The Monkey Jungle (The Bennt, Montana Series) Page 7

  It was as if Henry didn’t want Garth and Mary Kathryn to have an opportunity to talk, panicked they might spend time together. Garth bided his time, waiting patiently for Mary Kathryn’s date, not a date. And he was careful not to mention it, knowing Henry might want to come with them.

  Five long, boring days later it was a relief when the evening came.

  Chapter Six

  MONDAY EVENING HENRY BREEZED through the living room and stopped short on seeing his mother. Mary Kathryn sat with her feet tucked up in her easy chair reading a book with a crayon in her hand.

  “What are you reading?” He approached nonchalantly, belying the searching look on his face, one of many Mary Kathryn had received during the last few months.

  She closed the book, her hands casually covering the title as the crayon fell. “Nothing much,” she said. “Just brushing up on household skills while I’m waiting for Garth. We’re going to play bingo.”

  “Ah, come on, Mom.” Henry came closer, that familiar annoying smile on his face. “If I don’t know what books you’re interested in, how can I buy you a birthday present.” He stopped near her chair as if realizing what she’d said. “What do you mean, waiting for Garth to play bingo—?” Having effectively distracted her, he grabbed for the book on her lap before she could pull it away then flipped it over and read the cover. Dull color crept into his face, Garth and bingo were completely forgotten.

  Mary Kathryn’s expression remained carefully blanked. She watched as Henry’s eyes rounded. His mouth opened and closed a few times. He gaped like a water starved guppy. When he finally managed to speak his embarrassment was acute.

  “The Joy of Sex?” He dropped the book on her lap as if his fingers had been scalded. “Household skills?!” he strangled his incredulity.

  There was nothing to say. He was already speeding up the stairs.

  As Garth came down the stairs Henry bumped into him running up. Mary Kathryn heard Henry mumble an incoherent apology. A moment later a door slammed on the second floor. Garth eyed Mary Kathryn hungrily, anticipation rising in him. His eyes gleamed with appreciation for the coming evening. “Did you ground Henry for something?”

  “Worse—” Mary Kathryn laughed as she pulled on her black flats. “Don’t ask—” she said between breaths. “Now I know how to get rid of him when I need some space in a room. He won’t be able to look at me straight for years.” She managed to slide the book in the pocket of her easy chair without Garth seeing what it was, rising to her feet. She’d found the darned book under Henry’s bed last time he been home from college. “Adult children are such hypocrites,” she shook her head as she tried not to laugh. “So prudish when it comes to their parents. The nature of the little beasts, I suppose.”

  “I said the same to Alison last week,” Garth wondered briefly what was so funny, but Mary Kathryn laughed easily, so it could be anything that had captured her fancy. “Are you ready?” He gave a quick cursory examination of her apparel. The fitted fuchsia colored blouse enhanced her vivid coloring. With her black hair loose and flowing down her back she appeared wildly sexy.

  “I am, sir, lead the way.” Still chuckling, she became aware of his cologne. Her senses were heightened as he led their way to the front door.

  Alison poked her head out of the kitchen. “Have fun playing bingo, you two. This will be a first for you, Dad.” She looked at her father as if he’d lost his mind.

  Garth glanced sharply at Mary Kathryn, who only shrugged.

  “Why does she think we’re going to play bingo?” he inquired the moment the door closed behind them.

  Mary Kathryn sailed toward the car, Garth lengthening his stride to keep up. He opened her door and she slid in, smiling up at him, her eyes captivating him for a moment, the twinkle in them barely constrained. “They might have insisted on coming,” she told him. “It’s my only night out and frankly, I didn’t want them to come. Please don’t get me wrong, I adore my son but he exhausts himself making messes. It’s like being cooped up with a Tasmanian Sloth.”

  Garth smiled at the image of her description of Henry, silently agreeing with her. Henry had a frenetic energy when he started a project but when it came to tidying up, he took forever. Garth remained silent until they drove away. “Anything I should know about the upcoming evening?”

