Dorothy Garlock - [Route 66] (14 page)

“You don't need to pay me back the money now. I'll settle with Andy later.”

“He said to pay you now and I will.”

He ignored her reply and said, “We should leave before sun-up in the morning so you and the girls will have a few hours to spend with him. We'll start back after sundown. It'll be cooler then.”

“How far is it to the city?”

“A little over a hundred miles. I figure it will take four hours with you and the girls along. They'll need to get out once in a while and stretch their legs. If I was driving alone I'd do it in three.”

“We'll be ready.”

“I filled the water tank I got this morning. The water is cold coming out of the well, but should warm up in a couple of hours. The girls want to bathe in it. I warned them not to get in the tank unless one of us was with them. It's deep enough for one of them to drown if they couldn't get to their feet.”

“They're excited about tomorrow.”

“And you? Are you anxious to see Andy?”

“Of course,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes, then turned to look at the heavy black sedan with the gleaming hood ornament pulling into the drive.

A woman was driving. The ends of the bright red scarf holding back her hair were flying out the window. A man got out after she stopped the car a dozen feet from the door. He wore a soft tan shirt, duck trousers and Indian moccasins. He was approaching the door of the garage when Yates stepped out in view. Both men stopped and stared at each other.

“Hell, damn! That you, Yates?”

“Hell, damn! That you, Blue?”

“It's not Christ on a horse, you ugly son-of-a-gun!”

“Blue and Radna Bluefeather as I live and breathe,” Yates excIaimed. “Who opened the gate and let you two out?”

The two men met, clasped hands and pounded on each other.

“Yates!”

Leona heard the screech. The woman who jumped out of the car and launched herself at Yates was small with long, thick, black hair. He grabbed her up and lifted her off her feet. Her arms encircled his neck and she planted a firm kiss on his mouth. Her long full skirt floated around her slender legs and booted feet as he twirled her around.

The man who watched them was rather short when compared to Yates, but he was thick in the shoulders and chest. The skin on his face was smooth and copper colored; tiny lines shadowed the corners of his dark-as-midnight eyes. The black silver-streaked hair that framed his Indian features, etched by time, was brushed straight back and tied at the nape of his neck. He was a handsome, unforgettablelooking man.

“Still poaching on another man's territory, huh, Yates? Unhand my wife or I'll put my fist through your ugly face.” The Indian's tone was conversational. He reached out to take her from him.

“You always were a stingy cuss.” Yates spun the tiny woman out of his reach and deliberately kissed her on the mouth before he set her on her feet. “Is he treating you all right? If not, I'll scalp him for you.”

“Thanks, but I'm reserving that privilege for myself.” She tilted her head toward her husband and grinned at him. “Yates isn't ugly, Randolph. He's beautiful.” Her small hands reached up to caress Yates's cheeks. “Don't pay any attention to him,” she crooned in a soft melodious voice. “He's put out because I won't let him drive.”

barrow through a barn door.” Yates's face was creased with smiles, his silver eyes glittered with pleasure.

“Smart of you. That wild Indian couldn't steer a wheel-barrow through a barn door.” Yates's face was creased with smiles, his silver eyes glittered with pleasure.

“He knocked down a barbed-wire fence over by Lone Wolf takin' a short-cut across a pasture. After we blew a tire, I said, that's it, Randolph, get your sorry rump out from under the wheel. I'm drivin.”

“She's still feisty as ever, huh, Blue? Still calls you Randolph when she wants to rile you.”

“Yeah. I'm going to whip her butt when we leave here.” The Indian's twinkling eyes seldom left his wife. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The small vivacious woman was obviously his pride and joy.

“Ask him what happened the last time he tried that.”

“I don't want to know. I might have to get out my hunting knife and slice him up a bit.”

“What are you doing here, Yates? Who was the woman who skeedaddled out the back?”

“Nosy, isn't she?” Blue threw an arm around his wife and drew her to him.

Yates laughed. “She can't be accused of beating around the bush, that's true. Come sit down in the shade. How about a cold soda pop?”

“It's what we stopped for.”

