The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (11 page)

Jill sat down on the sofa and turned to face Polly. “You're lookin' good today.”

Polly patted her hair. “Verdie fixed it for me and painted my fingernails too. It makes a difference to have on some clothes and not nightgowns, and to get fixed up a little. I feel human again.”

Verdie set a cup of coffee beside the doughnuts and picked up a chocolate-iced one with multicolored sprinkles. “I was going to go on a diet this week, but I can't resist doughnuts.”

“Diet, hell!” Polly fussed. “We're past eighty, woman. None of us need to diet. We should be eating what we want, and dying when we're supposed to.”

“Just for the record, she made me cut the leg down the side of that pair of overalls.” Verdie sat down on the other recliner.

“They're my overalls. I was lost without my bib pockets. You can all be thankful I made her cut them at the seam and not off right above the knee. An old woman's varicose veins are not a pretty sight to see. Might ruin your appetite for doughnuts.” She reached for a second one.

“So tell me”—Verdie smiled, and part of the wrinkles disappeared—“how was your tortilla soup?”

Sawyer brought two cups of coffee from the kitchen and handed one to Jill. “It was great. I understand in a few weeks they are having some kind of Valentine's Day special thing in Gainesville. We should put Polly in a wheelchair and go check it out.”

“Hell, no! By Valentine's, I'll have this cast off, and I can maneuver with a pair of crutches. I'm not letting this get me down, Sawyer.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He grinned. “I see where Jill gets her stubborn streak.”

“That ain't from me. She got that from Gladys,” Polly protested.

“Got what from me?” Gladys came through the back door.

“Your stubborn streak,” Verdie hollered.

“Bullshit. That came from her grandpa. All three of them Cleary boys could put a Missouri mule to shame. What did you do to that perfectly good pair of overalls?”

Verdie pointed. “She made me do it.”

“I missed my pockets,” Polly said.

Jill glanced from one to the other. All different in looks. Best friends since they were little girls. The solid foundation of Burnt Boot that kept some kind of sanity amongst a feud. And she was so glad she could claim kin to two of them, and shirttail kin to the other one.

“I can't believe they hadn't heard about Kinsey. The whole town knew when I arrived and when you moved into the bunkhouse,” Jill said.

“I didn't know, and you didn't know I was living in the bunkhouse. Maybe rumor-spreading is selective.” He grinned. “Which reminds me, you owe me a kiss.”

She picked up a bar rag and cleaned the area around the beer machine. “Want to collect it now?”

“No, ma'am. I want it later.”

“But what if I decide to give you a peck on the cheek instead of a wild, passionate kiss? What difference would it make if it was now or later?”

“I want to have a while to enjoy the anticipation, no matter where I get the kiss,” he said.

The words were barely out of his mouth when her phone rang.

She answered it. “Hello, Aunt Polly.” And then there was a long pause before she said, “The doors are open, but nobody is here.”

Sawyer walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. When she tried to wiggle free, he said, “Don't get all hyper. I want to hear what Polly is saying. I caught something about Kinsey Brennan.”

“Aunt Polly, I'm putting it on speakerphone until and unless someone comes in.” Jill laid the phone on the counter, but Sawyer did not remove his arms.

“Y'all are in deep shit. Kinsey is telling everyone that Gladys is going to fire Sawyer,” Polly said.

“Why?” Jill asked.

“For sleeping with you. She says that y'all were totally inappropriate in public, carryin' on like a couple of teenagers all gaga over each other on the street and in the little café. And she says that you slobbered in her ice cream, and that you threatened her. They tried to get a restraining order on you, but Quaid pitched a fit and said that he was going to marry you and how could he even date you if there was a restraining order and besides all that, the sheriff said they didn't have enough evidence for one. It would just be her word against yours.”

“Well, dammit! I wish the sheriff would let the whole family have their restraining order. You reckon they'll bring the feud to the bar?”

“Think, Jill!” Sawyer said.

“What?” She whipped around to face him.

“If they did, it would halve the business in the bar. It's all hot air, Polly, because she made the first threat, and Jill stood up to her. Evidently the Brennans don't take rejection too well.”

“There's a sawed-off shotgun under the beer machine. Just open up the doors, and you'll see it, along with a box of shells. Get it out if it starts to look rowdy,” Polly said. “Friday nights are usually hopping, and that's before Kinsey got her damned feelin's hurt. Everyone loves a good fight, gossip, and cold beer. You know what old Billy Currington says: ‘Beer is good. God is great, and people are crazy,' or something like that.”

