Her mouth opened and closed as she sputtered incoherently for a few seconds, finally asking, “You knew how to get here based on a person’s name? You know which cabin belongs to Hank? Does everybody know everybody here? How do you know Hank?”
I hesitated, her deluge of questions requiring some strategic thought, debating my options regarding how honest I should be.
She seemed astonished by my familiarity with Hank’s address, not worried by it. I reckoned she wasn’t used to the dynamics of a small town. Everybody knew Hank Weller. Everybody knew he went to Harvard, knew he was a troublemaker, and knew he’d been a source of disappointment to his parents.
Just like everybody knew me, Jethro Winston, my younger five brothers, my beauty queen sister, my con-artist daddy, and my librarian heart-of-gold mother. There were no secrets in Green Valley.
Now, to the issue at present, I knew Hank because he and Beau were good friends. Also, Hank, Beau, and I went fishing together. Additionally, I knew him because I’d stolen his daddy’s Mercedes when I was sixteen.
But mostly, I knew Hank as a business partner. He’d bought The Pink Pony, a local strip club, some years ago. I did the carpentry and general contracting work around the place in return for being a silent partner. I’d built the bar, installed the stage, and—more recently—managed the expansion of the main building. He wanted to add a champagne room, only he’d serve his home brew instead of champagne. Hank was also a microbrewer.
Hence, I had lots of options regarding how I could answer her questions and still be truthful.
I turned to face her, bracing my hand on the back of her seat, and addressed her questions at a leisurely pace. “Now, let’s see.” I scratched my chin. “Yes, I knew how to get here based on Hank’s name. There are a few Hanks in this town, but only one Hank with a cabin on Bandit Lake. That’s because there’s only about fifteen lots up here that don’t belong to the government. The land can’t be sold; it can only be inherited.”
“Really?” She turned to face me again, angling her shoulders this time. Her temple fell to the headrest as her eyes moved over my face, clearly fascinated.
Now I felt the weight of her full attention, I had to concentrate. “To your other question, most everybody knows most everybody here, except there’s a few reclusive families up in the hills who live off the grid. We’re not quite sure how many or what their first names are, but we see them about town every so often, coming in for supplies or wanting to barter at the Sunday market. They’re called the Hills.”
“Because they live in the hills?”
“No. Because that’s their last name. Hill.”
Her pretty mouth formed a silent Oh, her eyebrows jumping a half-inch. She nodded thoughtfully, absorbing this information.
“I’ve known Hank for a long time, since he and my brother used to run around naked in the backyard of my momma’s house.”
She grinned at this, her mahogany eyes warming and dancing. “He used to do the same thing in the dorms, so I’m not terribly surprised.”
That made me chuckle. “Yeah, well he’s never been a fan of clothes, on himself or others.”
“He runs a strip club now, right?” she asked, the friendliness and lack of judgment in her tone catching me unawares.
“That’s right.” I nodded slowly, assessing her with renewed interest. “The Pink Pony.”
In my experience, there were three kinds of women: those that stripped at strip clubs, those that liked going to strip clubs, and those that disliked strip clubs. I understood all three perspectives and now I wondered which of the three she belonged to.
Damn if I didn’t hope it was the first one.
We stared at each other for a protracted moment and I noted her gaze narrow, sharpen as she lifted a single eyebrow and grinned. “Ranger Jethro, are you wondering whether I’m a stripper?”
I was surprised by the suddenness and bluntness of the question, but recovered quickly. It was the closest she’d come to flirting with me, so I mirrored her sharp look and her grin, and shrugged. “Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.”
“Well, I’m not. But I have taken lessons.” Her voice dropped a half octave, the curve of her mouth growing less friendly and more seductive, playful.
“Oh?” I tried to contain my own smile, adopting a mock serious expression though I couldn’t quite fill my lungs with enough air. Now this was more like it. “Tell me more.”
“I had to take them last year for research.”
“Research?” I nodded thoughtfully, encouraging her to continue.