Without going into details, Yates explained to Blue and Radna that he was helping out a friend who was in the hospital in Oklahoma City after being bitten by a rabid skunk.

“And you're staying here looking out for his woman and kids. How does that sit, having to stay in one place for a while?” Blue took a drink from the bottle of orange pop he was sharing with his wife.

“Not bad, so far. I'm taking them to Oklahoma City tomorrow to see him.”

“We just came from there,” Radna said. “We went in to see Jelly Bryce. You remember him, don't you?”

“I've never met him, but I've heard plenty. He was the sharp-shooter who took out the fellow who killed and butchered a woman in Rainwater.”

“Jelly has taken out several notorious killers,” Blue added. “He's still with the Oklahoma City police, but the FBI wants him to join up. He's not decided yet.”

“He's really a nice man.” Radna grinned at her husband. “Even if he is a jelly bean and handsome as sin. Blue”—she said to Yates—“has known him and his folks for a long time.”

“I'm thinkin of gettin' me a pair of those spats like he wears sometimes over his shoes, a string tie with tassels on it and a white Panama hat,” Blue said seriously. “Think I'd look good?”

“You'd look like a bull in a hula skirt.” Radna snorted and dug her elbow into her husband's ribs. “Stay as you are or I'll trade you in on a couple of twenty-year-olds.”

“How's things up around Rainwater?” Yates asked.

“Oil wells are drying up,” Blue said. “Rainwater will be dried up, too, before long. We're dickering to buy a little ranch south of here near Mountain View.”

“Aren't you ready to settle down, Yates?” Radna asked with a flirtatious smile. “That red-haired girl in Rainwater was hankerin' to tie you down.”

“That's why I left in such a hurry.”

“Shame on you!”

Yates went to wait on a customer who had stopped at the gas pump. When he returned the Bluefeathers were preparing to leave.

“We're going to Santa Fe to see my brother. We'll stop in a couple of weeks on our way back to Mountain View. Will you still be here?” Radna's smiling eyes peered up at him.

“I'm sure I will. I can't see Andy getting out of the hospital for another four weeks and he'll need another week or two before he's fit to take over the garage.”

“Are you sure it isn't a woman that's keeping you here? From what I saw of her …she's pretty.”

“Yeah, she's pretty prouder than a game rooster and can't stand the sight of me.” Yates's grin didn't quite reach his eyes. Radna noticed.

“You like her?”

Yates shrugged. “She's … all right—”

“Come on, thorny rose.” Blue grabbed his wife's arm and urged her toward the car. “Since she chased me down and got the bit in my mouth she isn't happy to see any man without a rope around his neck.”

“I don't see you puttin up much of a fuss.” Yates slapped Blue on the back, then spoke to his wife. “When you get tired of this dumb Indian, Radna, I'll be waiting in the wings.”

“Waiting in the wings? Hell! Damn! What does that mean?”

“Come on.” Radna tugged on her husband's arm. “I don't know if I'll have enough time to explain it to you before we get to New Mexico, but I'll try.”

Yates stood in the drive and waved to his friends as Radna drove the powerful car out onto the highway. Although this was only his third encounter with the pair, he was very fond of them and felt as if he had known them forever.

He had spent a month in the oil boom town of Rainwater where he first met the Bluefeathers. They had just been married. The next time he met them was while he was working on an oil rig, in Bartlesville, Oklahoma. They were always the same …crazy about each other and taking life one day at a time.

Leona was dead tired.

She sat in the dark on the back porch toweling her hair dry before going to bed. It was good to allow her shoulders to slump, relax, and let her mind travel over the events of the long and tiring day.

After washing and ironing dresses for the girls, she had pressed one for herself. The chicken she had killed and dressed for tomorrow's picnic with Andy had fried in the big iron skillet on the kerosene stove, while she was bathing in the big washtub she had dragged in off the porch.

The girls had been in rare form; they were so excited about tomorrow's trip that she didn't think they would ever settle down and go to sleep. Ruth Ann had fidgeted, but had not protested over much, while Leona wrapped strands of her hair around the rag strings to make the long, bouncy curls her daddy liked. JoBeth had complained because her hair was too short for rag curls. Leona trimmed her bangs and convinced her that it would have to do until her daddy came home to give her a proper haircut.