“Give me that phone,” Gladys said.

“Aunt Gladys, are you two fighting over the phone?”

“Damn straight, we are. She gets testy when it's almost time for a pain pill. If things get too rowdy down there, you call me. Don't call the sheriff. He's afraid of the Brennans and the Gallaghers. Okay, okay, I'll get your pill, Polly.”

“Bye, Aunt Gladys,” Jill said.

“I'll call you later when she falls asleep.”

“I want a swallow of whiskey to take that pill,” Polly yelled. “Damn things get stuck when you make me take them with water.”

“Bye, Jill.” Gladys sighed.

The phone went silent, and Jill pressed the “end” button. She turned around slowly and put her arms around Sawyer's neck, lacing her fingers together. “Looks like it's me and you against the world, partner.”

He grinned. “I'm glad that we banded together. They would have dragged us into this kickin' and screamin', whether we wanted to join the pig war or not.”

His eyes fluttered shut, leaving thick lashes fanned out on his cheekbones, just before his lips found hers. It was every bit as hot as the first kiss and twice as passionate. No, sir, that first one was not a fluke and had nothing to do with her frustration at having to spend time with the Gallaghers and the Brennans.

She swayed slightly when she opened her eyes.

He drew her close to his chest and held her tightly. “Whoa, get your balance there, sweetheart. Your kisses make my knees go all rubbery, but tough as you are, I didn't think mine had the same effect on you.”

“It's the lighting in here. Trying to focus when I opened my eyes made me dizzy,” she said.

He scooped her up, settled her on a bar stool, and sat down beside her. “I kissed you, Jill Cleary. You kissed me back, but you didn't instigate the kiss, so you still owe me one later.”

Tyrell Gallagher slung open the door and waited a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim light before he removed his hat and hung it on the row of nails along the wall. He pulled up a stool right beside her, propped his elbows on the bar, and put his chin in his hands. “Jill Cleary, darlin', let me look at your beautiful face so I can get out of this foul mood.”

Quaid Brennan pushed his way into the bar, with Kinsey right behind him. He passed behind Tyrell on his way to the other end of the bar, and muttered, “Oink, oink,” on the way.

Jill heard him, rounded the end of the bar, jerked the sawed-off shotgun out from under the counter, jacked a round into it, and said, “Okay, boys, it's like this. Polly's is neutral. If you two want to play big bad cowboys in your pig-shit war that's going on between your families, you'll do it outside this place. Understood?”

“Anything you say, princess.” Tyrell grinned.

“Quaid?” she asked.

“I hear you, gorgeous,” he said. “Now put that gun away.”

Tyrell pointed toward the whiskey on the counter behind Jill. “I think you are sexy, holding it like that. Want to do some target practice with me tomorrow afternoon? We've got a real nice shootin' range on Wild Horse. I'll start off with a double shot of Jack Daniel's tonight, and then it'll be beer for the rest of the evening.”

“I'm not going out with either of you ever again. I don't like this feud crap, and I don't intend to be a part of it,” she said.

“Little late there, not after what you said to me today,” Kinsey stated. “You're in this whether you want to be or not. You should have kept your mouth shut. Now, to you, Sawyer, darlin'. I'm going to knock on your door Sunday morning, and you are going to church with me if I have to handcuff your hand to mine.”

“Jill and I have plans on Sunday, folks, so that's the end of our part in your feud. What can I get you, Quaid?” Sawyer asked.

“Beer for both of us,” Quaid said. “In the bottle instead of the mug. We'll take them to a table and wait for the rest of our party.”

“That was too easy,” Sawyer said. “Something is going on.”

Jill shivered from head to toe. “I can feel it too. It's a good thing we're together, or they'd tear us to pieces.”

People kept arriving until the bar was too full for another person to get inside. Gallaghers took up one end; Brennans the other. The stools were full, the music loud, and the dance floor crowded. Jill patted the shotgun under the counter and smiled up at Sawyer. “I had no idea Aunt Polly had this thing in here, but I'm damn glad that she does.”

* * *

Sawyer sprawled out on the sofa, long legs out in front of him and his head thrown back so far that he was looking at the ceiling. “Lord, it's been a day and a half. Thank goodness tomorrow is Sunday. Chores and then church and then we're going to nap all afternoon.”

“In a motel?” she asked.

“We'll let everyone think we're going into town, but I vote we slip back here, have some canned chili and doughnuts for dessert, and lock the doors. We can turn off our phones and sleep until Monday morning.”

