Montana Ice Read online

  No way was I going to make it easy for him. He could figure out which sister I was all on his own. But I did feel a little bad about knocking him out. Just a teensy, tiny bit. Enough to drag his sorry ass to the ER. “Let's go, before we freeze to death.”

  Jack handed me the bag of peas. “I'm already freezing.” He picked up a scrap piece of PVC plastic pipe from the floor. “Maybe my brain did get whacked a little too hard because I swear we're in a plumbing van.” He dropped the piece with a clunk. “No way in hell are you coming in with me, whoever you are. I'm going to have to explain why my body temperature is close to hypothermic. I'm also going to have to explain how I don't know who did this to me, and I'll end up with a CAT scan. They're never going to believe there are two of you. If that's not enough, I have to tell the doctor I got knocked out with this.” He picked up the pieces of the paddle he’d brought along. “What the hell are you, a dominatrix or something?”

  I glared at him, snatching the pieces from his hand. “Yeah, something.”

  He undid his seatbelt and opened the door. Looked back at me and winked. “Kinky. I like it.”

  Appalled, my mouth dropped open. “You are such a—”

  “So, pickup? I guess you'll come and get me later?”

  I bit my lip, holding in what I really wanted to say to him, counted to ten. “I've got to run to Goldilocks and then I'll—”

  “Goldilocks?” He smiled broadly. “Like I said, kinky.”

  If steam could come out of my ears, it would've right then and there. I gripped the steering wheel to keep from hitting him again at his comment. Just because I worked part-time at an adult store didn’t mean I was into...stuff.

  “Never mind. No need to come get me. Who knows how long I'll be with an injury like this.” His words dripped with sarcasm. “I've got the key to get in later. Thanks for the ride,” he added, then slammed the door shut and stalked off through the automatic doors of the ER.

  3

  Ten minutes later I walked into Goldilocks, broken paddle in hand. I pulled the door closed behind me, shutting out the frigid air. I stomped my boots on the mat, not so much to remove snow as to get out my frustration.

  “You're never going to guess who's back in town!” Goldie called to me from behind the counter. Goldie was my seventy-year-old boss, owner of Goldilocks, the only adult store in Bozeman, Montana. She'd opened it in the seventies and kept the town supplied with erotic toys, lingerie and adult videos ever since. I’d started working part-time for her in college and hadn't left yet.

  “Jack Reid,” I replied angrily as I walked up to the counter and placed the paddle pieces down next to the register. I peeled off my gloves and hat.

  “How'd you find out?” Goldie eyed me over her rhinestone encrusted reading glasses, clearly surprised. She was like your favorite snack, salty and sweet. She often irritated you—like salt in a wound—with her incessant meddling, but was well-intentioned and sweet enough that you forgave her. Over and over again. It was hard not to strangle and kiss her at the same time.

  Tonight, her almost-blonde, but mostly-gray hair was teased within an inch of its life and held in place by a bright lavender headband. I must have been staring because she said, “Like it? I got it in the mail. It's one of those Bump Ups or Bumpers or something. It's this little plastic thing you put under your hair and voila! Instant poof.” She patted her hair as if checking to make sure it hadn't de-poofed.

  “Instant something, all right,” I told her. Poof definitely came to mind. To match the headband, she had on a purple V-neck angora sweater, fluffy and soft like a baby bunny. I couldn't see her lower half behind the counter but I imagined some kind of black pants and boots. Goldie didn't go for subtle when full-on bling worked better.

  I liked to look nice, wear makeup every day and do all the fancy girl stuff, at least when I wasn’t working. But Goldie took the gold medal in the high maintenance category.

  It was quiet for a Saturday afternoon. No customers at the moment. Goldie was unpacking a shipment of videos and organizing them alphabetically to arrange on the rental wall. From the selection, it appeared to be girl-on-girl action. “Don't distract me with my new hairdo, young lady,” she said, her voice crisp with authority. “Jack Reid. Explain.”

  No matter how angry I was at the jerk, I relished the moment. Goldie loved a good story and this was a doozy. Telling it to Goldie was going to be a much better experience than Jack would have sharing the same details with the ER staff. I smiled wickedly at the thought.

