Blame It On Texas (2 page)

Kate didn’t want to think about sex. Or having babies. Or Dustin Jones, the one boy her parents had forbidden her to date. The one her grandmother had hired to take care of the Lazy K. “My grandmother just hired him.”

“Hired who? I mean, whom?”

“Dustin.”

“No kidding?”

“He and his son are living out on the ranch.”

“I didn’t know he got married.”

“He got Lisa Gallagher pregnant that summer before college.” The summer from heaven, Kate remembered. The summer she’d made love to Dustin Jones in the back seat of his ’72 Buick. “I don’t think they ever got married.”

“No, they didn’t, but I’ll ask George. He’ll
know. I wonder what happened to Lisa. I always thought she moved to Dallas.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kate lied. Of course it mattered. After all these years she damn well wanted to know what happened after she left town.

“I thought he was working for Bobby Calhoun out at the Dead Horse Ranch. But I never heard he had a boy with him.”

“My mother seemed pretty sure. I can call my grandmother and find out if it’s true. If she answers the phone.” Gert generally disliked having to stop what she was doing to talk to “some darn salesman.”

“I’ll see you in two weeks, right? You’re coming home to help blow out the candles?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Kate declared, though she wondered if she could stay the entire two weeks as she had originally promised. There was a whole team of scriptwriters for the show, but that didn’t make her workload any lighter.

“What’s going to happen next on
Loves of Our Lives?
Is Harley pregnant with Dan’s baby or Christian’s?”

Kate laughed. “You know I can’t tell you.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have the baby and miss finding out.”

“When are you due?”

“In two weeks. Right now. Yesterday.”

“And?”

“Not an ache or a pain anywhere, Kate. Plan to spend some time over here, will you? You and George can gripe about progress and teenaged memories. He doesn’t like the idea of his drive-in destroyed for a nursing home either. He says it makes him feel like an old man.” Emily and George had dated since they were fifteen, married at twenty and become parents at twenty-two.

“At least someone understands.”

“Honey, the minute we all ran out and bought VCRs, the days of the drive-in were numbered. The Good Night lasted longer than most, I think, just because Mr. Jackson never cared if it made money or not.”

“I suppose. But it’s still sad.” She took another sip of coffee before continuing. “My mother said she’s thinking of moving into one of the apartments.”

“Give him the truck, Jennie, and quit teasing,” Emily scolded, then apologized. “Sorry, Kate. They’re little devils this morning.”

“Where’s George?”

“At the grocery store. He figures this is all Carl’s fault.”

“What is?”

“The Good Night Villas. Every single woman—over sixty, that is—figures the way to Carl’s very single heart is to buy one of those apartments.
George’s mother wants to put her house up for sale.”

“I think mine does, too.” Now she had to worry about her mother being taken advantage of by a real estate Romeo? “Do you think we’ll be like that in thirty years?”

“Alone and running after Carl Jackson? I hope not.”

“At least thirty years from now you won’t be pregnant,” Kate teased. “That’s something.”

“Come home soon, honey. We’ll sit in front of the air conditioner and talk about boys, just like we used to.”

I could do that,
Kate wanted to say.
I could pretend I was eighteen and in love and letting a certain young cowhand unbutton my blouse while
Last of the Mohicans
played on the distant screen.

“What’s New York have that Texas doesn’t?” It was the way Emily ended every phone call, and Kate usually replied by telling her friend about her latest date or Manhattan meal or Broadway show. Emily loved all of the advantages of city life, but this time Kate didn’t answer the question.

“I wonder if my mother is serious about moving,” Kate muttered. “She even wants my grandmother to move in there with her.”

“You’ll be here soon. You can find out for yourself. Hey, you can even see how Dustin Jones turned out.”

I might not have a choice, Kate wanted to say. Even though I’d rather be run over by a speeding taxi and dragged down Broadway with my skirt up over my head.

“I
F THAT’S
M
ARTHA
again, tell her I’m not home.” Gert carried her bowl of oatmeal over to the kitchen table and sat down to eat it. The boy hurried over to the east wall and grabbed the phone off the hook.

“Hello?” A smile turned up his mouth. “Oh, hi.”

“Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s my dad.”

Well, that was all right, Gert figured, giving Danny a nod before she turned back to her oatmeal. She should have put chocolate chips in it, the way she did for the boy. She didn’t bother trying to listen to the conversation and instead looked through the stack of last week’s mail for something to read. The
Beauville Times
sat there taking up room, so Gert checked through it for the obituaries before she read the headlines.

The Jackson boy was still determined to build those fancy apartments, she noted. Cattle prices had gone up, but not much. The weather was going to be good. Good and hot, she saw, but heat was the least of her worries. The heat didn’t bother her much, not like that darn air-conditioning folks
stuck everywhere. Give her a good fan. Now there was a healthy invention for you.

“I remember that summer in ’22,” she said aloud. “Now there was a heat wave,” she told Danny, who had hung up the phone and approached the table. “It was so hot my daddy swore we’d all just dry up and blow to Oklahoma.”

The boy slid into the chair across from hers and smiled. He sure had a sweet smile, Gert thought. Not like his daddy at all that way, but then boys didn’t always take after their fathers. Sometimes they got lucky and forged their own paths.

“Did I ever tell you I had a boy like you once?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Always in trouble, Hank was.” Gert figured he’d gotten it from his father’s side of the family, of course. Back in the twenties, the Johnson boys had been hell on wheels. Her father had just about had apoplexy when she’d run off with one of them.

“Where does he live now?”

“Oh, he’s been gone a long time. He could never stay in one place for too long.” She tilted her head at him. “I’ll bet you’ve never even been to a drive-in movie, have you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t even know what it is. That’s too bad.” Gert worked on her oatmeal for a moment, then peeled a banana, broke it in half and offered a section to Danny. Another morning ritual, they
shared a piece of fruit before the day really got started, before chores. Sometimes she fixed coffee mixed with heavy cream and lots of sugar for the two of them. Sometimes the boy’s father would come in and pretend to complain that his eight-year-old son was too young to be drinking coffee.

“I saw some women on television the other day,” Gert continued, knowing Danny liked the sound of her voice. He was a funny little guy, this boy. “They’d written a book about the ‘old days,’ Katie Couric said. Now they’re rich and on the bestseller list and everyone’s buying their book.”

“Cool.”

“I could use the extra money,” Gert mused. “Why don’t you get us some orange juice?” The boy did as he was told, as he usually did. He got stubborn about taking a shower and sometimes she could hear him yelling about it. That yelp always made Gert smile to herself and remember Hank when he was little and still lovable. And still all hers.

“Thank you very much,” she said, when he delivered the glasses of juice. It was important to teach the young people manners. Seemed like not too many folks thought of that these days, but folks should learn them just the same.

“I’ve got some money,” Danny said. “Twenty-one dollars.”

“Ooh-wee, that’s a lot of money,” Gert told him. “How’d you get all that?”

“I worked for my dad. A lot.”

“Good for you. That’s how folks are supposed to get money. By earning it, just the way you did.” She watched him beam with pride. He was going to be a handsome boy, probably on the small side, though his father was tall and lean. They both shared dark straight hair and brown eyes. Handsome devils, the two of them, with identical dimples in the center of their chins. That Dustin could have his pick of the women in the county, she was sure, but he didn’t mind her teasing him about it.

Gert liked teasing. Her Edwin never minded a good joke, laughed even harder when the joke was on him. That was a good quality in a man.

“I should write a book,” she said, taking a sip of the juice when the boy did. “Those other old ladies did real well with theirs. Maybe there’s a market for memoirs.”

“Memoirs,” the child repeated, trying out the unfamiliar word.

“Memoirs. That’s like memories,” she said. “The story of somebody’s life. I’ve had a pretty interesting life, I think.” Or maybe not. Maybe nothing special to anyone else, but she was partial to it.

“I could spice it up a bit,” she thought aloud. “Add some old lady wisdom, too. Folks like that,
at least in books.” But not in person. Martha didn’t take too kindly to advice lately, despite her carrying on with the Jackson fella and talking about “villas” and “central vacuuming,” whatever that was. Meant you didn’t have to sweep anymore, Gert supposed.

