Hell, Yeah (9 page)

“I’d dang sure hire him if I owned a bar. Lord, the women would flock in here to buy drinks,” Mindy whispered.

“Then they’d start fighting over him,” Cathy said out the side of her mouth.

“What kind of secrets are you two tellin’?” Travis raised his voice above Garth Brooks singing about beer for his horses.

“We don’t tell our secrets. It’s a woman thing,” Mindy answered.

Travis yelled across the room at Amos who’d claimed a table with his biker buddies. “She says yes.”

“Well hallelujah. Make me a fancy martini and I will definitely celebrate,” Amos said.

“What are you celebrating?” Mindy asked.

“Cathy is going to work for me. I won’t have to waste time doing interviews,” Amos answered.

“Then make me one too. That’s the best news I’ve had since… I can’t remember when,” Angel said from between Travis and Amos.

“What are you going to do for them?” Mindy asked as she shook a martini.

“Bookkeeping.”

“But you are a bartender,” she said.

“Yep, I am, but I can answer the phone and take messages,” Cathy said.

“Don’t let her fool you. She’s got a resume that would knock your socks off,” Amos said. “I’d hire her full-time if she’d take the job and put Maggie to work in the Dallas office. She didn’t really want to move to Mingus anyway.”

Cathy put up both hands defensively. “Oh, no! Two months and then I’m finished.”

“We’ll celebrate with a movie out at the trailer after closing time. I’ll make the popcorn,” Travis said.

“What movie?” she asked.

“Your choice. I bring a box full of them with me to every new site. You can choose.”

“Joint don’t shut down until two.”

“And you always watch a movie before you go to bed anyway,” he said.

She smiled. “Ice cream?”

“Rocky road and pecan pralines and cream.”

“My two favorite kinds. I’ll be there.”

He left an hour before the Honky Tonk closed. Dark clouds hung in the sky and he could almost smell rain. At least it wasn’t cold enough to freeze again and the city had fixed the water problem. Lightning zipped through the sky and thunder rolled through the clouds down to the southwest. It was too early in the year for a tornado, but the sky had that strange, eerie cast to it like one was on the horizon and twisting its way toward Mingus.

He forgot all about the weather as he straightened up the kitchen and the living room and office combination. They’d have to sit in kitchen chairs and watch the movie on the small television set on the bar. The one in his bedroom was bigger and the bed would be much more comfortable, but he didn’t trust himself to invite her back there. Not after the kiss they’d shared in her apartment.

Ice cream waited in the freezer and popcorn was ready beside the microwave. He made a pitcher of sweet tea in case she’d rather have that than a cold beer. He fidgeted with the DVD player and laid out four movies for her to choose from.

He splashed on a little more Stetson shaving lotion and combed his hair at two o’clock. When she knocked on the door ten minutes later his hands were sweaty and his heart was doing double time.

“Come in,” he called out.

She eased the door open and looked inside. The whole living room area had been turned into an office with a desk and chair taking up most of the room. The place smelled like buttered popcorn and shaving lotion. Both sent her senses reeling.

“That smells wonderful. I’m hungry,” she said.

“Ice cream, popcorn, ham sandwiches, or yogurt. Past that you’ll have to find a can of soup,” he said.

“Popcorn first. Ice cream later,” she said.

He motioned toward the movies while he poured bowls full of popcorn from the microwaveable bag. “Your choice.”

“You sure are being nice.” She looked through the stack on the counter. “Do we have to watch one of these?”

“We don’t have cable out here. I have a couple of series things back in my bedroom. I’ve got
Nikita
and the first two seasons of
NCIS
, but…” He let the sentence hang.

“
NCIS
,” she said quickly. “I just got started watching that lately and I’d love to see the first episodes.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes, don’t you just love Mark Harmon? He’s got the sexiest grin.”

“I like Ziva better,” he said.

