The Art of Love and Murder (18 page)

“Okay, Martha Stewart. That rug’s been there a month.”

“Well, I never noticed it.” He ran a hand over the black and red cloth. A car slowed on the street, and he couldn’t resist glancing out the window.

Chief chuckled.

“Hell, Chief.”

“When you get Kitty’s claws out of you, you might consider—”

“Funny.” He gave his friend a smirk. If only Kitty’s claws were the only thing clawing at him right now. Thoughts of Lacy wouldn’t go away, no matter how he reasoned differently.

“Just saying.”

He put his hands in his pockets and turned fully toward the window, giving up his pretext of shopping.

“You know, it’s okay if you have a life, find a woman.”

“I’ve got a life, and I’ve had women.”

“You’ve had women, but you haven’t found a woman.”

“You and Jenny get together to gang up on me today?” He half-turned toward his old friend. He might be able to handle this advice from the mouth of Chief, even if he didn’t need it.

“Must be in the air. She on your ass, too?”

He nodded. “She seems to think Kitty isn’t my type or something.”

“Your daughter’s a wise soul. You should listen to her.”

Chance’s cell rang. He glanced at the number and muted the noise. “Speaking of claws.” He shoved the phone into his pocket and sauntered over to the counter. “Hasn’t been two hours since I broke it off with her and already she’s calling.”

A wide smile creased Chief’s bronzed face. “So, you have found a woman.”

“Hmph.”

“You come here on your cycle that I haven’t seen you ride since I can’t remember when. Must mean you’re feeling better or something. You’ve told Kitty to take a hike. And you stand in my shop staring out the window to the hotel where a certain woman is staying.”

There was no use protesting his words or denying he understood the meaning. He’d not have told Kitty their—whatever they had—was over if Lacy hadn’t entered his life. The tug of war going on inside had turned into a full-scale conflict.

“Let the past rest, man. You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Facts are facts, Chief.

“Facts my ass, Meadowlark.” He pushed back from the counter. “You put a thief and a murderer in the ground. Took him off the streets before he could hurt anyone else.”

“I let my gun talk first.” He’d never forget. “That’s not my idea of a peacekeeper.”

“Listen to a full-blood—your ancestors have forgiven you.” The corner of Chief’s mouth twitched wryly. “You’re defining this peacekeeper label a little too narrowly. In this town, you’re a hero. Now, get over it.”

“It’s more than that.” He’d never deserved hero status. “I lost my wife.” He stared into his friend’s face, and spoke his thoughts out loud. “My wife, the one person in the world a man should be able to protect.” Chief met his stare with a steady gaze. “And so I killed a man.”

“The man that killed her. And probably would’ve killed again.”

Chief didn’t soften his words or his meaning. He could always depend on his old friend for his honesty.

“The man had a gun and he’d killed. You did what you could. You always do. You’re only a man, Meadowlark. Let the spirit world do the rest.”

Chance ran a hand through his hair and nodded at the old man.

His friend crossed his arms over his chest, feigned a too serious expression. “Besides, old Indian proverb say, woman don’t want a damn bodyguard, woman want man who lets down his guard and loves her body.”

Chance burst out laughing. “You make that up?”

“Pretty good, huh?” He relaxed his stance and leaned on the counter.

Still chuckling, he glanced out the window. Lacy’s crimson red Z4, top down, eased into a parking space in front of the Grand View. The sun sparkled off her dark tresses, glinted off the purple framed sunglasses when she glanced in the direction of The White Wolf Spirit. She made a movement, and the top came up on the car. She swung her legs out, stood and reached back in to lift the ever-present khaki bag. Her jeans hugged the rounded curves of her bottom, the creamy skin of her small waist exposed with the reach. Chance enjoyed the rise of pleasure the scene ignited.

She stood, then faced the store. For a moment, it looked like she would cross the street, but instead turned and walked around the car toward the door of the hotel.

“You going to stand there until your hard-on is gone or go after the lady?”

Chance pushed away from the counter and hesitated.

“Let her get to know you. Get past what can’t be undone.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

He hit the sidewalk at a trot as Lacy opened the door of the Grand View.

“Lacy!”

The now familiar voice sparked something Lacy would have to call joy. She paused in the doorway of the hotel as Chance loped across the street.

