Montana Ice: A Small Town Romance - Book 2 Page 8

  “Hi, Mr. Chalmers. How's it going today?”

  “I thought you said you had a man staying there.” He pointed the tip of the gun toward the house.

  “That's right. Jack Reid.” I stood about ten feet from him, giving him plenty of room. I kept one eye on the barrel of the gun to make sure it didn't swivel my way.

  “Then what was a woman doing in there?”

  I looked at the house. I saw nothing remarkable. It was a squat miner's shack from the 1800s. White clapboard siding, miniscule front porch. Snow everywhere, piled up beside the walkways.

  “Violet's back?” I was surprised as her conference was supposed to last a few more days.

  “Nah, some other lady.”

  I didn't have a good feeling. “What did she look like?”

  “Blonde. Pink coat. She was in there for a few minutes, and then came back out. I shouted at her. She ignored me, so I shot her.”

  We made our way up the walk to the front of the house. I stopped in my tracks at what he said. “Did you hit her?” I didn't see any blood. No body parts strewn about.

  “Nah, scared the pants off her though. I don't think she'll be back.”

  I carefully tilted the butt of the gun out of the way and gave Mr. Chalmers a hug. “Thanks for watching out for me.”

  He patted my back through my jacket. “Ah, missy. Let's go see what she was doing in there.”

  We went inside, closing the door behind us. It was habit to quickly shut doors, even with a room completely ransacked by a complete stranger. Didn't want to let the heat out, even if the bad guy could still be lurking about.

  “Holy hell,” Old Mr. Chalmers said.

  I looked around. Magazines were on the floor, pictures were crooked, the couch pulled away from the wall. None of that bothered me as much as seeing the top off of the snake terrarium.

  “Holy hell,” I repeated. Jasper wasn't in his cage.

  I hustled Old Mr. Chalmers out of the house faster than I'd ever moved in my life.

  * * *

  “I've got a problem,” I said to Jack over the phone. I sat in Old Mr. Chalmers' kitchen having some coffee. I had a feeling he'd slipped some whiskey into it as I was a little warmer than usual and was caring less about the escaped snake by the minute.

  “Plumbing or personal?” he asked.

  “That's a new take on the question. Usually I get 'personal plumbing problem'?”

  I heard Jack chuckle through the phone. “I can help with that, too.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I asked for that. Anyway, neither personal nor plumbing. Nor personal plumbing. Jasper, the snake, got out of his terrarium in Violet's house.”

  There was a pause. “So just put him back.”

  “Are you insane? It's a snake! I have no idea where it is in the house and...and it's a snake!” I was waving my arms wildly about as I talked.

  “Okay. I see the problem,” he said calmly. “Where are you now?”

  “Across the street with Mr. Chalmers.” I smiled at the older man sitting across from me, the shotgun resting on the scarred kitchen table between us.

  Another pause. “He's not going to shoot at me again if I park out front, is he?”

  I pondered that for a moment. The gun probably wasn't loaded anymore. “I'll make sure he doesn't.”

  I heard a grunt, and then the line went dead.

  Thirty minutes later, I was definitely tipsy and wired with caffeine. I heard a car door slam and I peeked out and saw Jack, leaning against a different rental. I didn't blame him for not approaching the house. Old Mr. Chalmers was all warmed up and ready to shoot again, if need be.

  I gave the old man a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek before bundling back up and meeting Jack by the car. Snow squeaked beneath my boots with that sound it made when it was super cold.

  He had a small brown bag in his gloved hand.

  “How are you going to do this?” I asked, looking at Violet's house as if Jasper was watching from the window.

  He held up the bag. “Mouse from the pet store.”

  I gulped. Poor mouse.

  Jack went into Violet's house and, for once, I was happily left out in the cold. Ten seconds later, he came back out and stood in front of me, his breath in big white puffs. “How big is this snake? Is it a python, because the house is a mess?”

  “Boa constrictor. Brown, black stripes.” I held out my arms in front of me as if measuring the length. “Yeah, well, it's a mess because someone broke in.”