She giggled. “I suppose you wouldn’t think Leroy Jethro Gibbs had a sexy grin. Got a quilt and a couple of pillows back there too. We can make a pallet.”

“Give me a minute,” he said. He found the first season of
NCIS
in a box inside the closet, yanked the big brown comforter from the bed along with two pillows, and lugged it all to the kitchen where she helped him make a pallet on the kitchen floor.

“Now put the television on a chair and set it right there and we’ll pretend we’re at a drive-in,” she said.

“Something tells me you’ve done this before.” He dragged a chair across the floor and put it where she’d pointed.

“I lived in a trailer. Sometimes Momma let me have a kitchen party while she read in the living room.”

He put the first disc in the DVD player and turned to find her sitting against a pillow propped against the refrigerator door, her boots off and her mouth full of popcorn.

“Did you know from the beginning that you were going to work for Amos and you just drug it out to see what you could get me to agree to do?” he asked.

“Skeptical little fellow, ain’t you?” she said when she’d swallowed.

“Tea or beer?” he asked.

“Tea.”

He poured two tall glasses of tea and joined her on the comforter. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I like what I do in the Honky Tonk. I love the place, the people, and my hours. But sometimes I miss the oil business too. I had to think about the time involved. I decided I could manage,” she said.

“So do I still have to work for you two nights a week?”

“Damn straight you do,” she said. “Shhhh, I can’t wait to see the pilot episode.”

At the end of the first forty-five-minute episode she was yawning but determined to watch one more. While the credits rolled she ran to the bathroom and hurried back to settle into her pillow. Travis picked up the remote and hit pause right when the music started.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Because if you want ice cream, you’ll have to move,” he said.

“I changed my mind.” She reached for the remote at the same time he did. Both their hands closed on it and she looked up to find his lips only inches from hers. They met in a clash with one kiss leading to another and another, his hands under her shirt and on her bare skin, making her shiver in anticipation, and hers toying with the curls at the back of his neck and meeting him kiss for passionate kiss until they were both panting. She’d stretched out on the pallet and he had one leg thrown over hers when the next kiss made the trailer begin to rock.

“Pretty damn forceful making out,” she mumbled and opened her eyes to see that the trailer really was moving from side to side.

“Damn!” He sat straight up. No kiss in his entire life had left him dizzy. Then he realized that the kiss hadn’t sent him into a tailspin but that the wind was causing the trailer to shake.

“Tornado?” he said.

“I don’t know, but I’m not staying in a tin can if it is. Grab your pajamas and let’s go to the Honky Tonk. It’s got more stability.” She was already on her feet and headed for the door when he chased down the hall and shoved what he needed into a duffle bag and zipped it tightly. She had the door open when he returned and was watching the wind bend trees into pretzels.

“Hold my hand and run,” he said. “Don’t let go no matter what.”

It sounded like a freight train moving across the sky above them. Black clouds swirled around with funnels dipping down and back up, picking up whatever was in its pathway and pulling it up to the skies to check it out. What it wanted it kept to sling back down to earth later on. What it didn’t like it pitched right back like a child with toys he had grown bored with.

Rain and hail pelted down on them like bullets stinging their skin. Travis grasped her hand tightly and kept moving until they made it to the porch. It took forever for her to get the key worked up from the bottom of her tight jeans.

“Well, hell,” she swore as the wind whipped the key from her hands.

“Hold on to the porch post and don’t let go no matter what happens,” he yelled. He braved the fierce wind and went after it, dropping his duffle bag in the mud when he did. He never let his eyes leave the thing for fear the storm would grab it and haul it up to the sky with the rest of the debris. He picked up his wet bag and held the key firmly in the palm of his hand until he reached the door. He shoved it into the keyhole, turned it, and rushed into the apartment behind her.

She threw herself onto the leather sofa. “I thought we were goners for sure.”

He sprawled out beside her, both of them dripping cold water everywhere. “Me too.”

He reached across the middle of the sofa and put his hand over hers. “Ice storm, no water, now a tornado. Do they have tsunamis in Texas?”

