Kiss Me. Сьюзен Мэллери
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pulled into a parking spot in front of a two-story blue brick building with a yellow awning. “Mitchell Tours” was painted in bold, white letters on the shop’s window.
“I’ve got some business in here for a few minutes, to arrange for pickup of the other guests later this week,” he said. “Do you want to wait in the truck or walk around?”
“I’d love to see the town.”
By the time she got her seat belt undone, he was holding open her door. She felt a small flush of warmth as he helped her from the tall truck. Being short had its advantages, she thought. Although he might not be happy she was here, gentlemanly manners were ingrained in him. She had to admit she liked it.
“We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes,” he said before turning toward the shop.
“Aren’t you going to lock the truck?”
“Not necessary.”
The door swung shut behind him, and Phoebe was left standing on the sidewalk, wondering whether she’d heard him right. No need to lock the truck, even with her suitcases in the backseat and his window rolled down? She’d heard about places like that but had always assumed the people who lived there were fictional—or idiots. Zane didn’t strike her as stupid, and her body’s lingering reaction to his touch confirmed that he was very much a real man.
She turned left on Frank Lane and was pleased to find a bookstore halfway up the block. It made sense to have a print book for when they were out on the cattle drive, rather than relying on technology that would need to be recharged.
“Welcome to Morgan’s Books.” A trim man with neatly clipped gray hair greeted her with a smile. He wore a brown button-down shirt a few shades darker than his skin and tan slacks with a crisp crease down each leg. “I’m Morgan. Please let me know if you need any assistance. Otherwise, feel free to wander.”
“Wandering in bookstores is one of my favorite things in the world,” she replied with a smile.
“I like you already.”
She quickly found the latest Liz Sutton mystery and was thrilled to see a “Signed by local author” sticker on the cover.
One of her favorite authors lived in this small town? She carried her treasure under her arm as she browsed the fiction section. When she glanced at her watch, she was shocked to discover that twelve minutes had passed.
Somehow, she had the feeling that cowboy Zane would not appreciate being kept waiting. She paid for her book, promised to visit again before she left town, and raced back to the truck.
Zane wasn’t there yet. But two old ladies were. They were well into their seventies, both about the same height with white hair and papery pink skin. The thin, curly-haired one with no makeup was dressed in a plush green tracksuit with bright white sneakers, while the plumper one wore a full face of makeup, including false eyelashes, and a prim flowered dress with thick, nude pumps. Oddly, they were sitting on the front bumper of Zane’s truck, and the one in the tracksuit was pointing a handheld video camera toward the front window of Mitchell Tours.
After a moment of hesitation, Phoebe opened the passenger door of the truck. The old ladies hurried toward her.
“This is Zane Nicholson’s truck,” the one in the flowered dress said.
“I know.”
“Are you with Zane?”
Phoebe glanced at the one in the tracksuit, whose video camera was now pointed at her. Since it was about eighteen inches away, she could imagine how huge her face must look on the screen.
“Don’t mind me,” the old lady said. “Just keep talking like I’m not even here. And...rolling.”
“Are you with Zane?” the other one repeated.
“I’m...yes, I guess. Sort of.”
“Scoop!” The one in the tracksuit pumped a fist in the air.
“You’re his girlfriend?”
Phoebe looked around, expecting to see the ladies’ caretakers coming toward them with white coats and apologies, but although the town was bustling, no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Should she call the police? The hospital? Or was this kind of nosiness normal in a small town? Maybe this was why Zane hadn’t locked the truck, because he knew these two busybodies would guard it for him?
Not sure what to do, she said, “I’m here for the cattle drive.”
The women exchanged a meaningful look and grinned. Somehow, it made Phoebe even more uneasy.
Just then, the door to Mitchell Tours opened, and Zane stepped out. When he saw the old women, he seemed to falter for a moment, but it happened so fast that Phoebe wasn’t sure.
The one in the green tracksuit hurried to the front of the truck, with her video camera pointed toward Zane. “What can you tell us about the cattle drive?”
He shot a look at Phoebe. She shrugged helplessly.
“Sorry, ladies, no time to talk. We have to get back to the ranch.”
Relieved, Phoebe pulled herself up into the truck. Zane didn’t come to her side to help her this time, but even after this short association with the determined women, she understood that time was of the essence in making a clean getaway. As she settled in the passenger seat, she could swear the video camera was focused on Zane’s butt when he climbed behind the wheel.
“Who are they?” she asked under her breath.
“Eddie and Gladys,” he muttered, then shot her a dark look. “You told them about the cattle drive?”
“They ambushed me, and, no. They seemed to know about it already.” At least that was what she thought the knowing look meant. She could be wrong.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“Just a couple of old ladies who live in town.”
“And the camera?”
He sighed heavily. “I have no idea. When it comes to those two, the less you get involved, the better.”
“Are you scared of them?”
“Let’s just say I know when to take on the bear and when to walk around. When it comes to those two, I walk around.”
His mouth turned up at one corner. His face was transformed when he smiled, even when it was a half-smile given halfheartedly. Wow. A sexy cowboy with a sense of humor could be dangerous. And while she’d always avoided danger in the past, for some reason, she found herself wanting to move just a little closer.
Play with fire, she reminded herself. Only getting burned seemed like a small price to pay.
“GET READY, TOMMY,” Lucy Sax told her brother. She kept her voice down, like Mrs. Fortier was always telling her, only this time it wasn’t to keep from getting on Mr. Fortier’s nerves. She spoke quietly so that no one could hear them.
Her brother shook his head. “I don’t wanna.”
Lucy planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You have to. I can’t do it—I’m not any good. You’re the best, Tommy. And you know we need the money.”
Tommy, ten and older than Lucy by two years, shook his head again. “It’s wrong.”
Lucy already knew that boys were more important, more special, than girls, but she didn’t get that at all. From her viewpoint, boys weren’t very bright. Wanting or not wanting didn’t have anything to do with it. Need mattered more.
They stood close together by the vending machines in the brightly lit bowling alley. Sound exploded all around them, from