“What the hell, Max?” the woman hissed, her window rolling up.
“We have drive time and clocking out to account for,” the man explained, the red lights of the truck’s brakes lighting up the sand. “And you owe me a shit-ton of bacon and eggs, Chuck.”
The truck rocked as it pulled off the slope and onto the gravel route used by the more adventurous drivers. The voices disappeared with the rumble of the engine until neither the truck nor the lights were visible in the slow arrival of the morning sun.
Rising carefully, he backed up over the slope and eased his way toward the more inhospitable territory. He skirted the low ridge, ignoring the prickly stems embedded in his fur while he made his way to his backpack, the scrawny rabbit meal long forgotten while he put as much distance between the humans and himself as he could.
Chapter Two
Charlotte tugged at the hem of her gray shorts as she made her way alongside the large tracks still visible on the sandy plateau. She paused to photograph a print next to her hiking boot before kneeling and pushing her hands into the ground to mark the length of the animal’s stride.
“Is there something interesting down there, or do you need to be airlifted out of here?”
Falling gracelessly onto her elbows, she scrambled to right herself. “Interesting. No.” She shook her head, brushing the sand from her auburn ponytail and glancing up. “No, I’m fine. Just looking.”
The tall backpacker grinned down at her from a small incline in the brush a dozen meters away. “Wanted to make sure,” he called, maneuvering his way across the terrain. “Watching out for my fellow hiker and all that.”
“Appreciate it.” She smiled, tightening the straps on her backpack and putting her phone into the pocket of her shorts. “You doing the Lost Horse Mine trail?”
“That’s the goal,” the man replied, shaking his long blond hair out before feeding it through the opening of his ball cap and readjusting his sunglasses. “Are you heading that way, too?”
Only if I can walk behind you and stare at that ass.
Her cheeks reddened at the invasive thought that had sprinted through her head. “No. Just checking out this stretch today,” she lied, averting her eyes and taking a long sip of water to distract herself from the visible cut of the hiker’s abs under his shirt.
The man pursed his lips and shrugged. “Damn. I could’ve used the company.” He stepped closer to her, his hand extended. “Alex. You know, if they need to identify my body at any point.”
And lucky for you, I’ve got that body memorized from top to bottom already. All six-foot-six of it.
“Charlotte,” she mumbled, looking past his shoulder as her traitorous mind flipped through a barrage of flirty and filthy replies. “Watch your footing in the third mile and stay away from the chollas.”
Chollas? Really?
A look of amusement crossed Alex’s face, as though he had heard the smut her head was spinning. He gave a quick nod and turned toward the mine, his long legs clearing ground at an enviable speed. “Nice to meet you, Charlotte,” he called over his shoulder. “Good luck with your photography.”
Rolling her eyes at her own awkwardness, she crossed her arms and watched as the man effortlessly made his way over the harsh landscape, his blond hair disappearing around the bend.
“Damn,” she whispered under her breath, shaking the image of the hiker’s smirking lips from her head. “Damn, damn, damn.”
She waited until he was out of sight before she looked back down at the sand to resume her research, the massive paw prints scuffed out by large hiking boots.
“Damn,” she whispered.
*
Alex adjusted his pack, easing it to the left to relieve the growing discomfort of his broken right ribs. He leaned against the fence surrounding the mine shaft entrance and glanced around at the barren terrain.
“Fuck,” he muttered, groaning at the realization he still had to make his way back. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt, he rolled his aching shoulders out and scanned the area for the quickest route back to his car.
Doubling back it is.
Keeping his eyes on the ground, he made his way through the winding trail, scuffing the sand as he passed the more ingrained paw prints he’d missed on his initial trek. With a water bottle in each hand, the pressure of his backpack was reduced to a manageable, almost ignorable, pain.
Fucking sedans.
The imprint of the mesh grille was still visible on his skin, a carryover from his miscalculation the night before. Even the minor movement of his shirt while he walked was irritating, the fabric catching on his fresh wounds.
