My Give a Damn's Busted (5 page)

Larissa shared her small two-bedroom home with a stray cat she had inherited when she bought the house. The real estate agent couldn’t tell her the cat’s name or even if he had lived at the place before the previous owner died. He was black and white and got the name Sylvester because he reminded her of the old cartoon cat. The first time he showed his cocky independence she called him Sylvester Stallone. That got shortened to Stallone which fit him better than the bumbling Sylvester who was always chasing Tweety Bird.

Stallone wasn’t worth much when it came to hoeing the garden but he was a fine listener and she could tell him anything. He sat beside the knee-high okra plants and the green beans, moving when she got ahead of him, chasing the occasional butterfly out of the garden, and he didn’t disagree with a thing she said. Starting with opening the Honky Tonk the night before, she told him about the whole evening, including Merle fussing because no one could give her any pool competition and the new cowboy who’d set her emotions in a tailspin.

“And then I looked up and there he was. After the wreck I didn’t think he’d ever want to even look at me again. Hell, I even thought he was married, but evidently he’s not if he’s asking me out. There’s an aura about him. Not even the English Earl made me go all smushy inside. Did you ever find a little feline beauty that set your ears to twitching? What is the matter with me? God, I’m turning into a crazy old cat lady who plants a garden and talks to tomcats and doesn’t have a man in her life.” She leaned on the hoe and wiggled her bare toes into the warm soft dirt.

The sun had passed the straight-up stage and was slowly sinking to the west, but the rays were still hot enough to make sweat pour down her neck and wet the band around the bottom of her bra. Her cutoff jean shorts had two damp spots on the seat and there wasn’t a dry thread on her faded orange knit tank top. She’d pulled her short hair up into two lopsided dog ears but errant strands kept sneaking out and sticking to her face and neck.

She swatted a mosquito and left a smear of blood on her arm in its wake. “Damn things are big as buzzards in this part of the world and out to suck every drop of my blood. Why can’t you chase them the way you do butterflies and birds?” she fussed at Stallone and went back to chopping weeds from her garden.

“Hello, where are you, Larissa?” a deep voice called from the front yard.

She stopped and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Luther?”

“I was driving past and thought I saw you back here. Garden is lookin’ good. Got any iced tea?” Luther asked.

“It’s in the fridge. Help yourself and make me a glass while you’re at it.” Larissa propped the hoe against the back of the house. The back porch was little more than a stoop with a tiny roof held up with two scaly porch posts. She sat down on the bottom step and leaned back against a post. She’d just about hock old Stallone for a breeze but a good wind in Texas couldn’t be bought, begged, or stolen in July. Truth be told, if it did blow it’d be like the forced air from a furnace and cook the skin right off a person. Still, she could long for a nice cool ocean breeze. It wasn’t a cardinal sin to wish for something even if it was like wishing for gelato from that cute little Italian restaurant that she liked so well. She was wondering what in the devil made her think of that place when Luther pushed the back door open.

“I found some cookies on the table and ate two of them.” The quart-sized Mason jars looked like shot glasses in his big paws.

She reached up and took one jar from his hand and said, “Janice made them. You should have eaten more so I wouldn’t have to work the garden so much to get rid of the calories. I can’t leave the danged things alone. So where are you headed?”

“Back to the ranch. I came in to the office to bring a form and pick up a V-belt. Got to work on a rig. Sometimes I make excuses to go to the office just so I can talk to Tessa. Now I understand why Travis always wanted to run the errands that would take him to the old office where Cathy worked. Lord, that woman has gotten under my skin so bad it hurts. I want to ask her to move in with me but I’m scared to death she’ll say no and then tell me to get lost,” he said.

“I don’t think she would say no,” Larissa said.

Luther’s eyes sparkled. “Really?”

“Only way you’re ever going to find out is to ask her. You really ought to marry Tessa.”

“I would go to the courthouse with her tomorrow if she’d have me,” Luther said.

“Well, honey, she tells me all the time that she gets tired of living all cramped up. She was raised up on a ranch and loves the outdoors much as you do.”

“I want all of it. Marriage. Kids. And the whole thing. She’s too pretty to want to tie up with something big and ugly as me,” he groaned.

Larissa clicked her fingers and Stallone came over to get his ears rubbed. “You got to make her feel special.”

