Jesse’s lips pressed into mine one more time before a contented smile moved into place. “It’s been so long, I almost forgot how good you taste.”
As the haze of that kiss lifted, I noticed something too. “It’s been a while, but I don’t remember you tasting like . . . like”—I tasted my lips, my face crinkling—“like motor oil.”
“Do I want to know how you know what motor oil tastes like?” Jesse leaned back enough that I could see what was responsible for the bitter taste. A good quarter of Jesse’s face was streaked with black lines and fingerprints. Motor oil.
“Probably not,” I answered. “But enough about me and motor oil . . . I want to know about you and motor oil and why you’re covered in it.” After I took a small step back, I saw that the same went for his clothes and the rest of his body. Black streaks and smudges ran all over him. Truthfully, it was kinda hot in a way that would only work on Jesse Walker.
“Well”—he rubbed the back of his neck and gave me a sheepish look—“it turns out you were right all along.”
“Right about what exactly?”
“Old Bessie. She broke down on me about halfway through the panhandle of Idaho. And you were right about something else—North Idaho is its own country. A marginally terrifying one.” He was still smiling, but I could tell it was mask to cover his sadness that his truck had finally given out on him. Beyond explanation, I was kind of sad, too.
“Old Bessie finally pooped out on you, eh?”
Jesse nodded.
Trying to lighten the mood, I said in my best funeral voice, “She lived a full, happy life. I know it’s difficult, but during these trying times, try to focus on the happy memories. The reminder that Old Bessie is in truck heaven.”
“It’s been so long, I’d almost forgotten this, too.”
“Forgot what?” I asked, not missing the smile he was fighting.
“This!” Holding me tight, Jesse’s fingers pinched and prodded at my sides until tears were about to run down my face from the laughter.
“Stop it!” I laughed, trying to swat away his hands. “Stop it, Jesse!”
After another moment, his hands mercifully stopped. “You’re still a wiseass,” he said affectionately, kissing the tip of my nose.
“Ditto that, Walker.” Since we were still embracing smack in the middle of Mojo and had the attention of every one of the five customers, I grabbed Jesse’s hand and pulled him toward a table. “So what happened? How did you get here? Oh, and by the way”—I kissed him full on the lips one more time—“however you did it, thank you for coming here. I’m glad you came.”
“Not as glad as I am.” His arm wound around my shoulders after I slid into the booth beside him, and he dropped his hat on the table. “So after Old Bessie sputtered her last meter, I pulled over and tried all the usual and not so usual tricks to get her to start again.”
“I’m guessing the not so usual is why you’re covered in black?”
“Pretty much. Old Bessie was having none of it. I couldn’t even get the engine to turn over. After accepting if I wanted to get to Seattle, it wouldn’t be in Old Bessie, I grabbed my bag and started hitching down the highway.” Jesse’s smile went higher on one side, like he found that secretly amusing for some reason.
“You hitchhiked? From Idaho?” My stomach hit the floor. I’d lived a wild life and did some crazy shit that most people would never think of, let alone actually do, but hitchhiking hadn’t been one of them. Everyone knew that only people who hitched or picked up hitchhikers were mentally deranged. It was a commonly known fact.
Except, apparently, known by my wholesome, Montanan boyfriend.
“I did.”
“Who picked you up?” God, I was about to break out in hives thinking about it. Jesse was a strong guy, and I didn’t doubt he could kick the ass of ninety-nine percent of guys, but all that muscle and strength came up with a big goose-egg against a gun. Or a huge knife. Or a Taser. Or any one of the dozens of weapons carried by people who picked up hitchhikers.
“The first time it was an old couple. They were on their way to their first great-grandchild’s christening in Spokane. They were from Missoula, and they said they could recognize another Montanan, so that’s why they stopped.”
I interrupted him. I had to. “The first time?”
Jesse lifted a shoulder. “Well, yeah. The Kleins’ drove me from Kellogg to Spokane. Then a few guys heading to a rodeo in Wenatchee offered me a ride. They were Wyoming cowboys, so they made me ride in the horse trailer.” My mouth dropped open. “To their credit, there wasn’t any room in their truck, and their horses were probably better company than they would have been.”
“Why’s that?” Having been raised with a menagerie of them, Jesse loved animals. However, he also loved to talk and, other than Mister Ed, I had yet to meet a talking horse.
“Because a Wyoming boy is cowboy on the outside . . . but a Montana boy bleeds cowboy.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can tell someone’s been spending a lot of time with Garth Black.”
“So much time, I think I’ve earned my sainthood by now.”
By my standards, he’d earned that a long time ago. “So how did you get from Wenatchee to here?”
“Uh . . . well . . .” Jesse searched the ceiling for an answer. Never a good sign. “A team bus picked me up.” Jesse had a tough time lying, and he had a harder time buffering the truth. The poor guy was squirming.
“What kind of team?”
“A dance team.”
“And was this dance team male or female?”
I would have thought the world’s fate was riding on his shoulders from his anxious expression. “It was a female dance team.”
Of course a bus full of girls would pull over when they saw Jesse hitching. That was more fact than the theory of relativity. A woman, especially a band of them, didn’t just drive by Jesse Walker without staring, stopping, or offering him a ride if he needed one.
“What kind of dancers were they?” Knowing they were girls and dancers had been enough information for me, but from the way Jesse was chewing at his lip, I knew there was more.
“The dancing kind of dancers.” I lifted an eyebrow and waited. He exhaled. “The kind that use a pole.”
Opportunistic, pole-humping bitches. After I got that out of my system, I laughed. Laughed hard and loud and like I wouldn’t be able to stop. Jesse’s overwhelming hesitancy to admit that he’d been picked up by a bus full of pole dancers endeared him even more to me. The fact that he was embarrassed by it was the cherry on top.
Jesse chuckled with me, and the two of us made such a laughing raucous that Sid emerged from his office. Alex wasn’t working, so I guessed he was actually able to do some paperwork.
“Hey, Jesse! What’s up, my country brother?” His face lit up when he saw us. Sid had a soft spot for Jesse. Along with every single person who’d ever met him. As Sid came closer, his eyes widened. “What the hell happened to you?”
“My truck threw up on me. Then it died.”
“That sucks, man. You really need to consider picking up one of those little hybrids. Better for the environment, and let me tell you, my Prius is a fricking machine.”
I wanted to, but I didn’t roll my eyes. Sid didn’t drive a Prius because he was all environmentally conscious. He drove one because he liked the way it “labeled” him one of those hippy, earthy types.
“How does it do pulling a horse trailer?” Jesse asked, keeping a straight face.
“I’d wager a little better than that gas-guzzling truck that’s about to become scrap metal.”
Jesse pumped his fist over his heart. “Ouch, Sid. The pain is still fresh.”