She flopped down on the other end of the sofa and stretched out until her feet were in his lap. Without sitting up, he picked up one and started massaging it. “It's tiring, but we're not doin' too bad keepin' up with three jobs.”

“Wouldn't be any big deal if it wasn't for the feud shit in the middle of it. What do you think they're plannin' next?”

“I think the Gallaghers done stepped in the deep water over them pigs. But forget the feud, I'd rather talk about the woman that these feet belong to and when she's going to pay up with a kiss.”

“Right now that woman is so tired that she's about to fall asleep, and she still needs to take a quick shower. Reckon she could use your bathroom if she hurries?”

He sat up straight. “She can even fall backwards and sleep in my bed if she wants to. This old cowboy would be too tired to even kiss her good night. And he's glad that she's saving that kiss for later, when he has the energy to kiss her back.”

She stood up and stretched, then leaned down and brushed a quick kiss across his forehead. “That's not the bettin' kiss, but a thank-you kiss for having my back.”

He grabbed her around the neck and pulled her into his lap. “Well, then this one is my thank-you for the same.” The kiss was lightning and fire mixed together.

She pushed herself up out of his lap. “That, Sawyer, was a mind-boggling kiss. Now good night. I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. I'll see you at breakfast.”

He sat there for a long time after she'd gone to her own side of the bunkhouse. Ten days ago he was content in his peaceful little world. Now everything was upside down, and yet he hadn't felt so alive in ages.

It wasn't a little snore but one that rattled the windows in the church. Thank goodness the preacher had said something everyone agreed with, and more than a dozen deep drawls around them had hollered, “Amen!”

Jill poked Sawyer on the shoulder.

His head popped up. “What? Is it over?”

“You were snoring,” she said softly.

For the rest of the service she kept a watch on him. If his eyes shut, she touched his thigh. If his chin started toward his chest, she squeezed his thigh.

The church was packed in the middle, but the two sides were sparse. The Brennan side was represented fairly well, but Mavis wasn't there. Too bad she'd stayed home and sent Kinsey and Quaid, but then they were Sunday school teachers.

There they sat—the Brennan bitch on one side, and Betsy, the Gallagher bitch, on the other side of the church. Rather than listening to the preacher, Jill entertained herself by imagining Betsy in full camouflage gear, rifle over her shoulder, as she paraded up and down a fencerow. Jill was imagining dozens of pigs rushing through the fence, breaking it down, and running right at Betsy, when Sawyer's hand on her shoulder jerked her back into reality.

“What?” she whispered.

“You were snoring.” He grinned.

She cautiously looked around to see if anyone was staring at her. “I don't snore, and I wasn't asleep.”

“It was more like a purr, but in another minute you'd have been sawin' logs for sure,” he whispered. “It's only five more minutes, and he'll wind it down.”

“Thank God!”

“Church is definitely the place to do that,” Sawyer whispered.

As soon as the benediction had been delivered, Jill and Sawyer were both on their feet, headed for the door. Sunday dinner didn't matter, not when they needed a nap.

“Hey, y'all should come home with us. Verdie has a pot roast in the oven that will melt in your mouth,” Finn said.

He was as tall as Sawyer and had the bluest eyes Jill had ever seen on a man. Callie nodded at his side as she corralled four kids, and Verdie poked her head out around Finn's shoulder to say, “Yes, we'd love to have you. Got plenty of food and plenty of these wild urchins to entertain you. If that don't keep you laughing, then there's a parrot that never shuts up and a bunch of dogs.”

“And a cat,” a little girl said shyly.

“Y'all could play Monopoly with us this afternoon,” one of the boys offered.

“The children: Martin, Adam, Richie, and Olivia.” Callie laid a hand on each kid's head as she introduced them.

“Pleased to meet you all. But I need a nap more than fun today. Can I take a rain check? I'd fall asleep in the middle of a board game, even if I drank six cups of coffee. I'm afraid that sleet, snow, or even”—she hesitated before she said anything about the promise of an afternoon of glorious hot kisses, and then chose her words carefully—“chocolate could keep me away from a Sunday nap. It's been a long, busy week.”

“Jill snored in church,” Sawyer said.

She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “So did you and a lot louder.”

“I thought I heard a bullfrog right behind me.” Verdie laughed. “Another Sunday then or maybe a lunch in the middle of the week?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Jill smiled.

With Sawyer's hand at her back, they made their way to the door, where they shook hands with the preacher and made a comment about how wonderful it was to see the sun shining. Jill couldn't lie and tell him it was an awesome sermon, because she'd caught only snatches of it between keeping Sawyer awake and dozing herself.

