Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray (16 page)

Funny?

FUNNY?

Had Brett gone nuts?

There was nothing at all funny about the Ark investigation, nothing funny about reporters making me, and the entire federal government, look bad. And there was nothing funny about the fact that my boyfriend seemed to keep tabs on a bosomy cheesecake reporter. “You and Trish best buddies now?”

“No,” Brett said, his tone wary. “She just happened to mention it last time I saw her at the Habitat house.”

“Is there something going on between you two?” I was in a totally pissy mood now. Might as well get this subject out in the open.

“Of course not, Tara.” Brett’s voice was surprised, indignant. But it was a bit tentative, too, wasn’t it?

“You sure seem chummy.”

He was quiet a moment. “Where is this coming from?”

It hit me like the two o’clock freight train from Shreveport. This was coming from the fact that I could be totally crazy about Brett, maybe even be falling in love with the guy, yet still be hopelessly attracted to Nick. Truth be told, if there was some way I could have them both, I’d do it in a heartbeat. And if I could feel this way about two men, what was to prevent Brett from feeling the same way about two women?

I was in a love triangle. Or, since there were four of us involved, perhaps a rectangle was the more appropriate analogy. But since the connections between the parties were not equally close, that really made it more of a trapezoid or rhombus. Some type of relationship quadrilateral. Hell, I didn’t know. It had been a long time since I’d taken geometry.

Tears pricked at my eyes. The last few days had been emotionally draining. I’d been angry, aroused, frustrated, worried, horny, and relieved, then angry all over again. My emotions were all over the place, out of control.

I did a horrible thing then. I betrayed all of womankind by playing the PMS card. “Sorry, Brett. I must be hormonal.” It was no more than a convenient, bullshit excuse, a placeholder in the conversation until I could sort out my feelings.
If
I could sort out my feelings. Logical things could be sorted. But trying to sort something illogical, like emotions, could prove impossible.

Time to change the subject. “How was dinner last night?” I closed my eyes and held my fingertips to my lids, forcing the tears to stay in the ducts.

“Dinner was great. The restaurant had the best peach cobbler I’ve ever tasted. Their chef is incredible. You would’ve loved it.”

I inquired about Napoleon and Reggie next. Dennis had reported they were doing fine. “I don’t think the dogs even miss me,” Brett said.

“I’m sure they do,” I said. “I know I do.” Sort of. I’d missed him a whole lot more before this conversation. Now I was just … confused. Normally Brett offered a welcome, calm respite from my crazy world, but tonight he’d only added to my stress level. And he wasn’t even here for me to use his body to work off the stress.

After we ended the call I unplugged the cord from the jack. Any idiot who tried to call me now wouldn’t be able to get through.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Nick. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but I couldn’t help myself. Brett had left me feeling alone and abandoned and vulnerable. And the callers had left me feeling royally pissed off.

“You suck!” I shouted in the phone when Nick answered.

He was nonplussed. “And this is about…?”

“I came home to ninety-nine phone messages from people accusing me of being the Antichrist.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“How did they get your number? Isn’t it unlisted?”

“Maybe it was written on a bathroom wall.” More than likely it was on the Internet somewhere. Probably a high-school reunion list or the Junior League cookie committee roster. The World Wide Web made it virtually impossible to keep anything secret. Damn Al Gore to hell for inventing the thing.

Nick’s tone bore concern. “Did any of the callers threaten you?”

“Not directly,” I said. “They seem to believe God or Satan will give me my due.” I wasn’t sure which would be worse, being smote down or tossed into a lake of fire. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, I guess.

Nick was quiet a minute. “I don’t like this, Tara.”

“Really? Because it’s loads of fun for me.” Whoa. I was being superbitchy, wasn’t I? Then again, it was refreshing to feel that I could totally be myself, superbitch or not. With Brett, I tended to be more reserved, on my best behavior. With Nick, though, I felt more free to let loose.

Nick let my snarky comment slide. “I don’t trust those kooks. You shouldn’t stay alone tonight.”