  Jack stood there staring at me as if I'd grown a second head. “Broke in? You called me because you had a problem with a snake. You didn't think having a break-in was a problem?” His eyes darkened when he got riled up. I hadn't noticed that before.

  I put my hands on my hips. “I wanted to tackle the most important one first!”

  “Most imp—” Jack huffed out a big breath. “A loose snake is the most important?” He ran his hand over his hat covered head.

  “To me it is!” I snapped back, hiccupping.

  Jack stepped close, sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

  I held up my finger and thumb to show him a little bit. “I think Old Mr. Chalmers was trying to get me drunk.”

  Jack smiled, finally showing beautiful straight teeth. Grunted. “Smart man.”

  He left me, went back into the Violet's house, and closed the door behind him. I stomped my feet on the snow-packed ground while I waited for him to come back out. I half expected to see him come out screaming with a different kind of boa wrapped around his neck. A minute later he returned to my side snakeless.

  “That's it?” I asked.

  Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Now we wait.”

  I looked at my watch. I had to be at Goldilocks. “I'm a little sloshed. Wait for what exactly?”

  “I turned the terrarium upright and put the mouse in. Jasper will slither back inside for his little snack. It'll take a while to eat so he's not going to get out. I'll just put the cover back on then.”

  “Huh. That's actually pretty smart. My hero.”

  “Getting shot at, saving you from wild reptiles. All in a day's work.” Jack stepped close, leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Does this mean you'll give me a reward? Like discovering what color panties you’re wearing and whether or not they’re wet from you thinking of fucking me.”

  I gasped at the contact of his lips brushing against the outer edge of my ear. And from the words. Holy hell, he was a sexy talker.

  “Saving me from the snake is worth a kiss.”

  “Just a kiss?”

  “Just a kiss,” I confirmed, although I didn’t say where I wanted the kiss. “Now if it were a poisonous snake, I'd definitely help you live out a few of your fantasies and tell you my panties are yellow lace.”

  Jack's mouth froze against my neck as he groaned. I could tell he was thinking about what I'd said. “Fuck, Miller. Now I’m hard and want to see them. As for the fantasy, is it the one where I put my mouth on your—”

  “No, that's one of my fantasies.”

  Jack groaned again.

  “Listen, I'm going to be late,” I said, knowing we could only banter. There was no way in hell I was going back into Violet’s house, even if it meant having sex with Jack. “Can you give me a ride to Goldilocks?”

  “Sure. While you're working, I'm going to track down a rattler.”

  13

  “Marcus pressed his hard, chiseled body into hers, all rock-hard planes into soft, milky white flesh. His cock was like a steel beam that pulsed at the entrance of her love channel, ready to bore its way into her like a mole in a hole.”

  I sat behind the counter at Goldilocks reading aloud from the freshly printed pages of Goldie's romance novel. At least the early parts. I'd made it three pages and I was horrified. “Mole in a hole?” I repeated, looking up from her manuscript.

  Goldie was putting pricing stickers on the flavored body paints. She wore a bright pink fleece pullover with black pants, black boots. Her blondish h
air was pulled back in a twist, big gold earrings with sparkly pink stones dangled down her neck. She looked up at me and sniffed, contemplated. “I guess that might not be the best metaphor.”

  “I think you have too many in one sentence. Steel beam, love channel, mole in a hole. It sounds like a bad ride at an amusement park.”

  Swipe, the sticker went on with Goldie’s more aggressive action. Swipe. “I'll change that part. Keep going.”

  “Eloise looked up with trusting eyes at her first lover. Could she handle his girth? Could she control her wonton lust? Her bed was now a place of passion, not just sleep.”

  Swipe, swipe. Yup, she was a little miffed. “What's wrong with that?”

  This was a side of Goldie I'd never seen before. For a woman who knew so much about sex, she couldn't write about it to save her life.

  “Wonton lust? It's wanton. Wanton. Not wonton. That's the kind of soup you get at a Chinese restaurant.”

