly long, dark tunnel.

  Opening time wasn’t until ten, but she needed to do several things before then, including figuring out what to do with the offending CD rack in the back. It looked to be around an inch too wide for the space where she’d originally planned to put it.

  Nico twined himself around her ankles, purring, his yellow eyes glowing against his sleek, black fur. He mewed, plaintively.

  Docia kept walking. “You’ve been fed. I can’t help it if you’ve forgotten already.” Nico’s short-term memory—or lack thereof—was a continual trial.

  She scanned the interior of the shop on the off chance some ideal spot for the CD rack might reveal itself. The front was already full of promotional displays and tables with Konigsburg-related books.

  Nico hopped from a table onto the checkout counter, batting aside a pile of brochures for the Liddy Brenner Festival.

  Docia caught them as they slid toward the edge of the counter, raising an eyebrow at the cat. “Don’t you have lizards to catch?” she asked.

  Nico glanced at her without much interest, then curled into a loose ball against the cash register, closing his eyes against the bright morning sunlight flooding the front of the shop.

  Docia considered the back wall. Right now, she had two small bookcases setting off the antique wallpaper that could be seen above them.

  She was particularly proud of that paper. It was the one original idea she’d managed to slip by the professional she’d hired to lay out the shop. She’d found the stack of antique newspapers, magazines, advertising flyers and road maps when she’d moved into the building, and turning it into vintage wallpaper had been a full-time job. Now it covered most of the back wall and part of the sides, rising above the brown-and-tan mesquite paneling.

  The gray, pressed-tin ceiling in the dimness above her was original construction, although she’d had to patch it and find a few tin pieces to fill in. All in all, the shop looked just like she wanted it—old, warm, lived in. She sighed. Now if she could only get a few Konigsburgers to wander in and check it out along with the tourists.

  The townspeople didn’t exactly seem hostile to her, except for a few like Margaret Hastings. They just seemed…cool. Like Docia still had a ways to go to prove herself.

  Maybe she could put the CD rack against the back wall and move one of the small bookcases alongside the antique dry goods display cabinet at the side. All she had in the cabinet was collectible Texana, and only a handful of people ever looked at her puny collection.

  A sharp tapping brought her head up. Docia glanced at the front door and jumped, spilling coffee onto her hand. Someone was leaning against the glass panel, peering in.

  Next to the cash register, Nico jerked upright, yellow eyes wide.

  “We’re not open yet,” Docia called, grabbing a paper towel to sop up the coffee.

  “Aw, now, Ms. Kent,” the door-leaner called back, “you ain’t gonna make me wait here for an hour, are you?”

  Docia sighed and started toward the door. Dub Tyler. And he would stand there for an hour if she didn’t let him in, probably smearing up the glass while he did. “Just a minute, Dub.”

  She clicked the lock back, opening the door so that Dub could slip inside.

  One of the town police cruisers was idling across the street. Clete Morris stuck his head out the window
. “Everything okay there, Ms. Kent?”

  “Yes, thanks. No problems.” Docia closed the door again, locking it.

  “Don’t worry.” Dub grinned. “I won’t tell anybody. Wouldn’t want people thinkin’ they could get in here all hours of the day and night, now, would you?”

  “No, I certainly wouldn’t,” Docia snapped. “What can I do for you, Dub?”

  Dub scratched his bald spot, his slightly faded blue gaze darting around the shop. He wore the same washed-out plaid shirt and rumpled khaki slacks as usual. Docia wondered if he bought them in bulk.

  She had no idea how old he was, but she’d guess on the far side of seventy. She probably outweighed him by thirty pounds, and she was at least six inches taller.

  Which didn’t make him a fragile old man. Just her luck the one long-time Konigsburger who’d been willing to visit the shop had the ethics of an Enron executive.

  Dub’s expression changed to something resembling Foxy Grampa. Whatever he was going to come up with, Docia knew she wouldn’t like it.

  “Got a proposition for you. Need you to hold a package for a while. I’ll give you a five percent commission when I sell it.” Dub rubbed a hand across the silvery stubble on his chin.

