Optical Delusions in Deadwood (31 page)

      “Friends of yours?”

      More like bodyguards. I nodded and crunched, not introducing them since I was pretty sure Douglas knew who two of the three were, even if he was acting otherwise for some reason. I was well aware of how small a world it was up here in the Hills. “So, what do you want to offer for the house?”

      “Let’s save that for dessert.”

      Jesus. I’d have more luck conducting business with a kindergartner at a monkey parade. If he wouldn’t talk business, then I had another non-business question that had been nagging at me. “Why are you interested in the Carhart place?”

      “It’s a beautiful house.”

      Where had I heard that before? I wasn’t buying it, not from a man who had as much money as Douglas reportedly did. “There are other beautiful houses in the area for sale. Why this one in particular?”

      “The house has an interesting history.”

      My ears twitched. I lowered my fork. Now we were talking. “Did you know the previous owners?”

      “You mean the Snarky family?” At my nod, he continued, “No, they were before my time. But I know of them, and what happened in that house.”

      “And you still want to buy it.”

      “Sure. I enjoy the stories about it.”

      I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Which stories?”

      “That it’s haunted by Karen’s ghost.”

      Oh, that one. “Do you believe in ghosts, Douglas?”

      His deep laugh surprised me back into my seat. “Of course not. But I do find the talk about them quite entertaining. And the tourists love ghost stories.”

      Then he must enjoy living in the Black Hills, where so many ghost stories thrived.

      “Do you believe in ghosts, Violet?”

      The million-dollar question. I glanced at Doc. “I haven’t decided.”

      “Really? In spite of your reputation, I’d peg you for a disbeliever.”

      He’d heard about my ghost-loving infamy, apparently. “Why is that?”

      “Because you were willing to sell the Hessler house, and the rumors about that place rivaled the Carhart house in number. Did you know Mrs. Hessler died in that house?”

      Yeah, I knew. I had nightmares about her and those goddamned clowns nightly. But I didn’t want to talk about the Hessler place—not unless Douglas had a degree in psychology, and probably not even then.

      Thankfully, our entrées arrived at that moment. As the waiter asked Douglas about pepper, I peeked over at Doc and Natalie. Natalie was lining up a shot. Doc stood across the table from her. As if he felt my stare, he turned and found me, his eyes piercing. I ducked like a puppy who’d peed on the carpet and focused on my chicken breast, which smelled heavenly. Lucky for me, his anger wasn’t affecting my appetite, so I dug in.

      After a few bites of the advertised apricot-flavored chicken covered in rich blueberry sauce, I licked my lips and went for the throat. “Do you think Junior Carhart really killed his father?”

      Douglas shrugged as he chewed on a piece of his steak. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not the police.”

      “Did you know the Carhart family?” He went to their funeral, so he must have, unless that was just a political move.

      “Sure, well enough.”

      “Was Junior the violent type?”

      “He had the potential for violence.” He smiled with too many teeth.

      Something inside me recoiled.

      “But so do most men,” he added.

      I glanced over in time to see Natalie trailing her fingers over Doc’s arm as he drew back his cue for a shot. I resisted launching my fork at her like a javelin. “And some women,” I said aloud. Where in the hell was Harvey? He was supposed to be running interference.

      “Sure. Women, too. It’s human nature, especially if jealousy is involved.”

     
Jealousy?
I gaped at him for a moment as he cut off another piece of meat. Had he seen me watching Natalie? I finally decided it wasn’t me he was talking about. “Was Junior jealous of his father?”

      “Yes.” He frowned slightly as he stabbed his steak, hesitating for a moment before adding, “At least that’s how the rumor goes.”

      If I hadn’t been watching him so closely, I wouldn’t have noticed his hesitation. Something about it didn’t sit right. “Which rumor?” It was a new one to me.

      “The one about old Mr. Carhart coming on to his son’s fiancée.”

      Hold the phone! I hadn’t heard that one. “Coming on how?”

      Douglas shrugged and pushed his round glasses up on his round face. “There isn’t much more to tell. Just that the old man had taken advantage of the girl’s kindness and got pretty fresh with her.”