Determined to be out of the park before dusk, he kept his focus on eliminating the trail he’d left, erasing the prints one Miss Charlotte had found so fascinating.
Miss Charlotte with the short shorts and long auburn ponytail flecked with sand.
Yeah, that Miss Charlotte.
Miss Charlotte with the voice he had instantly recognized.
Scuffing out another print with his boot, he took a long sip of water.
Miss Charlotte was way too interested in sitting in trucks with binoculars and in photographing animal prints for Alex’s comfort.
With a grunt, he hefted his pack back onto his shoulder and made his way to his SUV.
*
Max waved off the wad of bills Charlotte set on the bar. “No way, Chuck.” He snorted, running a hand through his spiked brown hair. “I’m paying, so I’m picking.”
She groaned and flopped forward dramatically. “Be kind,” she pleaded. “I’ve been up for twenty-four hours. I shouldn’t even be here tonight.”
“Two tequila,” he called out as he nudged her knee with his own. “The others will be here after shift,” he said, the nudging becoming more insistent the longer Charlotte ignored him. “Sit up and take the damn shot.”
She lifted her head reluctantly, freezing as the bartender came into focus.
“Well, hey there, Miss Charlotte.” The bartender grinned, tossing a cloth over his shoulder and sliding two shots of tequila across the bar. “Taking a break after a long day of just looking?”
A blush rose in her cheeks as her hands instinctively smoothed down her ponytail. “Oh, uh, hi. Alex, right?” she asked, straightening her back and looking up at the towering beast of a man. “How was the mine trail?”
Alex slipped Max’s money into the till and smoothly slid the change toward him, his attention wholly on her. “Long and hard,” he replied, tucking a stray strand of his blond hair behind his ear.
“That’s what she said,” Max whispered beside her, further firing her cheeks.
Amusement danced across Alex’s face before his attention was caught by another customer.
“What the hell, Max?” she muttered, gripping the small glass of tequila. “Maybe you should be drinking a shot of shut-the-hell-up.”
He snorted, lifting his glass toward her. “Oh, uh, hi, uh, Alex, uh,” he mimicked. “I think I know why you can’t get a date, Chuck.”
She tossed her drink back, wincing as the alcohol burned down her throat and into her empty stomach. “Don’t want to get a date,” she corrected as a shiver ran through her. “I hate tequila every time I have it.”
Slamming his empty shot glass on the counter, he looked pointedly at the hot bartender. “Yes?”
“That,” she muttered, nodding toward Alex, “has fuck-boy stamped on his forehead with another warning label on his ass. No.”
Max rubbed his own forehead and grinned. “You know, just because guys like us are genetically blessed doesn’t automatically make us cheating dogs.”
Turning her back to Alex, she nodded toward the empty tables at the back of the lounge. “I’ve bought into that lie enough times, thanks. Let’s go sit.”
As their coworkers filtered into the bar and the music began to get louder, she kept her attention on the animated conversations surrounding her while her fellow rangers compared hor
ror stories of past assignments. The women in their group had spotted Alex the moment they filed into the tavern, their conversations peppered with sly comments regarding the size of his hands and the fit of his jeans whenever he bent down to grab a beer from the bar coolers.
Not that she noticed.
She was busy keeping her back to the bar and, more importantly, to the bartender. Her weakness for dangerously pretty packages had given her enough emotional battle scars to last a lifetime.
She definitely hadn’t noticed the way his shirt rode up when he reached for a wineglass.
Hadn’t seen him playfully flex his arm for a group of elderly women at the back table, showing off the expanse of tattoos that disappeared under his sleeve.
And she definitely hadn’t noticed how he leaned across her every time he brought another round of drinks to the table, inundating her with the scent of his intoxicating cologne.
“Chuck!” Max yelled over the din of music and conversation. “What do you want?”
She blinked a few times, her mind desperately sorting through the last remnants of discussion around the table.
“Yeah, Chuck,” Alex’s amused voice echoed behind her, “what do you want?”
