Misadventures With The Mistaken Twin (Big Sky Boyfriends #2)

Chapter 4

4

I stopped back at Violet's house after my quick trip to Goldilocks. Jack's large duffel bag was still by the front door, so he hadn't been back or decided to stay somewhere else. For all I knew, he was having brain surgery right this minute. Doubtful, as he'd been lucid and obnoxious when I'd left him off at the hospital. He'd taken care of himself for over ten years without me, he didn't need me now. I frowned to myself. Guilt crept in, eating away at my crankiness. It was partly my fault he was there. I dialed the ER. They told me they didn't give out information on patients. So much for that.

I napped, then changed into a clean pair of jeans, white tank top with a turquoise V-neck sweater and leather boots. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I squealed. My hair did look as if it had gone through a hay baler. I quickly wet it down, ran a comb through it to remove the snarls, and then pulled it back into a clip. I never left the house without makeup—except to take someone to the ER—so I went through my usual routine of eyeliner, mascara, a swipe of shadow and colored lip gloss.

The Imperial Death March from Star Wars sounded from the living room. I dashed to pull my cell phone from my bag.

“Hi, Jane,” I said after reading the display.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Jane West was Goldie's daughter-in-law and also worked at Goldilocks. Jane had had a tough time for a number of years when her husband—Goldie’s son—had died and left her with two little boys to raise all alone. Last summer, she'd fallen in love with her neighbor, Ty Strickland, and they were now engaged to be married.

I dropped the lip gloss into the makeup case in my bag. “No, just getting ready to head to Mike's.”

“Right, I forgot about that. Should be an interesting night!”

I laughed. “Sure you don't want to do it?” I asked her jokingly.

Jane did most of the parties herself and probably had zero interest in a roomful of curious men and a bag of sex toys. “Mike specifically asked for you.” I heard some voices in the background. “Hang on a sec, Veronica.”

I listened as Jane talked to one of her kids. I could tell from the cute little voice, and the fact that they were talking about having ice cream for dinner. I smiled because when I babysat for her, Zach, Bobby and I always had ice cream for dinner. Not that I told Jane that little secret.

“Sorry. We're headed to visit Ty's parents in Pony for a few days. School's closed for teacher meetings and Ty has a five-day break from work,” Jane told me.

“Want me to watch the house?” I asked.

“Not the house, but something else.” Jane laughed. “Um, Zach wants to know if you can watch his gnome, George, for him.”

I pulled the phone away from my head and stared at it for a second. “Huh?”

“George wants to know about being a plumber. He's already been to the fire station with Ty and to the florist.” Jane talked away from the phone again, mentioning a bath and using soap this time. “Okay, it's just me. Sorry, but Zach's got this weird obsession with his gnome. You remember the incident from last summer?”

“Um, yeah.” No one could forget what had happened. Jane and her boys had bought two ceramic garden gnomes at a garage sale. Little did they know at the time, but one of them hid a vial of bull semen which came from a horse ranch west of town. The owner of the ranch was a murdering psychopath who’d produced and distributed meth under the front of international horse breeding. The man had wanted Jane dead, but she’d saved herself and shut down the meth organization singlehandedly.

“I thought his gnome obsession was a short-lived thing, but it's been over six months and he's still enthralled by George. Anyway, can you take George while we're gone and tell Zach you took it to all your jobs?”

I smiled, although Jane couldn't see it through the phone. “Sure, no problem. Do you want me to come pick it up?”

“No, you're busy. We'll drop it off on our way out of town in the morning.”

“Okay, but remember, I'm staying at Violet's.” I tossed my purse into the box of sex toys.

“Oh, that's right. I'll just leave it on the porch.”

“That's fine, or you know what? Why don't you have Zach just put it in the van. That way he'll know it's going to go with me to my jobs. Besides, don't forget Old Mr. Chalmers across the street.”

It was quiet for a second on the other end. “I'll have Zach just leave it in your van,” she replied, her voice a little grim.

Old Mr. Chalmers was a Vietnam vet who hadn't come back from war the same way he'd left. He was close with Jane's next-door neighbor, the Colonel. He had a name, but I didn't know what it was. Everyone called him the Colonel. Even with that channel of gossip available, I still didn't know exactly what happened to Old Mr. Chalmers. The Colonel wouldn't say, even after all this time, and I had to respect that in a friend.

