Home Sweet Gnome (8 page)

Esther nodded smartly. “Saw the sad thing on the trailer. Heading there for vacation?”

JT ran his hand over the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Something like that.”

“Well, let’s not stand here in the McDonald’s parking lot all day, we’ve got sights to see.” She clapped, then rubbed her hands together gleefully.

“Only one thing left to get. Grab the crate from the backseat, will you, hot stuff?”

JT’s brows went up so high they disappeared beneath his hair. Silently, he went over to the Taurus, opened the rear door and leaned in. All four of us watched his backside as he did so.

Esther eyed me carefully. “Velma said you missed a candle festival in Tibet?”

“Thailand,” I replied.

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know why you’d have to do that, there’s a candle store right in the mall.”

At the sound of a snarling wildcat, I turned to JT. He held up a small pet traveling crate by the handle, the plastic container swaying all by itself. Hissing and hideous meowing came from within. He held it out away from his body and his eyebrows were so high they were again lost beneath his hair.

Once JT closed the back door, the car left, the wheels squealing as they rounded the turn beside the drive-thru.

“What on earth?” Goldie asked. I wasn’t sure if she was asking after the wild animal or Mario Andretti.

Esther swatted the air. “Oh, that’s just Tigger, my cat. He doesn’t take to strangers. Just put him inside. I’ll get my bag. Daphne, get the box of liquor. Ooh, this is going to be so much fun!”

With that, she grabbed the Samsonite and climbed into the RV after JT, who held the cat crate like it was a ticking time bomb.

Left standing in the parking lot, I looked at Goldie and Aunt Velma. I leaned in, whispered, “Why is she coming with us again?”

“She’s a close friend of ours and she’s a hoot.”

A hoot. That was one word for her, all right.

“Why can’t she just stay with the person who dropped her off? And what’s with Wild Kingdom?”

Kids and cats. I didn’t much like either.

“It was her grandson and he’s heading out on the rodeo circuit in a day or two. He can’t take care of a cat.”

“He made his grandmother get her own bags out of the trunk?” What kind of child was that? I figured she’d have beaten the crap out of the kid for bad manners.

“You think Esther Millhouse is going to let anyone help her with things like that?” Goldie asked, cleaning out a fingernail.

“She had JT help her,” I countered.

“That’s only because she wanted to look at his ass,” Aunt Velma replied.

Smart woman.

“Let’s get a move on. Time’s a wastin’,” Esther shouted from the RV.

Aunt Velma grinned while Goldie rolled her eyes. “Lord above, we haven’t even left the parking lot yet.”

Once settled in, Aunt Velma and Goldie in front, Esther standing between them—she was so small she didn’t even need to crouch to see out the windshield. JT and I were in the same spots in the back.

“Does anyone want anything to eat before we go?” Goldie asked.

“Oooh, I’ll take one of those new grilled wraps they have. I’ve heard all about them,” Esther told her.

Goldie maneuvered the RV around the building, cars honking at us, which had me glancing out the front. As she moved into the drive-thru lane, I got a little nervous, darted a glance at JT. “Um, Goldie,” I called.

“I like the ones with ranch and they’ve got those yummy bacon bits in there—”

Esther kept yakking and yakking the closer we worked our way toward the drive-thru, Goldie not stopping.

“Goldie, we can’t take this through—” I called out.

“Oh shit,” JT muttered and launched himself at me and put his arm up in the male “stop short” maneuver with his arm across my chest.
Needless to say, he got a handful and then some. One of my nipples was very well protected beneath his warm palm.

Whack!

Goldie slammed on the brakes right after the front of the RV directly above the windshield slammed into the steel height restriction bar for the drive-thru.

JT glanced at me, several distinct expressions crossing his face all at once. Is she crazy? Did that just happen? They’re real. The last was confirmed when he glanced down at my breasts before he lowered his arm.

“Holy hell in a hand basket,” Goldie muttered, turned off the motor. Swiveling around in her chair toward us, she hollered, “Are you all right back there?”