  “Jack Reid walked into Violet's house, unannounced. I'd just gotten out of the shower and thought he was an intruder. I knocked him out with this”—I picked up a piece of the broken paddle—“and had to take him to the ER.”

  Goldie stared at me for a minute, probably debating if I was serious or not. Then she started laughing, making her bangle earrings swing. “That explains why your hair looks like it got tangled in a hay baler.”

  I felt my head and rolled my eyes. I'd shoved my hair up into the winter cap still wet and uncombed and I could feel it sticking out every which way. I picked up my hat and shoved it back on my head. “If you'd been naked and had to knock a guy out, you wouldn't be thinking about your hair either.”

  “If I was naked, had a paddle like that”—she pointed to the broken one on the counter— “and had a man as attractive as Jack Reid on the floor, I wouldn't want him unconscious.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Shocked. A little confused. “Jack hasn't been back to town in over ten years. How do you know he's attractive?”

  It was her turn to eye me. “His uncle takes pictures when they get together in Florida. I have to admit, he's a fine looking man,” she added wistfully.

  I wasn't sure if she was referring to Jack or his uncle. With Goldie, it could be either. Married for over forty years, I wasn't worried about her two-timing her husband, Paul. They were the most devoted couple I'd ever met. But she was certainly one to ogle. A lot.

  I'd be blind, or a lesbian, if I didn't think Jack was a good looking man like Goldie said. Visions of Jack's butt in body contouring jeans as he'd climbed out of the van came to mind, but I shook my head to clear those very appealing thoughts. His backside might be extremely fine, but his being a total jerk ruined it.

  “I just came to pick up a replacement for this.” I pointed to the Triple Smacker. “Mike's party is tonight and I figured this would be a hit.” I shook my head and laughed half-heartedly. “No pun intended. God, that was really bad.”

  “Mmm, knowing Mike, I think you're right,” she said, clacking her French manicured fingernails on the glass countertop.

  Goldie knew things about people no one else did. Like what kind of sex toys they preferred, what adult movies they rented, unusual sexual proclivities. She had a client/adult store owner confidentiality arrangement. I didn't ask her what she meant in her statement about Mike because really, I didn't want to know. Sometimes it was better not to know everything about your friends and neighbors, especially in a small town.

  Mike Ostranski had been a friend of mine since middle school when we both got food poisoning after eating the potato salad he'd brought to the end-of-school party at the Bozeman Ponds. It had sat out in the sun for hours. We both threw up on the bus ride home, but I’d had the bad luck of hitting the science teacher, Mr. Kramer, sitting innocently in the row in front of us, on the back of the neck. We've been friends ever since. Mike and I, not Mr. Kramer.

  It was the guys' monthly poker night, but Mike had decided on something different for his turn to host. He’d probably lost too much money the last time and wanted to avoid that shame a second month in a row. Goldilocks offered in-house sex toy parties, kind of like a Tupperware party but with more interesting offerings, but so far we'd only hosted them for ladies. This would be the first male version and since I was his old friend, Mike had specifically asked me to host. It was his house, his beer and his friends, but I would bring the toys, the favors and the inside scoop on what a woman
wanted.

  I found a different paddle in the BDSM section, this one lined with faux fur on one side, leather on the other. “This should do it.” I placed it on the counter next to the broken one.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Goldie returned to her video sorting. “Some woman stopped by today looking for you. Never seen her before.”

  I looked down through the glass into the case at the new dildos Goldie must have received earlier in the day. They were clear glass with various colors swirled through. Very artistic. “Huh. Did she give her name or say what she wanted?”

  Goldie shook her head. “Nope. She didn't linger either. Petite, forties, blonde. Honker of a diamond ring on one hand, the other wrapped in a bandage or cast or something. A little odd, that one.”

  The description didn't ring a bell. Most people were odd in their own special way, so that didn’t narrow it down. I shrugged my shoulders and put my warm gloves back on. “Let me know if she comes back.”

  Goldie turned around and started adding the new DVD's to the rental wall in the A's. Needless to say, there were quite a few choices with the word Ass in the title. “What about Jack? Are you going to the ER to pick him up?”

