Crown's Law (43 page)

“So you’re 36? You never told me before. You
look good for such an old broad. Any boats around we can use?”
laughed Sam as he ran a hand up her thigh.

“Won’t have to. We have a connecting door,
and I still have a master key on my key ring!” chortled Bo, giving
him a quick glance.

“Whew! You had me worried there for a
minute!”

“I ignored your dig about my age. You haven’t
told me how old you are either.”

“I’ll be 49 on the 5th of July, but you knew
that from my bio. I guess I’m really too old to be a ‘boyfriend.’
Maybe you can call me your ‘middle-aged-male-friend,’” he
chuckled.

“Wow! We can celebrate your birthday!” she
exclaimed, ignoring his dig.

“I’d rather keep it between you and me. I
don’t like being the center of attention.”

“OK. I’ll think up some very private present
for you!”

***

When Bo and Sam pulled out of the airport,
Candy called her boss.

“He’s gone to roost,” she said.

“Where?” he asked.

“Place called Durango, Colorado.”

“Where the hell is that?”

She told him, then went on, “He didn’t meet
the kid. He met a woman. She looks like that FBI agent whose
picture you showed me with the kid. Except, she’s dressed like Dale
Evans now.”

“That is actually good news! Maybe better
than the kid. I’ll call the boss and get instructions. You hang
close and watch them till I call you.”

“Shit, boss! I don’t have any luggage, and
there’s sure no Macy’s in this shit hole!” she exclaimed.

“Go buy a fucking cowboy hat! Stay there till
you hear from me!”

“Screw you! If I can find the damned trading
post, I’ll buy more than a hat!” she spat. “Maybe an Indian
blanket!”

***

The main lodge was a 2-story, large building
made of logs. Bo parked in front and led Sam to his room, which was
on the second floor. He threw his bag on the bed and took in the
country decor of the place. It was a large room with a queen-sized,
rustic bed; a 4-drawer, knotty-pine dresser; two matching night
stands with lamps. A table with two chairs in one end of the room.
A spacious bathroom with a cast-iron tub on legs.

“Where’s the connecting door?” asked Sam.

“Is that all you can think about?” laughed
Bo. “Later. Now I want you to meet my parents. I’ve told them all
about you!”

“Not all, I hope. You’ve read my dossier. Not
all of that should be suitable for dinner conversation,” shrugged
Sam, a little bit annoyed.

“I know that! I was selective and discreet.
Just pretend that we’re at the dating stage. I’m sure they really
know that we’re . . . intimate, but they have to pretend they
don’t. Appearances are important to them, too. It’s a small town. I
told them about Becky, of course. They’re fascinated. Too bad she
couldn’t come.”

Sam was unpacking as Bo rambled on. There was
a large closet, much larger than he needed.

Bo went on with a laugh, “You didn’t pack
your cowboy hat and boots! The ones I saw in that picture in your
parents’ room?”

“I don’t use those anymore. Those belonged to
a different Sam Crown.”

He pulled a pair of supple, brown
leather cowboy boots out of his bag. “I use these now—occasionally.
I never took you there, but there’s a real cowboy saloon in San
Juan Capistrano—
The Swallow’s
Inn
. I’ll have to buy a cowboy hat for your 4th of
July celebration. There wasn’t room for mine. I didn’t bring my
six-shooters either, so don’t ask!”

When he was unpacked, Bo took him to the
lobby of the lodge. It was quite large, with plenty of comfortable
chairs, tables, lamps, and an area where coffee was always brewing.
Several antlered bucks’ heads hung on the walls along with antique
rifles and pistols. Mr. and Mrs. Trout were behind the large
check-in counter waiting nervously to meet their daughter’s new
beau.

Sam shook hands with Travis, aged 60, and
Sally, aged 58, over the large, hand-carved and hand-polished
counter.

“Pleased to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Trout. Do I
need to sign in, or something? Bo has already shown me to my room,”
said Sam.

“Heavens no!” replied Sally Trout. “You’re
our guest for as long as you can stay!”

“Well, I’m deeply appreciative of that, Mrs.
Trout,” Sam answered.