“I ain’t no good at that romancin’ shit,” Luther said.

“Most men aren’t, but women want that romancin’ shit and if they don’t get it, nothing happens in the relationship,” she said.

Luther narrowed his eyes at Larissa. “Should I take her roses or candy?”

“Flowers and tell her she’s beautiful in whatever she’s wearing that night,” Larissa said.

“She’s beautiful all the time,” Luther said.

“How many times have you told her that?”

He dropped his head and looked up at her from under heavy dark brows. “Them is hard words to say.”

“Learn to say them,” Larissa said.

“How’d you get so smart when it comes to women folks?” he asked.

“I’m one of them women folks,” she laughed.

“I’ll give it a try but every time I get around her I get all tongue-tied and nothing comes out right. We can talk about the rig all day and I can tease, but when it gets time to be serious I’m speechless,” he said.

Larissa patted him on the arm. “Say what’s in your heart.”

“I can put up a rig or flirt with any other woman, but Tessa is special. She gets my hormones to flowing but she’s my friend too. I wouldn’t ever want to throw that away for a quick romp in the hay,” he said.

“Tell her that in those words and hand her one long-stemmed rose. Tell her that she’s one of a kind, just like the rose,” Larissa advised.

“I’ll have to practice sayin’ that for a long time before them words would come out of my mouth, but thanks Rissa. I’ll ask her out on Sunday. I ain’t leavin’ you without a bouncer in the beer joint, and besides, she’s in there all the time anyway.” Luther set his tea jar on the porch and disappeared around the side of the house.

He’d rented the ranch from Jezzy and Leroy when they moved to Hampton, Virginia, a couple of months before. Jezzy had been one of the Honky Tonk regulars when Cathy ran the place. She’d inherited the ranch when her grandmother died and then Angel and her crew found oil on the land and Luther took care of the wells. Leroy’s daughter, Sally, married a military man and moved to Virginia and Jezzy and Leroy followed her the next month. Now those were two people who did things their way. They’d been friends since they were kindergarten students in Bugtussle, Oklahoma. Jezzy had her affairs and never married. Leroy married three or four times and had one daughter. They lived together in a purely platonic relationship. Larissa hated to see them move away because she and Jezzy had become really good friends.

But like Merle said, crowds came and went in the Honky Tonk. There were those like Chigger and her crew that had been regulars back in Daisy’s time as bartender, then Jezzy and Angel who’d been regulars during Cathy’s reign as bartender. Now it was Larissa’s turn and her regulars were Julio, Patrick, Justin, and Eddie, the Monday night truck drivers. Betty and Elmer, Janice and Frank, and Linda and J. C.—Mingus citizens who were off to Las Vegas for a week—and Merle, who’d been there since dirt. Larissa figured Merle sat down in a pasture and refused to move so Ruby Lee built the Honky Tonk around her. And Amos who’d been there almost as long as Merle. He’d been in love with Ruby Lee but she refused to marry him. He owned oil companies all over the world and was mega-rich. He was more than seventy and still rode with a motorcycle club and brought the whole biker crew to the Honky Tonk at least once a week. And of course Luther and Tessa, who would eventually figure out they were made for each other.

Stallone came out from under the porch when Luther had gone and rubbed around her sweaty legs leaving cat hair in his wake.

“Do you have a fluffy little lady friend you want me to talk to?” Larissa asked.

Hank poked his head around the corner. “You talkin’ to that cat or to me?”

She jumped. There she sat in all her sweating glory. Barefoot. Hair like funky rockers from the nineties. Dirty. Smelling like a bag lady who hadn’t seen a shower in a month. She consoled herself by deciding that if Hank Wells was a real cowboy, then he’d seen sweaty, working women before in his life. If he wasn’t, then there was something fishy about him anyway.

“He don’t give me much sass and he don’t carry gossip. Are you stalking me?”

“No, ma’am. I was driving through town and saw you in the garden a while ago. When I came back through I noticed you sitting on the porch. I thought I’d stop by and make sure you hadn’t found any hidden bruises.”

The telephone in the house rang but she ignored it. “I’m fine. How are you? That seat belt bruise about gone? Want some iced tea or a beer?” she asked.

“Beer sounds good on a hot day like this,” he answered.

