Authors: Carolyn Brown
“Why would it be crazy?”
“The good thing is that you get a two-week jump on the crop if you plant transplants rather than seeds. The bad thing is that when you handle the tiny plant you can bruise the roots and it will die, so you’ve lost the money on that seed. Or the worst thing is that one plant will get disease in the greenhouse and it will spread to all the rest. Then you’ve lost many, many dollars in seed and have to go back and buy more.”
Austin did the calculations in her head: three hundred dollars an acre for seed. Multiply that by almost two thousand acres and it would become a huge risk for a two-week jump on the crop.
Felix went on. “And you’ve got to use different equipment to put the plants in the ground than she already owned for the seeds.”
“How long until these seeds come up?”
“Ten days for most. We’ll see some early ones at six days. But in ten days these will be tiny shoots. Then what we do tomorrow will come up and right on down the land to the end. When we start the harvest it will go the same way. We’ll start in this field and work our way down. If me and the boys can’t handle the load we hire young boys from town to help us but most years we have our way of doing things and we don’t need extra help.”
“When I was little I always came in June and she talked about the watermelon festival or jubilee or something like that in the middle of July. Is that about when you start the harvest?”
Felix nodded and looked at his watch. “There they are. They did good. No trouble on this turn around. The harvest is almost done by the time they have their watermelon party in town. Miz Verline always donated half a truckload of melons for the day. They give away slices of cold melons all day down in the middle of town. It’s on a Saturday and we go back to Mexico that next week.”
The three drivers hoped off the tractors and Felix, Jacinto, and Lobo got on. Angelo and Estefan walked behind the machinery and Lobo went back to the truck. Austin made her twelve holes, planted a dozen seeds, and then sat down at the end of the last row and waited.
Two trucks stirred up road dust when they passed behind her. The dry dust and the warm sun made her wish she’d had the foresight to bring a bottle of water. She wondered what Rye was doing that morning. Was planting pasture grass for bulls as time consuming as getting a watermelon crop in the ground?
“Good morning!”
She jumped and spun around to see Rye walking toward her in long strides. She looked around for his truck but it wasn’t anywhere.
When he was close enough that she could smell his aftershave, he stopped and smiled. His grin and bedroom hair that hadn’t seen even a good finger combing made her heart skip a beat. He wore a knit shirt that stretched over his broad chest, faded jeans, and a plain belt without a big bull rider buckle. His boots were scuffed and worn and she had trouble keeping her eyes from traveling up and down the length of him over and over again. He was even sexier in his work clothes than he’d been all decked out in starched jeans and dress boots.
“Looks like they talked you into being Granny today.”
“I thought you were fixing fence today.”
“I always come around on the first day of the planting to watch for a while. Brought you some coffee.”
She hadn’t noticed anything in his hands, but a small silver thermos appeared out of nowhere. He poured a cup for her and sat down in the dirt beside her. “Things going good so far?”
She sipped. “Good coffee.”
A cool morning breeze brushed across her face but her insides were as hot and steamy as the coffee.
He threw an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Figured you’d be ready for something. This is boring work but Granny always said it was necessary. If she was out here amongst the hired help they knew she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty or to sweat. One year only five could get a Visa so she drove a tractor all summer. I tried to get her to let me do it but she told me to go home and raise cows. If I touched her watermelons with the smell of bovine on my hands it would be bad luck. I’m sorry about last night. I wanted to slaughter some bulls before the night was over.”
“So am I.”
“Want to take up where we left off?”
He’d heard about soul mates and first love and all that folderol but he’d always thought it was fairy tale material. It didn’t really happen except in old people’s minds that were afflicted with dementia and couldn’t remember all the fighting and fussing they’d done in their married lives. The way he felt sitting there in the dirt with his arm around Austin changed his mind.
“Right here at the end of a watermelon field?” She laughed.
“Anywhere. Anytime.” He grinned.
“I don’t think so, cowboy. You are wicked!”
He made tiny little circles on her arm with his calloused hand. She’d never realized a rough hand could be so damn sexy.
