The Great Jackalope Stampede
a few weeks or something else? Something to do with Claire or Ronnie or both?
    He shot Mac a scowl. “I’m sure everyone will be all giddy now that you’re here, though.”
    Mac had no idea what he’d done to get on Harley’s pissy side today, but after the two hours of hell on wheels thanks to the grouch’s daughter, he was in no mood to kiss anyone’s owies and make things all better.
    “When you’re done sulking in your beer,” he told Harley, “you need to haul your butt to the store and deal with your daughter.”
    “You’re here to save the day, you go deal with her.”
    “I already did, all of the way from Tucson. Now it’s your turn.” Mac gulped the last of his beer and tossed the can in the paper bag at Manny’s feet. “And get off my ass while you’re at it. I’m not here to save anything. I just want to see your granddaughter.”
    “Naked,” Manny added to the end of Mac’s sentence and then nudged Chester, who snickered along with him.
    Naked would be great, but Mac wasn’t about to say that aloud and risk getting the jokes rolling about his and Claire’s sex life. He’d had enough ribbing over the last few months to last the rest of his days.
    The gravel crunched behind him. He turned, hoping to see Claire, and ended up frowning at her older sister instead. When had she gotten her hair cut? With it brown now instead of blonde, he could see her resemblance to Claire even more. Only Claire was curvier, softer on the edges, whereas Ronnie seemed skinnier, her collarbone showing more than before.
    “Hey, Mac.” Ronnie shot a worried-looking smile at him, and then focused on her grandfather. “Gramps, Mom is looking for you.”
    Harley grunted and swore under his breath. Mac couldn’t agree more.
    “Where is Claire?” she asked Mac.
    “That’s the question of the hour,” Manny said.
    “She and Natalie went to Yuccaville to get another drill,” Gramps answered. “Natalie’s died this morning.”
    “It took both of them to go get another drill?” Ronnie’s voice held a dollop of disbelief. “I don’t think so. Claire’s just avoiding Mom.”
    Mac couldn’t blame Claire, but damn it, he had been hoping she’d be here and feel like rewarding him for his pain and suffering. Alone. Some place where these cigar-smoking nosy Nellies and any other family members wouldn’t hear them.
    Harley struggled to grab his crutches, batting away Ronnie’s attempt to help him. “I don’t know why your mom’s so bent on seeing me.”
    “She expects you to help her get settled in.”
    “What’s to settle? She’s sleeping with you.”
    “No, she’s not.” Ronnie crossed her arms.
    “Where is she going to sleep then?” Harley scooted to the edge of his seat. “In a tent? I don’t think so.”
    “She can sleep in my rig,” Manny offered.
    “You keep your mind and paws off my daughter, Carrera. The signatures are still wet on her divorce papers. She doesn’t need you messing with her head.”
    “I’d offer my couch,” Chester said, “but she’ll scare off those two matching archaeologist babes. They’re coming over later to take a look at an ‘old bone’ in my bedroom.” His bushy eyebrows wiggled at the same time his fingers made invisible quote marks in the air.
    Mac had to smile at Chester’s gumption. Storm or not, the old vet was always determined to find a port.
    “Mom is sleeping in the spare room,” Ronnie said. “I’ll bunk in the R.V. with Claire.”
    Harley grimaced. “I don’t think Claire is going to be happy about that.”
    “Claire’s not the only one,” Mac said.
    Ronnie’s chin lifted. “I’m not sleeping in the spare room with that woman.”
    Her stubborn reaction seemed over the top. What was her beef with her mom? Ronnie had been acting more and more peculiar over the last couple of weeks. When Mac had asked Claire about it, she’d shrugged as if it were no big deal, muttering something about Ronnie having a history of temporary
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