Even in cowboy boots and jeans, his athletic body looked quick and nimble. Most of his hair had been caught by a leather band at his neck, and the stray hair on his forehead and on one cheek glinted in the sun.

“Hey, Sheriff.” She let the door close behind her and faced him.

“Hey, Ms. Dahl.” He tipped his head, reminding her of an old western—the Sheriff greets Miss Lacy on the streets of Dorado.

“What brings you to town, Sheriff?”

“I bet you’ve always wanted to say that.” He quirked a smile.

She laughed. “How’d you guess?”

“Have you had lunch?”

“No, and I’m starving.” The word lunch echoed in her stomach. “What did you have in mind?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up; he glanced away before turning his stare on her. “How about a picnic?”

“That sounds wonderful. Your horse or mine?” She glanced at her BMW and back.

“On a day like today, I say my horse is more suited for an outing.” He gestured to a black and silver motorcycle parked in front of Chief’s store. “Feel like straddling my ride to the pines?”

“You own a motorcycle?” Goosebumps skittered beneath her jeans, and she snickered. “That sounds like fun. But...” She considered her clothing. “Yeah, I guess I’m good to go.”

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand. “We need a few provisions.” They crossed the street, and he steered her to the hole in the wall bar next to The White Wolf Spirit. “Don’t be put off by the looks of this place.”

After a few seconds inside, her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, but her nose had little luck with the smell of stale smoke from years of puffing patrons. The place looked as old as Flagstaff. The bar had to be original, carved wood and heavily nicked from years of use.

Lacy recognized a lone man on a stool hunched over the bar. “Hello, Clark.”

The young man gave her a slit-eyed nod, although he managed a smile at Chance. “Hi, Sheriff.”

“Clark.” He peered at the beer in Clark’s hand and back to his face.

“Having lunch.” A sheepish smile touched his lips as his hand touched an empty plate in front of him. Lacy noticed an empty beer bottle beside it.

“Can I get you two a cold one?” A squat, baldheaded man greeted them.

“Is Cal in the kitchen yet?”

“Just got in. You need him?”

“No, just ask him to make up a couple of the roast beef sandwiches the way Meadowlark likes.” He turned to her. “You like pickles?”

“Dill.”

“Perfect. And a couple of those giant barrel dills.”

“You got it.” The bartender sauntered through a door behind the bar.

She watched the man disappear, and as she turned to Chance, she glanced at Clark who stared at her. He hastily diverted his eyes to the bar in front of him. She pictured him with Laura and inwardly sighed for the young woman.

“Now. The wine.” Chance leaned over the bar to get a better look at the assorted bottles on the shelf.

Lacy’s attention drifted over the view she had of his legs and butt. Her mind wandered to his comment about straddling his ride.

“Not a lot to choose from, but I see a merlot and a couple of cabs. What’s your pleasure?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Something I can help you with, Ms. Dahl?”

“What?” Her neck raged warm, caught in the act.

“I just asked you what your pleasure was.” He righted himself and stood over her.

His breath brushed the top of her head. She giggled. “Oh?”

He laughed. “Merlot or cab?”

“Cab.”

“Been a while since you’ve been in, Meadowlark.”

A tall, skinny, redheaded man emerged from a swinging door and saved her. Her rusty flirting skills had her tongue-tied.

“My place too seedy for you?” The man set a bag on the bar.

Lacy relaxed back on a stool, her pulse racing with the touch of Chance’s thigh against her knee. She lifted her khaki bag and set it on the bar.

“Hell, yes.” He stuck a hand out. “Good to see you, Cal. This is my friend, Lacy Dahl.”

She smiled. Cal wiped his hand on his apron and gave her a shy nod.

“How you been, Cal?”

“Can’t complain. Put extra beef on these for you. What else you need?”

“Give us a bottle of cab. Got any to-go cups we can have?”

He glanced at Lacy, did a quick eye to waist scan. “Picnic?”

“That’s the idea.”

A cough from Clark reminded her the sullen man sat on the other side of Chance, taking in the conversation. No doubt this story would be carried back to Kitty. She darted a glance around Chance and was met with a sneer.

The bar owner reached under the bar and brought out two stem-less wine glasses and red cloth napkins. “Then do it in style. My beef sandwiches and wine should be treated with respect.”

She laughed when they were back on the sidewalk. “What a character. A nice character.”

