LITMIR.BIZ

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okay, Mona. I think I can handle her.”

      Before Mona could voice another protest, Herbert slipped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the kitchen.

      “We’ll be lapping up some of Rosie’s lemonade while you two are pow-wowing,” he said. “Come join us when you’re done.”

      They waited until the other couple disappeared, and then Max gestured toward the living room. “Why don’t we sit down?”

      Abby smiled. “Didn’t take you long to make yourself at home, did it?”

      “I do own the place.”

      Rolling her eyes, she walked stiffly past him toward a frilly pink love seat beneath a velvet painting of Elvis Presley. So much for the room being furnished normally. Max didn’t follow her right away. He was too taken by her scent. It wasn’t anything immediately recognizable, not flowery exactly. Maybe a hint of cloves. Whatever it was, he liked it. Almost as much as he liked the gentle sway of her hips and the way her worn jeans hugged her fanny.

      She sat down, crossed her legs and primly folded her hands on her lap. When he still hadn’t moved, she gave him an odd look and uncrossed, then recrossed her legs. He moved toward her, bypassing the couch and the antique Queen Anne chair. The only seat left in his path was beside her and her eyes rounded in disbelief.

      When he settled in next to her on the love seat, she let out a sound of exasperation and shifted closer to her corner. “Don’t you understand the concept of personal space?”

      He pursed his lips as if giving the question consideration. “This seat is built for two, right?”

      She narrowed her gaze on him and he noticed how long her lashes were, yet there didn’t seem to be anything artificial about them. It was an odd thing for him to notice. Hell, choosing to sit here next to her was pretty damn odd. He had no idea where that idea had come from. It certainly hadn’t been conscious.

      “I know what you’re trying to do.” Their gazes made contact and she paused. Her tongue briefly darted out to moisten her lips and he realized this had been a bad idea. “But it’s not going to work.”

      “What isn’t?”

      “You’re trying to intimidate me. I don’t care if you’d sat on my lap, I’m not backing down.”

      “Good. I like a woman with backbone.”

      “That’s another thing. I don’t give a hoot about what you like or don’t like.”

      “Don’t give a hoot,” he repeated, thoughtfully. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard before. Is that a local saying?”

      Abby smiled. “Trying to provoke me won’t work either.”

      “What? I’m serious.”

      She stared at him for a long, silent moment, and he knew what it felt like to be a bug under a microscope. Her expression never wavered as she studied him, as though she were truly interested in what he was thinking. Her frankness surprised him and unnerved the hell out of him.

      So did her mysterious feminine scent…the chocolate brown of her eyes…the crisp tart smell of green apple on her breath.

      Abruptly he stood and glanced at his watch. “I haven’t got all day. What is it you want to talk about?”

      She started a little at his sudden move. “I want to know what you intend to do with the Swinging R.”

      Her question took him aback, although it really shouldn’t have. What else would she want from him? But he really had no clue how to answer her. Considering the circumstances, he’d probably sell it, if he could find a buyer. “I don’t know yet.”

      “Then what are you doing here?”

      “Trying to figure out how to generate some income.”

      Her eyes widened and she stood, too. The top of her head didn’t even meet his chin, but that didn’t stop her from backing him up. “You’re not serious.”

      “Why not? This is a business. Businesses are supposed to make money.” He stood his ground and she stopped two feet away, her eyes ablaze with outrage and disbelief.

      And then she blinked, and a slow smile softened her expression. Damn, but she really was cute, pretty even. Nothing striking, but the kind of woman a man eventually wanted to come home to every night. Other men. Not him. Marriage was for guys with nothing better to do.

      “I see,” she said nodding. “You’re teasing me. I guess I deserve it for being so pushy. But I really am interested in your plans for the place.”

      “I wasn’t teasing.”

      Her smile vanished and she glared, lips tight with disapproval. When she suddenly lowered her gaze to his body, he shifted uncomfortably wondering what she found so interesting down there. And then he realized she was studying his watch. Next, her attention fastened on his shoes.

      She looked up. “You obviously don’t need the money. Why bother with this place?”

      He snorted. “You know that much about me in just twenty minutes?”

      “A gold Rolex and five-hundred-dollar Gucci shoes pretty much disqualifies you from welfare.”

      The watch was pretty distinctive but he was surprised she recognized his designer shoes. Snobby of him maybe, but Bingo wasn’t exactly the shopping Mecca of the west. No upscale neighborhoods or large luxury cars. These were obviously plain people with simple tastes.

      He chuckled to himself at the irony of his thoughts. After twenty minutes, here he figured he knew all about her. He had a feeling that if he stuck around long enough, he’d find that there was a lot about Abby Cunningham he would never have guessed. But it wasn’t going to happen. He was out of here by tomorrow.

      “Stalling isn’t going to discourage me,” she said, when he’d apparently been quiet too long. She folded her arms over her chest. “And for your information, my question is purely personal, and not political.”

      “Right.”

      Uncrossing her arms, she glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen. Herbert and Mona were long gone. Abby took a step closer to him and lowered her voice. “I’m sure you can see that this place is no longer operational. The, uh, ladies are in retirement, so to speak, but they still need a place—”

      A loud squawk cut her off and made them both jump. Mona came marching toward them, her face reddened with anger, a raised frying pan in her right hand. “Retirement, my fanny. It’ll be a cold day in August before you put this old mare out to pasture. Now, Abigail, I suggest you get before I really lose my temper.”

      The frying pan was one of those old cast-iron ones that had to weigh a ton, and it did, judging by the way it kept inching down, causing Mona to pitch forward slightly, teetering. Max was about to relieve her of it before someone really did get hurt, when Herbert surprised her from behind and lifted the pan out of her hand.

      “For cryin’ out loud, Mona, have you stopped taking your pills again?” Herbert set the pan on top of a tall bookcase out of her reach.

      “Dammit, Herbie, whose side are you on?” Mona smacked him on the upper arm. “How’s a body supposed to make a living?”

      With a weary sigh, Herbert slid Max a helpless look. “Come on, Mona, you haven’t done that for almost twenty years.”

      “Viagra, honey, Viagra is changing everything. We’ll be open again. You’ll see.” She looked at Max. “You’re a businessman. Tell him.”

      Everyone turned to Max, Herbert with an expression of dread, Abby with amusement glittering in her eyes. Max cleared his throat. “I hadn’t really thought much about that.”

      “What’s there to think about?” Mona put her hands on her hips. “You get a supply of the stuff and we’ll pass them out.

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