Don't Let It Snow in Deadwood, page 5
“Your parents are going to let me sleep in the same bed with you?”
I laughed, pulling back to look up at him. “Are you serious?”
“Sure.” His gaze dipped to my lips. “They might worry that I’ll ravish their daughter in her childhood boudoir.”
“Ravish? That’s all you’re planning to do? And here I was hoping to be scandalously seduced and led sinfully astray, my innocence plucked and plundered.”
“Really?” He kissed me again. I swayed toward him, taking the reins, my tongue teasing his. After several pulse-pounding seconds, he pulled back, a smirk on his mouth. “Innocence, you say? You don’t kiss like a maiden, milady.”
“A maiden?” I gave a bawdy tavern-wench laugh while picking up the present I’d brought upstairs with me. “Mister, I’d take up with a snake if it promised me a good time.” I held out the gift.
He chuckled. “You’ve been hanging around Harvey too much, saucy wench.” He took the present. “What’s this?”
“Open it and see.”
“It’s not Christmas yet.”
“This is a private gift for our eyes only.”
One dark eyebrow cocked. “If it’s a skin-tight leather getup with a ball gag, I’m not wearing it unless you have a matching one.”
I grinned. “Just open it.”
He peeled off the ribbon and paper. When he lifted the lid, his eyes widened. “Where did you get this?”
“I had a little help with my shopping from a certain law dog. He guarantees it’ll do the job.”
Doc pulled the Kevlar vest from the box, holding it up to admire it. “It’s lighter than it looks.”
“Made with some of the newest technology, or so I’m told.” Cooper had assured me it would do the job of keeping Doc safer during our hunts—or rather haunts.
He slid it on, fastening it over his chest. Cooper had been spot on with the size for Doc. I stood and knocked on the material over his heart. “Rock solid, just like the sexy stud underneath it.”
Doc caught my wrist. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or scared by this gift. What do you have planned for me, Killer?”
I winked. “What can I say? I like really rough foreplay. I’d hate for you to get hurt before you finish the job.”
“You and me both.” He lifted my hand, his lips brushing my knuckles. “Thank you. I’ll wear it on our next date.”
I sat down on the bed as he unfastened the vest and slid it off, placing it next to me on the comforter. I scratched my fingernails down the front. “Cooper says he wears his over a white T-shirt most days, especially when he knows he’ll be hanging around me.”
“Yet you still find ways to bruise the poor guy.” Doc walked over to his closet. “At least you won’t be able to pinch me in as many places when I’m wearing it.” He opened one of the closet doors. “I have a little something for you, too. Close your eyes.”
I did as told, resisting the urge to peek. My heart pounded. If he was holding an engagement ring when I opened my eyes, I was going to keel over. Marriage was a subject I avoided like the plague with Doc, even though he’d recently informed me that he was not allergic to wearing matching gold bands. A bachelor of thirty-nine years may claim that talk of getting hitched doesn’t give him the hives, but I wasn’t merely a single woman looking for a partner to go to dinner and the movies with once a week during date night. I had two kids who needed a dad. My overloaded Conestoga wagon might be more trouble than he bargained for once we settled into riding the trail together for the long term.
“Okay, open them,” Doc said.
I did and gasped.
It was not a little square box with a sparkly ring.
Not even close.
“What’s that?” I stared at what looked like a bat with an array of four-inch-long metal spikes poking out of one end. The handle had a leather grip with steel flanges above and below it to keep it from slipping free in the thick of battle—a detail Cooper would appreciate the next time we took turns swinging and shooting at sharp-toothed troublemakers.
“It’s a mace,” Doc answered. “I found a blacksmith south of Hill City who makes custom weapons.”
Was this the same guy who’d made the trident?
“I told him my idea and he brought it to life.” Doc held it out for me to take. “Try out your new weapon, Killer.”
I gripped the mace. The leather-wrapped neck was soft to the touch, like it had been worked and worn for comfort. I smiled up at him, my heart swelling. “You got me a custom-made spiky bat,” I said huskily, my throat tight with emotion. It was the perfect weapon to make me feel better after I lost my war hammer. “That’s so romantic!”