  Swipe, swipe, swipe. “Fine. You read me some of yours. Make sure it's the steamy, wonton part,” she said sarcastically.

  My cell beeped notifying me of a text. It was from my friend, John, who was doing the repairs to the fire damage in my kitchen. House finished tomorrow. Get inspector and insurance agent scheduled for approval.

  “My house will be fixed tomorrow. I can move back probably the day after.” I told Goldie, happy to get my house back.

  She smiled, “Good. What a scary thing. Fortunately, the fire was confined to the one area.”

  “Yeah, it was time for a kitchen upgrade anyway,” I replied. I had liked the room just as it was, completely vintage and outdated, but having smoke and fire damage had forced me into modernizing.

  It had been two long weeks and I was tired of being homeless.

  “Come on, don't distract me from your story with your sad case about your house catching fire,” Goldie said jokingly.

  I rolled my eyes as a customer came through the door, approached the counter. “Ben-Wa balls?” the man asked. Mid-twenties, goatee, heavy winter coat and hat.

  I pointed to the back corner and he retreated. Picking up my own papers, I skimmed for the sex part. “Okay, here we go.” I cleared my throat, darted my eyes to the guy searching out the Ben-Wa balls, hoping he wasn't listening. “They were both dripping wet from the thundershower that had surprised them. Dashing beneath the overhang of the closed museum, they clung to each other, cool skin warming in their heated embrace. Steam practically rose between them as their passion took over.”

  Goldie stood there frozen in place, her sticker machine held halfway to a bottle of massage oil. “Huh. Go on.”

  “His mouth lowered to the hollow at the base of her neck, his tongue flicking out to lick the raindrops away. He could see her pink nipples, hardened by the chill, through the transparent material of her blouse.”

  The customer returned to the counter with his package of Ben-Wa balls, listening in.

  Embarrassed he'd heard my recitation, I felt my cheeks flush. “Find what you needed?”

  He nodded, and then pointed to my papers. “That's pretty good. Turning me on.”

  I smiled weakly, a little grossed out that my words were arousing. “Thanks.”

  “See?” Goldie pursed her lips. “Keep going.”

  Handing the man his change, he took his package and left, cold air filling the space before the door shut. I shivered.

  Eyeing me over her reading glasses, Goldie gave me a look that read, 'Get a move on.'

  I found my place. “He kissed her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers, learning each other's taste. He couldn't get enough of her. Her scent filled his mind, making him forget the world around them.”

  Goldie put down the pricing machine on the counter. “You've got one hell of a muse.”

  I went to the video return box and started stacking the cases. “Jack's not my muse.”

  “You say that now, but from what he said the other day, it's good you both found each other since you're both into kinky stuff. I started making a box of toys for you both.”

  I counted to ten. “Goldie. I'm not into kink. Jack was just messing with you. With me. We haven't even slept together. I do not need a box of kinky toys.”

  She eyed me skeptically. “I didn't take you for kink.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.” I was afraid to ask what she did take me for. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you the other day. Remember that blow up doll I used for Mike's toy party?”

  “The Ricky Dicky doll?” Goldie asked.

  I nodded. “Well, little Ricky doesn't have any balls.”

  Goldie thought for a moment. “Good to know. Now, I know how you like to distract me, but I'm sharp as a tack. Using a Ricky Dicky doll to keep from talking about Jack Reid. You should be ashamed.” She tsked me. “Jack is definitely your muse because that writing is good.” She pointed one manicured finger at my pages on the counter. “Imagine what you could write if you actually did have sex.”

  Alphabetizing the videos, I tried to avoid looking Goldie in the eye. I was being a complete idiot, having even the slightest feelings for Jack while knowing he was going back to Florida. I did a mental head slap. Stupid, stupid! I shouldn't have let him kiss me, shouldn't have let him back in the same state. Being near him—and not wanting to kill him anymore—was wonderful, but I knew it would hurt when he walked away. Again. “He's leaving. I'm not going to sleep with a guy I might not see again for another ten years.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because...because you’ve seen him. I'm afraid I'm going to want him more than once every ten years.”

