His Private Pleasure(5)

Liza grinned and winked at Dylan. “Pleasure is all mine, trust me.”

What the hell did she think she was up to? As if this farce hadn’t played out too long already.

Dylan squeezed between them, determined to straighten this out immediately. “Mom, this isn’t—”

“The place for formal introductions,” Liza interrupted. “Your son was just about to take me to lunch. We’d love to have you join us.”

Avis’s face flushed with surprised pleasure. Dylan swore silently. He didn’t know what Liza’s game was, but he wasn’t going to play along.

His mother patted her braid and adjusted her hat. “I’m not really dressed for lunch. I was out in the garden, weeding, when Mango pushed the screen out again and tried one of his little flying hops. He hates to be away from me. Don’t you, boy,” she said, snuggling Mango’s salmon-colored head, which he’d tucked against her chest. “He’s clipped, but the breeze lifted him, and next thing I knew, he was gone.”

“Again,” Dylan asserted, but no one was listening to him.

“You look fine,” Liza assured Avis. She turned to Tucker and gave him her testosterone-booster smile. “I’m sure Marshal Greywolf wouldn’t mind seeing to Mango, as he’s been in the firehouse before, right?”

Tucker took one look at Dylan’s obvious discomfort and stepped right in, all grins and helpful as hell. “Not a problem. Come on, Mango buddy. Let’s take a walk.”

He stuck out his arm and Mrs. Jackson gave the big bird one last cuddle, then said, “Step up, precious.”

The bird dutifully did so, then looked at Dylan as if to say, “It’s not women I prefer, just anyone but you.”

Yeah, same to you pal, Dylan thought as he watched Tucker hold Mango close to his chest and saunter back down the block toward the station.

“Oh goodness, I almost forgot.” Avis grabbed Dylan’s wrist and turned it so she could read his watch. “I have a ladies auxiliary meeting. We’re discussing the final plans for our Fiesta Day booth.” She placed a hand on Liza’s forearm. “You will be staying for the fiesta, won’t you, dear? We’re having our famous salsa-making contest. People come from all over. It’s a real event. Nothing fancy like they have in Vegas, I’m sure, but—”

Dylan stepped in, taking Liza’s arm in his, mostly to get her out of his mother’s clutches. “I don’t think Liza can—”

“Liza can speak for herself,” Liza said, extricating her arm and smiling at Avis, who was looking well pleased at the way she was handling herself.

Great, he thought. Thirty-two years he hadn’t been able to get on his mother’s top perch and now it was suddenly two against one. How in the hell had this happened, anyway?

“I’m not sure of my plans at the moment, Mrs. Jackson,” Liza was saying.

“And she has manners, too,” Avis said to her son. “I’m sorry I called you a floozy, dear.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Liza assured her.

If Dylan’s life hadn’t been flashing before his very eyes, he might have smiled at the momentary blank look that crossed his mother’s face.

“Yes, well, I suppose there are some with small minds who would make sweeping assumptions,” she managed to murmur.

Never mind that she’d just done the same thing, Dylan thought. His mother definitely operated in her own universe, of which she was the undisputed center. He’d long ago learned it was best to stay in his own distant orbit.

Liza merely caught his eye and winked. “Yes, sweeping assumptions can be a problem.”

Avis smiled. “Come now, I’ll walk you to LuLu’s, it’s on my way.” She tucked her hand through Liza’s arm and steered them back to the sidewalk. “So, is being a showgirl so lucrative that you haven’t found another line of work to bring you closer to my Dylan?”

“Mother, please.” He thought about trying to explain the misunderstanding yet again, but one look at Liza’s dancing eyes told him she’d only circumvent him. She obviously thought this was hysterically funny, and if he weren’t so annoyed, he’d probably think so, too. He’d put an end to it as soon as he got Liza alone.

Which no longer entailed the pleasurable scenario he’d envisioned earlier. Now he was thinking that the sooner he got her out of town, the better.

“Actually, I’ve quit my job,” Liza announced.