I narrowed my eyes at JT and moved away from him, reliving the feel of him groping me. My nipples tingled and places farther south perked right up.

“We’re fine,” I grumbled, not sure if I was mad he’d copped a feel or mad that he’d stopped. The man had Tased me and I had the hots for him. Sheesh.

We piled out of the RV to assess the damage. Sure enough, the bar that kept oversized vehicles from going through the drive-thru was leaning against the top of the RV, the metal portion above the windshield was dented in, a perfect shape of a black pipe across the entire front.

“Hunh,” Aunt Velma said, hands on hips.

“Well, I’ll be. Those things
are
meant for something,” Esther unnecessarily added.

“Why do they have those stupid things up there, anyway?” Goldie asked at the same time, her dangly earrings swaying as she shook her head.

“So you don’t run into the top of the building by the window where you pay and get your food. See,” I pointed to the side of the McDonald’s. “There’s a big overhang.”

“Hunh,” Goldie repeated.

JT just sighed. “Goldie, are you good to drive?” I had a feeling he was a little skeptical, but didn’t let it show.

“Sure,” she replied.

“Fine, then I’ll stand back there,” he thumbed behind us, “and guide you so you can back up. I’d like to get to Sturgis sometime this week.”

She nodded and opened the door.

“Just don’t run me over,” he replied, probably very serious.

“Young man, I’ve been driving an RV like this for years,” Goldie countered.

He just glanced up at the drive-thru bar, then back at her as if that statement held little value to him.

Goldie pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything.

I figured it was safer for me out of the RV, so I went to stand with JT. Esther took her big handbag and went inside the restaurant, presumably to get her chicken wrap.

JT did his usual cop routine and signaled for a driver to back up with arm motions similar to guiding an airplane away from a gate. Once that was done, there was room for Goldie to get out of the drive-thru lane.

“So, Thailand?” he asked, signaling to Goldie in her side-view mirror it was clear to back up.

I crossed my arms, not sure where he was going with this. “Thailand.”

He rolled his eyes as he held up his hand for Goldie to stop. “I don’t think that’s far enough,” he replied. “It’s like a road trip with the Three Stooges.”

I couldn’t help but grin because his comparison was dead-on. I guess Aunt Velma would be Curly. “Why don’t we just drop you at the airport so you can get a rental car and you can be free of this fiasco?” I asked, knowing he wanted to run away screaming right about now.

“I’d walk through this parking lot asking for a ride right now, even that older couple with the Iowa tags wearing matching Yellowstone sweatshirts, I’m that desperate.” He sighed, torn between two terrible options. “It’s my bike. I can’t leave my bike with the Three Stooges.”

I glanced at the mangled motorcycle secured to the trailer.

“Is it that or whatever Goldie’s got over your head?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. He wasn’t thrilled to be on this road trip and it showed, but the mention of what Goldie knew about him had his face going blank, his eyes dark, lips in a grim line. It was like he put a wall up. What
did
Goldie have on him?

We walked back to the side door of the RV and JT opened it, let me enter first. He had no intention of answering my question, and perhaps I didn’t want to know. As I looked back at him over my shoulder, he was staring at my ass. Was it my ass he was ogling or Silky Tangles’?

CHAPTER SIX

“Goldie, Interstate 90 was that way,” I called to the front.

Esther was in the recliner, fully reclined. She was so small her feet didn’t even dangle off. The cat carrier was next to her on the floor and all was silent from within. “We’re stopping at Pompey’s Pillar first.”

JT perked up at that. He’d been lying down on the narrow bench seat, eyes closed, one leg on the floor, the other knee bent. One broad shoulder hung off the side. It was a very good view, and very distracting. For being such a pain in the ass, he certainly wasn’t a pain on the eyes.

