Page 283 of Love Bites

CHAPTER20

Friday, July 20th

Blurry-eyed, my hair tucked up with a clip, I stumbled into Calamity Jane’s the next morning and hit the coffee pot first thing. I needed caffeine to clear the fog clouding my brain.

Last evening’s fun and games with Doc at the Wymonds’ place had stayed in my thoughts long after I’d climbed between my sheets, and the resulting frustrations had triggered another bout of insomnia. I’d laid there, staring up at my shadow-cloaked ceiling, replaying the tour through Jeff’s house, wondering what Doc was hiding from me. The fact that he’d come racing to my rescue at Jeff’s house hadn’t escaped me, but dwelling on that only upset me more.

I’d tossed and turned, wishing I could stop thinking about Doc so much, fretting about growing old alone. Would I end up like Harvey someday—ornery, horny, and full of blusters and rants? Why couldn’t Doc offer more than just flirting glances and touches? Why couldn’t Wolfgang’s charm and good looks be enough?

Then there was the whole ear situation out at Harvey’s. That alone ate up another hour full of questions, anxiety, and dumbfoundedness.

I’d heard the downstairs clock strike three before finally drifting off to sleep.

I headed for my desk, coffee in hand, noticing that Mona and her laptop were both missing in action. Jane was gone, too, thank God. I had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate me being two hours late with nothing more to show for it than shadows under my eyes and furry teeth. It was just my luck that Aunt Zoe had packed up all three kids at the butt-crack of dawn and gone fishing at Lake Pactola. Without any children or chickens to wake me, I’d overslept and woke panic-filled and scrambling for clothes.

Ray was talking on the phone with his feet propped on his desk. His Stetson cologne burned the back of my throat. His voice droned into the background as I turned on my computer, pulled up the newest MLS listing for all of the Black Hills area, and started scrolling through houses and properties.

While I slurped down my sugar-filled, lukewarm, giddy-up-and-go juice, I tried my damnedest to keep my focus on saving my job. However, my brain had other ideas, and before I knew it, I found myself searching for any tidbits on Eddie and George Mudder, the owners of the Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor.

“Blondie, you’re late.” Ray’s voice ripped me from an article about George Mudder’s very public, very messy divorce from the great-granddaughter of one of Deadwood’s early pioneers.

“I had an appointment,” I lied, avoiding Ray’s stare.

He snorted. “In whose bed?”

Why did everyone around here think I was some kind of call girl? I glared him down. “Do you look in the mirror every morning and practice being a gigantic asshole, or does it just come naturally for you?”

“Whoa there, Medusa. You’re the one wearing the tell-tale sleep lines.”

“Oh.” I covered my cheeks, which warmed with guilt.

“So pop a Midol and pay attention,” Ray laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles, “while I show you what a successful Realtor at work looks like.”

I wanted to bash in his pearly whites with my coffee cup. Instead, I hit him with a question that had been replaying in my head for days. “Why are all of those Missing Girl posters in your back seat, Ray?”

His smirk slipped.

Why stop there? “What was in the crate you hauled out of Mudder Brothers yesterday?”

Dark red spots mottled his face.

“And what’s with all of your extracurricular activities at the Rec Center lately?” I had no evidence to support that last one, but I was a good bluffer.

Nostrils flared, Ray leaned toward me, his hands fisted. “You should really mind your own business.”

I picked up my stapler, just in case he lunged. “Minding yours is so much more fun.”

The slam of the back door made us both turn. Mona’s smile faltered as her gaze bounced between us. “What’s going on?”

My cell phone rang, saving me from having to answer her. I turned my back to Ray as I flipped open my phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, girlfriend,” Natalie said. “You have a minute?”

“Sure, hold on.” Avoiding two pairs of eyes, I slipped out the back door into the sizzling sunshine. I weaved through the parking lot, my skirt swirling and swishing, my boots clomping on the asphalt as I headed toward the shade of several large ponderosa pines. “What’s up?”

“I can’t watch the kids Saturday night.”

Saturday night?What was going on Saturday night? Damn, I needed to start injecting ginkgo biloba straight into my veins. Oh, that’s right—my date with Wolfgang. “Crud.”

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