Tripped Out: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella Read online

  “Is my professional side.” He tugged her closer by that hank of hair and slid his hand up the inside of her thigh. “I save my dirty talk and filthy fantasies for after working hours.”

  She spread her legs wider and brushed those cherry red lips across his. “Show me.”

  “Are you sure you can handle it? I’ve been told my needs are…intense.”

  “How ironic.” Stirling’s fingers circled his wrist and she pulled his hand right between her legs. “I’ve been told I put the ‘ho’ in boho.”

  He groaned. “Are you always going to try and top me?”

  She smiled against his mouth. “Every single chance I get.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Liam allowed one hard kiss before retreating. He gathered the paperwork he hadn’t needed. “Are you finished for the day?”

  “Yes. How about you?”

  “I have to check on something Artie asked me about. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “I’ll text you my address.” As Stirling sauntered by, she palmed his ass. “Fair warning, hot stuff. The only drooling I’ll be doing tonight will be on your cock.”

  He just sort of stood there like a dumbass as she walked out the door.

  A dumbass with a hard-on about to get lucky, so move it, Einstein.

  Liam locked up the lab and stashed his stuff in his car before he headed for the grow house. He swiped his keycard and punched in his code when the green light flashed.

  Heat and the pungent scent of cannabis hit him as soon as he stepped inside.

  George was right there, handing Liam a lab apron and gloves. “Hey, Doc. Artie said you’d be by.”

  He donned the protective gear and said, “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

  “Cool. I’ll just be working.”

  Liam opened the door to the stage-one grow and squinted. Not only had humidity fogged his glasses, but the lights were blinding—as they needed to be in this eighteen hours of daylight stage. As soon as his eyes and his glasses adjusted, he scanned the room. It wasn’t filled with plants, which wasn’t right. They’d figured out the amount of useable grow space to the nearest inch. So why wasn’t it all being used?

  Maybe the better question is why don’t you know the answer to that?

  He ducked beneath the plastic flap that separated the chemical and tool room. The two plants were in the corner. Even from here they appeared dehydrated.

  First he examined them with just his naked eye. Then he used a 30X battery-powered magnifier to scrutinize every leaf joint, leaf, and section of the stem from the dirt up. Besides the spots on the lower leaves, no immediate issue jumped out at him, but he had his suspicions.

  Using his phone, he snapped close-ups of the plant and texted them to his friend Dougie. He’d been growing his own for twenty years, in every climate imaginable; he was the real ganja guru.

  Less than three minutes later his cell rang. “Hey D, what’s up?”

  “What am I looking at?” Dougie asked.

  Liam explained. Then he asked, “Any ideas?”

  “My first thought was powdery mildew.”

  Mine too. “But?”

  “But have you checked any of the other plants in the same grow room?”

  “No. Artie said these were the only two.”

  Dougie laughed. “Never take anyone’s word for it. Do a random check and call me back.”

  Grumbling to himself, Liam returned to the grow room and pulled three plants from different areas. Upon closer examination they didn’t look better than the two isolated plants; they looked worse.

  All three of them.

  In a panic, Liam checked the entire first row of plants. The leaves were droopy; the lower branches had leaves covered in spots and white residue.

  How the fuck hadn’t Artie—or anyone else—noticed this?

  He stepped back. Wait a second. With the way the plants were crowded together, and the super bright lights, the spots and white residue were invisible to the naked eye.

  Fuck.

  He snapped more pics and sent them off.

  This time Dougie called back in under a minute. “Dude. That is powdery mildew and that’s bad, bad news. Those spots and the white powder only show up after the plant has been infected for a couple of weeks.”

  “Jesus, I know that,” Liam snapped.

  “They didn’t teach you how to diagnose a diseased plant or how to contain a major outbreak when they gave you that fancy degree, Dr. Argent?” Dougie asked snidely.

  His old-school pothead friend never let him live it down that he’d gone to college to learn to do what Dougie already knew. “I’ve studied it and isolated it on individual plants, but nothing on this level. So yes, you have expertise that I don’t. Has this happened to you?”

  Dougie sighed. “About a year after I increased the number of plants I was growing, I noticed the leaves looked droopy. I assumed I needed to up the amount of water and increase the humidity level. By the time I realized that my solution had fed the disease instead of reversed it, it was too damn late. I lost the entire crop.”

  He slumped against the partition. They were looking at a loss of half a million dollars or more.

  Christ. He wanted to throw up.

  “Liam? Bud, what can I do to help?”

  “Can you come down here? Diagnosis will take half as long with two of us.” And frankly at this point, he didn’t trust any of the employees to help because how had they missed this?

  What’s really eating at you…is how did you miss it? It’s your job. You should’ve caught it.

  “Then what happens? If the entire crop is dusted?” Dougie prompted.

  “I need to call in MED to document and witness us destroying the plants.”

  “Fucking Marijuana Enforcement Division. I’ll help you tonight, but I’m jetting when those nosy bastards show up.”

  “Deal.”

  Liam hung up, cracked open the door to the next stage grow, and yelled, “George!”

  “What’s up, Doc?”