“Why?” I asked. Why in the world did anyone from Montana want to stop at a big rock and see William Clark’s signature—of Lewis and Clark fame—carved in it from 1806? We’d all been there, done that at some point in our lives, usually in middle school on a field trip. It wasn’t too far out of the way from the highway we needed to take, perhaps thirty miles each way, but at the rate we were going, we’d never get to Sturgis.

Esther leaned down and picked up her big black handbag, dug around and pulled out a little blue book. “It’s my national park passport. I’ve been to Pompey’s Pillar a handful of times but never got the stamp.”

“What are you talking about? What stamp?”

“Here,” Esther said, tossing me the little book like an expert southpaw pitcher. I fumbled as I caught it, and checked it out. JT sat up, ran a hand through his unruly hair.

On the front it read
National Park Passport
in big gold letters. Inside there were indeed stamps, like a postage cancellation, in the shape of a circle, with the name of the place curved across the top, the location across the bottom and a date in the middle. One page had a stamp from Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, another from Exit Glacier, Alaska, and another from Arches National Park in Utah.

“We’re going there just to get a stamp for your little book?” I asked, surprised by the shallowness of the visit. “Don’t you want to see the signature?”

She waved her hand nonchalantly, which somehow made her second chin wobble. “Been there, done that. I’ve even got the T-shirt. Actually, I do. I just want the stamp.”

JT held up a hand. “Hold on. I need to get to Sturgis. I can’t go driving to a two-hundred-year-old signature so we don’t actually look at it so you can get a stamp for your collection. I don’t have time for any of this.” He sounded cranky and I didn’t blame him. The way his jaw tightened as if he was holding back his true feelings, which most likely involved quite a few swear words strung together, was actually really hot. No. Don’t think that way.
He thinks you’re a porn star and he Tased you.

“It’s only a little out of the way,” Esther replied, swiping her hand through the air in a casual
whatever
gesture. She sure liked to talk with her hands. “Look, it’s close to five.” She glanced at her wrist. “It’s time for a drink.” She kicked the recliner back into its closed position, shimmied her small frame out of the seat and went to snoop in her cardboard box, bottles clinking as she did.

JT stormed to the front of the RV and crouched down to talk to Goldie. His jeans molded snuggly across his ass. God, I was mentally stalking the man. If he knew the direction of my thoughts—or at least my wandering eyes—he’d probably go postal. Or maybe he’d jump me since he thought I was Silky Tangles.

The only thing we had going for us was that we were driving east. The only bad thing was that we were headed for North Dakota, not South Dakota. Omaha was east of Bozeman so we were technically getting closer, although if we were playing the Hot and Cold game, we’d only be heading toward Warm.

Whatever Goldie said to JT was lost on me, the RV too loud to hear, and Esther was clinking bottles around like she worked in a saloon, but he turned around and came back, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t happy. He stood to stand next to Esther, who continued to work her mixology. “Okay, if we stop and get your stamp, that’ll take, what, five minutes?” He towered over the older woman, but she wasn’t cowered in the slightest.

“Plus a bathroom break,” Esther said, pouring a drink into a plastic cup she found in one of the small cabinets above the tiny stove. “Here.” She held out the cup to JT. “You look like you could use one first.”

He eyed it for a moment, sighed, then murmured, “What the hell.” A big swig later, he slumped back down into his spot across from me. Wincing, he looked at Esther. “What is this, jet fuel?”

“It’ll put hair on your chest, all right.” Esther chuckled before gulping down half her drink, eyeing the man like she had x-ray vision. “Five minutes for the stamp. Five minutes for a potty break. Then we’re done.”

***

Pompey’s Pillar was pretty interesting, if you’re into history. A signature that explorers carved in a rock along the banks of a river they used as their mode of transportation—no doubt they’d have taken the interstate like us if it existed in 1806—was the sole reason it was a National Landmark. This part of Montana was far from the mountains, therefore it was a little more arid, scrubby and dry. The Yellowstone River meandered through the vast expanse of…nothing. So when we pulled into the visitors center, we weren’t surprised it wasn’t overly crowded. The sun was getting lower in the west, the day cooler now.