Authors: Carolyn Brown
“What’s the school population these days?”
“It stays between fifty and sixty from what I hear from Kent. He’s got a first grader and a second grader. Both boys. Wild as Apache Indians.”
“That’s for the whole school?”
Rye slowed down at Highway 81 intersection and looked both ways before turning left. “First through eighth grade. High school is bussed up to Ryan.”
“That’s only about seven or eight kids to the grade.”
He nodded. “Kent’s two are in the same grade. Teacher has first and second grade in the same room. I feel sorry for her. Those two boys could tear up an army tank with a chicken feather.”
“I’d like to meet these two wildcats.”
“You’d be taking your life in your own hands. Last time they came to my place even the rodeo bulls were hunting a place to hide.”
“Oh, come on, they can’t be that bad.”
“Invite them to a play day but don’t tell Felix. He and the boys will leave you to work a watermelon farm by yourself. I’m telling you those boys are ornery as hell.” He crossed the river bridge into Texas.
“Two mean little boys who could tear up a John Deere tractor with a feather and who make big old mean rodeo bulls climb trees to get away from them. Maybe those two bulls broke the fence trying to outrun them.”
I know they didn’t! I’m convinced that it was Granny keeping me from having sex with you. I haven’t figured out why yet but I will before I leave this place.
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. They probably snuck out of the house and chewed their way past the barbed wire fence to get at my bulls.”
“That’s bullshit.”
His laughter filled the truck and she smiled. She’d never worked so hard or played so hard in her life and it felt so damned good. It wasn’t going to be easy to give it all up.
They listened to the radio without talking on the twenty-minute trip to Nocona. Rye ushered her to the Dairy Queen with a hand on the small of her back. A thick layer of denim, a cotton shirt, and even cotton underpants didn’t keep the touch from sending sizzling tingles up her spine.
“Hey, Rye, heard two of your rodeo bulls got out the other night. They didn’t get hurt did they? I’m bankin’ on ridin’ one down in Mesquite this summer,” a cowboy said as they passed a table with eight chairs around it.
“They was hell to get corralled. Don’t know why they broke the fence. Could’ve been a pack of coyotes feelin’ their spring oats,” Rye said.
“You goin’ to be stingy or you goin’ to introduce us to your lady friend?”
Rye threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to his side. “This is Austin Lanier. She’s been helping get a watermelon crop in the ground. And this is Rick and that other rodeo feller over there is Henry.”
“Mighty pleased to make your acquaintance. Lanier? You’d be Verline’s granddaughter, right?” Rick asked.
“That’s right.”
“Your granny was a fine woman. You goin’ to keep runnin’ that farm or are you goin’ to sell it?” Rick asked.
“Thank you. I haven’t decided when or what just yet. Right now I’m just getting the crop into the ground.”
“Well, you decide to sell, don’t let Rye have it before you talk to me. I’ll beat his price by a hundred an acre,” Rick said.
Rye shot him a dirty look. “Why would you buy that land? Your ranch is here in Nocona.”
“Maybe I want to dabble in watermelons. See if there’s as much money in them as Verline always said.”
“Lot of work is what there is in watermelons,” Rye said.
“Hell of a lot of money in them too. Good crop can bring in a hundred thousand on good ground in a year.”
Austin had seen the figures and Verline’s ground beat that most years. By the time she paid her help and paid for machinery upkeep, she still had a nice income. Add that to her wine income and she made more than Austin did as an oil executive.
“Looks like it’s our turn to order. See you at the rodeo. Old Diablo will give you a run for your money,” Rye said.
“I’m lookin’ forward to it and, Austin, you remember what I said.”
Rye steered her to the counter where he ordered a double meat, double cheeseburger, large fries, and Coke. She just told the waitress to double it.
“While you find us a booth, I’m going to wash up,” she said. “I came right out of the field.”
He nodded and reluctantly took his arm away. He waited to find a booth until she was out of sight, watching her move between tables and catching glimpses of men, old and young alike, staring at her as she passed.