  “Lots. My friends are marvelous,” Mary Kathryn said blithely. “Each screw up in their own unique way. Flawed, wonderful and quite obnoxiously human when it suits them. They are who they are. And I love each and every one of them.”

  “Is it going to matter to you if they like me or not?” He was genuinely curious.

  “You’ve got to be kidding?” she scoffed, glancing at his smoothly planed profile. “Once they see you, I’ll be surprised if they remember I’m there. You’re Heather’s Irish Spring shower man—” She caught the frown that came and went on his face and carried on with cheeky disregard for his tightening lips. “If what I said bothers you, then think of yourself as Soapy’s older brother. But fair warning, my girlfriends are going to razz you just to see you squirm.” She chuckled. “Beautiful people have problems too, but they won’t care—it’s all about us—and which one of them will get to sit in your lap first.”

  He muttered something under his breath which had her studying his profile again. Garth Morley found it annoying that women didn’t look deeper than his good looks? Interesting that he would let her see his displeasure. She was certain he usually kept such thoughts concealed. He was being allowing himself to be unguarded with her. More proof his beard lady should have talked to him before judging him. Mary Kathryn had the idea he rarely offered to buy women a cocktail, he’d learned somewhere along the way that it was hard to get rid of them once he’d offered even that little gesture of attention.

  “The first time one of them sits on my lap,” he warned, as if confirming what she was thinking, “you had better take care of the situation.”

  “There will be side bets, I bet you a dollar right now, it will be Mary Louise.” Mary Kathryn tone was matter-of-fact. “Mary Smith would be more likely to tie you to a bar stool long enough to tell everyone she finally bagged a live one.” She laughed at the slightly aggravated glance he shot her. He was an intriguing man; and it irked her she had been losing sleep knowing he was downstairs on her couch. Avoiding him had done no good. If anything, it had increased the awareness between them. Every time she was in a room with him, he focused on her completely, as if he wanted to devour her.

  Henry had noticed, and apparently uncertain how to behave, her son had began chattering like a neurotic magpie because he couldn’t put his finger on what was happening, especially since his mother gave him no reason to worry.

  “I’m teasing you, Military Man,” Mary Kathryn said quietly, further amused as he relaxed. He trusted her? How silly was that? She turned her face away and looked out the passenger window. He had no idea. Designated driver—?! Phewwt! She scoffed silently. Garth Morley’s presence this evening was more like Proof of Life. She glanced at his profile. “Nobody is going to sit on your lap unless I pay them—unfortunately for us, it’s not that kind of place.”

  Garth emitted a noncommittal masculine grunt his head snapping toward her. “Mary Louise? Mary Smith?” The steering wheel jerked, though he smoothly corrected his mistake. “There are more of you? More Marys?” “Four. Kinda five. If you count me. Why do you think people call me Mary Kathryn?”

  “I just thought it suited you. Two names. You are Mary Kathryn.”

  “It started years ago at the bank. People started calling us by two names, sometimes our last name, sometimes adding the middle name. Now it’s who we are. Tonight you’ll meet Mary Louise and Mary Smith. And then there’s Mary Beth Harper, you’ve met her. She banked at the bank. Everybody calls her Beth.”

  “Mary Beth? That cop who was at your house last week?”

  “Sheriff’s Deputy,” Mary Kathryn corrected cheerfully. “Oh, and there’s a Mary Shay Carpenter. But she won’
t be with us tonight. She’s working back east right now. She recently moved here to live with her grandmother and uncle, but I’ve known her on and off for years. She’s finishing up some business and then moving to Bennt to retire.” She corrected herself, “Her home base will be in Bennt.”

  “The Merry Marys. You gravitate toward one another.” He smiled in wonder.

  “Like magnets.”

  “Anyone else?” he asked drolly. “This Maria lady you mentioned before, she isn’t by chance, Mary Maria?”

  “Nope,” she said mildly. “Maria is just a Maria. And then there’s Geraldine. She owns the fabric store in town. Mary Smith has a quilting machine in the back of the store.” She added absently, “I think the machine does better than the store, both of which are successful. Mary Louise is a real estate broker and property manager.”

