One Lucky Cowboy (22 page)

   Slade plopped down beside her. "Who are you talking to now? I'm beginning to believe maybe you
are
an escaped crazy. You have a funny look in your eyes like you are planning a robbery or a killing."

   "I'd probably be happier if I was. At least a killing. It could be self-defense if I shoot him before he kills me. It's so peaceful here, it's hard to believe there's someone out there who'd kill anyone for money. It's so far removed from anything I've ever known that some times I think I might be insane, Slade. Then I shake my head and realize that I really did hear that conversation and he's really going to assassinate me if he can. And all for money. He was with me every day for six weeks. He got down on one knee and proposed to me. We wrote wedding vows. Is nothing sacred? I feel like a fool for being so duped."

   "Evidently nothing is sacred to that man. But don't feel bad. You must have fallen in love with him and that's what makes you so mad. Oh Jesus, Mary, and God all rolled into three. Are you going to want to eat a steer?"

   "Not right now. I'm just going to sit here and not think about any of it. This is the most peaceful place in the whole world. I may buy this beach someday."

   There was sand, ocean, and sky with a glorious sunset that covered every spectrum of color in the palette. The biblical Noah didn't have a thing on Jane that evening. The day he stepped off the ark he saw a lovely rainbow. She doubted if it was one bit more spectacular than the sun setting that evening both in the sky and reflected in the water.

   Slade picked up a broken shell and drew pictures in the sand. "What are you going to do when this is over?"

   "I'm going home and cleaning house," she said.

   He stopped drawing and looked at her. "As in dusting and scrubbing the bathrooms?"

   "No, as in getting rid of people in my company who want to do me harm. As in a full-scale investigation and audit to see how much my stepfather has embezzled through the years. I might not even have a viable oil company left to put on the market, but it won't take long to find out once I boot his sorry ass out on the street."

   "Remind me never to put a contract out on you. You really going to sell your oil company?" Slade asked.

   She'd said it aloud. She was going to put the oil busi ness on the market. That idea brought as much peace in her heart as watching the sunset.

   "Yes, I am," she said with conviction.

   "It's your inheritance. How can you sell it? I could never ever sell the Double L. It's as much my life and blood as Granny is."

   "The oil company has been good to my family. I have my grandmother's pearls and my mother's memories. I don't need a company to remind me of them," she said, turning her attention to what he was drawing in the sand.

   First he made a stick house. Three sticks down and one across to close it up. Three more for the roof and a square for a window in the front plus a door. She picked up broken shells and lined the sidewalk up to the door. He gathered a few bits of sea oats as foliage on the outside of the sidewalk.

"Who lives here?" he asked.

   "A young couple very much in love who haven't been jaded by the evils of the world. It's 1955, back when my grandmother and Nellie were young women and young brides. Grandmother lived in this house with her new husband and they… no, that's not right. Grandmother had money and she moved into a semi-mansion in El Dorado when she married my grandpa, who also had oil money."

   "Did they combine their resources?" Slade asked as he kept planting sea oats around the base of the house.

   "Oh, no. Grandmother's money came from the Rangers. Her father founded the oil company and she was the only child. It was set up to be passed to her oldest daughter and then to the next oldest daughter. In those days women didn't run oil companies. They stayed home and had babies. She told them all to go to hell and she ran her company. She swore that the time would come when a woman could do everything a man could and she wasn't going to be around so she'd do it in her day. Some years she made more money than grandpa. It didn't make him happy but she did it anyway."

   "And you're putting it on the market? Maybe nothing is sacred anymore."

   "It's a material possession. Sacred has to do with life and morals—not an oil company. My grandparents and my mother gave me those things as well as a sense of morality. Yes, I am selling it. It's provided for generations but it's time for it to get swallowed up by the big companies. I want a little house like this, not a mansion," she said.

   He looked at her as if she was spitting green goo out her mouth and had sprouted scaly skin and a set of horns. "You've got to be kidding. You
can
live in a big house and still be in love."

   "Maybe so, but I don't want a man who'll marry me for my money or who'll take out a million dollar life insurance policy on me, either. I want someone who loves me in my jeans and T-shirts and with my hair in a ponytail and who'll live in a little house with me. Like Nellie's grandpa. They only had a little house and they built on to it as they needed it."

   "That was necessity," he argued.

   "Then I want necessity," she shot right back.

   "You are crazy. Your stepfather would be right to commit you," he said.

   "Then take me to Mississippi and turn me over to him."

   Slade shook his head. "I don't think so. I'd have to whip his ass and today I'm too tired from all the driving."

   "Slade, I'm scared about tomorrow but I'm damn sure not crazy. And I'm sick to hell of this conversation. So stop talking about it. I've had the big house—own it now. Plantation style with a cook, two gardeners, horse trainers, ranch hands, all of it. It don't bring me one bit of happiness," she admitted.

   "How do you know
not
having it will make you happy?" he asked.

   "I don't, but I'm willing to give it all up to see. And that scares me, too, if you want to know the truth."

   "Good. You are human. For a while there I thought you were ten feet tall and bulletproof."

   "
Me? I thought you were Superman. I figured if
I ever saw
you without a western shirt and jeans you'
d be wearing a red and blue outfit with a big old S on the front."

   "Yeah, right! I'm not Superman. I'm just an old dirt farmer who hasn't got enough sense to stop farming. Ever hear that story about the man who won the lottery? He told his friend that he'd give him a million dollars of the winnings, but the friend would just ranch it all away. That's me. If I had money, I'd just ranch it all away because it's what I love," Slade told her.

   "That's what I want. Something I love so much I'd put my money and life into it. You've got something worth more than money can buy, Slade. Don't ever give it up."