She felt his gaze as she crossed the smoking section and went right to the sink in the ladies’ room. Knowing that he was watching her put an extra spring in her step and a smile on her face that she was almighty glad he couldn’t see. The smile faded quickly when she looked in the mirror and gasped. She hoped she didn’t smell as bad as she looked. Dirt on her face. Strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and stuck to a sweaty neck. A rim of dust had settled between the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt and where her gloves had stopped. She peeled off a handful of brown paper towels and did the best she could to make herself presentable. Without a purse, all she had to comb her hair with was her fingers but she managed to get it all back up in the ponytail.
Her mother would do more than cuss if she saw her daughter out in public with no makeup and wearing running shoes that looked as if they’d never been white with a cute little pink swoosh on the side.
“It’s a good thing that six hours separate us right now,” she said to her reflection before she left the bathroom.
She found Rye already in the booth, talking across the room to another bunch of men who’d arrived since she left. She slid into her place and took a long drink of the Coke in a Styrofoam cup. It wasn’t watermelon wine or even Coors beer but it was pretty damn good.
“This is Orville Johnson and his brother, Rich,” Rye made introductions. She’d washed the dirt from her face and redid her hair but he thought she had been just as pretty with the smudge of dirt on her nose.
“Glad to know you. Knowed Verline my whole life. I was sorry when she died last winter. Heard you might put her farm up for sale,” Orville said.
“It’ll be fall at the earliest before I put it on the market,” Austin said.
“It’s a good farm. Lots of people want that land so you shouldn’t have any trouble sellin’ it. Well, Rich, you ready to go collect them women at the drugstore? I reckon they’ve had enough time to have lunch with their Sunday school class,” Orville said.
“If they ain’t, then they can gossip on the phone. I’m ready to go home and get these boots off,” Rich said.
“I’m wondering why our paths haven’t crossed in the past ten years?” Rye said when the old fellows were gone.
“Mine and yours?” Austin asked.
He nodded.
“Probably because I only came on weekends in the summer. Granny said you rodeo during that time. I loved Granny and wished she would come to Tulsa to live with us when I was a kid or at least in one of the houses on our block. When the house next door came up for sale, I begged Dad to buy it for her.”
“Did you ever learn to like Terral when you came to visit?” Rye reached across the table and took her hands in his. Her fingers were long and slim and so, so soft.
“The summer I was thirteen. Granny and I had so much fun that year I didn’t even care if my friends all got to go to a dude ranch. For the next three years I looked forward to coming to Terral. Then when I was sixteen I got a job at the dealership. From then on it was hit and miss and for some strange reason, Granny and I got closer with the passing of each year.”
She looked around at the décor. Coca-Cola trays were hung on the wall everywhere. She wondered where in the world they’d found so many.
“Did you ever even one time entertain notions of living here?” Rye pressed on.
She shook her head. “My mother would drop dead of an acute cardiac arrest if I even thought such a thing. She called this morning. She’s ready to fly down here, use Main Street for a runway, and haul me back to Tulsa just because I told her I was driving a tractor.”
“Your mother flies a plane?”
“No, Dad liked to fly. She has a stand-by pilot who can fly Dad’s plane. It’s nothing big. Just a little four-seater but it scoots her around when she has to go somewhere. She hates to drive or ride.”
The waitress brought their food. She set a bottle of ketchup in the middle of the table and asked, “Anything else?”
“I forgot to ask for a side of gravy,” Rye said.
“Bring it right out.”
Austin snarled her nose and slipped her hands from his so she could eat. “Gravy?”
“To dip my fries in. I like it better than ketchup. I got a call this morning. They’ve rescheduled the board of directors meeting in Mesquite tonight. I’ll be gone until Thursday night. It’s something I do every year but I’m so sorry that it’s this week. Last week was the rodeo and this week the board meeting and I really don’t want to go, Austin. I meet with the Resistol Arena for the rodeo season down there. I supply the bulls for them each year and we have to go over the contracts, meet with the other stock suppliers and all that stuff. Want to go with me?”
“You know I’ve got watermelons to plant. Did Granny ever go with you?”