She had not spoken to Yates since shortly after noon when she left him with his friends. She had been laying out a cold supper when he came around to feed the horses and fill the stock tank. She went out to milk when he came in to eat. Leona thought that he probably bathed in the tank while she bathed in the tub in the kitchen. It bothered her that she was constantly aware of where he was at any given time.

Yates was a man with many different facets to his personality. He had been genuinely glad to see his friends. They had certainly been glad to see him—especialIy the woman. At times, Leona admitted, Yates excited her. But at other times he irritated her, until she was sure that she hated him and would be glad to see the last of him.

While she sat musing, she suddenly heard the soft sounds of music coming out of the darkness. Stone-still, she listened. Someone was playing the guitar. It had to be Yates. He didn't have a radio and there were no campers tonight. Quietly she got up and went back through the house to the front door.

All was dark except for the glow from the faint light that came from the small bulb in front of the garage. Leona eased out onto the front porch and sat down in the porch swing. Her eyes scanned the darkness. The sound was coming from the far end of the campground. The night he had heard her singing, Yates had said that he played for his own enjoyment. It was probably why he was as far from the house as he could get without going into the woods.

The fact that he was a talented musician was another surprising facet of the Yates character. The familiar strains of “The Missouri Waltz” came from the campground. Leona recognized the next tune but couldn't name it. Then “The Yellow Rose of Texas
,”
and after that a series of country songs she had heard on the
Grand Ole Opry ,
the Saturday night radio program from Tennessee.

Leona sat very still to eliminate the squeaking of the chains holding the swing. Time passed as she absorbed the music. The moon rose high in the sky. The only thing to interrupt her enjoyment of the unexpected treat was the occasional sound of a car passing on the highway.

Each time Yates finished a song, she thought sure it would be his last and readied herself to dash into the house for fear that he would see her when he went into the garage. She leaned her head against the back of the swing and let the music wash over her, soothe her.

It was suddenly quiet. She sat up so fast the chains on the swing squeaked. She peered into the black night and cocked her head to listen. Then Yates's voice came out of darkness.

“Leona. It's me, Yates,” he said quickly when she jumped to her feet.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I heard the squeak of the porch swing. Are you going in?”

“Ah …yes. My hair is almost dry.”

He carefully placed his guitar on the edge of the porch and came up the steps. Calvin followed him and sank down on the porch with a deep sigh.

“It's nice out tonight. There's a good breeze from the south. Stay out a while.” He eased down on the porch swing beside her.

“My hair is almost dry.” She repeated the words lamely, then moved as far from him as possible.

His arm arched over her head and rested on the back of the swing. His fingers slid into the hair that touched her shoulders.

“It's still wet. Don't you do it up on bobby pins or something?”

“No. I let it hang until it's dry. My mother used to roll it around her finger and put a bobby pin in it. My sister Irene's hair was—curlier than Ruth Ann's.” Leona tried desperately to keep from sounding breathless.
I'm babbling like an idiot!

“Was your sister's hair this color?” His fingers were still in her hair.

“It was lighter—like my mother's. My father had the dark hair.”

“Tell me about when you were little and your parents were alive.”

“Why?”

“Curiosity. It's hard for me to think of you being related to Virgil. He's different and so much older than you.”

“I was the youngest. A brother and sister between Virgil and Irene died—the brother when he was a tiny baby. The sister died of diphtheria.”

“Has Virgil always been so obsessed with religion?”

“I hardly remember him at home. He was already married by the time I started to school.”

“Were your parents religious fanatics like Virgil?”

“Heavens no! They would be heartsick if they knew how Virgil treated me and Irene.”

Yates moved the swing gently. “When we get back from the city, I'll put some axle grease on the chain and get rid of this squeak.”

They were silent for a long while. Leona was intensely aware of all the sounds that came through the hush of the night—the squeak of the porch swing, the far away call of an owl. She was also all too aware of Yates sitting close beside her, his strength and the hardness of his body. She finally got up the courage to speak.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”