“You were thinking the same thing I was. I saw it written on your face like those bubble things above cartoon people. So you staying out here all day like she did?”
“I have a poker face. You can’t read me that well, Rye O’Donnell. And yes, I’m staying out here all day, and tomorrow and the next day after that. Something tells me that Granny would rather I did this and hire all the packing done. Next time I’m walking behind the tractor. I need the exercise. That’ll be as good as a morning run.”
He hugged her tightly for a second then stood up. “Have fun. I’m off to Nocona to buy barbed wire. Need anything?”
She felt empty without his arm around her. “You and Felix would know more about that than I would.”
“They’ve got the garden in the ground and she has her watermelon seeds sent from a special place. Prepays for them a year in advance so you’ll need to find that invoice and talk to them about next year’s crop.”
Austin nodded. “Where is the garden?”
“Up by the hog lot where’s it’s always been. But she got rid of the hogs and the steers when she took sick. Just take the thermos home with you. Want to grab supper at the Peach Orchard tonight? We could go to Duncan or Wichita Falls but Kent and I’ll be fixin’ fence until dark and it’d be late. Maybe we can plan on a Friday date,” he said.
“Are you tellin’ or askin’?”
He grabbed her hand and brought her fingertips to his lips. “Miss Austin Lanier, would you please have dinner with me tonight and Friday night?”
“That sounds like fun. I bet after today I’m too tired to go to Duncan or Wichita Falls anyway,” she said.
The tractors roared into sight and Rye waved at Felix and was gone before the three men slid out of the seats and headed toward the truck which Lobo had pulled up close to where they’d parked. All of them went for the big orange cooler in the bed of the truck and filled a water bottle. They drank deeply and traded places. Lobo got on one tractor, Angelo stayed with the truck, and Felix fell into place behind the tractor.
“I’m going with you as soon as I get these twelve seeds into the ground,” Austin said.
“It’s a pretty fast pace, keeping up with the tractors,” Felix said.
“I’m used to running three miles every evening. I’ve missed two nights. I need the exercise.”
“Then I’ll send Estefan to hoe the garden.” Felix spoke rapidly in his native tongue to one of the hired hands, who grinned and nodded. Then he yelled at Angelo and pointed east.
“Can I drive the tractor next time?” Austin asked.
“It is your land and your tractor, Miss Austin,” Felix said.
They didn’t exactly walk but they didn’t jog. It was more like a canter that gave Austin more of a workout than any morning run she’d ever done. She was back and forth hopping her six furrows like short hurdles and Felix did the same on his side. Twice on the mile long trip out to the end of the field she had to bend over and push a little dirt over a seed. Three times on the way back a clump of hard dirt prevented the chain on the seeder from filling the hole and she had to stop long enough to cover the watermelon seed. When they finished the two-mile journey she understood why they switched places.
“You really want to drive?” Felix asked.
“I really want a long drink of water and then yes, I’d like to try,” she answered.
Felix barked orders to adjust for another driver and told Angelo to leave Estefan at the garden. “He likes it there better anyway.”
“Rye said you have planted a garden since you’ve been here?”
Felix chuckled. “Oh, yes. We do that every year. Estefan likes the garden work. He’s like a woman with her kitchen. He doesn’t want anyone else in the garden.”
“Then leave him there today and I’ll take his place. Maybe I won’t tear things up too badly on the tractor.”
“Just keep the wheels between the furrows. The machinery will do the rest. I’ll put you on the middle tractor. Keep pace with the other two and you will be fine.”
She thought about Rye as she bounced along in the seat. The man made her hot as hell just throwing an arm around her shoulders, but there was no future in Terral and she really shouldn’t encourage something that wouldn’t last. But when he was around, she threw caution to the wind like tossing out yesterday’s garbage. Her pulse picked up when he was in sight and when he touched her she felt like the world stood still.
