“You know how fond he is of reciting anything said with drama. If he so much as repeats that one time during bingo, I’ll—”
“I’m sure he’s heard far worse at the fire house. And really, it’s not like the ladies have never—”
His mother cut him off with her trademark Glacial Glare of Doom, then flipped her attention back to Liza. Before Dylan could open his mouth to sidetrack her again, or better yet come up with a rapid explanation, she said, “So, you’re the floozy keeping my son from getting married, hmm?”
Liza’s blue eyes—which only a second earlier had been dancing in amusement at his maternal dressing-down—popped wide as she looked from Avis, to him, then back to Avis. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dylan’s stripper. From Vegas.” She turned to him and said, “I guess I should be happy you’re getting it from somewhere. I’d almost begun to think maybe you were hiding something from me. Although you could have told me you were gay, you know. I’m hip. I’m…what do they call it? Down with that?”
Dylan’s eyes bulged. “What? When did you come up with that idea?” And how many people had she shared her little theory with? He groaned, thinking back to the way the old-timers at Pete’s Barber Shop had fallen silent the other day when he’d walked in. “And since when do you use phrases like ‘down with that’?”
Avis had to raise her voice to be heard over Tucker’s howls of laughter. “I have cable. I watch that cute Carson Daly on MTV. And what’s a mother supposed to think when every young lady she introduces you to—”
“You mean shoves down my throat,” he argued, forgetting Liza for the moment. “Like that poor woman who stopped by the VFW Hall last week during bingo to use the rest room?”
“Bingo!” Mango piped up. “B-12, N-35! We have a winner!”
Avis sniffed and stroked Mango’s feathers. “Perhaps I’ve grown a bit desperate. It’s hardly my fault. I want grandchildren to dandle on my lap while I can still sit upright.”
As far as he knew, she’d never even dandled him on her lap. She’d been too busy feeding her flock. “And you think that accosting every—”
“Shush now,” Avis commanded, then turned a forced smile toward Liza. “Introduce me to your stripper.”
“I’m not a stripper,” Liza interjected, looking amused once more.
“No,” Tucker said, still chuckling. “She’s a showgirl, Mrs. Jackson. Remember, Dylan told us all about how she could never find the time to visit due to the two-a-night shows she performs at the Tropicana.”
Avis eyed Liza. “Doesn’t look tall enough to be a showgirl. Aren’t showgirls usually taller? She’s got the boobs for stripping, though.” She looked down at her own meager chest. “Saw a program on the Discovery channel about showgirls. Always thought it would be fun to wear those tassel things and…” She looked at Liza, and in all seriousness, asked, “Do you know how to make them swing in circles and—”
“Mother!” Dylan felt his stomach burn, and automatically fished in his pockets for a roll of antacids. Only he didn’t have any. That’s why he was sheriff of Canyon Springs and not vice squad detective in Las Vegas anymore. So he didn’t have to pop Tums like they were gumdrops. He gently tugged his mother away from the car. “I’m sorry, Liza. This is all a huge misunderstanding.” He turned to Avis. “Mom, this isn’t what you think. She’s—”
“Really pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Jackson,” Liza interrupted, nudging her door open and climbing out. She bent down and scooped up her slings and slipped them on her feet, instantly adding a little showgirl length to those fabulous legs of hers.
Avis looked her up and down. “Add one of those headdress thingies and I guess you could fill the bill.” She transferred Mango to one sturdy forearm and stuck out a liver-spotted hand. “Sorry if I offended. I just worry about my boy, is all. He’s thirty-two, you understand. Pleasure to meet you.” She shot a reproving look at Dylan. “Finally.”
Liza grinned and winked at Dylan. “Pleasure is all mine, trust me.”
What the hell did she think she was up to? As if this farce hadn’t played out too long already.
Dylan squeezed between them, determined to straighten this out immediately. “Mom, this isn’t—”
“The place for formal introductions,” Liza interrupted. “Your son was just about to take me to lunch. We’d love to have you join us.”