  “What kind of package?” Docia put her hands on her hips. “What exactly are we talking about here?”

  Dub shook his head. “Not unless you agree to hold on to it for me. Then I’ll tell you. Maybe.”

  Docia exhaled an annoyed breath and started back toward the front counter. “What is this—Pirates of the Caribbean? A map to buried treasure? Why not just keep it at your place?”

  “Security.” Dub smiled blandly, walking alongside her, his boot heels clicking. “Don’t have enough security around my house. You got good locks here, right?”

  “So buy some security,” Docia snapped. “God knows you can afford it with all the stuff you sell. You’re one of the biggest Texana dealers in the state.” She scooted Nico out of the way so that she could lean against the counter again. Nico muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary.

  “Aw, come on, Ms. Kent.” Dub’s voice rose to a thin wheedle. “It’s not like I’m askin’ you to do much. Just hold onto a package.”

  Docia frowned. There was absolutely no good reason to get into this except curiosity. “How big?”

  “Not big.” Dub spread his hands a foot apart, sketching a rough square. “All folded up. Doesn’t take up much space at all.”

  No good reason, Docia, none. “How long would you leave it?”

  “Few days, maybe a week. Just ’til I close the sale.”

  Dub was smiling cheerfully again, blue eyes twinkling. If she hadn’t known him very well, she’d think he was a charming old coot. Charming, my ass.

  Docia refolded her arms across her chest. “I’m not holding anything unless you tell me what it is first. And I’m not helping you with anything that isn’t legit, Dub.”

  Dub’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t know what it is. Safer for you, I mean.”

  “Safer?” Docia frowned. “Safer from what? What’s this all about?”

  Dub shrugged, his eyes watchful.

  Hell. Docia pushed herself upright again. “Okay, that’s it. I don’t know what you’ve got going on here, Dub, but if it’s that dangerous, it’ll go on without me. Buy yourself a safe. Buy yourself an alarm system. Buy yourself a pit bull. I am not getting into this.”

  She flipped the button on the front door lock, pulling the door open.

  Dub shook his head. “Not that way,” he muttered. “Let me go out the back.”

  Docia stared at him, brow furrowing. “Lordy, Dub, just who are you hiding from? What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  Dub grinned, bright-eyed again. Whatever the hell he was up to, he was enjoying himself thoroughly. “How ’bout I raise the commission to seven percent?”

  “Still nope.” Docia sighed, re-locking the front door. “But I will let you out the back.”

  Nico hopped off the counter and trotted after them, apparently hoping, as usual, for a little extra breakfast.

  —

  Margaret Hastings arrived in Cal’s examination room promptly at ten-forty-five. He’d already seen six patients with female owners before she showed up. The ladies of Konigsburg apparently had problems with hypochondriac pets. A Siamese who was supposed to be “listless” but who seemed chipper enough to Cal. A golden lab that was reportedly off his feed, although Cal thought he could use the diet. Even a parakeet, although since Cal wasn’t certified in avian medicine, he couldn’t say much about whether the bird really did have a speech defect.

  Another dozen brownies had also shown up at the front desk. Double fudge. Bethany, the clinic assistant, muttered about sugar shock. Cal began to think Wonder might have a point.

  Cal studied Margaret as she walked in. As usual, she was dressed in Pioneer Housewife style. The flounce on her denim skirt brushed her ankles. Her white blouse had ruffles at the wrists and a wide, lace-trimmed collar buttoned to her neck. Given that the outside temperature hovered in the nineties, she was probably wildly uncomfortable, but unlike ordinary mortals, she wasn’t sweating.

  Margaret owned Angels Unaware, one of the more popular gift shops in Konigsburg. She looked a little angelic herself—tiny, demure, blonde, always smiling sweetly.

  Cal didn’t trust her an inch.

  She had Señor Pepe in a white wicker carrier with an opening for his head to stick out. The dog rested his fawn-colored nose against the edge of the carrier. Cal thought he was the saddest-looking Chihuahua he’d ever seen.

  “What seems to be the trouble, Ms. Hastings?” he asked, carefully.