But what if I don’t care about a future? I could have a few romps with the cowboy. I don’t have to spend every waking minute sorting through boxes! However, if I did have a romp in the hay with the sexy cowboy, something tells me it would haunt me every day no matter where I was. So it’s a no-win situation. How can a woman’s life get so mixed up in one week?
“Damn!” She swore under her breath. For a town with less than four hundred people, Terral had sure made her life one complicated mess in a short time.
The day went fast and she barely had time to wash the red dirt out of her hair before Rye knocked on the door. She wore another pair of her grandmother’s capris that night. Red ones this time with a red and white striped knit shirt and red flip-flops. She really did need to go shopping but where did a watermelon farmer find time for that?
“Don’t you look all spiffy,” he said when she opened the door.
His black hair had water droplets hanging on the long parts that brushed his collar and his eyes were twinkling. His jeans weren’t starched stiff but looked soft and his boots were clean but worn.
“You look pretty damn fine yourself,” she said.
“The city girl cusses. Terral water is getting to you. You get the quota in today?” He threw his arm around her shoulders and escorted her, hugged up to his side, to the truck. It brought on the sparks but it also felt natural, as if his soul had found what it had been searching for.
“I cuss in the city too, so don’t blame it on the water. Felix said we did good. We didn’t quit until half an hour ago.”
He opened the door and she slid into the seat.
“How about you?” she asked.
“Walked five miles of fence and fixed what had to be restrung. Kent was whining that next time I offered him half a day off he’d take it,” he laughed.
He was glad that he didn’t have to ride in another rodeo that week and could spend every free minute with Austin.
They sat in the same booth that she and Pearlita had occupied the day they had taken her grandmother’s ashes to the river, but they were the only ones in the dining room. Their knees touching under the table created enough sparks to fry the fish in the kitchen. He reached across the table and brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear so he could see her blue eyes better in the dim light.
“I hate to say this but I’m almost too tired to chew,” he said with a sigh.
“Me too. How on earth did Granny keep up with all this at her age?”
“She was made of tougher stock. I swear that Depression thing they went through when they were kids made them tough as nails.”
The waitress appeared at their table with two glasses of water. “What can I get y’all tonight?”
“A full order of chicken strips and whatever beer you’ve got that’s cold,” Austin said.
“Full order of fish and bring us two Coors in the bottle, longnecks,” Rye said.
“It’s pitiful to be so hungry and not have the energy to chew,” Austin said.
“Maybe food will revive your spirits.” He wanted more than her spirits revived. He wanted her to be as eager to fall into bed with him as he was her, but it wasn’t happening that night. When it did, it wouldn’t be a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am thing but an evening that she’d remember forever.
The waitress brought their beers and two glasses. Rye tipped his back and drank from the bottle. She did the same.
“Damn, that’s good,” she said when she came up for air.
“After a long day, it’s tough to beat a cold Coors.”
She looked at the branding irons hanging on the wall. Each had a plaque under them with the brand burned into the wood, showing what it would look like on the cattle. Cowhide fabric covered with clear plastic served as table coverings. A roll of paper towels on each table was used for napkins because most of the greasy food was eaten with fingers. The menu was written in giant letters and hung on the wall on the east and west ends of the room.
Other than the table coverings the place had looked the same back when she was a little girl and came to visit her grandmother. Back then the tables were covered in red and white checked oil cloth. It was comforting in an odd sense of the word to find a world where things stayed the same. That must have been what her father was running from; what her mother couldn’t abide; and what her grandmother loved. But where was Austin in all that? Was she running from it or toward it?
“Yours up there?” she asked.
“Not yet but it will be someday.”
“Why not yet?”
“I haven’t brought one in here.”
“What’s it look like?”
He rolled a paper towel from the holder. “Got a pen in your purse?”
She dug around until she found one with her company logo and handed it to him.
He drew an R with a rocker under it.
“The Rocking R?”
“That’s right. It wasn’t registered in Oklahoma so it’s my brand.”
The waitress returned and set baskets of food in front of them and a plate between them with onions, tartar sauce, and bread. “Y’all need anything else, just holler. We still got coconut pie and German chocolate.”