Avis’s face flushed with surprised pleasure. Dylan swore silently. He didn’t know what Liza’s game was, but he wasn’t going to play along.
His mother patted her braid and adjusted her hat. “I’m not really dressed for lunch. I was out in the garden, weeding, when Mango pushed the screen out again and tried one of his little flying hops. He hates to be away from me. Don’t you, boy,” she said, snuggling Mango’s salmon-colored head, which he’d tucked against her chest. “He’s clipped, but the breeze lifted him, and next thing I knew, he was gone.”
“Again,” Dylan asserted, but no one was listening to him.
“You look fine,” Liza assured Avis. She turned to Tucker and gave him her testosterone-booster smile. “I’m sure Marshal Greywolf wouldn’t mind seeing to Mango, as he’s been in the firehouse before, right?”
Tucker took one look at Dylan’s obvious discomfort and stepped right in, all grins and helpful as hell. “Not a problem. Come on, Mango buddy. Let’s take a walk.”
He stuck out his arm and Mrs. Jackson gave the big bird one last cuddle, then said, “Step up, precious.”
The bird dutifully did so, then looked at Dylan as if to say, “It’s not women I prefer, just anyone but you.”
Yeah, same to you pal, Dylan thought as he watched Tucker hold Mango close to his chest and saunter back down the block toward the station.
“Oh goodness, I almost forgot.” Avis grabbed Dylan’s wrist and turned it so she could read his watch. “I have a ladies auxiliary meeting. We’re discussing the final plans for our Fiesta Day booth.” She placed a hand on Liza’s forearm. “You will be staying for the fiesta, won’t you, dear? We’re having our famous salsa-making contest. People come from all over. It’s a real event. Nothing fancy like they have in Vegas, I’m sure, but—”
Dylan stepped in, taking Liza’s arm in his, mostly to get her out of his mother’s clutches. “I don’t think Liza can—”
“Liza can speak for herself,” Liza said, extricating her arm and smiling at Avis, who was looking well pleased at the way she was handling herself.
Great, he thought. Thirty-two years he hadn’t been able to get on his mother’s top perch and now it was suddenly two against one. How in the hell had this happened, anyway?
“I’m not sure of my plans at the moment, Mrs. Jackson,” Liza was saying.
“And she has manners, too,” Avis said to her son. “I’m sorry I called you a floozy, dear.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Liza assured her.
If Dylan’s life hadn’t been flashing before his very eyes, he might have smiled at the momentary blank look that crossed his mother’s face.
“Yes, well, I suppose there are some with small minds who would make sweeping assumptions,” she managed to murmur.
Never mind that she’d just done the same thing, Dylan thought. His mother definitely operated in her own universe, of which she was the undisputed center. He’d long ago learned it was best to stay in his own distant orbit.
Liza merely caught his eye and winked. “Yes, sweeping assumptions can be a problem.”
Avis smiled. “Come now, I’ll walk you to LuLu’s, it’s on my way.” She tucked her hand through Liza’s arm and steered them back to the sidewalk. “So, is being a showgirl so lucrative that you haven’t found another line of work to bring you closer to my Dylan?”
“Mother, please.” He thought about trying to explain the misunderstanding yet again, but one look at Liza’s dancing eyes told him she’d only circumvent him. She obviously thought this was hysterically funny, and if he weren’t so annoyed, he’d probably think so,
too. He’d put an end to it as soon as he got Liza alone.
Which no longer entailed the pleasurable scenario he’d envisioned earlier. Now he was thinking that the sooner he got her out of town, the better.
“Actually, I’ve quit my job,” Liza announced.
“Well, hallelujah,” Avis crowed. “Does this mean you’re coming to Canyon Springs permanently?” She reached over and rapped Dylan’s ankle with her cane. “Why didn’t you tell me? We would have thrown a party or something.”
“I’m going to have you register that thing as a lethal weapon,” he said, wincing as he flexed his leg. “And I didn’t tell you, because I’m as surprised by this as you are.” He sent Liza a pointed look.
She merely smiled brightly as they paused in front of the door to LuLu’s. “Here we are.”