“Well, hallelujah,” Avis crowed. “Does this mean you’re coming to Canyon Springs permanently?” She reached over and rapped Dylan’s ankle with her cane. “Why didn’t you tell me? We would have thrown a party or something.”

“I’m going to have you register that thing as a lethal weapon,” he said, wincing as he flexed his leg. “And I didn’t tell you, because I’m as surprised by this as you are.” He sent Liza a pointed look.

She merely smiled brightly as they paused in front of the door to LuLu’s. “Here we are.”

Dylan stepped in, blocking the door and separating the two women at the same time. “Enjoy your meeting, Mom.”

Avis frowned, clearly not liking being manipulated. If she only knew.

Liza opened her mouth—to say God knew what—but apparently thought better of whatever it was when she caught his eye. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Jackson,” she said instead.

“Why thank you, dear. And please, call me Avis. Where will you be staying?” She eyed the two of them.

Dylan placed a hand on Liza’s shoulder and squeezed.

“We, uh, haven’t worked that out yet,” Liza said.

“I’ll call you later, Mom, okay?”

Avis clearly wished she didn’t have other obligations, but finally nodded. “See that you do. Have a nice lunch.”

Dylan waved. Liza opened her mouth, but with a bit more applied pressure from him, simply nodded and waved.

Once Avis was around the corner, Liza turned, slid neatly from his grasp and reached for the door.

He shifted and blocked her entry with the toe of his boot. “Just what in the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing at here?”

She looked up at him, her expression one of consideration, not guilt or apology. Why didn’t that surprise him?

“Tell me one thing,” she said. “Is there really a showgirl in Las Vegas pining after you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

She flashed those white teeth, aqua eyes dancing. “That’s what I thought. Pretty clever. Coming up with an out-of-town flame to keep the matchmakers away.”

“Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Not that it’s working either, apparently. Did she really try to hook you up with a woman making a potty stop?”

“Just what is it you want from me?”

“Besides lunch, you mean?” She reached up and straightened his badge, which had become crooked during his descent from the tree. “Come on, you can always make up another imaginary girlfriend, right? I mean, no harm really done here.” She sighed then. “Okay, I’m sorry, I got carried away. I just couldn’t resist.” Her lips curved again and she brushed a quick finger along the groove in his chin. “You have the sexiest scowl.”

Dylan’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t have time for this.” But he couldn’t deny he’d like to make some. An hour or three, anyway. It had been a long time since he’d whiled away an afternoon with a willing woman. A woman who knew how the game was played, and what the rules of engagement were. Only, from what little he knew of Liza, he didn’t think she was all that interested in playing by any rules.

She pursed those incredible lips of hers. “Come on, Sheriff Jackson. For a man who climbs trees, you don’t seem to enjoy the concept of having fun.”

“I had all the fun I could handle in Vegas. I didn’t come here to have fun.” That hadn’t exactly come out how he’d meant it, but he didn’t bother trying to explain himself further.

“A pity.” Liza turned so that her body brushed briefly against his as she stepped behind him.

“What are you doing?” He almost leaped out of his skin when she snugged up behind him.

“I wasn’t sure the citizens of Canyon Springs really wanted to know their sheriff favored smiley-face briefs.”

Jesus. How had he forgotten about that? He knew exactly how he’d forgotten. One look at those party girl lips and far-too-knowing eyes and a guy could forget his own zip code. He scooted so his butt faced the wall, putting her a few merciful feet away from him at the same time. “I know I owe you a lunch, but—”

“Yes, you do. Wait right here.”

“But, I can’t go in there like—” It was too late. She’d disappeared inside.

She was out a moment later, dangling a navy-blue sweater from her fingers. “Here, tie this around your waist.”

“Where did you get that?”

“From the coat rack. It was all the way in the back. Probably left here ages ago. Listen, I deal with these sorts of little crises all the time. You can always drop it back off later after you’ve changed clothes.”

He fished his wallet out. “Fine. Great.”