Page 22 of Carry Me Home
Clearly I had been found lacking. I suppressed a grin. “You don’t like the T-rex?”
“I like all dinosaurs, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed.
“But the T-rex is very basic.”
Well, shit. That might have actually hurt my feelings.
“What’s your favorite dinosaur?” I asked.
She straightened. “Triceratops.”
“I know that one. The one with the shield and horns, right?”
“Right. It’s for protection. They were vegetarians, but I bet they had a temper. Animals with horns tend to be ornery, I think. Like a rhinoceros.” Her serious eyes, one hazel and one blue, darted to mine and then away again. “Don’t ever fuck with a rhino.”
A bark of laughter burst out of me, at this very serious child sayingfucklike an adult while imparting wisdom I’d be unlikely to ever need. “I’ll try to remember that.”
She nodded crisply. “You should.”
My gaze shot to the clock on the wall as something occurred to me. “What time does your mom get off work, Maya?”
“Five-thirty.”
It was three-thirty now. That meant Janie would be at the Painted Cat for another two hours. I doubted she had many customers right now. Maybe she’d like some company.
Suddenly I was in the mood for a drink.
When I saunteredinto the Painted Cat, Janie was bent over the bar as she doodled something in a sketchbook, her heart-shaped ass reflected in the vintage mirror. She glanced up as I claimed the stool in front of her.
“Jack.” She straightened. Her gaze shifted to the clock near the door. “Long day?”
Most people who frequented the Painted Cat before 5 p.m. were either perpetually drunk or having a rough day. The farmers and ranchers of Aspen Springs didn’t have time for a leisurely midday beer, especially not in the spring. “Nah. Thought I’d stop by and see my friend, that’s all.”
She glanced doubtfully at the four patrons, none of whom were sober. “Saul?”
“You, Janie.”
“Oh. Hello, friend.” She grinned and braced her arms on the bar. “What can I get you?”
“Whiskey. Neat. Mid-shelf is fine.” With two hours to kill and no intention of wasting my time with Janie drunk, I’d sip it slow. My gaze fell to her sketchbook. “Frogs?”
“It’s a Maya project.” She grabbed the Maker’s Mark and a glass. “She wants to write a kid’s encyclopedia.Amphibians A to Z. She’s writing it and I’m illustrating. We’re up to D now. That’s Darwin’s frog.” She jerked her chin toward the sketchbook as she poured. “I’m practicing.”
I studied it in the dim light. It was a simple pencil sketch, no color, but incredibly detailed and lifelike. “What’s with his throat? Is he eating flies?”
She laughed. “No. Those are his babies.” She tapped the drawing with the eraser end of her pencil. “That’s the cool thing about Darwin’s frog. The males carry their tadpoles in their vocal sacs. Swallow them right in there, and then six weeks later, a bunch of baby frogs hop out of their mouths. It’s a whole new angle on the spit or swallow question.”
I nearly choked on my whiskey. “Janie.”
She blinked her big doe eyes back at me. “What? You know your mind would have gone there eventually. I just helped it along.”
It didn’t take much to get a man thinking about blow jobs, that was true. My gaze fell to her smirking mouth.Spit or swallow?She could do either and all I’d feel was grateful.
Janie pushed away from the bar and moved to the far end, where a grizzled farmer I didn’t recognize had finished his beer. He watched her pour another pint from the tap, his leering gaze glued to her chest. I spun on my stool to fully face him and stared, hard, until he felt the weight of it and dragged his eyes from Janie’s tits. And then I kept right on staring while he shifted nervously. There were twenty-seven bones in the human hand, and I wanted him to know I was thinking about breaking every single one. He hastily grabbed the glass Janie set down in front of him and buried his face in it, but I didn’t let up until she was back at her sketchbook.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “You’re scaring the customers.”