Dylan stepped in, blocking the door and separating the two women at the same time. “Enjoy your meeting, Mom.”
Avis frowned, clearly not liking being manipulated. If she only knew.
Liza opened her mouth—to say God knew what—but apparently thought better of whatever it was when she caught his eye. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Jackson,” she said instead.
“Why thank you, dear. And please, call me Avis. Where will you be staying?” She eyed the two of them.
Dylan placed a hand on Liza’s shoulder and squeezed.
“We, uh, haven’t worked that out yet,” Liza said.
“I’ll call you later, Mom, okay?”
Avis clearly wished she didn’t have other obligations, but finally nodded. “See that you do. Have a nice lunch.”
Dylan waved. Liza opened her mouth, but with a bit more applied pressure from him, simply nodded and waved.
Once Avis was around the corner, Liza turned, slid neatly from his grasp and reached for the door.
He shifted and blocked her entry with the toe of his boot. “Just what in the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing at here?”
She looked up at him, her expression one of consideration, not guilt or apology. Why didn’t that surprise him?
“Tell me one thing,” she said. “Is there really a showgirl in Las Vegas pining after you?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
She flashed those white teeth, aqua eyes dancing. “That’s what I thought. Pretty clever. Coming up with an out-of-town flame to keep the matchmakers away.”
“Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Not that it’s working either, apparently. Did she really try to hook you up with a woman making a potty stop?”
“Just what is it you want from me?”
“Besides lunch, you mean?” She reached up and straightened his badge, which had become crooked during his descent from the tree. “Come on, you can always make up another imaginary girlfriend, right? I mean, no harm really done here.” She sighed then. “Okay, I’m sorry, I got carried away. I just couldn’t resist.” Her lips curved again and she brushed a quick finger along the groove in his chin. “You have the sexiest scowl.”
Dylan’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t have time for this.” But he couldn’t deny he’d like to make some. An hour or three, anyway. It had been a long time since he’d whiled away an afternoon with a willing woman. A woman who knew how the game was played, and what the rules of engagement were. Only, from what little he knew of Liza, he didn’t think she was all that interested in playing by any rules.
She pursed those incredible lips of hers. “Come on, Sheriff Jackson. For a man who climbs trees, you don’t seem to enjoy the concept of having fun.”
“I had all the fun I could handle in Vegas. I didn’t come here to have fun.” That hadn’t exactly come out how he’d meant it, but he didn’t bother trying to explain himself further.
“A pity.” Liza turned so that her body brushed briefly against his as she stepped behind him.
“What are you doing?” He almost leaped out of his skin when she snugged up behind him.
“I wasn’t sure the citizens of Canyon Springs really wanted to know their sheriff favored smiley-face briefs.”
Jesus. How had he forgotten about that? He knew exactly how he’d forgotten. One look at those party girl lips and far-too-knowing eyes and a guy could forget his own zip code. He scooted so his butt faced the wall, putting her a few merciful feet away from him at the same time. “I know I owe you a lunch, but—”
“Yes, you do. Wait right here.”
“But, I can’t go in there like—” It was too late. She’d disappeared inside.
She was out a moment later, dangling a navy-blue sweater from her fingers. “Here, tie this around your waist.”
“Where did you get that?”
“From the coat rack. It was all the way in the back. Probably left here ages ago. Listen, I deal with these sorts of little crises all the time. You can always drop it back off later after you’ve changed clothes.”
He fished his wallet out. “Fine. Great.”
She frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked as he peeled off a twenty dollar bill.
He took her hand and placed the bill in it. “For services rendered. Have a nice lunch on me. I have to get back to work and change. I don’t have time for—”
“Oh. I see.”
How she could put such a wealth of meaning into a couple of tiny words, he had no idea. And why he cared what the hell she thought of him, he also had no idea.