  “Margaret,” she replied in her slightly nasal voice. “Please call me Margaret, Doctor Toleffson. Mercy, I’ve been in so many times now I feel like we’re old friends.”

  She gave him one of her odd smiles, where her lips spread decorously, concealing her teeth as if showing them would be in bad taste.

  Cal concentrated on Señor Pepe, rubbing his fingers across the dog’s bulbous forehead. “Hey, boy, what’s up?” Señor Pepe began to tremble, lifting huge chocolate eyes to Cal. Help me!

  “He’s scratching himself again.” Margaret pursed her lips. “All around the neck. He’s given himself another rash. Honestly, I don’t know what to do!”

  Señor Pepe glanced in her direction and then yipped, digging his paws against the wicker.

  “Bad dog,” Margaret snapped. “No barking.”

  “Let’s get him out of his carrier,” Cal said quickly.

  He flipped up the metal catch, opening the folding top. Señor Pepe hopped out and made a break for the edge of the examination table, toenails clicking frantically against metal.

  “No, no!” Margaret cried. “Stay right there!”

  Cal wrapped his hand around Señor Pepe’s small body, lifting him back from the edge. “Whoa, there, buddy. It’s okay.” He turned to Margaret. “He’s fine.”

  “Except for the rash. Please tell me it’s nothing serious.” She raised her large, slightly protruding brown eyes to gaze wistfully at Cal. For a moment, she looked a little like a Chihuahua herself.

  “It’s nothing serious,” Cal said obediently, running his fingers along Señor Pepe’s neck. “Looks like a little dry skin. What are you feeding him?”

  “Oh, this and that.” Margaret stretched her lips in a smile again, bending her head back to look up at him. He doubted she was more than five-foot-three at most. “Some dry food, cans sometimes. He had leftover steak last night and he loved it, didn’t you, Precious?”

  Señor Pepe turned long-suffering eyes on Cal. Help me, for God’s sake!

  “Try a dry food that has omega fatty acids. That may help. And no people food—not even steak.” He gave Margaret his best professional smile. Professional, please notice, not personal.

  “Oh, of course.” Margaret ran her fingers through the long golden hair that fell straight to her sh
oulders from a bright blue ribbon. “It does seem such a shame to throw out good food, though. I love to cook, you know, but sometimes it’s hard for just one person.”

  Cal had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming. On the other hand, like a train wreck seen from a considerable distance, he hadn’t a clue how to head it off.

  “I’d love to fix dinner for you some evening, Dr. Toleffson, if you’re free.” Her lips stretched.

  “Oh, well,” Cal mumbled, “that’s really very kind of you, but…”

  “Wonderful,” Margaret said briskly. “Shall we say tonight? Sevenish?”

  “Um, well, I might have to work late…”

  “Sounds perfect. Just give me a call if you do.” Margaret plucked Señor Pepe from his hand and plopped him back into the carrier, flipping the top down in place again. “Come on, Precious, Mama’s got to go back to work.” She turned at the door and gave him another lip stretch. “Until tonight, Doctor.”

  Cal watched the door swing closed behind her and sighed. “Right. Tonight it is.”

  —

  “You could have told her no,” Wonder said. “It’s done all the time.”

  Cal shook his head, leaning his back against the Dew Drop bar. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I swear to God, she just slipped it right by me.”

  “This is a very bad idea, Idaho. You realize the woman owns a shop that specializes in angel figurines.” Wonder reached for the bottle of Spaten Ingstrom had placed at his elbow. “I warned you about that. She also doesn’t believe in alcohol. Whatever she cooks, there won’t be any booze to go along with it.”

  “Just as well.” Cal shrugged. “I think I need to keep a clear head around her.” He pushed his bottle of Dos Equis further away.

  “Definitely,” Wonder growled. “Make nothing that could be construed as a commitment. No matter how innocent.”

  Cal squinted into the gloom at the other end of the bar. No goddesses were hiding in the shadows.

  “She’s not here.” Wonder shrugged. “Probably over at Brenner’s. Much more respectable place.”

  Cal’s shoulders slumped. He’d cleaned up before coming this time, even trimmed his beard. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go down to Brenner’s now?”