  “Hmm, that's a problem. I don't have a box for that.”

  * * *

  Goldie dropped me off at Violet's house just after midnight. The neighborhood was dark, everyone asleep. I went up to the door, opened it a crack and flipped on the light switch. Jasper still wasn't back in his home so I turned out the light, locked up. I had to find another place to sleep. No way in hell would I be able to climb in bed with a snake on the loose. There weren't very many choices. My house was out of the question because of the fire damage. I couldn't go to my parents so late at night without an explanation and I wasn't going to tell them someone broke into Violet's house. There was only one option left.

  Five minutes later, I knocked on Owen Reid's door. Jack answered it wearing old sweats, a heavy fleece jacket, shirttails of a plaid flannel shirt hanging below, and heavy socks. His hair was unruly, as if he'd been running his hands through it. Boy, would I like to run my fingers through it. Feel how silky soft it was. Ugh. Maybe I was still drunk.

  The TV was on, set to a sports recap show. I didn't think men watched anything but sports or sports recaps. Jack held the door open for me, smiled. “I knew you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off me.”

  “It's you or the snake,” I grumbled as I bent down by the door to take off my boots.

  “Good to know where I stand.”

  I hung up my coat on a hook by the door. “It's freezing in here.” I rubbed my arms.

  Jack came up behind me, pulled my back into his front, and wrapped his arms around me. I felt his body heat seep into me right away. “Like you said, the electric's back on, the heat's working as well, but it hasn't gotten up to temp yet.”

  “The plastic over the doorway to the kitchen should help some, but not much.”

  “So could warmer weather,” Jack grumbled. “In the meantime”—he took my hand and pulled me to the sofa—“you can keep me warm.”

  The idea was very appealing. Jack pulled me down next to him, tucked me in beneath his arm, my head resting against his shoulder. He must've grabbed a blanket off the guest bed because he pulled a heavy blue comforter up over both of us.

  “I haven't snuggled in a long time,” I commented, content.

  Jack made a sound something along the lines of a growl. “I don't want to hear about the other times you've snuggled.” I'd swear I heard a possessive tone to his voice. “I'll have you know th
is is my first time. Snuggling. I like it. Be gentle with me.” He squeezed my upper arm.

  Oh, brother.

  We watched the TV without talking until the commercial. “Any idea who might have broken into Violet's house?” Jack asked.

  I turned to face him, keeping close because he was warm. That was my reason and I was sticking to it. Not because I liked hearing his heartbeat beneath my ear, feel the muscles of his stomach shift and twitch against my hand. “I think it might be the lady in the pink jacket.”

  Jack looked confused. “The lady you saw outside Goldilocks?”

  “And again this morning, remember?”

  Jack nodded. His jaw was tense and he looked angry.

  “Old Mr. Chalmers said he saw her go into Violet's house, then leave a few minutes later.”

  Jack's eyebrows went up. “She was there? He saw her?”

  “He shot her.”

  I couldn't help but smile. Neither could Jack.

  “He shot her? Just like me?”

  I nodded, and then started laughing.

  “I like that old coot. Was she hurt?” he asked, his eyes darting to my mouth.

  Shrugging, I said, “I don't know. Old Mr. Chalmers didn't think so.”

  “Did anyone call the police?” He was still looking at my mouth.

  “Everyone in the neighborhood is used to Old Mr. Chalmers shooting at people. It's old news for them, and for the police.”

  One second I was talking about bird shot, the next, Jack's mouth was on mine, his hands at the back of my neck, holding me to him. He angled his head, slipped his tongue inside my mouth. Between the comforter, the layers of clothes and the kiss, I was ready to spontaneously combust. I used one hand to push the layer of down comforter off us, turned my body so I straddled Jack's lap. I tangled my fingers in his silky hair—it was as soft as I'd thought—and held on. When Jack's hands slipped lower, brushed over my shoulders and then lower still to slide over the top of my breasts, I moaned deep in my throat. I felt the contact move like a lightning bolt straight south to my lower regions.