  “He said he didn't need a ride.” I snorted. The man could walk back and turn into a popsicle for all I cared. “Goldie, he didn't even know who I was.”

  Goldie gazed at me over her shoulder, her forehead scrunched up. “What do you mean? He thinks you're Violet?”

  I looked at the floor and toed the hideous gold and black carpet with my winter boot. “He can't tell us apart. He never could.” I whispered the last.

  “So, regardless of whether you're Violet or Veronica, he thinks he's staying in your house.” She took her glasses off and let them dangle around her neck by the blingiest chain ever made. “You didn't tell him you're homeless, too?”

  The house with the crappy hot water heater was my sister Violet's, not mine. My fixer-upper had had a little fire in the kitchen and was being repaired by a restoration company. Faulty electrical, the insurance company had said. Not surprising, since my old house still had knob and tube wiring from the Wild West era in places. While Violet was out of town on an elementary education conference—she was a first-grade teacher—I was able to stay at her place.

  I rolled my eyes. “There wasn't much time between whacking him on the head and the trip to the ER. He was being a total jerk to me and wouldn't have listened anyway. You can't blame the guy. Would you listen to someone who'd done that to you?”

  Goldie turned to face me, debated for a moment. “Probably not.”

  “Exactly. Now I'm stuck with him. His uncle put him in Violet's house.” I pointed at Goldie and gave her the evil eye. “You didn't put him up to this, did you?”

  Goldie looked shocked. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I wouldn't put this past you and your meddling ways.”

  Now it was Goldie's turn to give the evil eye. “Young lady, I do not meddle.”

  This was a pointless argument. Goldie was Queen Meddler, but I would never be able to get her to admit it.

  “I had nothing to do with Jack staying at Violet's house.” Goldie returned to shelving. “Although I have to admit, it's pretty darn good. I can think of someone—besides me—who could pull this off.”

  Of course! I should've started with the most obvious candidate. My mother. Getting her two daughters married had become her post-retirement life's mission.

  “Right, sorry,” I told Goldie. “I'm sure it was Mom, but I'm not going to call her for confirmation. I don't want to hear about her 'love plans'.”

  Goldie chuckled and looked at me over her shoulder again, her eyebrow arched. “Love plans?”

  I smirked. “Her words, not mine.”

  “Think about it this way. If you hit Jack hard enough, he might be rooming at the hospital for a while.”

  I rolled my eyes at Goldie before heading out into the arctic blast, replacement paddle under my arm.

  4

  I stopped back at Violet's house after my quick trip to Goldilocks. Jack's large duffel bag was still by the front door, so he hadn't been back or decided to stay somewhere else. For all I knew, he was having brain surgery right this minute. Doubtful, as he'd been lucid and obnoxious when I'd left him off at the hospital. He'd taken care of himself for over ten years without me, he didn't need me now. I frowned to myself. Guilt crept in, eating away at my crankiness. It was partly my fault he was there. I dialed the ER. They told me they didn't give out information on patients. So much for that.

  I napped, then changed into a clean pair of jeans, white tank top with a turquoise V-neck sweater and leather boots. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I squealed. My hair did look as if it had gone through a hay baler. I quickly wet it down, ran a comb through it to remove the snarls, and then pulled it back into a clip. I never left the house without makeup—except to take someone to the ER—so I went through my usual routine of eyeliner, mascara, a swipe of shadow and colored lip gloss.

  The Imperial Death March from Star Wars sounded from the living room. I dashed to pull my cell phone from my bag.

  “Hi, Jane,” I said after reading the display.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” Jane West was Goldie's daughter-in-law and also worked at Goldilocks. Jane had had a tough time for a number of years when her husband—Goldie’s son—had died and left her with two little boys to raise all alone. Last summer, she'd fallen in love with her neighbor, Ty Strickland, and they were now engaged to be married.

  I dropped the lip gloss into the makeup case in my bag. “No, just getting ready to head to Mike's.”

  “Right, I forgot about that. Should be an interesting night!”

  I laughed. “Sure you don't want to do it?” I asked her jokingly.