Regardless, Old Mr. Chalmers was not right in the head. He thought Violet was his daughter. He didn't have one since his wife left him after he'd come back a nut case. But he watched out for Violet, and since I looked exactly like her, he watched out for me as well.

He had many friends in town who helped him out. The Colonel took him to the American Legion for meetings twice a week and the pancake breakfasts the first Saturday of the month. A different neighbor made sure he got his groceries. I made him oatmeal cookies every other week. Between various people around town, Old Mr. Chalmers did just fine on his own.

But Jane was a little wary of him as he didn't know her. The one time she'd stopped by Violet's house, Old Mr. Chalmers had come out and started yelling at her not to sell Bibles to his daughter.

“Right, the van's fine.” I looked at my watch. “Listen, I've got to run. Men are waiting for me and all my knowledge about women and sex,” I added sarcastically.

“Have fun—and a thank you from Zach.”

I dropped my phone into my purse and picked up the box for the party—the one that no longer had the Triple Smacker—and headed out.

The sky was an inky black, the fields of snow spread out around me glowing in the sliver of moonlight as I drove to Mike Ostranski's house. The headlights shone on the road, coated with a thick layer of compacted snow. On the back roads like this one, it was dirt beneath, but that wouldn't be seen until spring thaw. My breath came out in puffs until the heater kicked in. I chose to drive the plumbing van instead of buying a car as it was cheaper, but I wouldn't have minded the luxury of heated seats and power windows—and four-wheel drive.

Mike lived east of town about five miles. His house was log cabin style and sat up on a rise on ten acres, a view of the Gallatin mountain range out the large family room windows. The house wasn't a Montana version of the McMansion, but it was a masterpiece of construction on a smaller scale. No detail had been missed when Mike had it custom built about five years ago. Views, high-end appliances, complex and confusing multimedia equipment hardwired throughout. The Jacuzzi tub in the master bath was like a swimming pool. The house had a two-hundred-gallon instant hot water system, radiant floor heating and even a heated driveway. I knew about these special features like the Jacuzzi, not because I'd used it, but because I'd installed it. I knew the plumbing features of the home intimately. As a podiatrist, Mike could afford all the fancy amenities.

I parked by the three-stall garage and went around to the back of the van to grab the box, the freezing air stinging my cheeks. Mike popped one of the garage doors, came out and nudged me aside after I opened the back doors of the van.

“Here, I'll take that.”

He picked up the box for me as if it weighed nothing. I grabbed my purse off the top as we walked inside. Mike had played football in high school and college, and it showed. He could be Paul Bunyan for Halloween if you gave him a flannel shirt and an axe. I only came up to his shoulder and he had at least a hundred pounds on me. But football was as short-lived as the scholarship and medicine took over. Now, he ran his own podiatry practice and was especially busy during the ski season. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of bad arches and bunions.

“You're not going to believe it,” he said, pushing the button for the garage door on his way into the kitchen.

I sat on the bench in the super-sized mudroom and pulled off my boots, dropping them on the little plastic tray meant for wet footwear. The mudroom was the catch-all area between the garage and the kitchen. Coats, shoes, umbrellas and all the other random items you didn't want either in the house or the garage ended up there. It was particularly nice in the winter when you had on so many layers and had to put them somewhere—besides in a pile on the kitchen counter. On top of that, it kept all the mud and snow from tracking into the house.

My house was too small for one, and I didn't have a garage. I lived vicariously through Mike's.

“Guess who I ran into today and is coming to this little shindig?” he asked.

We'd been friends long enough that I got to use the garage entry instead of the fancy front door. I dawdled, pretending to rearrange my argyle socks as a miserable feeling settled in my stomach. I knew exactly who was being dragged to the party.

I paused and sighed. “Jack Reid?” I guessed.

Mike popped his head back into the mudroom and looked surprised, and not because of the crankiness in my voice. “How did you know that?”

For being in town for less than a day, word—and the man himself—got around. “Wild guess.”