“But have you thought about—”
“Damn it, Chester.” She glared at him. “Don’t you get it? This is my mess, not Grady’s.”
He pulled the keys from the ignition. “A man likes to help his woman, and you have plenty of holes in your chicken fence in need of mending between your ex-husband’s phony baloney and this diamond killer swinging for you.”
“Maybe I don’t want my man’s help with this particular hole in my fence.” She crossed her arms. “I’m getting real tired of everyone thinking I can’t take care of myself. I’m the one who married Lyle’s greedy ass, and I’m the one who has to get myself untangled from his criminal fuckups. Besides, Grady is only my boyfriend, not my husband, not even my fiancé. He does not get to put his nose in every dark corner of my screwed-up life just because I’m having sex with him on a regular basis.”
“Okay, okay. Remove your teeth from my keister.” Chester held up his hands. “Chalk up my comments as concern for you in an uncle sort of way.”
She huffed. “I appreciate that, Chester. I really do. But people keep telling me that I need to quit trying to be the perfect little woman for Grady, yet as soon as life starts swatting me with frying pans, they expect me to go running to him. If I’m going to solve my own damned problems from now on, I need to pull up my big-girl panties and walk the walk—alone. Besides, leaning on a man during my marriage is what got me into this stinking situation.”
“Fine, I won’t bring up your bed buddy again.” He raised his bushy gray eyebrows. “Out of curiosity, exactly how often is a ‘regular basis’ when it comes to the sheriff greasin’ your chassis?”
She opened her door instead of answering that. “Get your ass inside and ask Cherry if we can use her office for the next thirty minutes. I want to get this phone call to that lying, cheating, no-good shitbag ex of mine done so we can find out why in the hell he’s knocking on my door again.”
The strip club was the ideal location for her to call Lyle without drawing suspicion from her family or risking anyone overhearing their conversation. The last thing she needed right now was Grady finding out she was in contact with her ex. Besides the fact that he was already hip-deep in her problems, the lawman in him would badger her for every single detail of the call, and there were mortifying parts of her past that Lyle might bring up. Private R-rated stuff she wasn’t comfy sharing with her current lover.
“All righty then.” Chester stepped to the ground. “Let’s get to it.”
As they crossed the parking lot, she glanced around to make sure there were no Cholla County Sheriff’s Department vehicles cruising by. She had no doubt that Deputy Dipshit would race to tattle to Grady if he saw Ronnie walking into Dirty Gerties. Anything to add more smudges to her blemished “jailbird” reputation.
Chester grinned as he held the door for her. “Does good ol’ Grady handcuff you during this ‘regular-basis’ sex? I’ve heard tell that some of those guys on the pokey patrol are really into the kinky stuff.”
She jabbed him in the ribs as she passed. “My sex life with the sheriff of Cholla County is none of your beeswax.”
“Now who’s being the fuddy-duddy?”
The dark interior of Dirty Gerties throbbed with a loud, steady bass beat that made her teeth bounce. The underlying smell of lemons and pine lent a clean feel to the dirty dancing happening front and center. According to Chester, the strip joint was spick and span compared to most, and he would know after all of his years of mud wrestling in the ring with bikini babes. Although nowadays his trick hip tended to slow him down.
The mud pit in the middle of the wide-open room was covered with boards today, turning it into a large stage surrounded by shiny brass rails. Three of the four stripper poles at the corners were in use to entertain the Sunday afternoon crowd that partially filled the black leather booths hugging the walls.
Ronnie scanned the shadows as they made their way to the bar, looking for a familiar face and coming up with a match in a corner booth—the man she’d called after receiving Lyle’s lawyer’s message and arranged to meet here so he could listen in on the phone call along with Chester.
Mississippi nodded his head at her one-minute gesture before returning his attention to the red-haired, long-legged cowgirl in chaps and tassels who was busy wrapping herself around one of the brass poles like a red stripe on a candy cane.
Cherry Haywood, the club’s owner, was topping off a mug of beer when they sidled up to the bar. Her platinum blond hair was pulled back in two pigtails. Her impressive rack bulged under a tiny tight tank top with “Dirty Gerties” scrawled across the front of it. In the rose-colored lighting she looked half her age.
“Howdy, Sugarbear,” she said to Chester.
Sugarbear? That was a new-to-Ronnie nickname.
“You’re looking rough-and-tumble good with that bristle lining your jaw,” Cherry added with a wink of her long, fake eyelashes. Her smile shifted to Ronnie. “Hey, Stretch. You here to dance around a pole with those long legs of yours and make some extra cash? I pay well.”
Cherry was known for running a top-notch strip joint. She not only compensated her girls with good money but also included benefits like health insurance and vacation.
“Cherry, if I ever consider removing my clothes for a living, your club will be my first stop on the job hunt.”
Chester snickered, elbowing Ronnie. “Rubbing up and down a pole would surely make your sheriff stand up and salute.”
Ronnie elbowed the wiseacre back. “Remember why we’re here, Sugarbear.”
“Fine, spoilsport.” He waved Cherry over after she slid the mug of beer to a beefy middle-aged guy in a Diamondbacks baseball cap and flannel
