Free Jackrabbit Junction Jitters by Ann Charles Page B

Dick.”
    Without wasting another breath on the son of a bitch, Mac
pushed through the glass doors and stepped into the afternoon heat. Coming from
the air-conditioned office, he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass.
    He climbed into his pickup and fired it up. Next stop, the
library. Time to dig through old claims and trace the lineage of the Lucky Monk
mine.
    Inhaling the hot air blasting from the vents, he wasn’t sure
if he should be grinning wide or popping antacids. If the mining company wasn’t
behind Leo Scott’s letter about the claim for the Lucky Monk, then who was? And
how deep were their pockets?
    * * *
    Jess plopped down on the curb next to Kate. “Mom said she’ll
be here as soon as she can find Claire and get her to watch the store.” The
paper sack in Jess’s hands crackled as she pulled out a tube of tangerine lip
gloss.
    The teenager smacked her grape gum and popped another bubble—a
smell and sound Kate would probably always associate with barreling into the
broadside of a brand-stinking-new, red Chevy Silverado SS. The damned pickup
still had the temporary plates stuck in the window for chrissake.
    Every time Kate blinked, dollar signs floated behind her
eyes.
    She stared across the hardware store’s gravel parking lot at
the blue-eyed cowboy she’d exchanged stares with outside the mini-mart
yesterday, aka Butch the bartender. He stood next to his pickup, giving his
play-by-play of the demolition derby to the sheriff. From the easy-going tilt
of Butch’s white cowboy hat and the quick grins on the sheriff’s face, Kate guessed
the two had a fishing rendezvous every Saturday morning.
    Dragging her gaze away from Butch, she tried to block out
the banjo chords from Deliverance that kept repeating in her head. Sweat
trickled down the back of her neck. Even the whitish-pink flowers on the
prickly poppies growing along the highway’s shoulder drooped in submission to
the sun’s rays.
    Lifting her hair from her neck, she fanned herself with the
copy of the citation she hadn’t been able to wiggle out from under no matter
how many times she’d batted her eyelashes. Today was one of the few times in
her life that being blonde hadn’t earned her bonus points.
    If word of this fiasco made it back to her insurance
company, the scissor sharpening would commence. After her string of speeding
tickets a couple of years back, they’d spare no time cutting her loose, and a
year of using cruise control would be wasted all because Jess had run out of
lip gloss.
    Maybe Kate should just suck it up and pay out-of-pocket for
this mess. It would drain a good chunk of her reserves, forcing her to job hunt
sooner than she’d planned, but not being dropped by her insurance company might
be worth it in the long run.
    Batting at a pair of flies that buzzed around her head like
it was a control tower, she looked over at Jess, who was busy painting her
lips. “You sure you’re okay?”
    “Yeah. My shoulder is a little sore from the seat belt, but
that’s it. Those air bags were super coolio. It sounded like gunshots when they
popped out.”
    Her own ears still rang from it.
    “I can’t believe what a rotten driver you are, though.” Jess
kicked her coltish legs out in front of her. “Especially after all of the years
of practice you’ve had.”
    Kate shot the teenager a dirty look. Maybe Ruby should
consider boarding school for the little shit.
    “Claire is a way better driver than you, that’s for sure.”
    Claire was better at most things than Kate, but she didn’t
need this pissant reminding her of that fact right now. Kate opened her mouth
to tell Jess to go sit somewhere else, preferably on something pointy, but held
her tongue when she noticed Butch striding toward her.
    Uh, oh.
    The scowl was back on his rugged face, his blue eyes
practically glowing red. The tendons in his neck strained against the neckline
of his faded T-shirt.
    Gulping, Kate stepped onto the curb for extra leverage.