Dance of the Winnebagos by Ann Charles

Author:Ann Charles
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Corvallis Press
Published: 2011-10-12T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

Sunday, April 18th

The woodpeckers were at it again.

Mac stood outside the door of Harley’s Winnebago, listening to the rat-a-tat-tat as they drilled their way into one of the willow trees lining Jackrabbit Creek.

A sprinkling of dew covered the grass in a sparkling veneer. The desert seemed to be holding its breath ever since the sun had crested the Tres Dedos Mountains and doused the cool night breeze. The rosy, pre-dawn glow he’d raced through from Tucson in order to reach the R.V. park—and Claire—had melted into an early morning, powder-blue sky.

The faint smell of bacon tinged the air, reminding Mac that he’d skipped breakfast in his haste to return.

Claire had been in his thoughts since he’d left yesterday morning, the vision of her in that Pink Panther T-shirt unshakable. Common sense said to nip this attraction in the bud.

But, damn, she looked hot in a pair of jeans.

Tired of this growing debate in his head—the same one he’d covered several times since leaving the city over two hours ago—Mac rapped on the door and listened for movement on the other side of the aluminum.

The door opened.

Claire stood there, barelegged in her Oscar the Grouch pajama top. All anti-Claire sentiments flew from his head.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You left without even saying good-bye.”

Mac tugged on the hem of her top. “Did you miss me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Liar.”

“Quit reading my mind.”

“How about I show you how much I missed you?”

Her lips curled slightly. “I’m trying to be mad at you.”

Mac climbed the step and stood nose-to-nose with her. She smelled like fabric softener, flowery soap, and everything Claire. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, trailing his finger down her neck.

Her breath caught when he feathered his fingertip along her collarbone. She caught his hand. “Gramps is awake,” she whispered.

“What are you talking about? I can hear him snoring.”

“That’s Henry. Gramps is in the bathroom.”

“I didn’t know dogs could snore that loud.”

“You should try sleeping in the same room with the damned mutt.”

She still held his hand, rubbing his fingers with her thumb, and had no idea how close she was to being taken advantage of up against the side of a Winnebago. A man could withstand only so much sexual frustration in one week’s time.

“I brought you a present.” He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers. Tiny flecks of gold speckled her brown irises.

“Think you can buy my affection?” Her eyes sparkled. She tried to peek behind his back to see what he was hiding.

“They say the way to a woman’s heart is through a man’s wallet.” At least that’s what his last girlfriend had read to him out of some Rules of Dating book.

“Really? I’ve always felt it had to do with the size of his ...” Claire trailed off, blinking in exaggerated seduction, “truck.”

Mac chuckled, lacing his fingers with hers. “Oh, I’ve got a big truck, Slugger.”

The softness of her laughter filled him with heat that had nothing to do with the morning rays drilling into his back.

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