  Don’t snarl at him. “We’ve got widespread contamination in here. Shut this door, lock it, and implement contamination protocol. You remember what that entails?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Do it.”

  Liam shut and locked the door from his side. Then he dropped the plastic sheeting down around all four walls and changed the security code so the emergency exit could be used without triggering an alarm.

  Then he made the phone call he was dreading.

  Stirling answered right away. “Hey, are you running late?”

  “I feel like running away.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Without preamble, he informed her of the situation in the detail he was known for.

  It was excruciating to wait for her reaction.

  Finally, she said, “What do you need me to do? Help identify the diseased plants?”

  “No. At this point I think it’s best if Dougie, my…source and I do that part. The less chance for contamination elsewhere, the better.”

  “But Liam, this process will take you hours and hours.”

  “Good thing there’s a coffeepot in here.” He looked at his feet. “Jesus, Stirling. I’m sorry about all of this.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it? I’m the cannabis expert. I should’ve been, oh, keeping a better eye on the cannabis, don’t you agree?”

  “Beat yourself up later, Dr. Doom. I’ll be pacing with my phone for the rest of the night, so don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. Okay? Promise me.”

  “I promise. There are a few things you can do for me.”

  “Name them.”

  He closed his eyes and made a mental list. “Do you have a piece of paper handy?”

  “I’ll grab one.”

  Liam rattled off everything that might be an issue in the next twenty-four hours. He probably went overboard, but he knew Stirling would want to deal with the minutiae, not just th
e major problems.

  “I’ll keep you up to date as much as I can.”

  “Take care. Be safe. I’m a phone call away.”

  He hung up and got to work.

  Well, he wouldn’t have to worry about confessing to Stirling that his contract with High Society was only for a year—because when the lost income numbers rolled in, Macon would fire his ass.

  * * * *

  Late Sunday afternoon…

  Watching half a million dollars burn…the queasiness in his stomach wasn’t from the smoke.

  Two MED officers stood on either side of the barrel. One took pictures of every part of the plant. The other one documented the destruction, including stripping off the RFID tags.

  As co-owner, Stirling had to sign her agreement that nothing fraudulent was taking place. She’d acted as somber as he’d ever seen her.

  A private security guard—a burly biker, bald headed, covered in tattoos, and wearing a cut that declared him a member of Grinder Kings motorcycle club—also witnessed the burn.

  Liam had a moment of panic when the dude showed up late Saturday night with a sleeping bag and a lawn chair, barking at Liam to get some sleep, under Stirling’s orders. Then he told Liam to lock himself in; he and his “brothers” would secure the building until MED arrived in the morning. After being up for almost forty-eight hours, Liam crawled in the sleeping bag and crashed.

  They were down to the last couple of plants. He looked around at the eerily empty grow house. It’d remain empty until MED closed the case and gave the green light to replant. The only saving grace in this situation was the destroyed crop was medicinal, not recreational. Since seventy percent of their plants were required to only be for medicinal use, and the latest P&L indicated medicinal sales were down, it could’ve been much worse.

  After the barrels containing the plant matter were loaded, Liam watched the MED van drive off.

  The biker spoke to Stirling before he roared away on his Harley, leaving Liam and Stirling alone.

  She crossed the gravel parking lot and stood in front of him.

  Would she punch him? Yell at him? Fire him?

  Those wise blue eyes took his measure for several long moments and then she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his chest.

  Not what he’d expected but he’d take it.

  They stayed locked together until Stirling tipped her head back and said, “Come home with me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. If you go home alone you’ll spend the rest of the day on your laptop, obsessively researching why this happened, and you’ll get no rest at all.”

  “Maybe I should stay awake, racked with guilt.”

  “See?” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “That’s what I mean. We’ll deal with the timeline of how it happened and create protocol for the future…tomorrow.”

  Liam rested his forehead to hers. “All right. But I need to stop at my place first and get out of these clothes.”

  “Then we’ll just go there. Besides utter lack of Pop-Tarts, you probably have more food than I do.” She smiled slyly. “And I know you’ve got better weed.”

  Chapter Seven

  Stirling took Liam’s suggestion to make herself at home by rummaging through his closet while he showered. So his shocked look when he found her barefoot in his kitchen wearing his shirt made her laugh.

  “What? I was cold.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to strut around in my shirt the morning after?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not so much with following societal norms anymore.”

  “And she gets an ‘atta girl’ for that.” His rapt gaze roamed over her as he crowded her against the counter. “Dreadlocks suit you. There’s nothing to detract from this beautiful face.”

  I can’t wait to wrap this hair around my hand as I’m fucking you from behind. Remembering the sexy, matter-of-fact way he’d stated that still gave her shivers. Had she truly found the man who accepted—and approved of—all parts of her? Physical and intellectual?

  His rough-skinned knuckles followed the curve of her jaw. “I was really looking forward to our Friday night together.”

  “Me too.”

  He shifted his head, intending to kiss her, but she pushed against his chest.

  “Hold on, Dr. Eager Beaver. I’m dying to feel those hot lips of yours on mine, but give me your word that you’ll stop at just one kiss and you won’t hoist me onto this counter and do all sorts of depraved things to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, don’t look butt hurt. I need your promise to stop because I know once I get in that lust-addled state, I’ll say yes to anything.”

