His gaze narrowed as it roved over me. "Very funny."

"I'm not being funny. I'm being serious. I have to stop wasting time and get back to work. I can't lose this client."

"So get back to work. You've got a computer and a cell phone. What more do you need?"

"A Home Depot."

"This isn't Home Depot." I glanced around at the cluttered store, the shelves overflowing with everything from female sanitary products to deer corn. I spotted a stack of prepackaged Hanes and a folded mountain of Wrangler jeans, and I knew this had been one of Ty's stops when he'd gone out for supplies our first night upstate. A hand painted placard that read Morty's Commissary hung behind the cashier's counter, along with a faded Nixon for President sign and an autographed picture of Babe Ruth.

"It's the best I can do. Besides, there's a hardware section." Ty motioned to the right and I turned to see a small shelf filled with hammers, screwdrivers, and several coffee cans full of nails.I glared at him. "You said you were taking me to a hardware store."

"I said a store. You a.s.sumed it was a hardware store because I said it was the next best thing to Home Depot."

"Another lie."

"Hey, around these parts this is Home Depot."

"This is a retirement home." I pointed toward the two men sitting on either side of a checkerboard near the front entrance. "I need alpha men. Not old men."

"We can go back to the cabin."

Then again, I've never been one to discriminate. I glared at Ty, turned toward the two men, and stepped forward.

Sure, they were old. But older meant wiser. They probably knew everything that went on in their town, and everyone.

"I'm looking for alpha men."

"Don't know no Alfred Mann," one of them replied. He wore gla.s.ses and had a head as shiny as the gold nickel sitting on the table near his checkers.

"She said alpha men, Ernest," the other man said, his voice raised to an ear-splitting level. "Not Alfred Mann."

"Don't know no Alphie Lynn, either." Ernest shook his head. "You know good and G.o.dd.a.m.ned well there ain't no Alphie Lynn around these parts, Morty. Why, you been here even longer than me." Ernest waved a crooked finger at me. "Born and raised right up the road."

"That's nice."

Ernest frowned. "We don't play no dice around here, little lady. We're strictly checker men."

"He's hard of hearing," Morty told me. The old man had a head full of snow white hair and a bushy mustache. The mustache wagged as he took a puff on his pipe before adjusting his gla.s.ses to get a good look at me.

I smiled and he frowned.

I Here's the deal. Vamp magnetism works on the opposite s.e.x provided they still have a little oomph left. Obviously, Morty was oomphed out.

When his gaze collided with mine, I realized why. He'd not only won several battles in World War II, but recently a knock- down drag-out with prostate cancer. He was healthy as a horse now and proud of it, and a little lonely, too. While he didn't need a woman to replace his dear, departed Rosie, he did appreciate some company when he watched his nightly game shows. And a few soap operas, though he wasn't admitting that to anyone, least of all the guys down at the local VFW hall.

Likewise, Ernest had fought in the same war. He was a widower, too, and the proud grandfather of fourteen grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Unfortunately, none of them lived nearby and so he spent most of his time playing checkers and making birdhouses and helping his brother-in-law, Morty, with the store.

I shifted my attention back to Morty. "Nice store you boys have here."

"Thank you, little lady. What can I help you with? You in the market for fresh fruits? We got the finest."

I eyed the huge crates overflowing with apples and peaches that sat against the far wall."That sounds really delectable, but I was actually wondering if you could help me with more of a tourist dilemma."

"We don't carry them fancy schmancy drinks around these parts," Ernest said as he slid his king into place on the checkerboard.

"You got to drive down to the highway to Mitch.e.l.l's Texaco if you want that."

"It ain't a drink," Morty called out, raising his voice. "She's talking about a dilemma. A problem. On account of she's a tourist."

"I don't care if she's Italian. We don't carry nothing fancy like that."

"Deaf old goat." Morty waved a hand. "What sort of dilemma you in, little gal?"

"I was wondering if there was a club around here or someplace where a lot of men might congregate. Single men, that is."

He puffed and seemed to think. "There's the VFW hall," he finally said, waving his pipe toward the right. "Just up the road, there.

They're having a spaghetti dinner tomorrow night. Should be lots of fellas at that and a danged many single ones to boot. Know for a fact that Howard Eisenbacher'll be there. d.a.m.n good catch, that one. Lost his missus about twenty years ago and has been living off the life insurance ever since. Been banking his social security since then, too, which means he's got one h.e.l.l of a nest egg."

"He sounds really great, but I'm really looking for someone a few years younger."

He shook his head. "Can't help you there. Most of the folks around here are retired, and so's all the VFW members. Except my nephew, that is. Lloyd's a d.a.m.ned sight younger than the rest of us."

"Really?" I smiled. "How is he with a hammer?"

"The boy was born with one. There ain't a car he can't fix, or a tree he can't chop. Why, me and Ernest, here, would be lost without him. Helps us right here at the store."

"Today?"

"As a matter of fact, he's out back right now." He grinned. "Would you like to meet him?"

"Are you kidding? I'd love to meet him." One down and seven more to go. "He wouldn't by any chance have red hair?"

"As a matter of fact, he does."

My livelihood might not be totally screwed after all.

I smiled and waited as Ernest went to fetch Lloyd.

Chapter Twenty-five.

I stared at the man who walked from the back of the old-fashioned general store.

He stood well over six feet, with ma.s.sive shoulders and legs like tree trunks. He wore a red flannel b.u.t.ton-down shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. He carried an ax in one hand and a bundle of firewood in the other. He smelled of freshly cut timber and pine cones. A real man's man.

Previous Top NextA hairy man's man.

I stared at the ma.s.s of bright red hair that spilled over the V of his b.u.t.ton-down shirt. More hair sprinkled the backs of his meaty hands. A thick mustache and beard surrounded his mouth and obliterated most of his face. Bright red fuzz peeked from the insides of his ears.