     
The girl’s kindness
? Were we talking about the same sharp-toothed bitch? The one who likely knifed my door and tires?

      “They were arguing about the fiancée that night and Junior temporarily lost his mind.”

      “And then blew it out with a shotgun.”

      Douglas grimaced. “Miss Parker, we are eating here.”

      “Sorry.” Maybe he should have been willing to talk to me about the house offer.

      Something smelled rotten about this rumor. Since I had video of Douglas groping Lila’s ass, I had to wonder who whispered this version of the story in his ear, and if there was more to the connection between Douglas and Lila than just a roll in the hay. It was hard to tell with Douglas, thanks to his playboy image. And I’d last seen Lila kissing Millie, so it all added up to a lot of confusing
maybes
and
what-ifs
.

      I kept to the weather and Lead’s general history for the rest of the meal. He had me laughing at his anecdotes and never once tried to touch me inappropriately. He was either a great actor, a true gentleman, or just not a fan of curly-haired blondes.

      True to his word, Douglas brought up his offer over dessert. It was about five grand higher than Zeke and Zelda’s, and my heart sank a little at the thought of them losing the deal. But I had a responsibility to be impartial to all parties involved, and money was money, so I filled out the amount on the paperwork I’d brought along with me.

      “I should tell you there’s another offer on the table.”

      “Really?” Douglas took the pen I handed to him, frowning down at the line where I needed his signature. “Why didn’t you say something before now?”

      “It just came in this morning. When you called to meet for dinner, I decided to wait until we were face to face.”

      “How much is the other offer? Is it from someone local?”

      “All I can tell you is that it is a full-price offer.”

      His grin was that of a victor. “How long until I know the place is mine?”

      “I’ll take the papers to Wanda Carhart tomorrow. She’ll have thirty-six hours to accept or decline.”

      “She’ll accept.”

      His certainty made my neck bristle, but I just smiled and tucked away the papers.

      I passed on his invitation for a celebratory lunch, faking other plans. I didn’t need any more rumors circulating about me. The ghost-loving reputation was plenty. Plus, I had Doc’s feelings to consider. I didn’t get off on making a guy jealous.

      The sun had set by the time I stood to leave. Douglas offered to walk me out into the twilight.

      I passed again, thanked him for dinner, and grabbed my purse from the back of the chair. “You should have at least let me pay the tip.”

      “Absolutely not. When I take a woman out, I want her to feel special.”

      “This was a business dinner, though.”

      “Close enough.”

      No, it wasn’t, but since he hadn’t tried to play footsie under the table, I let it go. “Tomorrow, then,” I said and headed for the door, sneaking one last glace at the three musketeers. There were just two now, Natalie and Harvey. When had Doc slipped out? I waved at Natalie. She gave me a raised brow and a thumbs-up gesture, and I nodded.

      Three tables from the exit, I noticed a very pregnant woman struggling to reach the basket of rolls in the center of the table. I smiled in sympathy. Even though it’d been a decade since I was pregnant with twins, I could remember the discomfort of becoming a human beach ball as if it were yesterday. When I glanced at her dinner companion, my smile froze.

      Lila?

      I sneered at her hard glare. If looks could kill, I’d be nothing but charred remains.

      The temptation to accuse her of vandalizing my Bronco was strong, but I swallowed it. I needed some proof first. With my chin up, I shoved out the glass doors.

      What was Lila doing there? Who was the pregnant girl? Where was Millie? 

      I half expected Lila to chase me down the stairs and start an all-out catfight in the street, but I made it to my Bronco without trouble. Well, except for the dark-haired man leaning against my driver’s-side door with his arms crossed and his gaze frosty. His middle name was
Trouble
.

      “I didn’t kiss Jeff Wymonds,” I told Doc first off, keeping a couple feet of space between us just in case Natalie followed me out. “He kissed me.”

      A muscle twitched in Doc’s jaw. “Did you like it?”

      I thought about Jeff’s jousting tongue. “God, no.”