Sweat stains circled his faded chambray shirt that hung open baring his broad chest. His old truck had both windows rolled down so evidently the air conditioning didn’t work. His jeans had hay stuck to the legs and his work boots were scuffed at the toes.

“I been haulin’ hay with my dad,” he said. “Friend of his down in these parts only needed a few of the little bales so I hauled them down here on the back of the flatbed out there. Air conditioner went out in it years ago but the damned old engine is like the Energizer bunny. It refuses to die.”

“Sounds like hot work. Have a seat over on the porch under the shady part. I’ll be right back,” she said.

She refilled her jar and pulled a cold beer from the refrigerator, popped the cap off, and stood at the kitchen window a few seconds staring at his back. It was thoughtful of him to check on her. A friend would do that and Larissa liked the friends she’d gathered around her in Mingus. There was always room for one more and Hank seemed lonely. Maybe he was looking for friendship too. She picked up her tea and his beer and carried both out to the porch. He’d taken his straw hat off and was fanning with it while Stallone watched warily from the edge of the garden. Her heart skipped two beats and then set about trying to thump out of her chest when she saw him sitting there with sweat pouring down the back of his sunburned neck, black hair flattened against his head, and those light brown eyes looking up at her.

When did I begin to like working cowboys? My preference in men never did include tight jeans, belt buckles, and straw hats. That’s why I figured I was safe from the Honky Tonk curse.

He tilted the bottle up and enjoyed a long, wet drink. “Thank you. This hits the spot.”

“Nothing like cold beer on a hot Texas day.”

He nodded toward the plot with knee-high corn, okra, beans, and tomato plants. “So you makin’ a garden?”

“Tryin’ to. It’s my first attempt. Mingus don’t offer a Gold’s Gym so gardening is my exercise, plus I get food for my efforts that has no preservatives and tastes much better than store bought,” she said.

God, please shut my mouth. I sound like a commercial for natural fertilizer.

“My dad makes a garden every year. Hated picking beans when I was a kid but love the food,” he said.

She liked him. Yes, he was sexy as hell but it went beyond that. He’d picked beans for heaven’s sake and he liked garden fresh food. He’d stopped by just to see if she was all right. That could easily translate into a good friend if nothing else.

The phone rang again and no amount of ignoring it made it hush.

“Guess I’d better get that. Excuse me,” she said. She took her time getting into the kitchen in hopes that whoever was so persistent would give up but it didn’t work. She’d far rather be out on the porch in the hot steaming sun getting to know Hank better than talking to anyone she knew on the blasted telephone.

She picked up the cordless receiver and walked to the kitchen window where she could look her fill of him as she talked. “Hello,” she said impatiently.

“Larissa Morley, please,” a masculine voice said.

“This is Larissa. Whatever you are selling, I’m not interested.” She started to hang up.

He began talking very fast. “Miss Morley, I’m not a salesman. I’m not trying to give you credit cards or sell you stock in a time-share. This is Wayne Johnston. I work for Radner Incorporated.”

“Who?” she said icily.

“Radner Incorporated. We would like to arrange a meeting to discuss buying the Honky Tonk beer joint from you. We have come up with…”

“Hush right there. I’m not selling my business. Get that through your head once and for all and don’t call here ever again. I don’t give a damn if you offer me a third world country in exchange for the Tonk. It’s not for sale,” she said.

“But…”

“Not butts or asses. That’s the end of the discussion, Mr. Wayne Johnston of Radner Incorporated.”

“Miss Morley, you live in a rundown house and work six nights a week in a cheap beer joint. I’m willing to offer you enough money for a much better lifestyle. Why won’t you sell it to me?”

“You may squat in a bed of poison ivy and fall backwards in it, Mr. Johnston. How do you know where I live or who I am, and why do you want it so bad? Have you been stalking me? Well, darlin’, you can damn sure come around and I’ll tell you the same thing to your face. And why doesn’t Hayes Radner come see me in person if he wants my business so badly? Is he a sissy that hides behind big business? If he wants my business, tell him to come talk to me in person. Is there gold hiding under my beer joint or something?”

Mr. Johnston’s tone turned icy cold. “Mr. Radner is a busy man. No, there isn’t oil under the beer joint. Radner Corporation wants it to incorporate it into their amusement park. We will own that town eventually.”