She heard someone snort and say, “Oink, oink.” Then another one gave a pig snort that wasn't totally unlike Sawyer's snores.

One more oink, and a Brennan said something about a thieving smart-ass. Jill was too short to see who threw the first punch, but the fight was on. The church parking lot, which had been declared sacred, neutral ground, turned into a free-for-all. Fists and profanity flew around like buzzards having it out over a dead possum in the middle of the road.

Those who sat in the middle section of church either quietly circled the brawl to their trucks or else stood on the sidelines. No one, not even the preacher, wadded into the middle of the fracas to try to put an end to it.

Finally, Verdie pushed her way through the speechless onlookers and right out into the lot. When she reached the middle, she grabbed two ears, a Brennan and a Gallagher, and hauled them off the ground to their feet.

“One of y'all makes a move, I will put a knee in a place that will hurt for the rest of the day,” she said loudly. “Stop it right now, or else I'm going out to my van and bringing in some pistol power.”

“They started the whole thing by stealing our pigs, and now they're oinking at us and making pig sounds.” Quaid Brennan rubbed his ear.

“They're lying about us,” Tyrell Gallagher yelled.

“I don't give a shit who stole the pigs or who is lying. If you've got to fight like children, then take it away from the church, the store, and Polly's bar. Those have been neutral places during this whole damned feud, and the next time this happens, I'm not whistling or pulling ears. I'm going to start kicking and asking questions later,” Verdie said.

“I want to grow up to be just like her,” Jill said.

“Not Polly or Gladys?” Sawyer asked.

“Oh, no. They're mean, but believe me, Verdie is the toughest one of the lot.”

* * *

Two men had guarded the henhouse at Wild Horse, since Naomi was sure that's where Mavis was going to hit her after the pigs went missing. There was no way those holier-than-thou Brennans were going to get at her big white chickens. Not when it was nearly time to start saving their eggs to incubate for next year's chicken crop.

If they hadn't been standing on the same side of the huge, custom-built coop, they might have seen that the cigarette one of them tossed on the ground and stepped on still had a spark. If they hadn't been hungover from dancing and drinking at Polly's the night before, they might have smelled the smoke before the chickens went crazy, flapping their wings and cackling louder than a rock band.

“What's that smell? You've got to quit smokin', Billy. That damn smoke gets in my nose and, oh my God! The henhouse is on fire. That's why they're throwin' such a fit,” one yelled.

“Dammit! Call the house. Call anybody. Get us some help. We'll have to open the doors, or they'll all burn up in there. Those damn Brennans got past us somehow. Naomi is going to fire us for sure,” one of the guards yelled at the other one.

He jerked a phone from his pocket with one hand and opened the doors with the other. Mad hens are one thing, but terrified ones are another story. And a mean old rooster damn sure didn't like his harem carrying on like that. Both guards dropped to their knees and covered their faces with their hands when the rooster led the chickens out in flight, squawking and clawing anything in their path.

A sea of Gallaghers swarmed toward the fire. The chickens didn't care if they were masters or servants. They wanted away from the evil fire, so they lit on heads, pecked at ears, fought with people trying to catch them, flew into the trees, and in their fear, dropped a fair amount of chicken crap down on the heads of those trying to coax them down.

Those that had had their wings singed by the fire before they were set loose ran into the mesquite trees and hid in the underbrush. The rooster flogged everyone in his pathway as he made his way toward the nearest barn and flew up to the rafter, where he publicly made known his anger at having his tail feathers plumb burned to a crisp.

“Damn Brennans. Start a fight over in the churchyard, and now this,” Tyrell cussed. “They're going to pay.”

“You're damn right, and they will pay dearly.” Naomi wiped a blob of chicken crap from her forehead. “Even if we can catch them, it'll be weeks before they lay again. I won't have enough eggs to incubate this year, which means we'll have to buy our chickens, and I hate store-bought meat. Damn you, Mavis!” Naomi fished a cell phone from the hip pocket of her jeans and jabbed in the numbers to River Bend Ranch.

“Hello,” Mavis said.

“You are a bitch from hell, Mavis Brennan, and you will pay for this,” Naomi screamed.

“What in the hell are you talkin' about? Did Orville decide to do right by my granddaughter?”

“Hell, no. He and Ilene are talking about getting married now. But I'm pressing charges against you for burning down my chicken house,” Naomi growled.

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” Mavis quoted with laughter. “Since God has taken my side, you'd better watch out, woman.”