His cheeks darkened a smidgeon, his gaze lowering to the bat. “I’ve watched you work a war hammer and a crowbar. While you were good with both, I thought you might be even better with something more like a softball bat, being that you were an all-star player in high school.”
I choked up with the mace, like I was standing at home plate facing off with an invisible pitcher, and swung. The weapon felt solid in my hands, the heft of it weighted perfectly for me. I took another swing, forward and back.
“Damn, this is sweet.” I glanced down at the Kevlar vest then at Doc, who was leaning against his desk watching me with one hell of a smolder in his eyes. “Why don’t you suit up, Candy Cane, and let me take a swing or two at you.”
He laughed. “Nice try, Killer, but my ribs are still healing from our rendezvous in Slagton.”
I lowered the mace, my smile slipping at the reminder of his sore ribs. “You sure you want to go down the mountain today? Maybe you need to stay home and rest.”
His brow lowered. “Are you looking for an excuse to go to your family’s Christmas without me?”
“No. Of course not.” I thought about it for another second and answered more honestly. “Okay, maybe. The idea of spending several days with my sister sniffing around you has me sweating. I’m antsy about ending up with a serious case of heartburn for the holidays.”
“Heartburn, nice.” He got my play on words. “I told you not to worry about Susan. I have eyes for only you.”
“But I’m not tall, thin, and gorgeous. She’s like kinky sex on a popsicle stick.”
“Violet, I am so nuts about you that I gave you a lethal weapon for Christmas. A custom mace is not the sort of gift a guy buys for just any girl, you know.”
I dropped the mace on the bed next to his Kevlar vest and crossed to him, settling between his legs. I slid my hands around his waist, hugging him while I stared up at him with my heart in my eyes. “Thank you, Doc.”
“Trust me, Boots,” he said, using the nickname reserved for the stolen moments when we were usually alone and naked—well, naked except for my purple cowboy boots. “From the tips of your wild curls to the ends of your adorable toes, you are sexy as hell. I’m a man who appreciates curves, and you, fair maiden, make my knees go weak whenever I see you. You were made for me.” He ran the back of his fingers down my cheek and then followed with his lips. “And my mouth.”
“And your hands.” I nuzzled his neck, his beard stubble tickling my nose as his hands cupped and squeezed my backside. “Do we have to stay in Rapid for more than one night?”
“I don’t think this storm is giving us any choice.”
I kissed his Adam’s apple and stepped back. “Okay. I’m bringing reinforcements just in case, though.”
“You mean Natalie?”
“And Cornelius.”
“Cornelius agreed to come along?”
I winced. “I kind of shanghaied him into coming, too. He was going to stay alone in that apartment for Christmas.” At the twitch of Doc’s lips, I added, “And Jane’s being mean to him. She hid your key.”
“Did she?” He moved to the bed. “Well, I for one am glad he’s coming.”
“You are?”
“Sure. He’ll keep things interesting without even trying.” He grabbed the mace and Kevlar vest from the bed. “I’ll put these in my closet until we get back to Deadwood.”
I went into his bathroom and checked my face in the mirror. There was no hiding my swollen lips or the redness on my cheeks from his beard stubble, but I patted down my curls, anyway, and then followed Doc down the back stairs to the kitchen.
Harvey was pulling a tray of cookies from the oven as we filed out of the narrow stairwell. He looked me over from top to bottom and grinned wide enough for his two gold teeth to show. “Would ya like a cookie after yer Christmas Eve nookie?”
I pinched his side, making him yip and dance away. I reached for a cookie, risking getting my fingers bit by Cornelius and Natalie, who were guarding a plateful of the chocolate delights like hungry Doberman pinschers.
“What did Cooper say about the roads?” I asked.
“The plows are runnin’ up on US 385 as far as he knows.” Harvey pulled off his oven mitt. “But he’s dead set that you wantin’ to drive in this mess confirms his theory that anything north of yer ears is pure snowdrift.”
I crossed my arms. “He didn’t say that.”