“In this state anything is possible.” She shivered.

“You better head for the shower and get warmed up. You are shaking,” he said.

“So are you.”

An evil gleam flashed in his eyes. “Are you suggesting…”

She withdrew her hand and slapped his arm. “I am not. You go first. If your pajamas are wet I’ll pitch them in the dryer.”

“The duffle is weatherproof. I think they’ll be fine,” he said. “Go on. I don’t think I can move yet. That was a scary sumbitch.” He scooted over slightly, tipped her chin back, and kissed her sweetly on the lips. “That’s a relief. I thought your kisses were making the trailer shake around.”

“You mean they don’t?” she asked.

“Honey, they send my mind straight to the gutter. But if they made the whole trailer shake then we’d be in big trouble if we did anything more than share a few hot kisses,” he said.

“On that note I’m going to the shower,” she said.

She left her wet clothes on the floor and stood under the hot spray for a long time trying to sort out her feelings. When she got out and wrapped a towel around her body, she hadn’t figured out a single thing.

“Shut your eyes. I’m on the way to my room and my robe wasn’t in the bathroom,” she hollered.

“Not on your life,” he yelled back.

“Remember you are next,” she said.

His laughter followed her the four feet from the bathroom to her bedroom. She pulled underpants, a sleep shirt, and pajama bottoms from a dresser drawer, ran a brush through her wet hair, and checked her reflection in the mirror. No makeup and slicked back hair made her look like a drowned rat. Add baggy pajamas and a knit shirt with Betty Boop on the front and there was no way her kisses would shake a rocking chair much less a trailer house.

The wind was still roaring outside when she went back to the living room. Travis hadn’t moved an inch and was still dripping water. He shivered from his head all the way to his boots and she pointed to the bathroom. “Go now before you get pneumonia. I’ll make up the bed while you are gone and you can get under warm covers.”

Without a word he picked up his duffle bag and carried it to the bathroom. He didn’t hum that night as he showered, and when he came out he was quick to get under the quilts she’d piled onto the sofa bed.

“Don’t these things usually only last a few minutes?” he asked.

“I have no idea. Haven’t ever been in one. But I did look out while you were in the shower and the trailer is still standing. The trees are still whipping around but not like before. I think the worst of it passed us by.”

She sat down beside him with her legs pulled up under her. “Scared the bejesus out of me. Tinker told me about one that passed through here several years ago in the spring of the year and stripped the mesquite trees bare. Texas tornadoes aren’t something you mess with. I’m glad it didn’t pick up Amos’s trailer and set it down in Oklahoma. Now go to sleep. What time do you have to go to work tomorrow?”

“Noon. I’m on the noon to eight shift every day. Angel is an early riser so she opted to work from eight to four. That way one of us is there all day. I hope the storm is over by the time she goes to work.”

“She’ll be fine.” Cathy brushed a kiss across his forehead.

The Honky Tonk swayed just slightly and she smiled.

“Man, am I glad to see you,” Angel said when Cathy opened the trailer door. “Desk, computer. Your password and ID is on that pad right there. Your set of keys is on the desk. Hard file cabinets are in the small bedroom. And Amos likes everything in hard copy. He’ll never trust a computer. Says they are nothing but eyes for the government to spy on us. So each day we print the day’s report at five o’clock in duplicate. Small bedroom has shelves. Put one there and leave one on the edge of the desk. Amos will pick it up. Sometimes they build up for a week before he gets here. I think that’s all. I just came in to show you where everything is and to give you a set of keys. Now, I’m off to Jezzy’s place. We’re so excited we could dance a jig in a pig trough!”

“Been a long time since I’ve heard that expression,” Cathy said.

Angel shoved her arms into the sleeves of her work jacket and waved as she went out the door. “Been a long time since I’ve been this excited!”