“Uhhh…” She trailed off for a moment as her cheeks reddened again. “Nachos. No tomatoes, no chives, no sour cream, no—”
“Nachos, just cheese?” Alex offered as Max’s barking laugh crossed the table.
“Yes, please,” she confirmed, narrowing her eyes at Max in a death glare.
“My pleasure, Miss Charlotte.”
*
Alex could hear the squeals of the women as he pushed through the kitchen doors and passed the food order over to the unimpressed cook and owner.
“Food cutoff’s in ten minutes.” The stocky man snatched the bill out of his hand and read it over. “Just cheese?”
“Picky eater,” he replied, pulling a fry from a greasy bowl. “How long have these been sitting here, Thomas?”
“Two hours.”
With a shrug, he scooped up the rest and gnawed through them. “That group of rangers come in here often?”
Thomas glanced back at the order. “Ah. The nachos are for Chuck. She likes the cheese layered. Max must be the steak sandwich, double garlic toast. Next time just note who it’s for at the top of the bill.”
“They a thing?” he asked, cracking the door open a sliver to scan the lounge. And to get a quick glimpse of Miss Charlotte. “Max and Charlotte?”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed as he appraised Alex. “No. Why?”
“Just getting to know the locals.” He grinned, pushing the door fully open.
Charlotte’s back remained to him, just as it had all evening. The tantalizing blush of her cheeks had disappeared, her profile animated while she spoke rapidly with one of the younger women in the group. Leaning against the bar, he crossed his arms over his aching ribs and watched as she stood for a moment to adjust her low-slung jeans. Seemingly oblivious to the attention her movements were getting from several men in the lounge, she proceeded to fix the hem of her shirt before hooking her thumbs behind her and inelegantly tugging the band of her bra down. Apparently comfortable again, she flopped into her chair and smoothed her hair back.
“Alex!” Thomas yelled from the kitchen. “Order up.”
*
Thomas downed a glass of water and joined Alex in his monitoring of the dance floor.
“Not a thing?” Alex reiterated wryly, nodding toward Max and Charlotte as they screamed and emoted their way through a Meatloaf song.
“Nah,” Thomas replied, refilling his cup. “Stay on here for a few months and you’ll see Max swing through with a new woman every two weeks. Chuck’s been his best friend since she was transferred to the park last year.” He side-eyed Alex. “She’s a nice girl.”
“I’m a nice guy,” he muttered.
Thomas looked pointedly toward a table of return customers, college women impeccably dressed and manicured. The redhead had tracked him all evening, her knowing smirk giving away the night he’d spent with her.
“I’m still a nice guy,” he insisted, tearing his eyes off the pair to settle a tab at the register. Flashing the women a smile, he pocketed the substantial tip, phone numbers, and rejoined Thomas. “Why haven’t I seen the rangers in here before?”
Thomas hefted himself onto the counter. “Depends on shift schedules. Max and Chuck are on nights right now, so we’ll be seeing them only on nights off until that changes.”
Alex turned away from the dance floor and focused on preparing the bar for closing.
He had no interest in dating. Definitely no interest in dating a nice girl. Flings, one-night stands, booty calls—those were more his thing. Answering to someone else, being responsible for someone else—definitely not his thing. The idea of tying himself down to someone when he could be gone at any moment held no appeal, no matter how hot that someone looked when she was concentrating on loading a nacho chip with the perfect amount of cheese.
“Excuse me?”
He glanced up from the beer fridge. “Hey, Miss Charlotte. What can I do for you?”
Her cheeks flushed instantly, her dark brown eyes narrowing as she studied him. “I just want to settle up my tab.” She glanced back for a moment, scanning the room. “And Max’s, before he gets back to the table.”
As he rose to his feet, she held out two bills and a wad of cash. “You’re about five minutes too late.” He grinned.
“That sneaky bastard,” she muttered, shoving the money into her back pocket. “Now I’ll be stuck making lunches for the next week.” She smoothed her ponytail and tilted her head back, drawing his attention to the smooth skin of her neck. “I hate cooking.”
