Designed for Love (Texas Nights) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

At 8:45 p.m. Ashton dragged herself into Dirty Harry’s. Once again, she’d had absolutely no luck finding any evidence of those godforsaken lilies. She’d walked every inch of Gladys Phelps’s garden, outdoor shed and storm cellar. She’d even stayed for tea and a chat. And that was only one of her half-dozen stops for the day.

No excited, triumphant messages had pinged her phone, so it was obvious no one else had found a thing either.

No plants meant there was no need for a botanist. Which meant she couldn’t fight Gigi for control of the project.

Ashton slid onto a stool, would’ve rested her face on the bar’s surface if she wasn’t worried what might’ve lain there last. Shirlene, behind the counter restocking the beer cooler, looked over her shoulder at Ashton. “Regular for you?”

“Pretty sure I need the cheapest thing you’ve got. And in fifteen minutes, I’ll need you to add about thirty other people to my tab.”

“High roller.”

If only. In her former life, she’d never blinked at the price tag on a bottle of expensive wine. Now, she worried about affording the beer in Clyde’s stock.

Shirlene set a bottle and a church key before Ashton, leaned on the bar. “What’s got you looking like you just ran over your grandma with the backend of your mule?”

Oh, between Gigi and a mule, that mule better get the hell out of the way or he’d find himself kicked down into the canyon. “I’m looking for something and can’t find it.”

When she patted Ashton’s arm, Shirlene’s fingers were chilly from fishing through the ice. “Some women just weren’t meant for love, hon.”

She hadn’t even known she was looking for that, but she’d sure found it. And that mule had stomped all over it. “Definitely not looking for a man.” She was pretty much ruined after Mac. What other man would ever make her laugh like he did? Tolerate her dog like he did? Make her feel like he did?

God, maybe she needed a shot of Clyde’s questionable whiskey to go with her beer.

Shirlene swiped a grungy rag over the bar. “Oh, we’re all looking for love.”

“I’m looking for plants.”

“The discount store’s got some real nice pansies about this time of year.”

Resting her head in her hands did nothing for the low-level ache inside her skull. “I’m looking for those lily pads from the lake.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Shirlene became enthralled with cleaning every speck off the bar’s surface, getting close to the gouged wood. She worked a two-square-inch space for several minutes.

Something was definitely off here. Ashton’s heart perked up. “You know something. What is it?”

Her eyes wide, Shirlene leaned close. “I need this job. I know it don’t look like much to someone like you, but Clyde keeps the wolves away from my door.”

Probably because if he didn’t, Shirlene would figure out a way to make a stew from them. “Whatever you tell me is just between us. I would never do anything to jeopardize your job.”

“Why do you care?”

Another two-inch space of the bar sparkled. Prickles tiptoed up Ashton’s neck.

“Because if I can’t find those plants, have them identified, then I won’t be able to finish the Lily Lake project.”

“But...but I thought that environmental guy was pitching a hissy fit. If the plants are gone, he can’t cause any more problems, right?”

“After all the trouble he caused, my grandmother took over the project, and I can’t guarantee she’ll finish it. If I can find those water lilies, I can prove they’re not endangered. Prove to Gigi I can finish what I started. If development stops, it’s bad news for Shelbyville.”

“Does Clyde know that?”

“I haven’t exactly kept it a secret. Why?”

“No reason.”

Ashton reached out, pulled the rag from Shirlene’s death grip to keep her from attacking another spot. “Please help me.”

Shirlene’s gaze ping-ponged around the room. Apparently satisfied with what she saw or didn’t see, she mumbled, “Check the men’s room.”

“You mean—” Ashton zeroed in on the hallway that few people ventured down because it led to what she’d heard were the rankest facilities within a fifty-mile radius, “—inside the men’s room?”

“Even he wouldn’t be dumb enough to hide something out back—” Shirlene hooked a thumb in the general direction of where people peed in the woods behind Harry’s, “—where people actually go.”

“You don’t think you could...”

“I’ve worked for Clyde for going on seven years, and I haven’t never, and won’t never, step my little toe into that...that nucular accident.”

Which meant if Ashton wanted to find out if her missing plants were in there, she would have to venture forth herself. “I need a shot of whiskey.”

“What kind? We got—”

“Whichever kind will kill my ability to smell.”

