Free Love Is Nuts (3 Tales) by Mimi Riser Page A

partition.
    “Well, we were expecting him.” Sam took hold of her shoulders once more.
    Roxanne’s breath hitched as a new flood of images swamped her. “He…he’s hoping for a beautiful blonde, like Delilah. Or…or a sassy redhead, like Muffy.”
    In the process of skidding her back across the floor, Sam couldn’t help chuckling. Whoever the guy was, he had good taste and was evidently familiar with the Jones family. But Delilah and Muffy were only two of Sam’s four sisters – the two tall ones.
    “What about Jil and Buffy?” he asked. “Do you see any diminutive damsels in his head?” He stopped shoving, to give her a moment to concentrate.
    “No,” Roxanne finally answered. “But there are a couple of leggy brunettes in there. They look kind of oriental.”
    “Really?” Sam’s interest perked up. He had a bit of a penchant for exotic brunettes himself – purely artistic, of course. Maybe he should sneak a mental peek… Nah. He focused his attention back on Roxanne.
    “Then it sounds to me like you are perfectly safe,” he informed her.
    “How do you figure that?” she ground out as he resumed the shove to the door.
    “Because you’re not his type. The guy apparently likes Earth Goddesses and Dragon Ladies, while you” – he paused for emphasis – “are a sparkling little Fire Fairy.”
    “Angel,” she corrected glumly.
    “That, too,” Sam said. “At any rate, you’ll be okay. And just to make sure, I will stay close by with a fire extinguisher.”
    “It better be a big extinguisher,” Roxanne grumbled. Sharp hot prickles stung her. A throbbing pressure filled her skull, like something hammering to be let out – no, wait, the hammering was someone asking to be let in. But that was worse.
    A lot worse, because now she was getting visions of the hammerer. Not the inside of his head, but the outside – along with everything it was attached to. And it was attached to quite a handful, all of it hard muscled and radiating raw sexual force. Tall, dark, painted-on jeans, black leather vest and biker boots. The image crashed over her, like a tidal wave, almost sweeping her off her feet.
    Sam peeked through a hole in the partition to see the tidal wave in the flesh. “Relax, it’s only Slo Larkin. Slo never stays in town for long. Star gives him hives – something in the water maybe.”
    He opened the inner door and nudged Roxanne into the shop.
    “You mean Winslow Larkin ?” she whispered, struggling to process this news. “Mrs. Dixon’s grandson ?” He knees almost buckled as the man’s gaze met hers through the plate glass of the shop’s street door. “That cute little boy she was showing me pictures of last week?”
    “Yeah, well, he’s grown up a bit since those pictures were taken,” Sam whispered back. “But don’t call him Winslow – he hates it. People only call him Winslow when they want to tick him off.” Leaving Roxanne, dizzy and dazed, by the long wooden counter at the rear of the shop, he strode to the street door, swung it open, and greeted their visitor with a blinding solar flare of a smile.
    “Hey, Winslow! Good to see you, man. How’s the paintin’ business?” Ignoring a dark-eyed dagger glare, he pulled the glare’s owner into the shop and slapped him on the back. “This guy’s the Michelangelo of the airbrush, turns cars into artwork,” he told Roxanne while slinging a friendly arm over Slo’s shoulders. “He’s got a great hand for portraiture, too, but doesn’t use it much.”
    “No time to. But thanks anyway for the vote of confidence.”
     
    Slo shrugged off Sam’s arm. After spending several impatient minutes on the sidewalk, waiting to be let into the shop, he was now wondering how fast he could get out. Foxy Roxy wasn’t so foxy after all. She looked more like a scared rabbit. A pretty little thing, he supposed – even if she did dress like a sack of groceries – but the emphasis there was on the “little.”
    Little as in