Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) (6 page)

Peppermint wriggled her eyebrows. “It could
be a big boon for us, too.”

“Dream on. He’s a cheap sonuvabitch,” Caramel
grumbled. “I don’t trust him to follow through on a darn thing he
says he’s going to do.”

“I take it you ladies don’t like him.”

“He’s a pussy.” Chocolate batted her
eyelashes at Brax, licked her lips, then dropped her gaze to his
crotch. “We like you much better.”

Holy hell. He stuck the right robot arm in
the wrong socket. He started over on arm construction and finished
in a jiffy. Just in time, too, since the girls had tightened the
circle around him, and their liberally applied cologne was starting
to choke him. He’d learned everything he needed to know about Carl
and the chickens. The information about Lafoote and Chloe didn’t
appear germane, but he’d store it for future reference, if
necessary. Maggie had nothing to worry about; her husband wasn’t a
customer.

“That’s it, I think.” He held up the fully
assembled robot.

“Wow,” they crooned in unison.

Not bad, if he did say so himself. He rose to
his feet, his knees creaking after sitting cross-legged on the
floor so long.

“You’re a genius,” Peppermint said.

“You’re awfully cute,” Candy added.

“So which one of us do you want?” Chocolate
asked.

A robot leg almost snapped in his hand.
“Well, ladies, now that I’ve gotten to know you all, the choice is
too damn difficult.”

“You don’t have to choose, Brax.” They gazed
up at him with identical twinkles in their eyes.

“You can have all of us.” Candy smiled and
sucked her index finger into her mouth.

“Together.” Caramel stroked a finger over her
nipple.

He squeezed the robot body so hard the head
almost popped off. But he was a seasoned cop and adept at
diplomatically extricating himself from unwanted situations. The
chickens couldn’t hold a candle to Simone, but there was no need to
hurt their feelings. “I haven’t got that strong a constitution. All
that pleasure might be the death of me.”

“Oh, come on, Brax. We’ll be gentle.”

He held up a hand. “No, no, ladies. You’re
all much too much woman for me. I’m a humble sheriff from
California. Catch.”

He tossed the robot at Chocolate and got the
hell out of Dodge before the chickens tackled him to the floor.

Twenty minutes later, he opened the front
door of Maggie’s trailer. He found her in the back bedroom tapping
on her computer keyboard. “Is Carl usually out late at night?”

She shrugged. “He’s mostly home in the
evenings. Out in that trailer of his.”

Brax ignored her gibe. “Then you must have
figured he was diddling someone on the day shift at The Chicken
Coop.”

“I didn’t know they had shifts.”

“They do. I learned a lot today.” He raised
one eyebrow.

She tipped her reading glasses to look over
the tops. “What have you been doing, Tyler Braxton? Better not be
something our mama would be ashamed of.”

A man had his pride, and saying he’d put
robot parts together down at the local brothel instead of...that
didn’t sit right. Even if he was talking to his sister. He hedged.
“Among other things, I was interrogating. And I’d be willing to bet
my left nu—” He caught himself. “I’d bet my left eye your husband
isn’t planning to run away with one of Chloe’s chickens.”

“Then what’s he doing with our money, and
why’s he stink like perfume?”

“Did you ever think maybe he’s trying to
cover up the odor of bat guano?”

She stared at him.

“As for the money, maybe he’s planning a
surprise trip for the two of you. For your tenth anniversary.”

“That was two months ago.”

He heaved a sigh. “Maggie, I’m a cop.
Invariably I look for the worst in people instead of the best.
Suspicion is as natural as breathing. But you don’t have to be like
me. Give him a break. Talk to him. Calmly. Find out what’s going on
with him.”

She pouted. “It won’t do any good.”

“Maybe it won’t. But it sure as hell isn’t
going to make things better if he finds out you asked your brother
to spy on him.” He wasn’t good at dispensing advice on
relationships, but he knew things would only deteriorate if Maggie
and Carl didn’t at least try to talk.

Maggie worked her lips from a grimace to a
half smile. “Well, maybe. I need to think about it.”