  “Why don’t you just call your little club the Mary Margarita Club?” He glanced at her when she remained silent then groaned, “You do?”

  “Yes, well,” she conceded. “That was a lucky guess.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it,” he said, concealing his disappointment they wouldn’t be spending time alone as he’d wanted. If it weren’t for the opportunity to spend time with her away from her eagle-eyed son, he’d turn the car around. “Let me get this straight—this coming evening I’m the designated driver for a group of merry Marys, with two odd balls who’ve been misnamed. One of those Marys might sit on my lap—another might tie me to a chair. And Mary Beth might be carrying a gun and will be able to twist my arm behind my back and take me down if she decided to?”

  “If you decide, don’t you mean? And Beth’s name is Beth. Drop the Mary.” Mary Kathryn countered quickly, aware of his surprise when he shot her a quick glance, “Don’t play coy with me, Military Man.” She declared with confidence, “You might act the nice guy, but we both know you aren’t sweet enough to get tossed on your keister unless you want to—or are seriously outnumbered.”

  “Don’t mess with my Mary deductions.” Garth grinned at her. He wondered what else she saw, amused and annoyed at being compared to a shower model in a national commercial, but pleased she seemed to appreciate he’d kept himself in shape.

  “I knew when I pulled my gun that I’d better get a hole in you before you got close enough to clock me with your wee bat. Maybe it was because you were so still, waiting to see what I would do, confidently waiting for an opening to take me down. Believe me, I saw that.”

  “So long as you know it’s if I want Mary Beth—uh, Beth, to wrestle me down that I will go to the floor.” No arrogance, just quiet inherent confidence.

  “I won’t forget,” she chuckled. “I’ll even help you up.” Mary Kathryn’s eyes gleamed with interest, he could feel her gaze boring into him. “It would be interesting, though.”

  “What would be interesting?”

  “How fast you could take Beth to the floor. She’s pretty good, she’d put up a good fight, but I bet you can take her.”

  He was startled, not taking his eyes off the road as he took a corner, trying not to grin. “While I appreciate you faith, ma’am, don’t even think of instigating a wrestling match—unless it’s with you.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” She sighed almost regretfully, earning herself a wary look. Garth was tempted to pull off the road and kiss her. He glanced at her again, finding her worrying her lower lip. “There’s more isn’t there,” he said lightly. “Fess up.”

  “A few things.”

  “Am I going to rue this night, Mary Kathryn?”

  “Rue is flour and grease...or butter,” she quipped. “It’s a club. With rituals. The one who draws the short straw has to tell a secret.”

  “Why?” Garth could tell there was more simply because she was so nonchalant.

  “Because we’re nosy women and want to know things about each other.”

  “What would this drawing straws have to do with me?” He recognized an evasion when he heard one.

  “Everybody at the table draws—you included. As my guest you’re offered the opportunity to relieve burdens that weigh you down.” She heaved a long noisy sigh, as if she were suffering greatly. “The rules are the rules. Our club motto is that confessions cheer everyone up as long as it’s not our own. That if somebody doesn’t wet their pants or have to wipe their eyes, then the evening wasn’t successful. And our punishment is to try again—and we’ll do it until we get it right.”

  Although they both laughed, Garth was trying to wrap his head around what was expected of him. It all sounded so ridiculous. “Why don’t you just tell each other everything and get it over with?” he queried bluntly. “You’re women, isn’t that what women do, tell each other secrets?” What had he gotten himself into? He dismissed his reservations. Spending time on her turf would be interesting, even if they weren’t going to be alone per se, it was an opportunity he couldn’t, wouldn’t pass up.

  “Simply telling secrets at random is boring,” Mary Kathryn defended her margarita club. “Our way is more entertaining. It’s about our motto, we need a good laugh. Beside, they’re not intimate secrets; of course one never knows what someone will ask, so maybe it will be—you just never know. You’ll see what I mean.”