“Well, he said somethin’ like it.” Harvey tossed the mitt on the counter. “Even if the plows are runnin’ up Strawberry, there’s no guarantee ya won’t have to take a detour along the way and end up in the middle of nowhere up to yer hips in snow.”
“I know this is a risk, but Santa’s presents are in the back of my rig and if I don’t make it down there by morning—”
“I know, I know. Yer kids will be eatin’ sorrow by the bowlful if you and those presents aren’t waitin’ fer them when they open their peepers.”
“Exactly. So what do I do?”
He untied the “Life’s short, moon the cook!” apron that I gave him yesterday for Christmas and draped it over one of the bar stools. “I have just the solution fer ya.”
“What’s that?”
He hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “Ya take me along with ya to help play San-ty Claus.”
Chapter Six
Today wasn’t the first time I’d thought about Susan’s demise. Back in eighth grade, I went so far as to plan out her funeral, including the music, flowers, guest list, and type of casket and headstone. I even drew out the layout for the memorial service, seating my parents, brother, and me front and center.
My mistake was writing it all down in my notebook, including the drawing, which my mom found while cleaning out my backpack during Christmas break. I could still picture Mom’s pale face and teary eyes when she asked what the memorial layout was. She knew the answer because I’d stupidly written “Susan’s Death Celebration” at the top of some of the pages, but she insisted I spell it out for her.
Lesson learned that day: When secretly plotting to eliminate a family member, don’t use titles on the funeral schematics.
Those drawings had prompted my mother to contact a counselor for Susan and me. Six months of weekly meetings later, my dad put a stop to it all. A short time after that, I overheard him talking about us to Mom in the garage, eavesdropping through the dog door when they thought they were alone. He could see the writing on the wall. No amount of therapy would ever fix our broken relationship. We might share blood, but we were too different, and both too headstrong. The best they could hope for was a truce until Susan and I were old enough to go our separate ways. The sound of my mother sobbing as he comforted her made my heart hurt, so much so that I vowed that day not to lower myself to Susan’s level ever again.
Unfortunately, that vow didn’t last.
“You have all of the kids’ gifts, right?” Natalie’s voice snapped me back to the present.
“Yep. They’re tucked away behind the back seat.”
I stared at the white world outside Doc’s kitchen window. The snow wasn’t letting up even a little, and now gusts of wind were adding swirls of icy flurries. Poor Doc and Cornelius were outside putting the chains on my tires, prepping it for the forty-plus mile trip over the river, through the woods, and down the mountain to my parents’ place. My fingers were crossed that tire chains would be enough.
Natalie leaned back against the counter next to me. “You killed everything that could spark a fire at your aunt’s place, including the Christmas lights, right?”
“Hey, they don’t call me an Executioner for nothing,” I joked. “I killed everything in Aunt Zoe’s fortress but her attraction to Reid Martin,” I added, grinning at my own wittiness about my aunt’s hot-to-trot old flame, who also happened to be Deadwood’s fire captain. “That hunka-hunka burnin’ love is hot-wired to spark Aunt Zoe into flames.”
Natalie’s grin matched mine. “Reid doesn’t just ignite sparks in Zoe, he lights her up from head to toe like a five-alarm fire.”
A snort of laughter came from the pantry where Harvey was loading crackers and snacks into a tote bag. “Good thing Martin packs his hose wherever he goes so he can put out the fire in yer aunt’s pants.”
“Oh, sheesh, Harvey,” Natalie said. “That was so corny it popped before you finished.”
I groaned in agreement.
“What’s Reid doing for Christmas, anyway?” she asked me. “Doesn’t he have a son somewhere?”
I shrugged. “He’s not spending it at my parents’ with Aunt Zoe, that’s what.” Not after the way my dad bellowed and pawed the ground when Reid showed up at Aunt Zoe’s door a few weeks ago, hoping for a spot next to her at the family dinner table. My dad’s threat to rearrange Reid’s handsome mug for breaking his baby sister’s heart wasn’t merely a blast of hot air and Aunt Zoe knew it. Dad had been the one she’d leaned on years back when Reid shied away from marrying her. Now the heartbreaker had returned, toting a pack of matches along with a fireman’s helmet full of charm, but my dad was ready with his own version of a fire extinguisher—two fists and a hefty rubber boot.