“Good. While you’re thinking, let me get on
the computer.” He wanted to check out Simone Chandler’s
website.

* * * * *

Goodness, she was consumed by sexual
thoughts. Every time Simone tried to describe the hero in her
story, he had short blond hair and blue eyes, though her client had
asked for tall, dark, and handsome. Tall and handsome, yes, but no
matter how many times she hit the delete key, he always came back
with blond hair and gazed at her with arresting blue eyes as he
crawled down the length of her body to...

It was rather pathetic when you couldn’t
control your own wayward fingers. For typing, that is.

The phone rang. She pounced on it without
checking caller ID. Simone never answered the phone unless she knew
who it was. Why, a person could lose an hour of their life if they
picked up for the wrong caller.

At the moment, however, anything was better
than wayward fingers or wayward
thoughts
. “Hello?”

“You didn’t screen.”

“Hello, MOTHER.” That’s how Simone always
thought of her mother, in capital letters. “I saw it was you.”

“You didn’t.” Her mother had blocking.

“It must have been telepathy then.” If it
had
been telepathy, she would have been sure
not
to
answer. Not that she didn’t love her mother dearly. Ariana Chandler
was the sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful mother in the world. At
least, that’s how everyone described her. And she was. Truly. Very
thoughtful, caring, helpful, concerned. But these monthly calls
were...well, they were like the monthly curse; Simone needed to
take a muscle relaxant for five days afterward.

“Did you get the care package your sister and
I sent?”

“Yes. Thank you, MOTHER.”

“And they fit?” Why did her mother sound so
surprised?

“Of course.” Actually, Simone had never even
tried them on. More than satisfied with her own clothes, she’d
driven to Bullhead and given all her sister’s designer castoffs to
Goodwill. She was not a designer kind of girl, and Goldstone was
not a designer town. She would have looked ridiculous walking
around in Ralph Lauren. If her mother had ever visited Goldstone,
she’d know that.

“I knew what an incentive that first box of
beautiful dresses would be in helping you with your little weight
problem. So I thought you deserved another set. Besides, Jacqueline
needed to go through her closet and get rid of last year’s
fashions.”

Simone did not fit into her sister’s size
zero clothing. She would never fit into size zero clothing. She
didn’t
want
to fit into them. Her head started aching. She
knew her mother meant well, she did, but she really, really didn’t
think she had a weight problem. Except once a month when her mother
called.

“So, how’s the job hunt going, dear?”

Simone’s stomach lurched. Her mother had
never gotten over her daughter’s spectacular failure, which had,
embarrassingly, made it into the L.A. papers. Even the memory of
all those delinquent accounts receivables and unreturned phone
calls to insolvent clients gave Simone a migraine. “Don’t put all
your eggs in one basket,” her mother had always said. But Simone
had. When the stock market dropped the basket, Simone had gotten
crushed beneath the broken shells. Ariana never stopped hoping that
Simone would “turn her life around.” Despite the amount of time
since her business debacle, her mother had not given up.

“It’s coming along,” Simone fibbed. “I’ve got
a few bites out there but nothing solid yet.”

She hadn’t searched for a job in three years.
She loved her new life. With all the nifty payment options
available on the Internet, she got her clients funds before she
sent them a word. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Show
me the money first.
Her alluring fantasy website was going
gangbusters. “Tell me your wildest dreams,” her banner advertised,
“and I’ll write you a story to send you and your lover into orbit.”
Sex on the Internet was the hottest thing. Her mother wouldn’t get
the appeal. Prone to ripping out hair under duress, she’d be bald
within three minutes of learning about Simone’s venture.

“Well, I’ve got a list of people for you to
contact,” her mother continued. “And please do
try
to make a
good impression. Don’t tell them you live in a trailer.” Simone
visualized her mother’s shudder from the sound of her voice. “Have
you got a pen and paper?”

“Yes, MOTHER.” Simone had DSL, a
state-of-the-art computer system into which she could have typed
the information as quickly as the spoken word, and an Outlook
address book the size of which would rival the one in her mother’s
smart phone. She doodled on a nearby Post-it as her mother read
aloud.