He had hair everywhere, except where it should have been.

His head gleamed as shiny as a cue ball and my heart gave a disappointed thump.

I was so screwed.

"This here's my nephew, Lloyd," Morty said. "Lloyd, this little lady's eager to make your acquaintance. She's looking for a single man who ain't an old geezer like us."

"Really?" Hope fired in Lloyd's pale green eyes. Nice eyes, actually, once you got past the whole Sasquatch meets Mr. Clean thing.

My gaze met his and his stats flashed in my head.

Lloyd Herbert Price. Forty-four. Only child. Parents deceased. Never been married. Addicted to the Discovery Channel. Never been married. Liked to fish and hunt and had his own dead animal motif going back at his cabin. Never been married. Worked for his uncle during the day and did taxidermy work at night.

And did I mention never been married?

Not for lack of trying, of course. He simply hadn't found the right woman who shared his interests and didn't mind that he had as much hair on his back as he did on his chest.

Ugh. Too much information.

I focused on the hope in his gaze and gave him a dazzling smile.

"I'm Lil Marchette-that is-" I cleared my throat as my frantic brain reminded me of a few key points-on the run, wanted for murder, low profile. "That is, I, um, work for Lil Marchette. A wonderful woman. A G.o.ddess among the fashionably well- dressed. Anyhow, my name is Evie and I'm with Dead End Dating, a fantabulous new hook-up service in the city." My smile widened. "And it would be my honor to help you out."

"Already got a towing service around these parts," Morty chimed in.

"Rowing service?" Ernest frowned. "We ain't got any rowing services 'round these parts. Everybody I know with a boat uses at least a fifty horsepower. Then again, there's Stuart Jenkins. He's got that p.i.s.sant ba.s.s boat with the trolling motor."

"That's TOWING," Morty said. "A TOWING service."

"Don't need a towing service," Lloyd told me, his voice deep and gruff.

Okay, so maybe he was a pretty decent alpha specimen. Totally rough and tough. But attractive?

Mentally, I did some cutting and pasting to rearrange the body hair. A little more here, a lot less there... Maybe.

"Don't have a car for you to hook up. Had a pickup a few years back, but I traded it in. I don't get down to the city too often."

Imagine that."I meant hook-up service, as in personal hook-ups, not vehicular ones. We're a dating service. I'm afraid I don't have any business cards on me." I'd left them back at Ty's loft when fleeing from the cops. "But I'm staying just up the road. I'd love to talk to you about your options as a single, brawny male."

"Come again?"

"Well, a young, virile man like yourself has various choices when it comes to the opposite s.e.x. There's the obvious-meet a woman, settle down, sink up to your neck in mortgage payments." The comment produced the expected narrowing of the eyes.

"Or you can maintain your own s.p.a.ce. No one to tell you what to do or make you cart out the trash and gripe about the seat being up. You can stay loose and unattached and just have some fun. Sort of test the waters. As a professional, I thoroughly recommend testing the waters."

Lloyd simply stared at me a few silent seconds before shaking his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. My well's pumping one hundred percent spring water. Had it tested just last year."

"Not that water, you dummy," Morty chimed in. "She's talking about the deed."

One bushy red eyebrow inched higher. "Don't have no deed for my well. Got one for my cabin, though. Clear and free as of last year."

"Not that deed." Morty shook his head. "The deed. You know. Cleaning the old shotgun." When Lloyd didn't look the least bit enlightened, Morty added, "s.e.x, you moron. The lady, here, is talking about S-E-X."

His gaze zigzagged from Morty to me. "You want to have s.e.x with me?" It was pure l.u.s.t that fired his eyes this time.

Not that I could blame him. Sure, I didn't look all that impressive in a no-name T-shirt and stiff, off-the-shelf jeans, but beneath the brandless clothes, I was a vampire. I oozed magnetism.

"Not me," I clarified. "Not that I wouldn't love to have s.e.x with you. It's just that I never mix business and pleasure. And this is purely business. See, I have a beautiful, vivacious, extremely wealthy client who's eager to find a brawny specimen like yourself for some, er, companionship."

"That's s.e.x," Morty clarified for his nephew. "Ain't that what you mean by that there companionship?"

"Maybe. While I'll make the introduction between you and my client, after that it's up to Mother Nature."

"So you can't actually guarantee he'll get lucky?" Morty asked.

"No. Not exactly."

"Well"-Morty waved his pipe-"you can just forget it. He ain't saying yes unless there's a guarantee what comes with it. Ain't that right, Lloyd?"

When Lloyd simply stood there, Morty nudged him. "Ain't that right?" he prompted again.

"Uh, yeah. If you can't give me a guarantee, I'm not interested. I got better stuff to do than waste my time on a blind date."

Yeah, like stuffing poor, defenseless bunnies.

"I can't promise s.e.x."

"And why not?" Ty's deep voice slid into my head and I turned to see him standing across the room, his back to me as he examined a row of fishing lures.I'd heard his voice in my head too many times over the past few days and it had always unnerved me. As if he were intruding on my private s.p.a.ce. But standing in the middle of the store, I felt this odd sense of camaraderie.

"Isn't that the goal?" he went on. "To give Viola and the girls a wild night of cleaning the shotgun?"

I was not going to smile.

This was serious. I was down to the wire. Viola wanted results and I had to give them to her, even if they weren't exactly what she'd asked for.

Lloyd was close enough.

Or he would be by the time I finished with him.

"My goal is to give her possible candidates for a wild night of cleaning the shotgun." I sent Ty the silent response. "The actual 'cleaning' is none of my business. Besides, I already told you, I don't clean."