“I’ve got an alarm system.” It was an older system, a basic one that had been installed when my town house was originally constructed years ago. Though it lacked the interior motion sensors common in the more modern systems, it would sound both an audible alarm and send a signal to an offsite monitoring company if any of the exterior windows or doors were breached.

“The average response time for Dallas PD is twenty minutes,” Nick said. “A lot can happen in twenty minutes.”

He had a point. It didn’t even take twenty minutes to bake a frozen pizza. And I couldn’t count on my neighbors, either. False alarms were routine in the neighborhood. Nobody paid much attention to the alarms anymore.

“By the time the security company or police respond to an alarm,” Nick said, “it could be too late. It’s not enough to keep you safe. I’m coming over there.”

I wasn’t sure it was safe to have Nick here, either. As emotionally confused as I felt I was likely to do something stupid, like boink his brains out. That was a complication I didn’t need. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I didn’t ask what you thought.”

Damn me again, but my nether regions fluttered. I found his alpha male style to be both titillating and irritating at the same time. What’s a girl to do? I’d just as soon slap him across the face as tackle him to the ground and have my way with him.

“I’ll be there in half an hour. Call the cops and tell them what’s going on.”

With that, he was gone.

And on his way here.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My Boinkable Bodyguard

Nick banged on my door. The noise scared Annie and she darted under the couch to hide. My girlie parts whimpered.

I walked to the door and opened it.

Nick barged past me, a small black duffel bag hanging from his right shoulder, the handle of a blue dog leash and a cardboard six-pack container of Shiner Bock in his left hand. He’d changed out of his work clothes and wore a pair of faded jeans, tan ropers, and a light blue western shirt, untucked. Damn, but he looked absolutely boinkable. His fluffy golden-haired dog followed him in, tail wagging.

I knelt down to greet the dog. His orange snout bore the telltale white hair of a canine entering his twilight years, his eyes the cloudiness of cataracts. He appeared to be part golden retriever, with some mixed lineage tossed in. I let him sniff my hand and, when he’d become acquainted with me, gave him a two-handed scratch behind the ears. “Hey there, old boy. What’s your name?”

“Nutty,” Nick replied for the dog.

“Is that a comment on his character?”

“No,” Nick said. “It’s short for Sir Nutlicker of Buttmunch.”

“Ew.” I scrunched my nose and looked up at Nick. “That’s disgusting. What were you thinking?”

“Give me a break. I was eighteen when I got him.”

“Guess I can’t fault you too much,” I said, standing. “We’ve got a barn cat back home named Pukey.”

Nick unclipped the dog’s leash and hung it from the doorknob. “He can’t see too well anymore, but his hearing’s as good as ever. If anyone tries to sneak in here, he’ll let us know.”

I wasn’t sure the old dog would be much help, but if nothing else maybe an intruder would trip over him.

Nick slid the duffel off his shoulder and tossed it onto my couch. “I want to hear those messages. Where’s your answering machine?”

Nick’s half-blind dog stopped in front of the TV, raised his snout in the air, and sniffed, trying to locate the source of the cat scent. Henry stood up from his perch atop the armoire, arched his back, and hissed down at the dog.

“Mind your manners, Henry,” I admonished my cat as I stepped past. “Nutty’s our guest.”

I led Nick to the kitchen. He twisted the top off one of the bottles of beer and stowed the rest in the fridge. Nutty toddled in and snuffled around the perimeter of the room, eventually finding Henry and Anne’s food bowl on the mat by the sink. He helped himself to a snack, crunching down the kibble. Henry had climbed down from his perch and sat in the doorway now, a death glare locked on the dog. Nick and I stood at the counter for the next few minutes, Nick sipping his beer, me sipping a second glass of wine, both of us listening to a bunch of ranting lunatics review a litany of my alleged sins.

When they were done, Nick turned to me. “Uncle Sam’s whore?”

I raised a palm. “That’s me.”

“This is bullshit,” Nick said, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “Complete and utter bullshit.”

“You didn’t get any calls?”

“Not a one.”