“I thought yer aunt was softenin’ up to Cap’n Smokey.”
“Oh, she is,” I said. “But I think she’s got tender spots on the inside that are still frozen solid. Unfortunately, until she tells my dad she’s changed her mind about letting Reid light a fire under her heart again, he’s going to shoot first when it comes to protecting her.”
“Bad luck for Reid,” Natalie said. “I’ve seen your dad work a gun. He’s a crack shot. But back to your closing up your aunt’s place, what about Duke, Bogart, and Elvis?”
“I made sure they have food and drink to last until …” I frowned in Harvey’s direction. “Crud. We have to stop by Aunt Zoe’s before we head up Strawberry.”
“Why’s that?” Harvey asked without looking up.
“I have to get Elvis.”
Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘get’ her? Where are you going to take her?”
“With us.”
“Horse feathers, Sparky. Cartin’ a chicken to Christmas is nuttier than squirrel turds.” Harvey stuffed a bag of dried prunes in the tote. “Just fill up the birdy’s bowl with plenty of feed and that chicken will be so fat she gets in her own way by the time we get home.”
“Sure, Elvis will be fine,” I told him. “But Addy will be a mess once she sees you.”
The front door closed, followed by the sound of boots stomping on the doormat. The guys must have the SUV ready to crunch through the snow and ice.
“Vi, you can’t be serious about taking that dumb chicken all of the way to your mom’s. I know Addy has her leash-trained, but she’s not actually a dog.”
Cornelius walked into the kitchen, his jacket and black hair glistening with melting snow. “Did you know chickens can produce over thirty different sounds?” he asked Natalie, stealing a cookie from the bag Harvey had filled with the chewy version of chocolate and peanut butter heaven. “They have their own chicken language.”
“Thirty, huh?” Natalie guffawed. “That’s twenty-nine more sounds than my last boyfriend made during sex.”
I laughed. Picturing Natalie’s last boyfriend, I didn’t doubt her for a second. I turned to Cornelius. “Did you guys get the chains on okay?” I took a cookie from the bag, too, before sealing it and handing it off to Harvey.
Cornelius nodded. “The Tall Medium did most of the work. Southern living hasn’t allowed me much experience with snowy weather apparatus.”
“Whaddya mean, Addy will be a mess when she sees me?” Harvey set the cookies on top of the bag and closed the pantry door. “Makes no sense.”
“The only reason we were able to get her down to my parents without that damned chicken was because I told her you would be up here checking on Elvis every day. She trusts you way more than me when it comes to that bird.”
Cornelius rubbed his hands together. “Chicken origins have been traced back to theropods.”
“What are theropods?” Natalie asked.
“Dinosaurs from the late Triassic period,” Doc answered, joining us. Like Cornelius, he was covered with melting snow. “You ready?” he asked me.
“That’s over 200 million years ago,” Cornelius clarified for Natalie.
“Yeah,” I told Doc. To Harvey, I explained, “When you show up with me at my parents’ place, Addy will realize that her chicken is on her own for several days and freak out. The whole time we’re there, she’ll worry incessantly about Elvis being stuck in her cage.”
He harrumphed. “So, set Elvis free and let her run around the basement to her heart’s content.”
“No way! She knows how to open the basement door.”
“You’re kidding?” Natalie gaped. “Next you’ll tell me she learned the dance moves to ‘Jail House Rock.’ “
“I knew of a chicken named Cluck Berry that could put jigsaw puzzles together,” Cornelius told us. “Although the fifty-piece variety was its limit. Anything bigger and it would eat the extra pieces.”
I frowned at him for a moment, and then shook my head at Natalie. “I’m not kidding. Given free rein, that damned bird will molt on my comforter and hide eggs all over the house like a feathered Easter bunny.”
“What are you suggesting?” Doc asked, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “We take Elvis with us?”
“What if she gets a wild hair and flaps and flutters all over inside your rig?” Natalie threw out. “We don’t want her distracting Doc while he’s trying to drive through that mess outside.”