“Now, let me tell you what to say in the
initial letters. I think for Ambrose, that darling man, you should
tackle it this way—” Her mother suddenly sucked in a breath. “You
are
going to wear makeup and fix your hair properly, aren’t
you?”

“It’s a letter. He’s not going to see
me.”

“Well, a positive self-image creates a
positive attitude the recipient can sense even through the writing.
And you could be such a pretty girl if only you’d—”

The doorbell rang.
Oh thank you God above.
Thank you, thank you, smooches
. “Someone’s at the door, I have
to run. I’ll call you later and you can tell me exactly what to
say.”

She hung up in the middle of her mother’s
“But—”

Brax stood on the outer doorstep, across the
expanse of the sunporch. Her heart gave a weird, scary little leap
at the sight of him. Then she reminded herself that according to
Maggie he was only here for a two-week vacation. And he’d asked her
if she was sleeping with his brother-in-law.

“Peace offering.” He held the DVD case
against the screen door so she could read
The Wizard of Oz
on the front. “Drove all the way back into Bullhead to find
it.”

She stayed on the threshold of her front door
and tried to be tough when what she really wanted to do was drag
him inside. “I’ve already got it.”

He waggled the case. “But this is the
anniversary edition. With the jitterbug sequence they cut out of
the movie.”

“Oh.” That sounded delightful. The sneak.
He’d already figured out her weaknesses. “Did you know they
considered cutting ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ because they
thought it slowed the pacing?”

He opened the screen door and crossed half
the porch width. “Some bright guy must have saved their butts at
the last minute. So, are we betting on whether they’re
sisters?”

“What do I win?” Which didn’t mean she was
letting him in. Brax was dangerous, the type to make her lose
control.

“The question is”—his gaze dropped from her
eyes to linger on her lips—“what’s
my
prize?”

Whoa, the man gave potent eye scan. Nothing
at all like the way Jason Lafoote did it. Maybe Brax could come in,
just for the movie, because he’d driven so far to get it. She could
always seat him on the other end of the sofa. And make him leave
after they watched the movie. She would definitely have to make him
leave before she did something embarrassing, like go into meltdown
if he touched her.

“Since I’m going to win,” she answered,
holding the front door wide, “I want...” Well, there were those
very nice fantasies she’d been having all day, but she wouldn’t
clue him in. He’d never know, not in any infinitesimal way. They
were
only
fantasies. “I want ice cream. And you’ll have to
drive out and get it.” She backed up.

He followed her into her living room. “Ice
cream. Sounds fair. But since
I’m
gonna win”—his voice
dropped, and he leaned in close enough to tickle her ear with his
breath—“I think I might like to have you lick the ice cream off my
cone.”

Uh-oh. Now that was a euphemism for
tallywhacker she’d never heard before.

And Trouble with a capital
T.

Chapter Four

He shouldn’t have read the teaser on her
website. A massage scene involving only neck and shoulders, its
sensuality still managed to evoke a purely male reaction. It also
impaired his manners. That could be the only excuse for what he’d
said. Brax had to admit he’d been imagining ice-cream cones, which
was not a bad thing in and of itself. But sex complicated matters,
especially when he was in Goldstone for only two weeks. He
shouldn’t have given voice to the image.

She smiled that perfect smile of hers, the
one that made him weak in the knees. The dazzle smile. “Shall we
get started?”

God, yes.

Beautiful eyes wide, she bit her lip. “With
the movie, I mean.”

He knew that. “Sure.” It was the slickest
dialogue he could muster when he felt as tongue-tied as a teenage
boy.

He
really
shouldn’t have read that
teaser. Snippets of it muddled his main goal. Which was...it
was...oh yeah, to determine if she could lie without the telling
body language that clued a cop into when he was being snookered by
a suspect. Yes, that was his goal in coming over tonight.

That and giving Maggie time alone to talk
things out with Carl.

He hadn’t picked up the movie because he
wanted to watch it with her in a darkened room, sitting close on
that big sofa, drinking in the citrus fragrance of her hair and the
sweet scent of her skin. Nope, he’d intended to do a little subtle
interrogating.