“She always said the exact same thing you just did. ‘You know I’ve got watermelons to plant.’ But Gemma and I talked her into going with us to the rodeo pretty often. She was a hoot. You should have seen her the year that George Strait put on the post-rodeo concert.”
“She loved country music and George Strait was one of her favorites. Don’t tell me she was a groupie and hung on the edge of the stage.”
“No, but she bought everything she could from the vendors. While you are going through her things you’ll find a mug, a calendar, a shirt, and every CD they had for sale that night. She said it was the highlight of her whole summer.”
Disappointment washed over Austin. She didn’t want Rye to be gone three days of her last week in Terral. Hellfire and damnation! If she’d known that she would have drank less wine and done more than fall asleep under the stars the night before.
Austin pushed the fries to one side and picked up her hamburger. She bit off a piece and changed the subject before the tears welling up behind her eyelids spilled over the dam and wet her cheeks.
“This is so good,” she said. “I know it’s not socially acceptable to talk with food in your mouth but it really is good.”
“Do you like Blake Shelton?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve heard him sing but I’m not a groupie type person for any singer. Why are you asking about him? I thought we were talking about George Strait.”
“He’s playing one night down at the rodeo this summer. If you were around you could go hear him in person.”
The waitress set a bowl of gravy in front of Rye but didn’t tarry. Every table and booth was full and there were people waiting outside the door. Austin wasn’t a bit surprised to hear two truckers in the next booth talking about how glad they were they’d gotten in when they did.
“When he played in Tulsa I went to his concert. Did you know that he has a ranch over near Tishomingo?”
“Had no idea.” Rye dipped his fries in the gravy. “Help yourself. Beats the devil out of ketchup.”
She did. “Mmmm, you are right. This is good.”
“I’ll be back Thursday night. Friday is date night.”
“Okay.” She reached to dip a fry at the same time he did and their hands got tangled up together. He dropped his potato on the top of her hand.
“Oops!” He picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth where he ate the fry from her hand and then licked the gravy off.
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from moaning out loud right there in the Nocona Dairy Queen. Good God, didn’t he know how he affected women? Or how his mouth on the back of her hand made her insides go all oozy and hot? Another minute and she’d have thrown the paper towels and tartar sauce off on the floor and had sex with him right there in front of truckers, ranchers, and even school kids on their lunch break.
“It’s even better that way. Want to do it again?” he asked.
“I don’t think so, cowboy.”
“I’m going to miss you like hell these next three days. Seems like everything gets in our way. Bulls, kids, wine,” he said softly.
I hope to hell it’s not an omen,
she thought.
Rye sat through meetings, signed new contracts, and took tours of the stockyards where he’d be keeping his animals. He had dinner with the board of directors at the club. He called Austin every morning, sometime in the afternoon when he had a break, and at night just before he went to bed. He felt like they were slipping back into the Thursday night telephone world and he hated it.
He hated being away from her, loved talking to her, and couldn’t wait to get home to do more than talk. It was going to take some fancy footwork to keep her in Terral and more than just a few kisses.
If he hadn’t been busy from noon on Tuesday until Friday evening he would have driven back each day just to see her for a few minutes. But finally Thursday night rolled around and he could look forward to the last affair, a dinner at the club with a live band and dance afterwards.
He was having a beer at the bar after dinner when a tall redhead perched herself on the barstool beside him. “So what’s going on in your neck of the woods?” Delilah McMurry asked.
“Just work,” he answered. “I figured you’d sell off the buckin’ broncs when you married that fancy-pants lawyer. I was surprised to see you here.”
“I started to after last year but caught the husband with those fancy pants at the foot of the wrong bed. Decided I like cowboys better than lawyers after all. Want to come to my room for a drink after dinner? I promise I’m not lookin’ for husband number five. The lawyer broke me from suckin’ eggs.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” Rye said.
“What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“Rye O’Donnell, I’m not used to men flat out turning me down. Only reason they do is there’s a filly and it’s serious. So what’s her name?”
“Austin.”
“Well, she must be one hell of a cowgirl. Good luck with her. Here comes the rest of the crew. Maybe I’ll find a lonesome old cowboy among them.”