“Yep. Cal and I go back a ways. I’d go in there to tie one on after...after my wife died. He kept me in line—well, as much in line as anyone could.” He turned into the open door of The White Wolf Spirit.

Chief’s smile split his face. He nodded. “Lacy.”

“Hi, Chief.”

A man and woman entered the store. Chance nodded at the old man to take care of his customers first.

“Hi, folks. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

The man shook his head, smiling at Chief. “You can help everyone else here and she’ll still be looking for that one special item for Wendy.” The woman punched his shoulder then headed for the far corner with a giggle. “Really. Help the rest of your customers first.”

“Okay, holler if you need me. How ’bout you, Sheriff?”

“We need a picnic blanket.” Chance glanced around the store. “Got anything that would fit the need?”

“You were admiring that Navajo rug earlier, if I remember right. It’s not so big it wouldn’t roll up on the back of the bike.”

Lacy stepped over and ran her hand over the rug. “This is beautiful.” She caught sight of the price tag. “Maybe too beautiful to spread on the ground.”

“It’s rugged.” Chief sounded perfectly serious. “And soft at the same time.”

Chance and the old man exchanged a look.

“Do you like it, Lacy?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then we’ll take it.” He pulled a credit card from his wallet. “You have a bungee cord you can throw in with it, Chief, you old—”

His friend guffawed and nodded his head.

She smiled at the private joke the two shared. The obvious affection they held for each other was admirable. The blanket had some meaning, and if Chance chose to buy it on the spur of the moment for their picnic, it must be a good sign. She hefted the khaki bag onto the counter and rubbed her shoulder.

The old shop owner came from the back with the bungee. “Got a sore shoulder, Lacy? There’s a good lavender rubbing oil for that.”

“I’m just tired of lugging this bag around, I think.”

Two men walked in and stopped in the middle of the store.

“Women and their bags.” Chief frowned. “And you carry two?”

“This is my purse.” She fingered the purse and moved aside for the couple who now peered at the jewelry in the case on the counter. “And this is actually a bag with the art I’ve been researching.”

The two men meandered closer to the back of the store, the area getting increasingly more crowded. They stopped to examine some wooden carvings.

“Let me know if I can help you,” Chief said to the latest customers. He turned back to Lacy. “You’ve been looking into Muuyaw, right?”

“I’ve found out the sketches I have are hers...well...it’s a long story. And you’re busy.” Explaining the professor’s revelations would be too difficult to summarize shortly and with so many customers milling about.

“You found out they’re definitely Muuyaw’s?” Chance put his hand on her waist, but his thigh against the back of her leg got her attention.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you about it over lunch. I’ll need to go back to the hotel and have them lock my bag in the safe.”

“Want me to hold it in the back for you?” Chief held out a hand.

“Are you sure?” She hated to be so blunt to ask if it would be safe, but he took the clue.

“I’ll lock it in my cabinet in the back. Unless it’s full of money or explosives.”

“No, just art.” She laughed and handed the bag over. “Thanks.”

Back outside, Chance rolled the rug and bungeed it behind the passenger backrest or sissy bar as he called it. “It’s a little tight, but it works.”

She dug in her purse and pulled out a band to secure her hair.

“Sounds like you’ve had a busy morning.” He finished securing the blanket and faced her. “The sketches are definitely Muuyaw’s?”

As she finger combed her hair into a ponytail at her neck, she noticed Clark smoking a cigarette and leaning against the building between the door of the bar and the window of White Wolf. He didn’t acknowledge her, but she didn’t doubt they had his attention.

“Yes. But let’s head out, and I’ll save it for lunch conversation.” A black helmet hung from one handlebar. “Ah-oh. I bet you don’t have another helmet.”

“Think again.” He opened one of the saddlebags and pulled out a matching helmet. “I used to pick Jenny up from school. She won’t mind if you use hers. Here, give me your purse.” He dropped her bag and the lunch in on one side, and tucked the wine and glasses into the other saddlebag.

“Have you ridden much?”

“Haven’t been on a bike since my husband died. But I remember how to lean into the turn. This is a Harley, isn’t it?” The whole of her body came alive. The sun, the pine-scented air and a picnic with Chance made the last tense hours with the professor vanish. She didn’t even mind mentioning Conrad.