  Jane did most of the parties herself and probably had zero interest in a roomful of curious men and a bag of sex toys. “Mike specifically asked for you.” I heard some voices in the background. “Hang on a sec, Veronica.”

  I listened as Jane talked to one of her kids. I could tell from the cute little voice, and the fact that they were talking about having ice cream for dinner. I smiled because when I babysat for her, Zach, Bobby and I always had ice cream for dinner. Not that I told Jane that little secret.

  “Sorry. We're headed to visit Ty's parents in Pony for a few days. School's closed for teacher meetings and Ty has a five-day break from work,” Jane told me.

  “Want me to watch the house?” I asked.

  “Not the house, but something else.” Jane laughed. “Um, Zach wants to know if you can watch his gnome, George, for him.”

  I pulled the phone away from my head and stared at it for a second. “Huh?”

  “George wants to know about being a plumber. He's already been to the fire station with Ty and to the florist.” Jane talked away from the phone again, mentioning a bath and using soap this time. “Okay, it's just me. Sorry, but Zach's got this weird obsession with his gnome. You remember the incident from last summer?”

  “Um, yeah.” No one could forget what had happened. Jane and her boys had bought two ceramic garden gnomes at a garage sale. Little did they know at the time, but one of them hid a vial of bull semen which came from a horse ranch west of town. The owner of the ranch was a murdering psychopath who’d produced and distributed meth under the front of international horse breeding. The man had wanted Jane dead, but she’d saved herself and shut down the meth organization singlehandedly.

  “I thought his gnome obsession was a short-lived thing, but it's been over six months and he's still enthralled by George. Anyway, can you take George while we're gone and tell Zach you took it to all your jobs?”

  I smiled, although Jane couldn't see it through the phone. “Sure, no problem. Do you want me to come pick it up?”

  “No, you're busy. We'll drop it off on our way out of town in the morning.”

  “Okay, but remember, I'm staying at Violet's.” I tossed my purse into the box of sex toys.r />
  “Oh, that's right. I'll just leave it on the porch.”

  “That's fine, or you know what? Why don't you have Zach just put it in the van. That way he'll know it's going to go with me to my jobs. Besides, don't forget Old Mr. Chalmers across the street.”

  It was quiet for a second on the other end. “I'll have Zach just leave it in your van,” she replied, her voice a little grim.

  Old Mr. Chalmers was a Vietnam vet who hadn't come back from war the same way he'd left. He was close with Jane's next-door neighbor, the Colonel. He had a name, but I didn't know what it was. Everyone called him the Colonel. Even with that channel of gossip available, I still didn't know exactly what happened to Old Mr. Chalmers. The Colonel wouldn't say, even after all this time, and I had to respect that in a friend.

  Regardless, Old Mr. Chalmers was not right in the head. He thought Violet was his daughter. He didn't have one since his wife left him after he'd come back a nut case. But he watched out for Violet, and since I looked exactly like her, he watched out for me as well.

  He had many friends in town who helped him out. The Colonel took him to the American Legion for meetings twice a week and the pancake breakfasts the first Saturday of the month. A different neighbor made sure he got his groceries. I made him oatmeal cookies every other week. Between various people around town, Old Mr. Chalmers did just fine on his own.

  But Jane was a little wary of him as he didn't know her. The one time she'd stopped by Violet's house, Old Mr. Chalmers had come out and started yelling at her not to sell Bibles to his daughter.

  “Right, the van's fine.” I looked at my watch. “Listen, I've got to run. Men are waiting for me and all my knowledge about women and sex,” I added sarcastically.

  “Have fun—and a thank you from Zach.”

  I dropped my phone into my purse and picked up the box for the party—the one that no longer had the Triple Smacker—and headed out.

  The sky was an inky black, the fields of snow spread out around me glowing in the sliver of moonlight as I drove to Mike Ostranski's house. The headlights shone on the road, coated with a thick layer of compacted snow. On the back roads like this one, it was dirt beneath, but that wouldn't be seen until spring thaw. My breath came out in puffs until the heater kicked in. I chose to drive the plumbing van instead of buying a car as it was cheaper, but I wouldn't have minded the luxury of heated seats and power windows—and four-wheel drive.