The trailer reminded her of the one that she’d grown up in back in Arkansas. A bar to the left separated the living room from the tiny kitchen which was barely big enough for a small wood table with four chairs around it. Beyond the kitchen was a hallway leading to an alcove for the washer and dryer, a bathroom, bedroom with the door open covered in shelving and file cabinets, and a closed door at the very end.

“Not enough room to cuss a cat without getting a hair in your mouth,” she muttered as she did the two-minute tour.

The bathroom still had the faint aroma of Stetson aftershave and Irish Spring soap. The washer was empty but the dryer was full of towels. One cup, plate, fork, knife, and spoon were in the dish drainer. An oak desk that had seen better days sat right in the middle of the living room floor, facing the door. The walls were bare and the windows covered with mini-blinds that had been raised to let as much light as possible into the small room.

Cathy sat down in a padded, adjustable chair, raised the seat to accommodate her long legs, pulled up the screen, and got started. Basically it was the same program she’d used at Green’s Oil Company in Mena, but there was no way she’d get all the work caught up in one afternoon. Maybe by the end of the week she’d have it manageable. Hopefully in two months Maggie wouldn’t come in to a complete mess.

A whoosh of cold air hit her in the face when the door opened. She looked up half expecting to see Angel, but it was a tall, dark-haired man.

“Hey, Maggie… you’re not Maggie,” he said.

“Maggie will be here in a couple of months. I’m filling in for her. I’m Cathy O’Dell. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Rocky, the tool pusher. I’m pullin’ my rig in and just stopped to tell Maggie… I guess to tell you… that I’ll be taking the back slot. Got the sign-in sheet ready?”

Cathy pulled a sheet up on the computer screen and printed it. Rocky dragged a chair from the kitchen to face the desk. He removed his coat and sat down while he signed for slot number twenty.

“So tell me about this Honky Tonk thing out there. What kind of place is it? Open only on weekends?” he asked.

“It’s open every night except Sunday. Monday night is oldies night. It’s got one of those old jukeboxes that still plays three songs for a quarter and has Waylon, Willie, Merle, and Hank Williams, senior not junior, on it. Rest of the week it’s usually music from the new jukebox,” she said.

Rocky was somewhere in his early thirties with dark hair and roving eyes that settled on Cathy’s breasts. He had wide muscular shoulders and hands that had seen their fair share of hard work. A thin white line down one cheek marked an old scar and Cathy wondered if it’d happened on the rig or in a barroom brawl.

“They don’t ever have live bands? You been there?” Rocky asked.

“I own it and there’s no live music. You want something live, go on up the road to the Trio Club,” Cathy said.

“Why are you working here?” Rocky asked incredulously.

“Amos needed someone and I qualified.”

“Where’s Travis?”

“Out at the rig, I suppose. Only time he’s got to report to me is Friday and Saturday night,” she said.

“Why then?”

“Because those are the nights he’s going to help me bartend.”

Rocky’s face fell apart when he laughed. “The Travis Henry. The almighty smart petroleum engineer of the century is going to work in a bar. Man, I’ll be there Friday night just to see that sight.”

Cathy slid the sheet to one side of her desk. “Why do you want the back parking slot?”

“Noise level. I work days so I get to sleep nights. I saw the Honky Tonk. I want as far away from the noise as possible. And the whole thing is on first come, first served basis with Amos. I get here first every time so I can have my choice. Besides, back that far I might be able to catch a glimpse of a deer every so often. It’s not often we get to park in places like this,” he answered.

The door opened again. “Mornin’. I’m Bart, the driller. I want a parking spot in the middle. Fast Rocky here the only one who’s beat me?”

Cathy nodded and handed him the sign-in sheet. Bart was somewhere between thirty and forty, had a mop of red hair and freckles all over his round face. He peeled off his coat and pulled up a chair next to Rocky on the other side of the desk. If they were going to sit around jawing all day, Cathy would never be caught up by the end of the week.

