"Only yours. Bring the iron on home while it's hot. I can always put the brand on you," she said.
He picked his hat from the rack and settled it on his head. "I bet you would, too."
"It was a promise, not a threat."
"Actually, I'm not sure I'd want you to brand me. Isn't that what you women say when you catch a man and haul him kicking and screaming to the altar?"
"Just leave it at the corral. If that's what it means, I damn sure don't care anything about it," she said.
He left with a chuckle and a wave.
She put on an old Conway Twitty CD she found in the rack beside the television and listened to music as she cooked. She swayed with an imaginary dance partner when Conway sang, "Hello Darlin'." While she made a batch of chocolate chip cookies to go with the fruit salad for dessert she listened to "I See the Want To in Your Eyes." He sang about seeing a sparkling little diamond on her hand and that it was plain she already had a man but he could see the want to in her eyes.
That drew her up short. Had she met Slade when she was engaged to John, would he have seen the want to in her eyes? Would it have even been there? She was finally willing to admit she enjoyed the bantering they shared. That he was handsome was never a question; that he would ever find her attractive had six question marks behind it.
By the time she started making meatloaf, Conway was crooning "Tight Fittin' Jeans." He sang about a woman trying to hide the kind of woman she truly was by the denim clothes she wore and that he saw right through her tight fittin' jeans. Lord, she truly hoped Slade never saw through her tight fittin' jeans and found out that she was worth a fortune. Conway's song said there was a tiger in the tight fittin' jeans and they'd gone through a lot of beer.
Maybe Jane really was a cowgirl if all it took was jeans and a love for good old cold beer to make her one. She made up her mind before the song ended that she was selling the oil company for sure. She'd fallen in love with ranch life. Maybe she could even talk Nellie into coming to Greenville for a visit occasionally.
Conway started singing an old favorite of her grand mother's: "I'd Love to Lay You Down." Her skin began to tingle as she pictured Slade singing that song to her.
"Now where in the hell did that come from?" she grumbled. "He'd never sing that to me, especially when he finds out that I really have duped him all this time. He thinks I'm a poor vagabond gypsy. He'll feel like I made a fool of him when he finds out the true story."
"Who are you talkin' to?" Slade opened the back door and started singing with Conway about how he'd love to lay her down and there was so many ways her sweet love made the house into a home. He mentioned her standing in the kitchen in her faded cotton gown.
"You singing to me?" she asked.
"Just singing with the old Twitty bird." He grabbed another pair of gloves and was gone again.
That set him to thinking about how he had liked to see her in the kitchen in her faded nightshirt that came to the top of her knees. And how she had stepped right up to the task and taken on the running of the house all week.
He shook his head to clear such idiotic notions out of it and went back to work.
The next song on the CD was "Don't Call Him a Cowboy." When Conway said not to call him a cowboy until you've seen him ride, Jane's face turned scarlet. Then he sang about fancy boots and a Stetson hat that didn't tell what's inside and if he wasn't good in the saddle, she wouldn't be satisfied, and the high color in her cheeks actually burned.
That set off a whole string of visuals of Slade in a saddle that was not on the back of a horse. She had no doubts that he'd make it through more than a one-night rodeo like Conway mentioned. Lord Almighty, folks went on and on today about the innuendos in the songs on the market. Conway alluded to as much or more than the new singers.
She wished she could erase the pictures in her mind, but they wouldn't go away. At noon she avoided Slade like the plague and was very glad he didn't need her help that afternoon. She caught up on laundry, cleaned house, scrubbed bathrooms, and made six pies for the next day's dinner. Still, every time she turned around she was humming that song about not calling him a cowboy until she'd seen him ride.
"Oh, he's a cowboy, no doubt," she giggled.
"What's for supper?" He hit the door at seven thirty that night.
"Potato soup is on the stove. Bread is sliced and in the Tupperware container. Cookies are beside that in a plastic bag. I'm off to read a book until I fall asleep."
