The Great Jackalope Stampede by Ann Charles, C. S. Kunkle Page B

Claire—and Ruby, too. He took several steps toward the curtain, but then remembered something from last night and returned to the counter.
    Stuffing the last of her candy bar in her mouth, Ronnie looked up at him with raised brows.
    “Did I see you getting a ride from the Sheriff last night?” he asked, watching for her reaction.
    Claire had called Natalie before leaving the bar with Mac last night and confirmed that Ronnie had made it back to the Skunkmobile, which meant Mac most likely had been spot on about her leaving in the Sheriff’s pickup.
    Ronnie’s cheeks reddened. “Like I told Claire and Katie,” she said through a mouthful of chocolate, “he was just doing his duty and taking me home after I’d had a few too many drinks.”
    “Right.” It was his turn to use sarcasm. “Since when does the Sheriff of Cholla County act as a taxi service for drunks?”
    She swallowed while shaking her head. “I wasn’t drunk, just tipsy.”
    “Is that why you didn’t stick around to help Claire and Kate with the fight?”
    Ronnie’s mouth opened, but a loud war cry from the other side of the curtain interrupted her, followed by a crash and several thumps.
    Mac didn’t wait to hear what came next. He rushed through the curtain into the rec room only to stop in his tracks at the sight of Claire and Kate rolling around on the carpet, grunting and cursing as they wrestled for something Kate clutched in her right hand. Ruby’s set of four T.V. trays, which usually sat stacked next to the couch, lay scattered across the floor.
    Frozen in surprise, Mac watched as Kate rolled on top of Claire and nailed her with a solid elbow in the breadbasket, and then tried to scramble out of her sister’s reach. Before Kate could make it to freedom, Claire recovered. She latched onto Kate’s ankle, yanking her backward.
    His brain finally thawed. Mac barged forward. “What in the hell is going on?”
    “Dang it, boy,” Chester said from a stool at the bar. “Don’t go ruining the match.”
    “What match?” Mac grabbed Claire’s arm, the one that had a hold on Kate, and tried to loosen her grip.
    “Kate ‘the Ex-Porn Star’ Morgan versus her sister Claire ‘the Tool Babe.’”
    Manny burst through the back door, a can of beer in his hand. His gaze landed on the three of them in the middle of the rec room. “Holy frijoles ! What’s going on in here? Can I join in?”
    Chester snickered. “You wouldn’t last a round with your trick hip.”
    “Claire,” Mac growled. “Let go of her.”
    “Fine! Fine! I’m letting go.” Claire sat up, rubbing her gut. “She started it, though.”
    “She’s right, Katie did start it,” Chester confirmed, puffing on his cigar. “I saw the whole thing.”
    “Bragger,” Manny said.
    Chester rolled the ash from his cigar. “I’ve seen better matches in the mud pen at Dirty Gerties.”
    Mac turned his glare on the two contenders. “What’s with all of the fighting lately? Are you two trying out for the WWE?”
    “It’s their mother,” Manny answered. “Ford has said it time and again. Every time their madre comes around, all three of his granddaughters go a little loca .”
    “Or a lot,” Chester added. “Like werewolves during a full moon.”
    Mac got a look at what Kate was holding in her hand—the damned golden pocket watch from Ruby’s safe. That explained Claire’s temporary insanity.
    “What are you doing with the watch?” he asked Kate.
    “Keeping it away from her.” Kate pointed at Claire. “She’s obsessed.”
    “Would you stop touching it with your bare hands! The oil in your fingers can ruin it.”
    “See, Mac, like I said—obsessed.”
    “I told you, I am not obsessed,” Claire said. “I’m just concerned about the trouble it might bring our way.”
    “There’s not going to be any trouble,” Kate said, her voice higher than normal, her cheeks dotted with red splotches. “Nobody but our family knows about this stupid watch or any of the