“Sweeping’s good exercise,” she told the boy, who didn’t seem to mind the change in subject.

“You want me to get the broom?”

“No, thank you. Not on Sunday. We’re not doing chores on Sunday.”

“Oh.” He looked down at his juice glass, then back at her. “Dad’s doing chores.”

“Well, that’s because your daddy’s a hard worker and likes to get things done.”

“Yep.”

“What’d he want on the phone?”

“Just to check to see if we were okay.”

“Well,” Gert said, looking around her old kitchen with its worn linoleum and scarred cabinets, “I think we’re doing just fine, don’t you?”

Danny’s dark eyebrows rose. “That’s what daddy says all the time.” He lowered his voice and repeated, imitating his young, serious father. “I think we’re doin’ just fine.”

Gert couldn’t help chuckling. “Well, we are. I don’t know why everybody worries so much.”

The boy shrugged. “Me neither. You want some more juice?”

“No, thanks. But you help yourself. And there’s more biscuits in the bread box over there.”

“Okay.”

Gert watched him, just for the pleasure of it. It was sure nice to have a youngster around to talk to. To have anyone to talk to, though Danny’s father wasn’t much for chitchat. She squinted at the clock over the refrigerator. Kate would call today, and she’d be coming home soon for the party.

Maybe she would start writing that book this week so she could surprise her granddaughter with Chapter One.

CHAPTER TWO

“M
Y DAUGHTER WANTS
me to move in to one of those things with her,” Gert declared as they drove past the sign announcing the site of the Good Night Villas.

“I guess no one can force you,” Dustin said, slowing down the truck so Mrs. Knepper could get a good look. She’d insisted on coming here first, to see for herself the latest change in the town. “Can they?”

“I sure hope not.”

“You want me to stop?”

“I sure do.”

“Cool,” Danny said, tucked in the narrow length of seat behind them. “I like this.”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time.” Dustin wasn’t at all sure why he was driving around Beauville on a Monday morning when there was all sorts of work to be done on the ranch, but she was the boss and so here he was on the north edge of town looking at a drive-in where he’d spent a lot
of nights panting after Kate McIntosh. Maybe the fascination with drive-ins ran in the family.

He pulled into a dirt area alongside the road, but kept the motor running for the air-conditioning. He didn’t want this nice little old lady passing out from heatstroke. “There. How’s this?”

“Just fine.” She rolled down the window and stuck her head out as if she was going to yell at the construction workers. Not that anyone would’ve heard, with a dozer moving dirt around behind the foundation. A blast of dusty hot air wafted into the truck, but the elderly woman seemed oblivious to it as she watched the construction crew of five men erecting framework. “They don’t move too fast, do they.”

“It’s the hottest part of the day,” he pointed out, hoping she’d close that window before she expired from the heat and the dust. It scared him, how old she was. “Maybe you should—”

“They can take their time, for all I care. I’m in no hurry to die in one of those silly villas.” She sighed. “I’ll bet you spent a few nights in this place. Or are you too young to remember the drive-in movies on weekend nights?”

“I remember.” Darkness. Kissing Kate. Pressing her down on the back seat, the one with the rips in the vinyl he’d taken great pains to repair. To this day duct tape made him think of making love to a brown-haired teenaged girl.

“My family used to keep cattle here, back before the railroad came through. Did you know that?”

“No, ma’am.”

She pressed the button on the door and the window rolled up. “My, that’s easy.”

“Yes.” He waited a moment. “Are you ready to head back to town, Mrs. Knepper?”

“I think you’d better call me Gert. We should be on a first-name basis since we live together.”

“And me?” the boy said, leaning forward so that his chin touched Gert’s shoulder for a brief moment. “What can
I
call you, Mrs. Knepper?”

“Mrs. Knepper,” his father replied.

“Well, now, most of the children I know call me Grandma Gert, so you sure can, too, Danny,” Gert declared. “If that’s okay with your daddy.”

Dustin nodded and put the truck in reverse. “Where to now, Gert?”

“The library, I think. I have some books to get and then we’ll get groceries after we go to the bank.”

“Sure.”