“This is Cathy O’Dell. She’s temping for Maggie and she owns that Honky Tonk. And you’ll never believe it, but Travis Henry is going to work for her Friday and Saturday nights,” Rocky said.

“The Travis Henry? Well, hot damn. I’ll be there on Friday night. Got any good lookin’ women hangin’ around?” Bart asked.

“Sometimes,” Cathy said.

Bart picked up the sheet and signed for slot three. “Hey, this could be the best job we’ve had in a while. Don’t even need a designated driver to get us home.”

“Thought you wanted a middle one,” Cathy said.

“Changed my mind. Closer the trailer, less I have to walk,” Bart said.

The next time the door opened a short, blond, brown-eyed man entered the crowded room. “Did y’all see that parking lot out there? Reckon Amos made a deal with the owner of that beer joint? Now this is what I call a real job.”

Rocky pointed at the paper on the desk. “Parking slots are out back and this is Cathy,” Rocky said. “She’s temping for Maggie and she owns that beer joint. Choose a place and we’ll get our rigs out of the way. The rest of the crew will be here in the next hour or so. We’re supposed to be at the drilling site by two to look things over. Tomorrow we start putting it together.”

“Mornin’, Cathy. I’m Tilman Greeson.”

She handed him the sign-in sheet and he chose the trailer space right beside Rocky. She’d thought she’d have the office to herself all afternoon with nothing but a computer and paperwork. But it sure seemed like the men were going to use the trailer for a gossip shack.

“Okay, guys, let’s get set up. Roughnecks and derrick hands will be here soon. What time does that beer joint open?” Rocky asked.

“Eight sharp. Shuts down at two,” Cathy said.

“Friday and Saturday?” Tilman asked.

“Every night but Sunday,” Cathy said.

“Well, hot damn,” Tilman said.

“But you won’t get to see Travis Henry behind the bar because he’s only helping on Friday and Saturday and you work most nights.” Rocky said.

Tilman followed them out. “Don’t matter if I see him or not. I’m off on Thursday nights and it’ll be open so I can at least see what’s going on.”

She was entering invoice numbers and amounts on the debit spread sheet when the door opened again. She didn’t even look up but pointed toward the sign-in sheet.

“I don’t reckon I’ll be hookin’ up a trailer. I came by for the WHMIS and the Second Line BOP reports to be sure we are in total compliance,” Travis said. Her hair had been set free from her usual ponytail holder and flowed to her shoulders. Her sweater was the same steely blue as her eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her face.

She finished putting in the last invoice and pulled up a screen tagged safety and regulatory details. A touch of the keypad and the printer spit out the two reports he asked for. She handed them to him, careful not to touch his fingertips.

“Anything else?” she asked.

He put the chairs back around the kitchen table and poured a cup of coffee from the percolator that she hadn’t even noticed. “Want coffee? Did you find the ice cream?” He invented a reason to stay a while longer.

“Didn’t look. Haven’t had time. Would love coffee, but I’ll get it,” she answered.

She wound her way around the desk, the kitchen table, and to the cabinet. She brushed against his hip and mumbled that she was sorry. The next minute he had his fist on her chin and his eyes were looking into hers with a dreamy expression. He slowly leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her lips. She put an arm around his neck and tangled her fingers into his hair.

He pushed his luck with the next one, kissing her hard and passionately, letting it linger on and on as their tongues did a mating dance. Cathy kissed back. She tasted coffee, cold wind, and desire. The bones melted in her knees and for the first time in her life she actually felt faint. Just before the kiss ended she had the fleeting idea that she might swoon.

Travis hugged her tightly to his chest for a few minutes, listening to the rapid beating of her heart echoing his. “I’ve got to go back to work. See you tonight at the Honky Tonk.” In four easy strides he was out the front door and gone.

Cathy touched her burning lips. “Holy shit! It happens every time he kisses me.”