Shirlene shook her head. “Oh, hon, even we don’t carry nothing that bad.”

Great. “Something strong.”

“I’ll make it a double.” She poured three fingers of pee-colored liquor into a short glass. Whiskey was supposed to be amber, but Ashton wasn’t in a position to quibble. Shirlene placed it before her. “Are you sure—”

Ashton picked up the glass and knocked it back in one motion. That wasn’t so bad.

A bonfire raced both ways, up and down her throat, igniting in her stomach. She exhaled, surprised at the lack of flames.
Puff the magic dragon lived by the pee...
She giggled at the song playing in her head.

“You okay?”

“Never better.” Ash jumped off the stool, and her knees apparently didn’t agree with her because they executed a hula move. She grabbed the bar to steady herself.
You’ve got this.
Hurry before everyone else gets here.
She tried to remove her hand, but hadn’t been lucky enough to land on one of those areas Shirlene had cleaned. So one by one, she peeled her fingers off the funky surface.

“Maybe you should wait until your friends—”

Ashton lurched away, her knees singing “Aloha Oe” with every step. At waist level, she waved her hands to the right. Then to the left. If she found those damned lily pads, maybe she could make a grass skirt out of them.

She stumbled into a dim hallway and spotted two doors on the right side. The first one was marked with a fistful of plastic flowers. The second featured a yellowed skull and crossbones and was crisscrossed with crime-scene tape. Somehow, she didn’t think the decorations were leftovers from Halloween.

Inhaling, she reached for the knob and shoved open the door before she could change her mind. The smell came at her like a physical wall—urine, sweat and a dozen other things she didn’t want to identify.

God in heaven, where was her gas mask when she needed it?

One thing was obvious, she would have to burn the clothes she was wearing. She stepped into the small space, checked out the sagging sink and cracked mirror. Eyes stinging, she blinked until her vision cleared.

Then she caught the reflection of a line of wall-hung urinals behind her.

And what Clyde had planted in them.

Her lily pads.

* * *

Ashton opened the cabin’s front door to find Mac standing there, a bouquet of flowers under one arm, her traitor dog under the other. Although it was hard not to reach for them both, the door’s weight made swinging it shut easy. Unfortunately, a work boot wedged against the jamb before momentum clicked it shut.

“Ashton, be reasonable.”

Reasonable was about the last thing she felt like being, but things were looking up, so she could give him a few minutes. Then a realization knocked her on the head. “You heard, didn’t you?”

“Lily pads in Clyde’s john?” His smile lit his eyes, making her itch to either kiss him or whack him. “You had to know that was way too good to keep it quiet.”

She’d never thought he was the kind of man who was willing to play both sides. “I guess you’ve come to beg for your job back.”

“Uh...I came to see how I could help.”

“Your job’s not a sure thing anymore, huh?”

“Ash, you may have found the plants, but I still work for your grandmother.”

And she’d thought that knife couldn’t cut any deeper. Hell, they’d gone from paring knife to one of those monsters Eden used at Paradise Garden. “Then why are you here?” She fixed a glare on the flowers he held. “And those better not be for me. I’m allergic to tulips.” Psychologically, anyway.

“Well, I figured you wanted your dog back.”

Napoleon was cuddled up against Mac’s shoulder. “He doesn’t look as though he’s in any hurry to come home.”

“He whined and scratched last night until I gave in and let him sleep in my bunk. I had to put him on the inside for fear he’d fall out and break his neck. This morning, he sat in the bathroom and watched me shower.”

“Yes, he’s a bit of a voyeur. Guess you’ll just have to get used to that.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“He’s obviously chosen sides in all this, and from the looks of it, he didn’t choose mine.”

“He’s your fucking dog.”

She’d thought so, but if this was what loyalty looked like, she wasn’t interested in either of these penis-wielding animals. “Why are you here, Mac?”

He sighed and rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. “I heard you were looking to raise money to pay the botanist.”

“Gossip train is running right on time.”

“I want to make a donation.” He reached out to grab her hand, but she shuffled back. His skin on hers was a big no-no. She couldn’t be tough when he was touching her.

“Mac, I don’t want—no, I don’t need—your money or your help.”

“From what I hear, you don’t have enough stuff to auction off.”

“We’ll make do.” The botanist’s fee was exorbitant, but he was supposed to be the best.