Not surprising, I guess. His face hadn’t been splattered all over the news and, besides, the guy lived with his mother and didn’t have a landline in his name. He’d done some house hunting since he returned from Mexico, but hadn’t yet found the right place. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Having been in forced exile for three years, he was making up for lost time with his mom.

“I called the police like you said,” I told him. “They’re going to have a patrol come by every hour or so.”

“Good.” Nick unplugged my answering machine. “I’ll drop this by the district attorney’s office tomorrow. I don’t think any of the messages are threatening enough for them to take action but they should know this is going on.”

“I’ll call the phone company tomorrow and have the line disconnected, too.” I used my cell phone almost exclusively these days. I couldn’t think of any good reason to keep the landline.

Nick jerked his head to indicate my living room. “Mind if I turn on the Rangers game?”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to soak in a bath.”

A sexy smile spread across his lips. “Want some company?”

“No, thanks.”

“Some whore you are.”

“I’ll work on it.”

Nick reached out and cupped my chin in his hand. I tried not to notice how warm and strong and reassuring his touch felt. He lifted my face, forcing me to look at him, at the worry in his eyes.

Worry about
me
.

His voice was soft now. “You okay, Tara?”

My eyes began to tear up. I closed them and nodded.

With Nick there, I was more than okay.

“Your guest bed still lumpy?”

“Yep. Sorry.”

“Darn.”

He’d stayed at my place the first night after Christina and I smuggled him out of Mexico.

He’d complained about the mattress then, too, though then his solution had been to climb into my bed with me during the night. Nothing had happened between us. I’d been so exhausted I hadn’t even realized I wasn’t alone until I awoke the next morning and found his warm, muscular body glued to my back, his morning wood giving new meaning to the term “rise and shine.”

The memory had me feeling warm all over. Better make this bath a cold one.

Annie summoned all her courage, darted out from under the couch and past Nutty, and trotted up the stairs with me, following me into the bathroom. I turned on the water and dumped a large capful of gardenia-scented bubble bath into the tub. Using the cheap plastic lighter I kept stashed in the drawer, I lit the three scented pillar candles on the countertop. After I undressed, I pulled my hair up in a ponytail, turned off the lights, and eased myself into the hot, steamy water.

The soft light and warm bath felt so luxurious, so relaxing, I could almost forget about the pushy reporters, about the nasty names those people had called me, about the love rhombus I was involved in.

But I couldn’t forget about the luscious, brown-haired cowboy on the couch downstairs.

If those religious zealots ever dared lay a hand on me, they’d be sorry. But I wouldn’t mind a good, hard spanking from Nick.

Just say the word.

Ugh.

When the water grew cold, I climbed out and slipped into my ratty gym shorts and
LONGHORN
T-shirt. I was tempted to lock the door to my room, to put another barrier between me and Nick to help prevent us from doing something stupid, but I had to leave the door cracked so Henry could get to the litter box if needed.

God help me if Nick came into my room tonight. Under the circumstances, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist him. The guy could be damn irritating, but he seemed to know what I needed and gave it to me willingly. Still, I had to be careful what I took from him.

I turned on my bedside lamp, climbed under the covers, and picked up a paperback from the nightstand. Hmm. It seemed a little dangerous to read a sensuous romance at the moment, especially when this particular author’s sex scenes were so hot it’s a miracle her books didn’t self-combust. I returned the book to the table and chose the thriller instead. Nothing sexy about a psychopathic hot dog vendor who laced his sauerkraut with cyanide, right? Then again, the book contained a few too many references to foot-long wieners, references which got me wondering whether what Nick had said at the church about being hung like a horse was true.

Sheez. I was hopeless, huh?

I turned out the light and snuggled in, Anne lying curled in a ball against my side.

*   *   *

I slept surprisingly well and awoke the next morning with a warm body pressed against my back.

Nick had done it again, climbed into my bed uninvited, though I’d have to plead the Fifth if asked whether the intrusion was unwelcome. At least he wasn’t spooning me and poking me in the back with a stiffy this time.

He gave a soft snore, which I found endearing. I lay quietly for a moment, feigning sleep while secretly enjoying the feel of his body pressed against mine.