   "Oh, honey, I wouldn't. Couldn't. What would I ever do or be without the Double L? But listen up, don't be afraid about tomorrow. We'll be in public places where they'll be afraid to do something stupid. All I need is a picture. You hide once you point them out to me. They won't knife you or shoot you in a public place. They'd get caught or someone would see them and remember their faces. That would end their profession. Think of it as a lark. We're out to ruin them so they don't kill another innocent bride."

   "Honey, you have no idea what they'd do to collect that money. They're good and mad. It's a matter of principle now. I bet Ramona would do me in just out of anger over losing all that insurance money. And if I'm dead, who'd ruin them?"

   "It ain't happenin' on my shift. I'm the bodyguard, remember."

   
Thank you Lord for that,
she sent up a silent prayer but didn't say anything aloud. They were actually getting along and that was miracle enough. She didn't want to jinx it with any more admissions.

   "Ready to go in for the night?" he asked when the sun finally dipped low enough there wasn't even a hint of orange left in the sky.

   "I suppose. Don't you love the salt smell of the ocean though? I'll always remember this night, Slade."

   He didn't think he'd forget it too soon either. The picture of her sitting there in that modest bathing suit with salt water in her hair, silhouetted against a setting sun, was branded on his brain for eternity. He might marry some day, but he'd always keep that memory and return to the days when he was a knight in shining armor and rode in to save the damsel in distress. He was the one who was ten feet tall and bulletproof when he walked side by side with Jane through the sliding glass doors into their room.

   He turned the air conditioning on high cool and sat down in a chair, propped his feet on the side of one of the beds, and turned on the television. Basically, he didn't watch much TV but rather liked to read. Mysteries were his favorite: John Grisham, Sandford, even Grafton. Then there was Randy Wayne White and Carl Hiaasen that reminded him of the old writer, deceased for several years. What was his name? Slade frowned trying to remember.

   "John D. MacDonald," he finally said aloud.

   "One of my favorites." She came out of the bath room, her nightshirt damp where her hair hung down her back.

   "Really? My dad read him and I found the books when his things were shipped home to the ranch."

   "My dad loved him, too. I've read everything he wrote."

   "How about Hiaasen?"

"He's a hoot, isn't he?"

   "That he is. Want to watch old reruns of Law an
d
Order
or CMT? Nothing much looks good."

   "
Law and Order
," she said. She fell asleep before the first one finished.

   He stayed awake for a couple of hours and watched her sleep. It would be so easy to fall hook, line, and sinker for her but he couldn't. He'd always wonder if she really loved him or if it was simply because he'd saved her "naturally born white ass."

JANE STARED AT THE LIST OF TEN TATTOOPIERCING establishments listed in the yellow pages in the hotel phone book. According to what Slade pulled up on the computer the previous night, Pensacola made brags that it was the tattoo capital of the whole area. Which one would John and Ramona go to first? She wanted to get this done and over with on the first try and not play cat and mouse all day long, running from one parlor to the next seeing if they could catch them in a picture and hopefully not get caught or dead.

   She pulled her hair up in a ponytail, wrapped it tightly into a bun, and slipped the wig liner over that. Once she had the curly auburn wig in place she set a hot pink sun visor on top of it, pulling some of the curls out to cover the elastic piece at the back of her head. She applied too much eye makeup and bright red lipstick. She snarled her nose when she looked at the outfit on the bed. It had seemed like a good idea that morning; Slade had assured her that no one would notice such an outlandish outfit. She'd look as if she wanted to draw attention to herself and consequently, no one would look at her.

   She pulled the spandex, Hawaiian-print miniskirt on and topped it with a hot pink tank top cut low in the front to show the absence of tattoos peeking out from between her breasts. According to Slade, Ramona and John would be looking for Jane with a tattoo on her boobs keeping company with a fellow with a freshly shaven head and a tattoo on his arm. He wouldn't be searching for a red-haired bimbo hanging on the arm of a blond cowboy. For the grand finishing touch she slipped on big sunglasses with twinkling rhinestones around the lenses.

   He whistled through his teeth when she came out of the bathroom. "I do believe we could make a few dollars if you'd stand on the street corner tonight."

   "You offering to be my pimp? You'll have to get a black Italian suit and one of those honking big necklaces to hang around your neck. And at least one ear pierced with about a three-carat diamond stud in it."

   Slade shuddered.

   Jane giggled. "I thought you might change your mind. It's not fair that you get to go dressed like that," she said.

   He wore sandals, a pair of baggy shorts, and a tank top that showed nothing more than a farmer's tan. Definitely a cowboy farmer in town for a vacation who'd picked up a local lady.

   "You've got the list, so which one do we start with?" he asked.

   She shut her eyes and pointed. It was a silly way to make a decision but made as much sense as any other. "Hula Moon."

   "Okay, then Hula Moon it is."

   Half an hour later they'd checked out of the hotel and were hunting for a parking place close to the Hula Moon. A receptionist with blond, pixie-cut hair and big brown eyes looked up from behind a desk. She asked if they had an appointment and Slade told her they were just shopping around and trying to get up the nerve to actually get a tat.

   Jane gasped when she looked down on the reception ist's desk and saw a picture of herself on a different flier than the one she'd seen in Terral, Oklahoma. The new one was a head shot of her taken the day she and John had engagement pictures done. Her hair was freshly done and her smile bright and beautiful.

   "Who's that?" Slade asked.

   "Don't know her. A couple came in about twenty minutes ago. Asked if we'd done a tattoo on this woman in the last two days. Even said it was between her breasts. They said she might be coming back for a piercing today. I'm to call that number if I see her," the lady said.

   "Why are they hunting for her?" Jane asked.

   "I didn't ask. Guess she's been kidnapped or something."

   "I saw her yesterday at the Psychedelic Shack. She was with some big old bald-headed fellow," Slade said.