“You know,” he said, leaning on the bar to get just a little closer, “you could always swing by here on your way to work and pick up some of Thomas’s sandwiches.”
And maybe keep me company at the bar while you wait.
He straightened, pushing the thought to the back of his head.
Keeping company outside the bedroom was definitely not his thing.
Stepping back, she tugged at her shirt. “Yeah, maybe. Have a good night.”
She walked back to the table, beelining straight for Max and wagging a stern finger. Alex knelt back down, his ribs protesting when he twisted around to grab a case of beer.
Yeah, he definitely didn’t need to be keeping company with Miss Charlotte.
Chapter Three
Max climbed into Charlotte’s truck, his mirrored sunglasses sitting on the brim of his hat and giving her a rare glimpse of his hazel eyes. “Slow night.”
She passed him a peanut butter sandwich and nodded. “I only counted four tents on the west side. Two less than yesterday.”
“I’m not eating that again,” Max stated, tossing the sandwich onto the dash. “Gimme your radio.”
Giving him the handheld, she snatched the sandwich and tucked it back into her bag. “You say I’m picky? Three nights of the same thing won’t kill you, you know.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you calling at two a.m.?”
Putting the call on speaker, he grinned. “The station,” he proclaimed, shushing her with the wave of his hand. “Yeah, James? Can you patch me through to the tavern?”
She frowned before her mind connected the dots. “No! No way! Hang up!”
“Too late,” he sang as the telltale ring of a phone echoed in the cab. “I overheard Alex’s suggestion Monday night and figured you were probably too chickenshit to go in there and feed us properly.”
She lunged at the handpiece, his long arm holding her back as the dial tone ended and a familiar voice came over the speaker.
“Tom’s Tavern.”
With a Cheshire cat smile on his face, he angled his head away from her. “Hi, Alex. It’s Max from the other night.”
“Hey, man,” Alex replied, a touch of confusion in his tone. “What can I do for you?”
“Not for me,” Max said, p
lacing his body between her and the radio. “Chuck has something she wants to ask you.”
She dropped her face into her hands, shaking her head frantically.
“Charlotte? Yeah, of course.” The music of the lounge drifted through the truck. “Fire away.”
Swatting blindly at Max, she lifted her head. “Uh, yeah. Um, I, well, we—”
Max rolled his eyes. “Do you guys do delivery?” he called out. “I’m in the mood for a hoagie and Chuck needs a lot of meat…ouch…a grilled cheese sandwich like only Thomas can do.” He glared at her. “Stop pinching me.”
The low laugh that came through the speaker caught her attention and she froze, midpinch. “I’m off in ten. How far into the park are you?”
Max went on the defensive, sticking his elbow out to block her attack.
“We’re fifteen minutes north of the south entrance,” she panted, breathless from the effort it took to pay Max back.
“Be there within the hour.” Alex chuckled before the line disconnected.
“Oh, my god,” Max howled, throwing his head back. “That was so painful! Uh, um, uh, um. Damn, Chuck.”
She fixed her hat in the mirror, running her fingers across the brim. “I hate you,” she stated clearly. “I hate you with every ounce of my being.”
“No stammering through that statement, huh?” he teased. “Seriously, though, any guy willing to drive food out here in the middle of the night can’t be too bad. Think of it as a test.”
With her lips tight, she glared out the window. “This isn’t a test. This is a pity-feed.” She refused to look at her best friend. Her traitor of a best friend. “I can’t believe you’re making him do this.”
“Oh, Chucky. I’m not making him. You heard him. He was game right out of the box.”
*
Recon.
Nothing more than a little recon work.
Alex glanced over at the Styrofoam containers on the passenger seat of his SUV.
Recon work, a hoagie, and a grilled cheese sandwich with double cheese, fries, and seven packets of vinegar.
He turned off the highway onto the narrow road of the park and slowed his speed.
Junkyard Dog Page 2