He ate alone and wondered if his singing had offended her.
Friday.
Jane awoke with a song in her heart, but it didn't have words and Conway Twitty had never sung it. Nellie was coming home and she was as excited as a five-year-old with a fistful of money in a candy shop. She hopped out of bed and headed for the kitchen only to be met with the aroma of bacon and coffee wafting down the hall.
Slade, cooking breakfast? Had the world come to an end or had hell frozen over?
Nellie was flipping pancakes. "Good mornin'. How'd things go while I was gone?"
Jane crossed the room and hugged her fiercely. "You're home! I missed you so much."
"I enjoyed the trip and the fun but I'm glad to be back," Nellie said. "Ellen says she's sleeping in this morning."
"You brought her, too! It gets better and better," Jane said.
"What?" Slade said sleepily from the door jamb where he'd been leaning the past few minutes. Jealousy rattled through him that Jane showed such emotion for Nellie and was so angry at him for singing that she wouldn't even sit down to supper with him.
"Nellie is home," Jane sing-songed.
"Glad to have you back. Please don't leave me with that shrew again," he said, pointing at Jane.
"Shrew! Me! You've got cow shit for brains! He was mean to me, Nellie. Made me work like a dog all week. I had to drive a tractor, herd cattle, and haul hay. Took me to church and was going to make me come home and cook dinner. I had to produce Bible verses to get a piece of fried chicken."
"She stretched that verse so thin even Jesus would have sent her to hell for using it like that," Slade yawned.
Nellie beamed.
Things were going right in her world.
Chapter 8
JANE HAD NEVER BEEN TO A SMALL TOWN FIREWORKS display before. She'd always seen the big one in Greenville or back when her mother was alive there was always a big Fourth of July celebration at the ranch. They would barbecue a steer and at least one hog, invite everyone in western Arkansas and eastern Mississippi, and at the end of the day there would be a spectacular fireworks display from a boat in the river on the back side of the ranch.
According to Nellie, in Terral, Oklahoma, population 386, they roped off a section of the main street, sold hamburgers right off the grill and snow cones made while you wait, and turned the children loose with their personal firecrackers and other fireworks. At dark they put on a show for everyone. It was a bring-your-own lawn-chair, eat, and visit affair.
Five miles and the Red River separated Ringgold, Texas and Terral, Oklahoma. Terral was almost four times as big as Ringgold and actually had a Mini-Mart that sold bread, pizza, milk, and gas, as well as a small grocery store. There were two cafés: Doug's Peach Orchard, specializing in catfish and calf fries; and Mama Josie's, where a person could dine on Mexican food, hamburgers, or steaks in an old lumberyard-turned-café. Nellie had insisted they stop at Doug's for catfish. She rode to the celebration with Ellen, Jeannie, and Myra. Since it was Friday night and they'd have to postpone their pseudo-bridge game, they'd all decided to go together. She'd insisted that Slade take Jane in the truck with him so everyone could be more comfortable.
The Peach Orchard was a small restaurant with the menu on the wall at either end of a dining room decorated with real branding irons. Nellie laid claim to a table for six and motioned for the waitress, who brought a note pad and asked them what they'd like to drink.
"Coors for me," Slade said.
"I'll have Miller Lite," Ellen said.
Jeannie looked at the menu and held up two fingers. "Make that two Millers."
"I'll have the same," Myra said.
"Nellie?" The waitress asked.
"Iced tea tonight. I might have to drive these drunks home."
"You can't drive," Slade said.
"Better to be caught driving blind than drunk," Jeannie laughed.
"Sweet tea for me," Jane said. Already the evening was shaping up to be fun. For a second she let the idea of John and Ramona flit through her mind, then reas sured herself that they were in sunny Miami combing the beaches for her.
The waitress returned with drinks and took their orders. Jeannie, Myra, Nellie, and Ellen all had catfish and it was on the tip of Jane's tongue to order the same when Slade said he guessed he was the only one with enough nerve to eat calf fries. Jane picked up the gauntlet and grinned.