She folded the twenty very carefully and stuck it behind his badge, then patted his chest. “Thanks, anyway.” She turned to walk away, then stopped and looked at him in that direct way she had. “Listen, I really am sorry if I caused you any problems. I don’t know what got into me back there. I just—” She broke off, then shrugged and smiled at him. For the first time, that bright confident light didn’t suffuse that ocean of blue in her eyes. “Have a nice life.” She turned and walked away. On those impossibly sexy heels. She didn’t look back.
Dylan swore under his breath. Just another eventful day in Canyon Springs, he told himself. Except there were no eventful days in Canyon Springs. He’d come here specifically to embrace the sameness of life that was Canyon Springs, New Mexico.
And then she’d strolled in and reminded him of just how invigorating change could be.
Before he could question his decision, or his sanity, he tied the sweater around his waist and said, “Wait.”
3
JUST KEEP WALKING, Liza. She really had to work on her impulse control. Because God knew she’d totally failed in that department over the past half hour. And here was the perfect opportunity. She really wanted to stop, find out what sexy Sheriff Jackson had to say. She wanted to say outrageous things to him and watch that little divot in his chin appear, watch the light flash in those yummy caramel eyes. “But no,” she said under her breath, “you’ve wreaked enough havoc for one small town in an afternoon. Time to move on.”
Only she really didn’t want to do that, either. In fact, this past hour was the most fun she’d had since leaving Natalie and Jake’s ranch in Wyoming eight days ago. Hell, since leaving her condo in L.A. a month before that.
She had no idea what had gotten into her—okay, that was a lie. Sheriff Dylan Jackson had gotten into her. Her poor little libido had whimpered pitifully, and the next thing she knew she was letting his mother believe she was a Vegas showgirl. Although, and she doubted Dylan would be impressed with the significant difference, she hadn’t actually told Avis anything that wasn’t true. Liza had quit her job. And she didn’t know where she was staying tonight.
But, dear Lord, she knew where she’d like to stay.
He was an ex-Vegas cop, her little libidinous voice whispered. Not a small-town boy with those inconvenient, uptight small-town morals. Certainly not if he’d created a showgirl as his imaginary girlfriend. Liza smiled to herself. Maybe he enjoyed saying outrageous things, too.
All the more reason to keep on walking. She was supposed to be “finding” herself. Not findi
ng a man to play with. But, dammit, one nice afternoon playing with Sheriff Dylan Jackson would sure as hell take the edge off.
She slowed, just fractionally, as her resolve wavered. Fortunately for her, it was just enough of a pause to allow Dylan to catch up to her. Her conscience clear—after all, she hadn’t actually given in to her impulses, right?—she turned to face him. Dear Lord, she thought, feeling her skin heat up. Even with a silly blue sweater tied around his waist, he was every woman’s pure, unadulterated authority-figure fantasy come to life. She’d never harbored any domination fantasies…but, hey, she was adaptable.
“If you’d like, I can go to the auxiliary meeting and explain everything to your mother,” she offered.
She almost laughed at the look of horror that flashed across his rugged face. “That won’t be necessary.”
Liza folded her arms. It was that or reach out and trace those lips. They were so distinctly defined, almost hard looking. But she’d bet they were quite clever, that he knew just how to use them for maximum effect. Like now, she thought. The frown he was delivering was very effective. If she was the sort to be put off by that kind of thing. Which she wasn’t.
When he didn’t say anything else, she took a step back. “Well, then, I’ll be on my way.” It was a distinct invitation for him to stop her, to say whatever it was that had prompted him to follow her down the street. She could see the urge to do so warring with the resolve to simply nod, wave and wish her a safe trip. She knew all about that little internal tug-of-war. She lost those battles more often than she won them. She didn’t use to mind. She wished she minded more now.
“Where are you headed?”
Good compromise, she thought with admiration. Not exactly a capitulation, but not a decisive victory, either. “Why?” she asked. “Did you want to escort me out of town before I get into any more trouble?”
His lips quirked, and for a moment she thought she’d be treated to another one of those I-dare-you-to-be-bad smiles. “I have a feeling that nothing stops you from getting into trouble if that’s what you want to do.”
His Private Pleasure Page 3
