But back to the problem at hand … “Let’s go get your stupid car before you find a way to land me in jail, too.” Ronnie pushed open the Jeep’s door.
“Maybe I’ll lock you in the cell and swallow the key,” Katie shot back.
“Nobody swallows keys anymore, Katie. It costs too much money for the necessary X-rays and surgeries to remove them.” She hopped to the ground and slammed the door shut on her sister’s grumbling.
Katie joined her, frowning at the spiky gate as she straightened her black work shirt. “I hope the groceries I bought this morning are still in my car.”
“Where else would they be?”
“The tow truck driver might have popped the locks and eaten them.”
“Right, because we have a growing problem in these parts with starving tow truck drivers who like to pillage cars for random food items.”
“I forgot to tell you that while I was stuck in jail this morning, I wrote a song especially for you.” Katie pulled open the glass front door and waited for Ronnie. “It’s called ‘Kiss My Ass.’ ”
“Ahh, you wrote me a love song. How sweet.” She stuck her tongue out at her sister as she walked past.
Inside the building, Ronnie paused on the fake grass welcome rug to wipe her boots, eyeing the huge company sign nailed to the wall behind the counter. Bracketing the words “Hummingbird Towing” were paintings of hummingbirds. Only they weren’t normal-looking birds, more like a rowdy version of the speedy fliers that would fit in with the likes of Pancho Villa. Dressed in sombreros, bandoleers, boots, and pistols, these hummingbirds hung out on the Wild West branch of the family tree.
But those weren’t the only hummingbirds in the office. All along the walls were shelves full of hummingbird replicas made from ceramic, plastic, wire, and more. There were even crocheted hummingbird finger puppets on a mannequin’s detached hand that matched the crocheted hat on a foam-shaped head. Oil paintings, pencil drawings, and water colorings of the bird filled the spaces between the shelves. Overhead, hummingbird piñatas strung from the ceiling swayed in the air circulating via the ceiling vents. The place even smelled flowery.
“Obsessed much?” Katie whispered in her ear and then stepped up to the front desk. “Hello?” She rang the little bell sitting on the counter. “Anyone here?”
While they waited for someone to come out to help them, Ronnie circled the room and checked out the decorations some more, admiring the craftsmanship on several of the pieces.
She stopped at one particular picture in a hummingbird frame and looked closer. This one had humans in it instead of birds. Was that Grady? It sure looked like him in one of his typical tan sheriff uniforms, only a decade younger according to the date posted below the picture.
Standing next to Grady was a tall, brawny man who stood several inches above the six-foot-four sheriff. His chest was nearly a Grady-and-a-half wide. His grease-streaked T-shirt clung to his dark skin. His cowboy hat shaded his eyes but left visible a rock-hewn jaw and thick neck that bunched up at his broad shoulders. Ronnie would hate to be at the wrong end of that guy’s fists.
“Katie, come check out this picture.”
Right then, the door behind the desk opened. Katie was looking Ronnie’s way when the same Titan who was in the picture ducked through the doorway and joined them.
Holy Idris Elba! The guy was even more impressive in real life. He wore no cowboy hat today, though, only a pair of raised eyebrows below a high and tight haircut. His square jaw was covered with a layer of black scruff. His grease-stained coveralls stretched tight across his wide shoulders.
His smile lit up his face. “Can I help you ladies?”
Katie turned back to the desk and let out a gasp. “What the planets! You’re like Paul Bunyan size.” She crooked her neck to gape up at him. “Do you use Babe the Ox to tow cars around for you?”
Oh, God, Katie. Don’t piss off the giant.
Ronnie rushed to her sister’s side. “Ignore her, she’s had a rough day.”
He grinned wide, his dark eyes warm and friendly. “You must be the Morgan sisters. I was warned you might be stopping by to pick up the black Volvo.”
What did he mean he’d been warned? By whom? Grady? Or did Deputy Dipshit have a hand in this?
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Katie said. “Especially if the rumor mongers are wearing stupid, stinkin’ badges.”
He chuckled, low and deep. Barry White had nothing on this guy. “You’re missing someone. I was told there were three of you.”
Katie leaned her elbow on the counter, giving him one of her trademark charming grins. “Yeah, well, someone has to stay back at the hideout and reload our pistols.” She pointed at the sign on the wall behind him. “Who’s nuts about hummingbirds?”
“That’d be me.”
“Is this something that’s come on with age, or did you pop out of the womb daydreaming about the little winged buzzers?”
He shrugged. “They grew on me after I moved here. I set up a feeder outside and five showed up the first day fighting for the sugar water. So I put up another’n the next day and more flew in to joust and dive-bomb the others. From there, this all spawned.” He held his long arms wide. Hell, he could probably wrap them around Katie twice.
“I like it.” Katie knocked once on the counter, like a judge with a gavel. “And I like you.” She leaned closer and looked at the name stitched in cursive on his coveralls. “Is your name really ‘Tank’?”
“No, but that’s what I’ve been called since I played football in college back in Florida.”
“Offense or defense?”
“Offense. Center.”
“Nice, a protector.” She winked at Ronnie. “With all of your problems, we could use the help of a man like Tank, don’t you think?”
“Well, I … I mean, if he … Uh, I guess, but …” Ronnie sputtered.
Katie waved her off, turning back to the Titan. “Nice