  “And that’s bad…?”

  “Not normally. We will get down and dirty until we’re both hoarse and half dead in a sex coma. But first I need to feed you.” She kissed the inside of his wrist. “You’ve subsisted on coffee and beef jerky for two days. You need real food to fuel up. It’d be a shame if this amazing body would peter out at the magic moment, wouldn’t it?”

  “Are you questioning my stamina, Miss Gradsky?” His fingers slipped down to cup the back of her neck. “The first round might be lightning fast. But I promise you rounds two, three, four, and five won’t be.”

  Holy shit. He planned to fuck her five times?

  Yes, please.

  Then Liam took her mouth like a conquering hero, caging her body with his, gripping the nape of her neck to keep her head where he wanted it, gifting her with a head-swimming kiss that satisfied any qualms about how well the man used his lips and tongue.

  She was embarrassingly breathless—and wet—when he released her with a nuzzle below her ear.

  He stepped back and smiled. “Only one kiss, as requested.”

  “Thank you. Now park it on the other side of the breakfast bar.” She propped her hand on her hip and challenged, “Or do I have to banish you because you’re the type of guy who’ll freak out when I rummage in your fridge and make a huge mess on the counters and the stove?”

  A horrified look crossed his face.

  “I thought so.” She pointed at the living room. “Go. And no smoking the good stuff while I’m slaving away.”

  “Why are you bossing me around in my own kitchen?”

  “Because I’ll let you boss me around in your bedroom later.”

  He flashed a wicked grin. “Excellent trade-off.”

  Stirling whipped up veggie omelets with cream cheese and capers, and a pile of toast.

  Liam ate slowly, despite how hungry he must’ve been.

  “You have great manners. Not that I’m surprised,” she added.

  “Thank you. My gramma would’ve been happy to hear that her nagging all those years hadn’t been for naught.”

  Then he didn’t say anything else.

  She sighed. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”

  “Ask what?”

  “Why your grandma would be proud and not your mother.”

  Liam wiped his mouth with a napkin and then knocked back the last of his coffee. “Because my gramma raised me. My mother ditched me with her when I was five.”

  “Oh. Well, I can skip the question about whether you have any siblings and go straight to the others I have.”

  “Stirling—”

  “Uh-uh. I blathered on about my life history; it’s only fair that I hear yours.”

  “No, you shared your work history and how it related to you getting into the cannabis industry. You didn’t talk at all of your childhood.”

  “Fine.” She snatched his last piece of toast. “I’ve heard some of your work history, so tell me how a brilliant man with a doctorate in microbiology opted to specialize in cannabis.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “You really want to do this now?”

  “Why not? Is there somewhere else you need to be?”

  No response.

  Great, he’d reverted to Dr. Aloof. Stirling picked up the dishes and headed to the sink. “That’s
right. You have unicycling club tonight. Or is this the night you’re rounding up the posse to track Bigfoot? I can’t keep your hobbies straight.” She squirted soap into the stream of hot water and reached for the sponge.

  A tattooed hand shut off the water. Then warm, strong arms encircled her. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I suck at this stuff, Stirling. Like epic-level suck. Some events in my past are embarrassing.”

  “Liam, everyone has embarrassing moments in their past they’d rather forget. That’s not what I asked you to share with me.”

  His breath fanned across the top of her head. “What if they’re one and the same?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning…getting busted for possession at age seventeen is also why I pushed myself to get through college, with an eye on earning a doctorate so I could focus my plant-science research solely on cannabis, so I could help people like my gramma.” His arms slipped free and she heard him walk away.

  Since Liam needed to cool down or nut up before they resumed the conversation, Stirling took her time washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Then she checked her phone for messages, looked at cute pictures of kittens on Instagram, and drank three cups of coffee.

  Forty minutes later and Liam still hadn’t shown his face.

  All right, he wasn’t ready to let her in—which seemed a more positive way of phrasing it than he’d shut her out—so she’d go home and chalk this up to a bad idea.

  After folding the flannel shirt and setting it on the counter, she grabbed her satchel. As she passed through the hall to the entryway, she didn’t bother to peek into the living room to see if Dr. Detached had conked out on the couch.

  It was just her luck that she lost her balance as she slipped on her cowgirl boot, falling sideways into the coat tree, knocking it over with a spectacular crash.

  So much for her stealth exit.

  Liam raced around the corner. “Stirling? Are you…”

  “Leaving? Yes. Get some rest, Dr. Argent. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re pissed off at me.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You called me Dr. Argent.”

  “It is your name, as you’ve repeatedly reminded me over the past ten months. Anyway, I’m not pissed off because you don’t want to discuss your past with me. It’s your choice. I’m not the type to nag or beg. But relationships require a level of trust from both parties, otherwise it’s superficial. I’ve had enough of that, so I’ll pass if that’s all you’re prepared to offer me.” She bent down to retrieve her boot….and found herself airborne with Liam’s shoulder in her stomach as he carried her in a fireman’s hold into the living room.