Page 33 of One In Vermillion

“Sorry I overreacted, Magnolia. Major Rogers would have kicked my ass for that.” He kissed the top of my head. “Of course, I don’t think Major Rogers was ever in a relationship with anybody like you.”

“That’s for damn sure,” I said. “Somebody like me wouldn’t have let him in the front door.”

I snuggled in closer, thinking about that long ago Liz, probably in a bustle, looking at Major Rogers, who I was now picturing as Vince with muttonchops, telling her that bedrooms were always painted white, and her slamming the door to the log cabin in his sexy face.

I was going to tell Vince that, but his breathing had changed. He was asleep, utterly exhausted. I still didn’t know everything that had happened to him that day, but sleep fixes a lot, so he was probably just deep in recovery REM.

I went back to thinking about the 1800’s Liz. She wouldn’t be called Liz, of course, she’d be Elizabeth, although probably not Elizabeth Magnolia (thank you, Mother). And she’d be all alone in that log cabin, maybe she was a schoolteacher since my limited appreciation of careers for women in the Old West was schoolmarm or hooker. I wouldn’t have minded being a saloon worker, they had such fabulous clothes, all boobs and ruffles and black calf boots—it was at that point I realized I might have drifted into Moulin Rouge territory—so she wouldn’t live alone because she’d have every drunken asshat in the county hammering at her door to get at her breasts—so I went back to schoolmarm.

The cottage would be small, probably mostly one room, but it would have a huge bathroom with a soaker tub. And a kitchen she could learn to cook in. At least a hot plate. And a porch she could sit on and listen to the trees because this western was not set on a dusty plain, it was verdant.

And then Major Rogers would drop by, and muttonchops not withstanding, Elizabeth would be tempted. Such a manly man, all sweaty from work. Until he told her that her bedroom couldn’t be blue. Then she’d knee him in the nuts and dropkick him off her porch.

Vince started to snore gently, and I had to smile and snuggle closer, and even asleep, his arms tightened on me, and this was where I belonged. “I love you,” I whispered to him, even though he was out cold, and then I fell asleep in his arms.

When I woke up, it was almost midnight, and he was gone, and I thought about going out to the Big Chef and crawling into his bed, but in the end, I just rolled over in that nest of soft white and went to sleep again.

It was the best sleep I’d had in weeks.

WEDNESDAY

CHAPTER 14

I’d barely managed to make it home to the bed in the Big Chef last night before collapsing again. It had been one hell of a day and there were too many loose ends, both professionally and personally. Nevertheless, I was awake at my usual time, just before dawn, and for once I didn’t have to be careful not to wake Liz up as I crawled to the end of the bed and got dressed.

After six weeks, waking up alone was strange. I knew how easy it was to adapt to a different environment. After a week on a deployment, I would settle into my new life as if it had been forever. Six weeks with Liz here and it had felt like it had been forever. But everything is temporary, even things you think are permanent.

I went to the counter and fired up the stove to brew some field mocha. Then I noticed Liz had left her Keurig, so I turned off the stove, loaded a pod thing in it the way I’d done in the past for her, closed it, and pushed the flashing button. It gurgled and spit out dark liquid. I walked to the addition and halted.

Liz had painted it back to white.

I laughed. I had to, after all that had happened. Good old stubborn Liz Danger, playing fair.

I went back and got the mug and took a sip. Not bad. Almost as good as my mocha.

Then I retrieved the second can of blue paint she’d bought, the roller, and the tray, and got to work. Three cups of fancy mocha later, I was halfway done when I heard someone pull into the driveway.

I put the roller down and went outside as George parked his big Suburban, which meant Bartlett was still tooling about in his PT Cruiser. That gave me no small amount of petty pleasure. He got out, still wearing his stupid cowboy boots.

“Vince,” he said.

“George.”

“Looking good,” he said, indicating the two diners joined together.

“Getting there,” I said. “Come on in.”

He came inside and sat down on one of the counter stools. “Where’s Liz?” he asked, astutely noting that she wasn’t here and it was early in the morning. Liz was not renowned for being an early bird. It also meant he hadn’t talked to Anemone about her.

“At the Shady Rest.”

George nodded, uncertain, and didn’t waste time getting to the real reason he was here. “I heard about Jimmy Pitts. Hit and run?”

“Yeah.”

“And he had money on him?”

The Burney rumor mill was alive and well, which made me wonder if he knew exactly where Liz had spent the night but had asked about her to see if I wanted to talk about what I was sure was the latest scandal circulating in Burney.

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