“I want you to have the bike.”

The bike? His words filtered through her fuzzy thoughts and finally plunked down in her brain’s parlor. “Your motorcycle?”

“Figure it should finally do somebody some good.” He set Napoleon on the ground, but her dog scratched at his shins until he was forced to pick him up again. “I’ll plan to drive it over an hour before the auction starts.”

Oh, the motorcycle would bring in enough cash to get the plants checked out and finish the pavilion. She couldn’t turn that down.

“You know when I take over the project again, I’ll have to fire you.”

Mac’s gaze dropped, and he finally took a step back. “I guess we’ve all gotta do what we’ve gotta do.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jitters were invading Ashton’s body as she looked out at the small gathering on the Kilgore house lawn. Fewer people had shown up for the auction than she’d hoped, but it would have to do. Unfortunately, it was a half hour before the bidding was supposed to start, and Mac had yet to arrive with the motorcycle.

That was what the crowd was here for. Even for jaded Houstonites, a 1947 Indian Chief at a potentially bargain price was hot shit.

Since she was no longer a hand-wringing bobblehead, she needed to get this situation under control. She strode toward where Roxanne was chatting with a few attendees. She pulled her aside, out of earshot from the others. “Can you handle all this until auction time?”

“I’ve worked retail my whole life. What do you think?” When Ashton started to turn away, Roxanne grabbed her arm. “You’re not bugging out, are you? Because you can just warm up your cold feet—”

“If you haven’t noticed, my big ticket item is missing.”

“Oh, crap. Why don’t I send Jamie out to—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Roxanne stared at Ashton, then recovered enough to anchor her hands on her hips. “You can’t be serious. You can’t ride that—”

“Every girl has a bad boy in her dating history. Mine taught me to smoke filterless cigarettes and ride a motorcycle. The cigarettes were awful, but the bike was great.”

“Just when I think I’ve tapped all your shallow depths.”

Ashton patted Roxanne on the cheek.
Thwap
,
thwap.
“Maybe that’s because I’m not actually shallow.”

“Lord, you know I’m just teasing. Don’t get your panties all bunched up.”

“Just stall everything if I’m not back in thirty minutes.”

Roxanne gave her a snappy salute and headed back toward the auction attendees. That silly gesture kindled a warm spot in Ashton’s chest. Meant as a joke, yes. But also a true show of respect.

Ashton would take it.

On her way out to Mac’s, she dialed his number again, but he didn’t answer. A reminder that she shouldn’t have expected someone else to take care of such a critical detail. If she wanted something done, she did it herself. Period. When she turned into his little clearing, the motorcycle was still bundled up, protected under the tarp. She filled her lungs with sweet air and relief.

Now, if it just had gas in the tank.

Carefully, she peeled away all the layers of protection.
Crap
,
the keys.
Please let Mac’s security be as lax as ever.

She raced toward the fifth wheel, yanked open the door. She stumbled toward the fridge and fumbled around in the door until she felt the cold sting of metal.
Gotcha.

This was not a good time to be in a hurry so Ashton forced herself to take even breaths to calm the adrenaline rolling through her system. It didn’t matter if the auction began a few minutes late. People would wait for this. She buckled the helmet and cranked the engine. The bike rumbled beneath her. Somehow, it seemed a lot bigger now that Mac wasn’t riding with her. She familiarized herself with the gearshift and brake. Gave it a little gas. Good to go.

She eased through the clearing and down the bumpy drive to the lake road. By the time she hit the oil top, she had her bike legs under her. Too bad she didn’t still have that trust fund because she might just buy this off Mac herself.

Her phone buzzed against her hip, but she wasn’t stupid enough to answer it while driving. Traffic was flowing well down Main Street, so she hit the gas a little. She was cruising through the light at Petty Street to park behind the Kilgore house when something furry darted in front of her. She swerved, but the fur swerved too. And oh, God, it wasn’t just any furry thing.

It was Napoleon.

Nonono.
Not my baby.

Ashton hit the brakes. Hit the back tire too hard. The front too easy. In a flash, she backed off and tried to adjust course. She jerked the handlebars to the left, and her back tire swung around. It took all the strength in her arms to get the bike under control. What seemed like ten years later, she was sitting perpendicular in the road, her heart slamming in her throat, her fingers curled into claws around the handlebars. Her feet dropped to the asphalt to brace her weight, and she sat there shaking.