  They arrived in Bennt, the huge wooden sign lit from underneath by flood lights. “Drive down main street until you see the Bennt Creek Brew Pub,” she told him. “It’s on our left. Oddly enough, it’s not a brewery. Which nobody complains about.” So don’t you either, she left the warning hanging as he drove down Main Street, Bennt.

  Garth shot her a quick look, knowing that because she was who she was, his evening would be anything but boring.

  Chapter Seven

  GARTH SAW THE NEON and a multitude of cars and trucks in the parking lot marked by a blazing neon sign claiming the place was a brewery. He read a huge promotional banner tied to the front of the building lit up from a spotlight. “Mystery Bingo?” Slowing, he turned on the blinker.

  “Unless it’s convenient, I try not to lie too much.” Mary Kathryn smiled enigmatically as he pulled into a parking spot.

  “Please don’t make me play bingo,” he laughed helplessly at her admission about lying. “How about this, I not playing. You can’t make me,” Garth told her on no uncertain terms as they walked toward the entrance.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Once again he eyed her suspiciously as he opened the door, following her into the pub. The place was cavernous. To his right, the long horse shoe shaped bar appeared half full, pool tables in the back had people playing games, a jukebox blared. The tables to the left along the wall across from the bar itself were all occupied. There were people scattered everywhere, a few people standing between them and the bar. Mary Kathryn was being hailed by nearly everyone they passed as she led the way toward an occupied table closest to the jukebox.

  Five pairs of feminine eyes watched them approach; seven margarita glasses, two of them empty but salted—ready and waiting to be filled. Garth noted two empty chairs. Those things, and the brazen assessments he received, he knew that was where they were headed.

  He prowled at Mary Kathryn’s heels. He wasn’t the designated driver; he was the bait. Punishment was what Mary Kathryn deserved. Damn her. Two sets of those eyes at the table were studying him as if he were a champagne bath filled with cash. Thirsty, inquisitive and greedy. Another set was simply looking at him. Beth Harper, out of uniform, greeted Mary Kathryn while a pretty Hispanic woman watched. The woman smiled at him, a bit shy, just a simple greeting. The brunette sitting at the end of the table looked at him with detached curiosity.

  Garth took in the growing smiles and saw why they were so amused. They all wore name tags. Mary Kathryn led the way around the table, a small smile for Garth when he pulled out a chair for her. “Name tags?” she asked as she sat, appreciating Garth’s good manners. “Good idea, Beth.”

  “If it saves time, it means more time.” Beth Harper said, looking at Garth with unabashed amusement.
“After you rattled his brains the other night, I thought it might help.” She laughed and toasted Garth with her drink.

  Garth sat down in the available last chair. Mary Louise poured a margarita and passed it across the table to him. The buxom blond studied him with avid, bold curiosity. She glanced at Mary Kathryn, then back to Garth, still holding the almost empty pitcher in her hand after she set it on the table.

  “Beth was telling us about you—Mary Kathryn, you really shot at him?” Mary Louise shuddered, the mass of cleavage overflowing from her blouse quivering. “I didn’t read anything about it in the sheriff’s log. It come out in the paper once a week.”

  “She shot the floor,” Beth smirked as Mary Kathryn flinched. “The carpet was plugged under protest.” Beth added, grinning, “Of course, Sheriff McMillan held out his hand for the auxiliary fund. No victim. No crime. Just some wounded fibers and startled dust motes if I recall what Mary Kathryn said at the time.”

  “Mr. Morley has come here tonight to prove I killed no one,” Mary Kathryn said humorously. “No one is in the hospital, morgue, graveyard or buried under my sidewalk. Mary Louise, pull yourself together, quit ogling the man, as you can see, he’s alive. Please pour me a margarita.” She pointedly pushed the empty salted glass forward.

  “Mary Louise has never seen a man before, just cowboys,” Geraldine said mildly, poking Mary Kathryn in the arm because the blond was still staring at Garth. She chortled when Mary Louise started. “And everybody knows cowboys are more than just mere men.”