      “Are you going to do it again?”

      “Not voluntarily.”

      He nodded slowly, as if he was chewing on my explanation, taste-testing it. “How was dinner with the playboy?”

      “He was a complete gentleman—as you, Harvey, and Natalie witnessed.”

      His eyes narrowed. “I still don’t trust him. Something is wrong here. There has to be some reason he’s not coming on to you.”

      “Maybe I’m just not his type. Not all men are into blondes.”

      He gave me a very thorough once-over, spreading heat along the way. “Yeah, but we all like beautiful women in short skirts and tight shirts.”   

      When he stared at me with that dusky hunger, I wanted to leap into his arms. I settled for poking him playfully in the chest. “Maybe there’s something wrong with you for liking blondes in tight shirts.”

      “Don’t forget the short skirt.” He captured my finger and tugged me a step closer. “That little number has been driving me crazy all evening.”

      “You like it?” I twirled my hips so the material swayed and swished.

      “I’d like to do things to you while you’re wearing it.”

     
Oh, wow
. My thighs got warm.

      “What are you wearing under it?”

      The sex kitten in me lifted its head and meowed. I batted my eyelashes, glad I’d used the expensive mascara tonight. “It’s a secret.”

      He grinned and pulled me another step closer.

      I glanced over my shoulder, paranoid. “Natalie and Harvey will be out here any minute. She doesn’t know about us yet.”

      “I noticed that.”

      “That means she isn’t the one who carved up my Bronco.” I shot another look toward the restaurant, hoping the cast was slowing her down.

      “I know. Drive me back to the office.”

      “Where’s your car?”

      “In the alley.”

      “Okay, but I can’t stay.” I was telling him as much as telling myself, trying to ignore images of him slamming me up against the wall. “Ms. Geary is watching my kids, and Harvey and Nat will wonder where I am if I’m not home when they get there.”

      “Fine.” He took my keys, unlocked the door, and held it for me. “Get in.”

      We made it out of the parking lot without running into Natalie or Harvey.

      “I need to talk to you about the Carhart house,” Doc announced out of the blue.

      I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, a bit nervous about discussing this after our earlier fight. “You mean about what went down today?”

      He nodded.

      “I can call you after Natalie goes home, but it might be late.”

      “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone.”

      “Tomorrow morning?”

      “I have an appointment down in Rapid City first thing. I’ll call when I get back.” He pointed out the windshield. “Will you make a right up there in that alley?”

      I did as he asked. His Camaro sat up ahead on the right, parked several blocks from the office again. I followed his directions and pulled in behind it. The alley was dead. “Do you need something from your car?” I asked, glancing out the rearview mirror.

      “Violet.”

      In the semi-dark cab, the intention shining in his eyes sent a rush of tingles through my limbs. “What?” I whispered.

      “What are you wearing under your skirt?”

      His words alone got me all steamy. “No, Doc,” I said, but reached for him as he leaned toward me. “I have to go home.” I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.

      “I know.” My lips met his in the middle; his coaxed and savored, mine tasted and teased. “What are you wearing under your skirt?” His hand was on my knee.

      I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, longing for more, reveling in the feel of his warm palm on my bare skin. “I told you, it’s a secret.”

      His fingers slid north several inches, making small circles as they roamed. His mouth skimmed along my jaw. “A secret?”

      “Yes,” I gasped as his other hand skated down the side of my breast, his thumb achingly close to finding purchase. “You’ll have to whisper the magic words in my ear for me to show you.”

      He nipped my earlobe, his breath hot on my skin. “You want the magic words?”

      His fingers brushed ever closer to my panties. My “Yes” came in a drawn out hiss, my head fell back against the headrest.

      “Violet,” he said against my neck. “I want to make you scream.”

      Those words would do just fine. I tilted my hips, wanting him so much it hurt. His other hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt.

      His lips caressed my collarbone. “Tell me what you want, Boots.”

      This was such sweet torture. I couldn’t stand much more. “I want you to—”

      My freaking phone rang.