"Bring me a full order of calf fries and please add a Coors to that order. Maybe I'll join the ranks of the drunk after all," she said.
"Do you even know what calf fries are?" Slade asked.
"Of course, they're like chicken fries. Little pieces of veal rolled in some kind of special batter and deep fat fried," Jane said.
A wide grin split his handsome face and she noticed the dimple on the left side for the first time. His blue eyes twinkled prettier than the stars in a midnight velvet sky. "You are exactly right."
"What are you two fighting about now?" Nellie asked.
"We missed it," Ellen said. "Do the fight all over again."
"Well, damn, I've got to learn to keep my mouth shut," Myra said.
"You all are the real Ya-Ya Sisters, aren't you?" Jane laughed.
"You bet we are. They probably made that movie about us and just changed the names to protect the guilty," Myra told her.
Ellen pulled a mirror from her purse and fluffed up her hair. "When we were growing up, there were five of us. What one of us couldn't think of, the other four did, and we barely stayed a step ahead of trouble all the time. You all remember when we were kids. Of course I was the youngest one and they all got me in trouble. They're probably the reason I turned out the way I did."
"What about when we were kids? Hell, Ellen, you were the wild one. You had your bra off and headed for the bonfire before any of us could unhook ours," Myra said.
"Y'all were old and floppy by then, anyway," Ellen teased.
"What story were you going to tell?" Jane asked.
"Don't encourage her," Slade moaned.
Ellen pointed a perfectly manicured, bright-red polished fingernail at him. "You can hush or go over there and eat by yourself. The story goes like this: we were all staying at Jeannie's house. Her momma was the least nosy of all and we could sneak out easier there. All five of us went skinny dipping in old man Massey's farm pond and honey, those minnows nibbled at more than our toes. We damn near got caught by the local deputy. Of course, if we had, I fully intended to divert his attention while the older four got dressed."
Jane laughed right along with them. Slade pretended he wasn't a bit interested but he had that twinkle in his eye that told Jane he was amused as much as she was.
"So what were you fighting about?" Nellie asked.
"He dared me to order calf fries. So I did."
"I did not dare her and when she turns up her nose at them, I'll eat her portion," he said.
"Do you know what calf fries are?" Nellie asked.
"Granny!" Slade exclaimed.
"Of course, they are little bits of veal, rolled in batter and deep fried to a golden brown," she said.
"Slade?" Nellie lowered her head and looked up over the top of her eyebrows.
The waitress brought their food before Slade could explain. She set a red plastic basket in front of each of them. French fries covered the top. Fish or calf fries were on the bottom. A platter of bread, tartar sauce, sliced onions, and pickles was set right in the middle of the red-and-white checkered vinyl tablecloth.
"Napkin?" Slade used his manners and handed the roll of paper towels sitting upright on a wooden holder to Jane.
"Don't mind if I do. Maybe I'll just have three or four. I might be a messy eater," she said.
"Dig down deep and get one of those calf fries. See if they're as good as the ones you got over in Arkansas. That is where you are from?"
"I was born in El Dorado," she said.
"And grew up there?" He was already popping one into his mouth and blowing out at the same time because it was so hot.
"Hey, I found one hiding under all these scrumptious lookin' fries. And don't worry about where I grew up, Slade Luckadeau. Just eat your bull balls and hush while I enjoy mine."
He jerked his head around. "You said…"
"I said they were little bits of veal, which they are, and they were rolled in batter and fried, which they are, so don't be sending me to hell with that look. I didn't blow the bottom out of the ninth commandment about bearing false witness."
Jeannie nodded. "Want to join our Ya-Yas and be our number five?"
"Maybe. Can I have a fancy hat or go skinny dipping in a pond? These are wonderful. Almost as good as Momma made. And don't ask me her name, either, Slade, because that's all I'm saying."