Mr. Trout spoke. “Bo has told us of your
hospitality out in California. The least we can do is return the
courtesy. But now, let’s cut the crap! Call me Travis and the
missus here Sally. We’ll call you Sam, if that’s all right!”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Travis,”
laughed Sam. “I hate social encounters that are covered in a layer
of syrupy bullshit! I think we’ll get along just fine! Now, is
there any way to get a bite to eat around here? I haven’t eaten
since 6:00 A.M. California time!”

Travis glowered at Bo as if to say, “What’s
wrong with you, woman? Why haven’t you fed this man?”

Bo said, “I was going to take you to lunch as
soon as you met my parents, Sam! There’s a rib joint just up the
road. Or . . . I can fix you something in Mom’s kitchen.”

“Let’s try the rib place. I’d like to see the
town anyway.”

“I see you do know my daughter,” laughed
Travis. “She never could cook worth a damn!”

“Dad! He knows that! I was being polite!”
exclaimed Bo.

They all laughed.

***

Sam ate an entire side of baby back pork ribs
with French fries, cole slaw, southwest beans, and garlic bread. He
leaned back in the booth and licked his fingers.

“Now, that was a meal!” he exclaimed. When
his right hand was more or less clean, he picked up his long-neck
beer and had a swig. “My mother never lets me barbecue ribs at
home. She thinks they’re uncouth—too messy. Sometimes Becky and I
do them when they’re not home. She loves them.”

“I wish she was here. She could meet my
brother’s kids. They’re close to her age: 16 and 14. Not mentally
close, of course. You’ll meet my brother and his family later.”

“That’s great, but how much longer before I
can get your clothes off? I’ve been celibate and I need some
attention!”

“Celibate! You? I can’t believe that!” she
laughed, but hoped he was telling the truth.

“Trust me.” He looked at his watch. “I got up
at 5:30 this A.M. and I could use a nap. Good enough ruse?”

“I feel a nap coming on, too,” she giggled.
“Let’s get back to the lodge. I’ll unlock the door between our
rooms. We can use your room.”

***

Afterwards, Sam did take a nap, relieved that
he could still perform as well as ever. The incident with Chandra
must have been an anomaly. Bo, still naked, sat in one of the
chairs at the small table and had a cigarette. She watched Sam
sleep. She was relaxed and in a blissful mood. When her cigarette
was finished, she climbed back into bed and put her naked body
against his. Their body heats fused and she felt as if she were a
part of him. She fell into a deep sleep, a smile on her face.

When they awoke, it was 4:30. Bo used the
bathroom, then went to the chair, sat down and lit a cigarette
while Sam used the facilities. Sam ambled in and sat in the other
chair.

“Does this bunk house have a wet bar? I could
use a drink,” said Sam.

“Kinda. Probably not up to your standards.
Open that wooden cabinet over there. It has a small fridge with
ice, wine, beer, sodas. On the shelf above the fridge I had it
stocked with Cutty and some of your favorites. Even brandy and a
couple of snifters.”

“How thoughtful. You want a drink? I think
I’ll have a Cutty and water.”

“The Chardonnay is in the fridge, if you
don’t mind. Though I should be waiting on you,” she replied with a
crooked smile.

Sam fixed the drinks and returned to the
table. They clinked glasses and sipped their drinks.

“Another first,” she chortled. “Cocktails in
the nude!”

“Makes it hard to concentrate on the
drinks.”

Bo looked at the clock on the wall. “If
you’re getting ideas, we’d better hurry. My parents are expecting
us for cocktails at the roundhouse by 6:00. A lot of my friends
have been invited to say ‘hello’ to me.”

“And to see your ‘boyfriend,’ I assume.”

“That, too,” she smiled. “I hope you don’t
mind.”

“You could come sit on my lap while we finish
these drinks. Do double duty. Then we can share the shower to save
time.”

“Hmm. Why didn’t I think of that?”

***

Bo came back to Sam’s room after going to
hers to get dressed. She wore cowboy boots, jeans, and a
short-sleeved, blue blouse that buttoned up the front. Sam had
donned his boots, a pair of Levi’s, and a dark blue golf shirt.

Sam said, “You look delicious! I had never
pictured you as a cowgirl before!”

“You look a little out of your element, too.
But then, you’ve never matched the image I have in my mind of what
a private eye should look like—two-fisted scotch drinking,
woman-seducing . . .” She stopped, threw her head back and laughed.
“Wait! You are like that! What ever was I thinking?”

He pulled her to him, kissed her gently on
the lips. “I’m always who I have to be, sweet Rainbow. Who do you
want me to be tonight?”