* * *

That evening Travis weaved among the hats and boots to the bar. Ladies bumped into him on purpose and smiled or winked when they had his attention. Men accidentally collided with him and quickly begged his pardon. The place was packed. Tables were staked out with beer bottles and coats hanging on the back of chairs. Both pool tables were in use with dollar bills out to pay for the privilege to play the winners. Hank Williams was singing about setting the woods on fire. From outside the joint it sounded like there was a live band playing and the singer was a ringer for Hank senior.

One fellow gave up his bar stool when a woman in a short tailed dress and lots of gold jewelry asked him if he wanted to dance. Travis quickly claimed it, got Cathy’s attention, and mouthed that he wanted a beer. She held up a finger and finished dumping ice around six longneck bottles of Coors in a bucket, then picked up a pint jar and filled it with draw beer.

Mickey Gilley’s “Bring It on Home to Me” invited a different kind of dancing. The women did a glorified bump and grind that looked like they needed a pole, a stage, and a little less clothing. Travis pictured Cathy dancing like that in one of those strapless tops that stopped above the belly button and hip slung jeans.

She set the beer in front of him. “Here you go.”

Her voice startled him back into reality. “Thanks. Busy night, ain’t it?”

“I don’t know where they all came from,” Cathy said breathlessly.

Larissa leaned in between Travis and the cowboy sitting next to him. “Need some help? You look run ragged.”

Cathy nodded. “Ever done any bartending?”

“I’ll help,” Travis offered.

“I’ll take Larissa,” Cathy said.

Travis locked gazes with her. “Why?”

“Because I have to pay you with five days a week in the oil office to get you to help on Friday and Saturday nights. I can’t afford your price.” She smiled.

He winked. “I might make a deal that didn’t involve the oil office.”

Cathy blinked and looked away. A quick vision of how she’d pay him didn’t do a thing to stop her breathlessness. The infatuation was about to drive her as crazy as a drunk toad frog.

Larissa slapped Travis on the shoulder. “Don’t be flirting while she’s busy, cowboy. How do I get back there? Do I have to crawl over the bar?” She wore tight designer jeans and a red knit shirt with a cutout at the neckline. Big red earring hoops showed when she tucked her hair behind her ears.

Cathy pointed. “Through the swinging door at the end of the bar.”

Larissa wasted no time taking a place behind the beer machine and drawing beers while Cathy took orders for mixed drinks.

“I’m hurt,” Travis teased.

“Oh, hush and drink your beer. Go talk Merle into a game of eight ball,” Cathy said.

“She’s playin’ with Clark,” Travis said.

A fast song by Emmylou Harris cleared out the bar stools and put almost everyone in the beer joint on the dance floor for a line dance. The way they were moving reminded Travis of a can of wiggling fishing worms, but he would gladly be out there on the floor with Cathy if she’d dance with him. He could imagine her arms wrapped up around his neck and that cute little fanny moving seductively against him at belt buckle level.

“Where’d they all come from?” Travis asked.

“Who knows? Maybe they heard about the oil men. I swear something put the word out and they don’t even seem to care that this is oldies night. I’ve never had a night like this, not even New Year’s Eve and that night was a good one.”

“I need two pitchers of piña coladas,” a young woman shouted above Emmylou’s voice. “I love this music. It’s what my momma played the whole time I was growing up. You play this all the time?”

“Only on Mondays.” Cathy filled the order and set them on a tray with empty jars for the woman.

“What’s on the other nights?”

“The new stuff,” Larissa answered. “But it’s just as good. Come on back tomorrow and see which you like best.”

“You can bet on it.”

“Where y’all from?” Larissa asked.

“My group is from Fort Worth,” she said.

“We been to everything over there and besides, we got this friend named Mindy who said this was a neat place. She was right.”

Don Williams’s voice said that he wouldn’t want to live if she didn’t love him.

“Ever have someone in your life you would die for?” Larissa asked.

“Nope,” Cathy said. “Where’d you learn to bartend? Please tell me one more time that you aren’t here to try to buy this place for Hayes Radner.”