Naomi raised her fist and yelled, “God didn't do this. Damn it, Mavis, you done messed with the wrong woman because I won't leave revenge in God's hands. I'll take care of it myself.”

* * *

Jill fluffed up her pillow and pulled a quilt up over her body. She shut her eyes, and immediately that fuzzy feeling that happens before sleep settled in. Then her phone rang.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” she grumbled as she reached for it.

“Jill, hope you weren't asleep yet, but I had to tell you,” Gladys said. “Naomi Gallagher's chicken house has flat-out burned to the ground. They had to turn the chickens free, and they can't catch them. Naomi didn't believe in clipping their wings, so they're in the trees, hiding in the mesquite underbrush, and the rooster won't come down from the rafters in the barn. It's a big mess, and she's blaming the Brennans.”

“Did the Brennans do it?”

“Mavis says that God must have avenged her for losing her hogs. She swears that she didn't do it and that she never had any intentions of messing with Naomi's chickens. If she had, she says she would have poisoned them, not set fire to them.”

“More fuel for the feud, huh?” Jill said.

She didn't care if the Brennans and Gallaghers burned each other out as long as they didn't let their fires spread to Fiddle Creek.

“You sound groggy. Go on back to sleep,” Gladys said.

“Thank you for calling.”

“Just thought y'all might want to keep an eye out for either one of the families. They might use Fiddle Creek as crossing ground to get to the other one.”

Jill yawned. “So is the pig war now the chicken war?”

“No, this chapter in the feud will always be the pig war, I'm afraid. Doesn't that sound horrible? I'm hanging up now and sleep all day. From now on I'll do the feeding on Sundays. I'll get Polly settled, and I'll only be gone an hour each time. Besides”—she lowered her voice—“I love her, and we get along pretty good, but I'm getting cabin fever, and I can't ask Verdie to babysit all the time so I can get out.”

That's when Jill's stomach growled. She'd had a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup for dinner, but she'd been too tired to eat all of it. Now it was either eat something or never get back to sleep.

She pushed back the quilt and padded barefoot across the cold wood floor to the kitchen area. She opened the freezer. Ice cream didn't appeal to her. Nothing in the fridge looked good either, so she went to the cabinets.

“Doughnuts,” Sawyer said gruffly.

“You startled me, but that does sound good,” she said.

Sawyer reached over her shoulder and picked up the half-empty box of store-bought chocolate doughnuts. “They're not as good as what we got in Gainesville, but they'll make your stomach stop grumblin'. Finn called to tell me that the Gallaghers' henhouse burned. After I eat something, I'm turning off my damn phone.”

“Aunt Gladys called me with the same news.” She pulled the milk from the refrigerator and carried it to the table, along with two glasses.

“Do you care if they're having roasted chicken for supper next door?” he asked.

She poured milk and slid a glass toward his end of the table. “I do not.”

“Then let's both turn off the phones, make the sofa out into a bed, throw our pillows and quilts on it…”

“And,” she finished his sentence, “turn on the television to something totally boring for the noise, and sleep all afternoon. But why on the sofa and not in our own beds?”

“Television noise will be louder in the living area. It'll block out everything. I vote for the sports channel. There's a golf game on this afternoon.”

“You don't like golf.”

“No, ma'am. I like football, baseball, and basketball, and I like to play those, not watch them on television.”

“Me too.” She nodded.

“Play or watch?”

“Play, but not today. Pull out the sofa. Do we need to put a pillow in the middle, like they used to do in the old days to discourage hanky-panky?” she asked.

“Honey, my hanky-panky is drooping. If you want that, you'll have to wait until later.” He grinned.

They quickly finished their snack, and while she went to get her pillow and quilt, he tossed the sofa cushions on the floor and pulled the bed out. It was covered with a dark-green flannel sheet that looked soft and inviting.

“Hey, where did you get that?” Jill pointed at the fleece-lined soft blanket he carried to the living room.

“Christmas present from my sister,” he answered. “Your phone turned off? Mine is.”

“Turned off and shoved to the bottom of my purse. And Aunt Gladys said that she's giving us Sunday off from now on. Starting this evening, she'll take care of chores.”

She picked up the remote and turned on the television, hit the channel button a couple of times until she found a station showing golf. The sports announcer's tone was a soft monologue—perfect sleeping noise. Before she could lay the remote on the end table, Sawyer was already snoring.

Who needed television? His snores would block out a nuclear attack on Fiddle Creek. She eased down on her side of the sofa and was asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow. At dusk she awoke with Sawyer curled around her back, one arm thrown over her waist and both of them covered with his soft blanket.