Napoleon trotted over and propped his front paws against her leg.

Mac came charging across the Kilgore house’s lawn, his face a pink shade she’d never seen on him. “Jesus Christ, Ashton. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I was—” surely that croak wasn’t her voice, “—trying to avoid making my dog a fritter.”

“What are you doing on my bike?” He tried to pry her hands from the handlebars, but her body didn’t seem to be cooperating yet.

“You said I could auction it.”

“I didn’t say you could fucking kill yourself on it.” His breath was chuffing in and out. “Get off.”

“My legs aren’t working.”

He grabbed her beneath the arms, dragged her over the seat and held her in the air as though she were a dish towel. The bike crashed to the pavement. “We need to get out of the road.” He hauled her toward the roadside, but she jerked away. All she needed was for everyone to see that not only couldn’t she drive, but she couldn’t handle a crisis either. Perfect way to earn respect.

She stumbled and one knee skated across the pavement.
Another pantsuit done gone.
Napoleon rushed toward her, leaped into her arms and gave her frantic doggie kisses on the face.

“You’re okay, sweet baby.” She crooned and rocked him against her chest. Then gravity no longer applied to her, and Mac swung them both into his arms.

* * *

Mac stalked toward the Kilgore house’s porch with Ashton and her dog cradled against his chest, not sparing a glance back at the heap of metal lying in the middle of Main Street. Piece of shit had been a bad luck charm since the minute he bought it off the guy who’d restored it. At the thought of what could’ve happened in that street, he tightened his grip around Ashton. By the time he got her to the house’s front porch and settled her on the steps, people were pouring around from the side yard.

“Beck,” he barked out. “Could you take care of that?” He jerked his head toward the street.

“I’m on it.” The sheriff, in his official khaki-and-navy uniform, headed for the street to clean up the mess.

Mac rounded on Ashton. “You’ve done your share of stupid things in the time I’ve known you, but that...that took the cake, the fucking frosting, and all those goddamned decorations on the top. What were you thinking?”

“That this was the biggest item I had to auction. I tried to call, but you didn’t answer.”

“I was cutting boards at the shop and lost track of time. When I made it over here, Roxanne told me about your boneheaded move and—”

“Lay off, Mac. The woman’s bleeding.” Roxanne elbowed him aside and knelt at Ashton’s feet. “Looks like you might have a little road rash. Let me roll this leg up.”

“Last nice pantsuit,” Ashton said.

“That’s a bitch.” Roxanne cuffed Ashton’s pant leg until it was above her knee. “I would’ve expected more gravel if you laid down the bike. In fact, you should be completely torn up.”

“I didn’t lay it down. I told you I know how to ride.”

“Then why’s it on its side?”

“That idiot.” Ashton glared up at him. “He yanked me off the thing before I had time to brace it with the kickstand.”

An older gentleman wandered up from the crowd gathered at the roadside. “Ashton, it was a beauty. Probably in pristine shape before it landed in the street, but I won’t be bidding now.”

Ashton held out a hand as though she was the friggin’ Queen of England. “I understand completely. Please be careful on your way back to Houston.”

“I’ll give your regards to your parents.”

She plastered on that expression Mac had come to recognize as her grin-and-bear-it smile. “You do that.” Then she handed Napoleon to Roxanne and pushed herself off the steps. “I need to get the auctioneer started. I’ve still got a few decent items to sell.” She limped away without another word to Mac.

Roxanne watched her cross the yard. “You know she won’t make enough to pay some bigwig flower-lover’s consulting fee. I’d say you screwed the pooch on this one, McLaughlin.”

“She was riding a bike she had no business being on.”

“Who’s the one who lost control of the dog?”

“He’s fucking sneaky.” Mac glared at Napoleon, who was sitting there swinging his attention between Ashton’s retreating back and him. Still, he reached out and took him from Roxanne. “One minute he’s taking a dump, and the next he’s standing between the yellow lines in the road.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s back in her good graces. You, on the other hand, are out in the cold.”

Yeah, it felt as though he’d been left to freeze his ass off in the polar vortex of the century. Somehow, he knew he’d never be warm again unless he could turn all this shit he’d created into sunshine.