She looked up at him. “You’ll be you, whoever
you are. You’ll never pretend to be otherwise. You are still an
enigma to me, Sam Crown!”

“Even after reading my dossier? I thought you
had probed the depths of my life—psycho marine, gun-happy cop,
out-of-control womanizer,” he said.

“You won’t let me forget that I read that,
will you? I won’t apologize again. I received the rest of the
details I requested—financials, credit report, and so on. I
shredded it all without reading it. Does that win me any brownie
points?” she replied, pouting.

He kissed her again, copping a feel through
her thin blouse.

“I’ll never mention it again. What should I
expect at this little get-together?” he asked.

She stepped back and adjusted her blouse.
“It’s nothing like the soirees that your mother throws. This will
be rather country-simple.”

“My God, Bo! That’s not what I meant! Do you
think I’m some sort of snob—looking for champagne and caviar? I
meant, who are the people I’ll meet? How do you want me to
characterize our relationship?”

“Shit, Sam! I’m sorry! It’s just that . . .
I’m so damn nervous! I want you to like my family and friends, and
. . .”

He hugged her again, interrupting her.
“Relax, baby! I won’t embarrass you! I’ll be on my best behavior
and won’t punch anybody out.”

“Oh, Sam! It’s not you I’m worried about! I’m
just afraid they’ll ask you a bunch of dumb questions—make you feel
uneasy. Embarrass me!” she wailed.

“Nonsense! Have faith in them, Bo. Besides,
why does it bother you so much what they think of me, or I think of
them? I’m a stranger in their midst, and curiosity is normal. And
they’ll naturally be protective of you.”

“I don’t know why I‘m so nervous! Maybe I’m
taking this boyfriend/girlfriend thing too seriously and want them
to approve of you . . . me . . . us,” she whispered.

Sam thought about that for a beat, and what
it implied, then replied, “Well, let’s go get their approval then,
if it’s that important to you. I’ll charm their pants off!”

She laughed. “I’m sure some of the women will
like that! Some of them don’t need that much charming!”

“See? You can lord it over them! Let them
know that I only take your pants off!”

“Thank you, Sam! You always seem to ease my
fears,” she said as she kissed him.

***

The roundhouse was, of course, a round
building built out of heavy wooden planks—expertly fitted
together—and had a pointed, shingled roof. It was painted red and
had white shutters on the windows. The two massive doors were open,
and Sam got the feeling that it was a round barn. Inside it had a
hardwood floor and the intricate rafters had plenty of lights
mounted on them so that the interior was well-lighted. A curved bar
took up 30 feet along the right side, and there were dozens of
tables with chairs to Sam’s left. The far side had a bandstand and
plenty of floor space for dancing.

The place was decorated in red, white, and
blue for tomorrow’s festivities. There were three bartenders
rushing around trying to serve the 40 to 50 people who were present
already. Sam found out later that Travis was footing the bill for
all drinks and munchies in honor of Bo being home. Nothing like
free booze and food to draw a crowd.

Sam endured dozens of introductions to people
there, most of whom he didn’t remember seconds after they moved
away into the crowd. He did remember Bo’s 39-year-old brother
Billy—a strapping six-footer weighing in at 225 pounds with curly
brown shoulder-length hair—and his wife Betty and their two kids,
Barbara and Brian.

They’re really into
Bs
, he thought.

A little after 6:45, a country/western band
tuned up and started playing standard country music and many of the
guests began dancing. Bo got swept out onto the dance floor by one
of her friends, and Sam leaned against the long, polished bar and
sipped his Cutty and water. Bo’s brother Billy sidled up and joined
Sam, a long-neck in his hand.

“Howdy, Sam. Havin’ fun yet?” laughed
Billy.

Sam smiled and replied, “Sure. It’s fun
watching Bo enjoy her friends. I’m certain she doesn’t get to do
this often enough—what with her job so far away and all.”

“Yeah, Bo’s the only one of the family that
got out of this place. She picked a tough job though. She’s kind of
a hero around here, but sometimes I wonder if she wouldn’t have
been happier staying here. Not as much pressure,” drawled
Billy.

“She seems to handle pressure well. At least,
since I’ve known her.”

“From what I hear from Bo, you’ve handled
some pressure jobs yourself,” mused Billy, prying a bit.